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Dear Madeline, Leo, Lennox and Ginger,
Hello my muses. Now that you are all here, and I've gotten to know each of you inside and out, I'm sitting down to write you about why I write all of these stories about you.
Someday you may come looking for your baby book. You may want to know about your first word, sentence or step. And you may be heartbroken (and pissed) to find out that I never got around to your baby books. But then one day, when I think that you are old enough to handle the mild vulgarity and plain hard truths about my parenting and your upbringing, I will show you this collection of our journey together.
While it's true that we may never know the exact date and time that you first said "mama", we will know that you all abused the word "mommy" so much so that it made me consider not teaching it to your baby sister. We will know all about the first time one of you left my laptop outside in the rain and had your first broken bone and extended hospital stay. You'll read about my Facebook obsession and how I have faithfully and obsessivley documented my every favorite or infuriating moment with you.
You'll read all about how I was so determined to teach you to be independent,like trying to teach some of you to change your own diapers at 4 months old, and how that devastated you because you thought that I wanted you to do things for yourself because I didn't love you anymore. If I wanted you to learn to get yourself a snack or juice, it meant that I didn't care if you ate or not and I must have wanted you to starve or die of thirst. If I wanted you to learn how to put your own boots on, it meant that I didn't care if you got frost bite on your feet and they fell right off! But you will be proud to know that you learned very early how to do some great things (survival skills) like feed yourselves and buckle your own seat belt. I never underestimated you, not just because there were so many of you and I simply COULD NOT DO EVERY SINGLE THING FOR EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU EVERY SINGLE SECOND OF THE DAY (although that is the biggest reason), but also because I wanted you to know what you were capable of if you really tried.
You will know that we are all pretty funny. You're going laugh, even at yourselves, like when you hear about the time I asked Leo why he was smelling the television screen and he said "because I'm watching Strawberry Shortcake". And you'll probably think it pretty funny to read about the time I ran, psychotically screaming through our neighborhood, looking for one of you who was not answering when I called for you and hiding somewhere in the house, chuckling your little ass off.
You will surely get a chuckle reading about all of the times that I begged and pleaded with all of you to PLEASE help keep me sane, and how you would whole heartedly promise to try your best, and then seemingly forget all about it 5 minutes later. So you will hear A LOT about how insane you made me for many, many years (God willing). You will understand that those millions and millions of miles that I racked up "going for a run" probably saved your lives. It was not just an attempt to get back my 27 year old body (which you all stole from me by the way). Spending that one hour a day running away from you and hearing myself think is what kept me from strangling you some days. And it only took that hour to convince myself you really weren't so bad.
You'll find out some of my parenting secrets that I'm not so proud of, like how I potty trained some of you with threats of Santa Claus not bringing toys to little boys and girls who poop in their pants. You MAY discover that there were times when I considered selling one or two of you just for a moment of peace and quite,which hasn't happened yet but I feel like I've gotten close and can't make any promises.
You will know my darkest parenting moments, like when little Leo turned two and I missed it because my mother had died 6 days earlier. I was there, of course, I just wasn't there. I can't tell you anything about it, but that picture of you riding your new John Deere tractor with me standing right there watching you does vaguely ring a bell. I think I remember smiling through the tears knowing how happy that present made you.
You will hear how we made it through the rough times, like the terrible twos and teens, and pregnancy #4 (you all barely got out of that one alive) and the teen years (which we are still a few years away from but have already started prepping for- see "Ungrateful Little Bitch"). Perhaps when we travel those rough waters together, you can write your own stories to illustrate the journey, and we can add them to mine. I want you to know that I will listen to you and that your perspective is important too. And hopefully, if you actually have to write down and document all the stupid things you do as a teenager, you won't do so many stupid things. You will also learn in these stories, that I too once thought that I knew everything and my mother knew nothing. And now I know better.
It will be painfully obvious that I was not nearly as flawless as you may have thought I was when you were 5, (although I do appreciate the pedestal), or that you were not nearly as smart as you thought you were when you were 14. But with any luck, you will know that I had all of the very best intentions, and made my very best efforts; to give you a magical childhood, to see us through it all, to love you unconditionally even through the teen years (again, God willing), to admit my mistakes and to help you learn from yours, and to always keep OUR sense of humor.
You will learn about my inner most thoughts and feelings about you; that you ARE my heart and soul...and every other fiber of my being; that this family makes me happier than anything else in the whole wide world, and is the one thing that can make me want to lock myself in the bathroom and cry a puddle of self loathing. And while you may be insulted from time to time, you are going to learn that I love you, and that every move that I have made since the moment you were born is for our family, even if that move is to get away from you for a moment.
So in reading our stories, I hope that you can forgive me for not having any sort of documentation of how much you weighed on you 3 month Dr. visit, and I hope that you enjoy the story about your first curse words at age 2, or about the "Christmas that almost wasn't" for one of you one year because that year you...sucked, or the many stories about the crazy fat bitch who was your pregnant mother. I really hope that we can all look back on her and laugh and that I haven't left you permanently scarred.
Those baby books are filled with "firsts". Our book will be filled with everything else. It will tell us where we have been, where I hoped and prayed we would all go, and how we got where we are now.
Showing posts with label mom blog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mom blog. Show all posts
Friday, March 2, 2012
Friday, August 6, 2010
Baby #4-The Road Less Traveled
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference
...Robert Frost
I came across this quote just a day or two after finding out that I was pregnant with baby #4. It offered great perspective, and a sigh of relief. I was always the handful, the problem child marching to the beat of a different drummer, blah, blah, blah. I was lost and my parents spent many sleepless nights praying for me to find my way. Little did I know that I was on the right path the entire time. Admittedly, it was a bumpy road and I stumbled a lot. But a smoother, shorter, easier path could never have prepared me for what fate had in store for me: FULL TIME MOTHERHOOD.
Years ago, pre-children, I always said “I want to have five kids, all boys.” It sounded like so much fun. Sure, boys are reckless and I would probably be mothering with my eyes closed, hands clenched and heart in my throat most of the time while they are racing motorized whatever they can get their hands on, jumping of the highest anything into the hopefully deep enough something, picking up the nearest anything and everything that may or may not resemble a weapon to use on the nearest whomever, etc., etc.. But at least they wouldn’t be so damn snotty, constantly challenge my every request, keep me up all night worrying because she’s too stubborn to pick up a phone, refuse to accept that the world just IS more dangerous for young girls, always demand the last infuriating word, etc., etc.! I hate to be so gender biased, but this was my experience with kids. Sorry Mom and Dad.
My first born was a little girl. It’s only fair. I had it coming. And she is exactly like me. I had that coming too. My mom spent my teenage years wishing it on me so it was inevitable. She’s six now, and has already begun paying me back on my late mother’s behalf (whom I often hear giggling from the great beyond). I’m hoping she’s getting it all out of her system before her teen years set in and I’m forced to pound it out of her (figuratively speaking, I hope). She’s still young enough to be honest about her antics; “I’ll try to be better Mommy, but I can’t pinky promise because it’s REALLY hard sometimes.” I find her honesty refreshing and I dread those teen years, again, when I will have to decipher every lie to find a clue to a morsel of the truth. I’m starting to sweat at the thought of it all. Maybe her three brothers (wishful thinking re: baby #4) can form some sort of road block when she starts taking wrong turns. My poor only brother wasn’t able to deter me all on his own.
So I am about to be a mother of four, a STAY AT HOME mother of four! Few people would choose this path. In fact, the news of my continued journey into motherhood leaves most speechless. But now, I understand that I could never decide on a career because my path, my purpose was already determined. This is my destiny. My success as a stay at home mom would be measured by my steadfast patience, my sanity, my SURVIVAL, the character of my children and happiness and values of my family, not my income. And as an overwhelmed, overworked, exhausted, underappreciated, underpaid, undervalued, jack of all trades, master of none, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy I could not be happier. It continues to be the bumpier, far more challenging and less traveled path, but it makes all the difference now that I know exactly where I am going and that I am paving the way for my four little passengers.
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference
...Robert Frost
I came across this quote just a day or two after finding out that I was pregnant with baby #4. It offered great perspective, and a sigh of relief. I was always the handful, the problem child marching to the beat of a different drummer, blah, blah, blah. I was lost and my parents spent many sleepless nights praying for me to find my way. Little did I know that I was on the right path the entire time. Admittedly, it was a bumpy road and I stumbled a lot. But a smoother, shorter, easier path could never have prepared me for what fate had in store for me: FULL TIME MOTHERHOOD.
Years ago, pre-children, I always said “I want to have five kids, all boys.” It sounded like so much fun. Sure, boys are reckless and I would probably be mothering with my eyes closed, hands clenched and heart in my throat most of the time while they are racing motorized whatever they can get their hands on, jumping of the highest anything into the hopefully deep enough something, picking up the nearest anything and everything that may or may not resemble a weapon to use on the nearest whomever, etc., etc.. But at least they wouldn’t be so damn snotty, constantly challenge my every request, keep me up all night worrying because she’s too stubborn to pick up a phone, refuse to accept that the world just IS more dangerous for young girls, always demand the last infuriating word, etc., etc.! I hate to be so gender biased, but this was my experience with kids. Sorry Mom and Dad.
My first born was a little girl. It’s only fair. I had it coming. And she is exactly like me. I had that coming too. My mom spent my teenage years wishing it on me so it was inevitable. She’s six now, and has already begun paying me back on my late mother’s behalf (whom I often hear giggling from the great beyond). I’m hoping she’s getting it all out of her system before her teen years set in and I’m forced to pound it out of her (figuratively speaking, I hope). She’s still young enough to be honest about her antics; “I’ll try to be better Mommy, but I can’t pinky promise because it’s REALLY hard sometimes.” I find her honesty refreshing and I dread those teen years, again, when I will have to decipher every lie to find a clue to a morsel of the truth. I’m starting to sweat at the thought of it all. Maybe her three brothers (wishful thinking re: baby #4) can form some sort of road block when she starts taking wrong turns. My poor only brother wasn’t able to deter me all on his own.
So I am about to be a mother of four, a STAY AT HOME mother of four! Few people would choose this path. In fact, the news of my continued journey into motherhood leaves most speechless. But now, I understand that I could never decide on a career because my path, my purpose was already determined. This is my destiny. My success as a stay at home mom would be measured by my steadfast patience, my sanity, my SURVIVAL, the character of my children and happiness and values of my family, not my income. And as an overwhelmed, overworked, exhausted, underappreciated, underpaid, undervalued, jack of all trades, master of none, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy I could not be happier. It continues to be the bumpier, far more challenging and less traveled path, but it makes all the difference now that I know exactly where I am going and that I am paving the way for my four little passengers.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
oh, now i get it; KIDS MAKE YOU CRAZY!
I was voted “most nonchalant” in my senior class. I have always prided myself on my patience. And before I had kids, I always said that the one thing I would surely do differently from my mother was to just not be so CRAZY.
I always thought that if she would have just asked nicely instead of nag or talked openly and calmly when I screwed up instead of scream like a lunatic, surely I would have been more willing cooperate or hear her side. But too often, I just wrote her off as crazy:
“She’s only this angry because she’s crazy. I mean, who cares if I threw a big party in her house while she was away. And who asked her to sit up all night waiting for me to come home just because she had no idea where I was. That’s her problem. She’s crazy. I’m glad I’m not crazy.”
A few months ago, I was outside my front door trying to hang a wreath. My 6 year old and two year old were playing in the living room, loudly, and my nearly two month old was sleeping, finally, upstairs. My m other-in-law, who lives next door had just dropped the kids off after taking them for just a moment so I could try and get the baby to sleep after a long day. I stood in the doorway and said, “please quiet down, the baby is sleeping upstairs.” “Ok” they respond, half-ass through the grandma induced sugar rush they are clearly burning off. Two seconds later (literally) , two sugar induced screams wake my finally sleeping baby. I turn around and yelling;
“Great! Thanks! Now you woke up your brother."
“You’re welcome” my daughter snarls in some sort of sick delight.
Now comes the screeching at the top of my lungs, the kind of screech that scratches your throat and gags you mid-rant;
“EXCUSE ME!!!!!!!!! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU’RE TALKING TO? AND WHAT EXACTLY DID YOU NOT UNDERSTAND ABOUT WHAT I JUST SAID!?”
The screeching has stopped both kids in their tracks for a moment. The gagging from the screeching adds a little extra crazy and actually makes them think mommy might be turning into some kind of monster right before their eyes. And in this moment, I turn to attempt to hang my wreath again when my mother-in-law rounds the corner with a step-stool in hand to help me. My throat is still scratchy as I thank her.
There is a good chance that she has heard me lose it like this before. After all she does live next door, but having to look her in the face while my face is still bright red from the blood curdling screaming makes it far more humiliating. She has, kindly, never mentioned it.
One time, when I was maybe 7, I got a brand new pack of crayons and begged my mom to let me take them down to my friends house just a few doors down. She reluctantly agreed. And when I returned with one missing crayon, she marched me down to that house where we found it under the deck which she then sent me crawling under to get it. “How silly…” I remember thinking, “it’s just a crayon.”
I was reminded of this crayon story the other day when I found my daughters brand new box of crayons laying recklessly in the garage, with crayons missing, and then found myself rambling on (to myself) for the next five minutes;
“That is it! I’m just gonna hide these crayons until she can be more responsible with them. But then she’s just gonna keep asking me if I know where her crayons are, just like everyone asks me where EVERYTHING is before they even bother looking for it! And when I finally cave and give them to her, she’s gonna ask me where the green crayon is! And when we can’t find that, she’s going to insist she needs a new box of crayons because this one is now incomplete!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Who knew crayons could be so infuriating.
I have gone crazy. But usually after a good self-induced guilt trip from the burned visions of my children’s terrified little faces in my mind, I can find my way back to calm again. I don’t enjoy it at all. It is always exhausting, sometimes embarrassing, and rarely effective in the long term. It is also a certain reminder of what a frustrating child, infuriating teenager and ignorant soon-to-be-mother I once was.
Rightfully so, my daughter is the mirror image of me, both in looks, and in exasperating little idiosyncrasies. I used to HATE having my hair brushed. The other day during our daily hair brushing battle, I wrapped my daughters hair tightly around my fist a few times and, through clenched teeth threatened;
“I DON’T THINK YOU UNDERSTAND! WHEN YOU WHINE AND MAKE ME CHASE YOU AND BEG YOU TO STAND STILL EVERY MORNING YOU MAKE ME WANT TO GRAB YOU BY THE HAIR LIKE THIS AND TAKE YOU DOWN!”
It happens all the time. I have a battle with my children that makes me crazy, and inevitably reminds me of myself and my poor mother. I hear her chuckling in amusement all the time at what seems to be her premeditated retaliation from the great beyond. Sometimes I even give her the long over due credit she deserves; good one, Mom.
I can only hope that she has forgiven me, or at least that my insanity stops being so amusing to her before my daughter becomes a teenager. I do not want to meet my 16year old self in ten years any more than my daughter wants to meet her crazy mother who has been sitting up all night waiting for her and thinking she was laying in a ditch somewhere.
I always thought that if she would have just asked nicely instead of nag or talked openly and calmly when I screwed up instead of scream like a lunatic, surely I would have been more willing cooperate or hear her side. But too often, I just wrote her off as crazy:
“She’s only this angry because she’s crazy. I mean, who cares if I threw a big party in her house while she was away. And who asked her to sit up all night waiting for me to come home just because she had no idea where I was. That’s her problem. She’s crazy. I’m glad I’m not crazy.”
A few months ago, I was outside my front door trying to hang a wreath. My 6 year old and two year old were playing in the living room, loudly, and my nearly two month old was sleeping, finally, upstairs. My m other-in-law, who lives next door had just dropped the kids off after taking them for just a moment so I could try and get the baby to sleep after a long day. I stood in the doorway and said, “please quiet down, the baby is sleeping upstairs.” “Ok” they respond, half-ass through the grandma induced sugar rush they are clearly burning off. Two seconds later (literally) , two sugar induced screams wake my finally sleeping baby. I turn around and yelling;
“Great! Thanks! Now you woke up your brother."
“You’re welcome” my daughter snarls in some sort of sick delight.
Now comes the screeching at the top of my lungs, the kind of screech that scratches your throat and gags you mid-rant;
“EXCUSE ME!!!!!!!!! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU’RE TALKING TO? AND WHAT EXACTLY DID YOU NOT UNDERSTAND ABOUT WHAT I JUST SAID!?”
The screeching has stopped both kids in their tracks for a moment. The gagging from the screeching adds a little extra crazy and actually makes them think mommy might be turning into some kind of monster right before their eyes. And in this moment, I turn to attempt to hang my wreath again when my mother-in-law rounds the corner with a step-stool in hand to help me. My throat is still scratchy as I thank her.
There is a good chance that she has heard me lose it like this before. After all she does live next door, but having to look her in the face while my face is still bright red from the blood curdling screaming makes it far more humiliating. She has, kindly, never mentioned it.
One time, when I was maybe 7, I got a brand new pack of crayons and begged my mom to let me take them down to my friends house just a few doors down. She reluctantly agreed. And when I returned with one missing crayon, she marched me down to that house where we found it under the deck which she then sent me crawling under to get it. “How silly…” I remember thinking, “it’s just a crayon.”
I was reminded of this crayon story the other day when I found my daughters brand new box of crayons laying recklessly in the garage, with crayons missing, and then found myself rambling on (to myself) for the next five minutes;
“That is it! I’m just gonna hide these crayons until she can be more responsible with them. But then she’s just gonna keep asking me if I know where her crayons are, just like everyone asks me where EVERYTHING is before they even bother looking for it! And when I finally cave and give them to her, she’s gonna ask me where the green crayon is! And when we can’t find that, she’s going to insist she needs a new box of crayons because this one is now incomplete!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Who knew crayons could be so infuriating.
I have gone crazy. But usually after a good self-induced guilt trip from the burned visions of my children’s terrified little faces in my mind, I can find my way back to calm again. I don’t enjoy it at all. It is always exhausting, sometimes embarrassing, and rarely effective in the long term. It is also a certain reminder of what a frustrating child, infuriating teenager and ignorant soon-to-be-mother I once was.
Rightfully so, my daughter is the mirror image of me, both in looks, and in exasperating little idiosyncrasies. I used to HATE having my hair brushed. The other day during our daily hair brushing battle, I wrapped my daughters hair tightly around my fist a few times and, through clenched teeth threatened;
“I DON’T THINK YOU UNDERSTAND! WHEN YOU WHINE AND MAKE ME CHASE YOU AND BEG YOU TO STAND STILL EVERY MORNING YOU MAKE ME WANT TO GRAB YOU BY THE HAIR LIKE THIS AND TAKE YOU DOWN!”
It happens all the time. I have a battle with my children that makes me crazy, and inevitably reminds me of myself and my poor mother. I hear her chuckling in amusement all the time at what seems to be her premeditated retaliation from the great beyond. Sometimes I even give her the long over due credit she deserves; good one, Mom.
I can only hope that she has forgiven me, or at least that my insanity stops being so amusing to her before my daughter becomes a teenager. I do not want to meet my 16year old self in ten years any more than my daughter wants to meet her crazy mother who has been sitting up all night waiting for her and thinking she was laying in a ditch somewhere.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
This is a lecture I have composed in my mind many times when I imagine myself sitting down with my children and attempting to simply reason with them rather than my usual rant. Ironically, it is similar to the lecture I imagine giving to the decision makers of our nation if I were the President (yes, I have actually imagined this). Some of it may sound a bit childish for the United States Senate, and some of it may sound like it would go right over the little heads of a 6 year old, 3 year old and 4 month old, but I think it could strike a chord with both. Call me naive…too:
Ok guys, I need your help here. I know that before I took on this responsibility I was naive to think that I had all the answers; that I knew what it would take to run a tight ship; that good intentions, a heart in the right place and asking politely would lead to progress. But I was not counting on having to rely so very heavily on your cooperation, that I would have to plead it out of you every step of the way, and that explaining myself incessantly and simply asking nicely and respectfully would not accomplish anything. And I certainly had no idea you would be so STUBBORN!
I realize that it’s not always easy to get along and work together. But it’s crucial. There are endless responsibilities in seeing that we are all taken care of. I am only one person and despite my very best intentions, I simply can’t do it alone. And it is my job to lead you, to make clear what is expected of you and to see that you meet these expectations.
I know it may be hard to believe, but it is NOT always about what YOU want, it’s about what is best for all of us. I know that you genuinely believe that YOU always know what that is, but again, you’re wrong. Your life, for instance, does not depend on getting that new toy and it is not, in fact, more important to buy that this week than to buy groceries for our family. And no, you do not absolutely NEED that book RIGHT NOW simply because your sister just picked it up while you were nowhere near it. You didn’t care about it before, don’t pretend you do now just because someone else has it.
I do not care who started it or who did it. What’s done is done. What matters now is how we end it or fix it.
We need to understand that we will all make mistakes, yes, even me, but that we need to learn from them and move on, never to repeat them again.
We need to respect each other, and to respectfully disagree.
We need to look out for each other, even when we are frustrated.
We need to love each other, even when we are angry.
We need to be thankful for what we have, and to be willing to make sacrifices for the greater good even when we think we deserve more.
We need to help each other, even when we…just don’t want to.
We are a family, we are in this together. If we can’t work together, we will never accomplish anything around here.
Please.
Thank you.
Ok guys, I need your help here. I know that before I took on this responsibility I was naive to think that I had all the answers; that I knew what it would take to run a tight ship; that good intentions, a heart in the right place and asking politely would lead to progress. But I was not counting on having to rely so very heavily on your cooperation, that I would have to plead it out of you every step of the way, and that explaining myself incessantly and simply asking nicely and respectfully would not accomplish anything. And I certainly had no idea you would be so STUBBORN!
I realize that it’s not always easy to get along and work together. But it’s crucial. There are endless responsibilities in seeing that we are all taken care of. I am only one person and despite my very best intentions, I simply can’t do it alone. And it is my job to lead you, to make clear what is expected of you and to see that you meet these expectations.
I know it may be hard to believe, but it is NOT always about what YOU want, it’s about what is best for all of us. I know that you genuinely believe that YOU always know what that is, but again, you’re wrong. Your life, for instance, does not depend on getting that new toy and it is not, in fact, more important to buy that this week than to buy groceries for our family. And no, you do not absolutely NEED that book RIGHT NOW simply because your sister just picked it up while you were nowhere near it. You didn’t care about it before, don’t pretend you do now just because someone else has it.
I do not care who started it or who did it. What’s done is done. What matters now is how we end it or fix it.
We need to understand that we will all make mistakes, yes, even me, but that we need to learn from them and move on, never to repeat them again.
We need to respect each other, and to respectfully disagree.
We need to look out for each other, even when we are frustrated.
We need to love each other, even when we are angry.
We need to be thankful for what we have, and to be willing to make sacrifices for the greater good even when we think we deserve more.
We need to help each other, even when we…just don’t want to.
We are a family, we are in this together. If we can’t work together, we will never accomplish anything around here.
Please.
Thank you.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
lost in translation
The other day one of my facebook friends responded to one of my posts. I don’t remember exactly what my post said but it’s usually something that my kids have done that was amusing, or that others may find amusing because it’s happening to me and not them. I usually find the humor eventually. I write it to vent frustration and then I read it for a laugh.
Her response was “awww, your posts always make me want another baby.” I was very surprised to think that my love for this motherhood thing was still somehow apparent through all of my venting/ranting; that my love for my children is not overshadowed by how crazy they make me at times.
Things are often getting lost in translation in my world. It’s inevitable when you’re communicating with children all day. Logic takes on a whole new meaning in their world. It still exists but on an entirely different level and one that is actually tricky to argue with sometimes.
I once told my mom that I had this “mom” thing all figured out (before I actually had kids, of course). My daughter is only six and I’m already stumped. The other night I attempted a very positive and upbeat lecture on how we both had responsibilities and one of my responsibilities is to teach her to be responsible, to be the best person she can be. It was my attempt to convince both of us (more so myself) that I am not a nag! I’m a mommy.
“You have to learn to do things for yourself so that you don’t always need your mommy to do EVERYTHING for you ALL the time. Wouldn’t it be funny if someone who was a grown up still had their mommy cooking for them and getting them dressed in the morning?”
“MOMMY! That means that you want me to die because you’re NEVER going to cook for me again and you want me to STARVE!”
How did we go from asking her to put her dirty clothes in her hamper to me wanting her to die? And how does one respond to this logic?
I find myself being equally as unreasonable sometimes;
“Madeline could you please pick up these books and put them back on the shelf.”
“No.”
“DON’T MISTAKE MY ASKING YOU TO DO SO AS A QUESTION! I’M NOT ASKING YOU, I’M TELLING YOU!”
I also vowed (pre-motherhood again, of course), that I would NEVER say “because I said so” to my kids. I always found it half-ass and infuriating when my mother “said so”. I have only said it once and Darren called me on it immediately (I forgot that I vowed it in front of him once). But it is ALWAYS on the tip of my tongue. And to be honest, I now understand its validity. Sometimes, it is a perfectly acceptable response to the 3 millionth “WHYYYYYY MOMMMY” of the day. I’m mean, by the end of the day of a stay at home mom, the mind and body just do not have the explanation and energy left to hold a conversation with anyone under the age of 30, never mind trying to reason with a two year old.
And it’s not like they don’t pull it on me;
“Leo, why do you NEED to put your jammies back on for nap time?”
“BECAUSE I DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
Yes, they are evil little geniuses whose mission it sometimes appears, is to test my patience, something I had always prided myself on (before I had kids, of course). And I love them dearly and with all my heart, obviously.
Her response was “awww, your posts always make me want another baby.” I was very surprised to think that my love for this motherhood thing was still somehow apparent through all of my venting/ranting; that my love for my children is not overshadowed by how crazy they make me at times.
Things are often getting lost in translation in my world. It’s inevitable when you’re communicating with children all day. Logic takes on a whole new meaning in their world. It still exists but on an entirely different level and one that is actually tricky to argue with sometimes.
I once told my mom that I had this “mom” thing all figured out (before I actually had kids, of course). My daughter is only six and I’m already stumped. The other night I attempted a very positive and upbeat lecture on how we both had responsibilities and one of my responsibilities is to teach her to be responsible, to be the best person she can be. It was my attempt to convince both of us (more so myself) that I am not a nag! I’m a mommy.
“You have to learn to do things for yourself so that you don’t always need your mommy to do EVERYTHING for you ALL the time. Wouldn’t it be funny if someone who was a grown up still had their mommy cooking for them and getting them dressed in the morning?”
“MOMMY! That means that you want me to die because you’re NEVER going to cook for me again and you want me to STARVE!”
How did we go from asking her to put her dirty clothes in her hamper to me wanting her to die? And how does one respond to this logic?
I find myself being equally as unreasonable sometimes;
“Madeline could you please pick up these books and put them back on the shelf.”
“No.”
“DON’T MISTAKE MY ASKING YOU TO DO SO AS A QUESTION! I’M NOT ASKING YOU, I’M TELLING YOU!”
I also vowed (pre-motherhood again, of course), that I would NEVER say “because I said so” to my kids. I always found it half-ass and infuriating when my mother “said so”. I have only said it once and Darren called me on it immediately (I forgot that I vowed it in front of him once). But it is ALWAYS on the tip of my tongue. And to be honest, I now understand its validity. Sometimes, it is a perfectly acceptable response to the 3 millionth “WHYYYYYY MOMMMY” of the day. I’m mean, by the end of the day of a stay at home mom, the mind and body just do not have the explanation and energy left to hold a conversation with anyone under the age of 30, never mind trying to reason with a two year old.
And it’s not like they don’t pull it on me;
“Leo, why do you NEED to put your jammies back on for nap time?”
“BECAUSE I DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
Yes, they are evil little geniuses whose mission it sometimes appears, is to test my patience, something I had always prided myself on (before I had kids, of course). And I love them dearly and with all my heart, obviously.
Friday, January 29, 2010
My Fairy Helpers
We have fairies living amongst us in our house. They play with Madeline. They leave her little notes and trinkets. They play hide and seek with a special magic stone that we have been finding in the oddest places over the last three years (we haven’t seen it in a while though because the fairies have a short term memory issue and cannot remember their last clever hiding spot). They protect her (with the help of the family dog) from ghosts, goblins and strangers at night when she is in bed, and on occasion, they bring little reminders of Grandma down from heaven.
And sometimes, they work for me. Like the “Tidy fairies” who pick up toys that sloppy little kids leave lying around.
“Don’t worry honey, I’m sure they will bring your DS back when they think you are ready to be more responsible with it.”
The other day, my brother took his kids and my two oldest to the store and told them they could each pick out one thing. Madeline picked a bag of those nasty little conversation hearts (lumps of sugar) that you give to your friends of Valentine’s Day. It was a big bag filled with twenty or so little individual bags. On the front of the big bag were the words “classroom size”. This, however was not enough to convince her that the bag is intended to be shared with her classmate for her Valentine’s day party. She genuinely intended toeat the whole bag all by herself;
“I DO NOT have to share these if I don’t want to! And when I get home I’m going to hide them in my ‘Madeline hides stuff’ spot.”
The next morning while I was doing laundry I found the “Madeline hides stuff spot” behind her hamper.
Very shortly after she got home from school she ran into her room to get her stash, and quickly came stomping back out;
“MOMMY! Where is my candy?”
“What candy?”
“The candy I hid in my “Madeline hides stuff spot”!
“Uh-oh. I bet I know what happened. I bet the “greedy fairies” came and snatched it because you said you wouldn’t share.”
CUE THE MELTDOWN
“I WANT MY CANDYYYYYYYYYYYYYY! I HATE FAIRIES! I DON’T EVER WANT TO PLAY WITH FAIRIES AGAIN AND I DON’T WANT THEM IN MY ROOM ANYMORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
I’m a little taken aback at her over-reaction. For a moment I reconsider as I really don’t want her to hate fairies. But there’s no going back;
“I’m sure they would bring them back if you could convince them that you have decided to share them with your friends, and maybe even your brother.”
“NEVEEEEEEEEER!”
A while later (a pretty long while as she really had to think long and hard about it), she came back and told me that she told the fairies she was ready to share and was now just waiting for them to bring back her candy, which they did.
You know what they say about raising kids, it takes a village…of fairies.
And sometimes, they work for me. Like the “Tidy fairies” who pick up toys that sloppy little kids leave lying around.
“Don’t worry honey, I’m sure they will bring your DS back when they think you are ready to be more responsible with it.”
The other day, my brother took his kids and my two oldest to the store and told them they could each pick out one thing. Madeline picked a bag of those nasty little conversation hearts (lumps of sugar) that you give to your friends of Valentine’s Day. It was a big bag filled with twenty or so little individual bags. On the front of the big bag were the words “classroom size”. This, however was not enough to convince her that the bag is intended to be shared with her classmate for her Valentine’s day party. She genuinely intended toeat the whole bag all by herself;
“I DO NOT have to share these if I don’t want to! And when I get home I’m going to hide them in my ‘Madeline hides stuff’ spot.”
The next morning while I was doing laundry I found the “Madeline hides stuff spot” behind her hamper.
Very shortly after she got home from school she ran into her room to get her stash, and quickly came stomping back out;
“MOMMY! Where is my candy?”
“What candy?”
“The candy I hid in my “Madeline hides stuff spot”!
“Uh-oh. I bet I know what happened. I bet the “greedy fairies” came and snatched it because you said you wouldn’t share.”
CUE THE MELTDOWN
“I WANT MY CANDYYYYYYYYYYYYYY! I HATE FAIRIES! I DON’T EVER WANT TO PLAY WITH FAIRIES AGAIN AND I DON’T WANT THEM IN MY ROOM ANYMORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
I’m a little taken aback at her over-reaction. For a moment I reconsider as I really don’t want her to hate fairies. But there’s no going back;
“I’m sure they would bring them back if you could convince them that you have decided to share them with your friends, and maybe even your brother.”
“NEVEEEEEEEEER!”
A while later (a pretty long while as she really had to think long and hard about it), she came back and told me that she told the fairies she was ready to share and was now just waiting for them to bring back her candy, which they did.
You know what they say about raising kids, it takes a village…of fairies.
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