I lost it tonight. Again. Time number...oh shit, I've lost count anyway. Why, you ask? Because apparently, I'm incapable of handling the smallest bumps in motherhood. Tonight's bump was Elizabeth announcing at 8:30 (that's bedtime) that she had to poop and taking until 9:00 to NOT poop. And I lost my shit. What is wrong with me? I joke about being crazy, I joke about being imbalanced, I joke that motherhood is driving me to padded walls...maybe it's not a joke. Maybe I'm just not equipped. How on earth am I going to raise calm, reasonable, sane, tenacious, productive, assertive kids when mom is a screaming, flying off the handle, crying easily, prone to depression, fighting the urge to drink, crazy person?
Here's the thing. I have it good. Really, really good. I'm married to my best friend, I live in a beautiful home in a gorgeous city and have two very healthy children. We have the money for me to stay home, we have terrific supportive friends, and I truly have nothing to complain about.
Have there been bumps in the road? Yes. But I look around and see people who have climbed mountains. MOUNTAINS. Not those inspirational stories in the media... I know real people who I can see and touch. Yes, my parents were divorced... it was before I can remember, they were always not just civil to each other but actually DEFENDED each other and I got two kick-ass step parents out of the deal. I have three friends who lived through horribly abusive parents and thrived, are incredibly successful and they're great parents. Yes, I'm prone to depression, have struggled with panic attacks and had to once sign a form that said I agree to be committed if I try to harm myself again. I know someone who has struggled with with bi-polar disorder, tried suicide, lost her mom and doesn't fold the way I do when my son wakes up whining. Yes, I was bullied horribly as a kid, but I know someone who turned that same experience into a successful writing career. Yes, I was abused by a boyfriend in high school, but I know someone who has survived rape and has her shit together more than I do. Yes, stay at home motherhood is rough (and I will slap the next person who asks me what it's like not to "work" anymore), but I have friends and family with special needs kids and they are the masters of thinking positive.
So what's my deal? Why is it my daughter's inability to stay in her seat at lunch LITERALLY makes my chest hurt? Why is it when we're running late to school I start swearing like a long shoreman from San Pedro? (shoutout to my home town) Why is it I start of each day trying to "start new" with some yoga or running or a positive attitude and within 5 minutes of waking them up, my kids make me come undone? Every single day, I come undone.
Do I go back to therapy? Find medication? Start running miles and miles and miles? Seriously, what the hell? Why can I not handle this life? I wrote once, when my Opa died, that I write when I'm lost, when I don't know what else to do. So here I am... writing again. Maybe the answers are in between the lines.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Monday, March 26, 2012
Mini-Me and the Super Villain
So Mike and I were laughing about our kiddos tonight (sometimes that's all the "alone" time you get - sharing together like a couple of 12-steppers trying to survive) and I said something about wondering if the kids were asleep. When he pointed out they must be because the monitor was silent and our kids are only quiet when asleep, I replied innocently, "what? Mini-Me and the Super Villain?". Another round of uproarious laughter, but later I thought about it... which is which? The answer is - both. Depending on the day, the hour, the parent currently in charge... they have each owned each nick name. They're making us crazy I tell you. Building our insane asylum one devious act at a time. I swear that's why they're sleeping together these days, they're plotting their take over.
Bait and Switch: The method most employed by our "innocent" little kids, this is the method wherein THEY are the miscreants, but WE take the blame. It's genius really. I believe this is the one turning my road to the funny farm into a steep, downhill slide rather than a gradual winding road. I realized it tonight as Mike and I both talked about moments this week where we (in the words of a fellow-parent) "lost our shit." You know - yelled, turned red, frothed at the mouth until noticing our children were wearing expressions of utter fear and confusion. We laughed and said that we'll just label those moments as "future therapy sessions" and make sure to apologize to our kids. For example... Elizabeth (who in this case is my mini-me) eating. Eating with her is torture now. TORTURE. She's a space cadet. (My mother is enjoying this right now). It takes her, like, 5 hours to complete a meal because she's staring off, singing, jumping from thought to thought fast enough to make a schizophrenic whistle in admiration and decorating her chair and the surrounding floor with enough food to feed a family of 5. IT'S KILLING ME. I could tie her to the table and she would still manage to NOT eat over her plate (shut up Ma). I say at least 10 times per meal, "USE YOUR FORK OR SPOON! NO HANDS!" and at least 20 times "TWO HANDS ON YOUR CUP!". And then, I lose it. I take her plate away... yelling, swearing, inching closer to that fatal heart-attack and she begins crying. She's saying sorry and bawling and I feel bad. So I apologize. I APOLOGIZE. What? I have been training this girl on table manners since she was 15 months old. SHE'S THREE!!! But there it is. Parenting fail, future therapy bill, I'm sorry Elizabeth. And, being mini-me, she decides to make me feel even more insane by instantly drying her tears, looking at me like she can't believe I'm hanging on to this moment and uttering some total non sequitur like "smell my feet, they're stinky."
Divide and Conquer: A new and rather effective tactic, our children have now figured out how to use their 2.75 year age difference to their advantage. They often ask for "boy time" and "girl time" since Elizabeth has yet to attain the fine-motor skill to play video games and William now realizes that playing with dolls is "girl stuff." Ever seeking to be the best parents, Mike and I divvy up the monsters so they can each have some time alone with us.
But I see now... THIS IS WHAT THEY WANT. This gives William (Mike's Mini-Me in this case) the chance to "buddy up" with Dad, lull him into a false sense of security and then ask him something about which Mommy has already said, "no." You see, they're counting on us being so burned out by the end of the day that we won't have the energy to compare stories. They're thinking (often correctly) that we'll be floppy, drooling messes sitting on the couch laughing to The Daily Show or defusing our anger by imagining that we're Raylan Givens on Justified. Tonight, however, Mike and I made time for each other and uncovered what devious little gremlins we've produced. Mike was telling me about how William actually had the gall to say to Mike, "You're my favorite" because he was trying to A) get more video game time and B) get Mike to say yes to watching a movie during dinner when I had already said no.
Meanwhile, Super Villain aka Dizzy aka Elizabeth is upstairs with me playing Strawberry Shortcake and working on me to get more playtime and/or a later bed time. She's plying me with lots of hugs and "I love you too's". And I realize, that little Super Villain, isn't being loving when she says it. It's a ploy with her. She says it either A) to distract me or B) as her way of saying, "now mommy, calm down. you're about to lose your shit again". I'm not kidding. For as she sees me preparing to head downstairs to make dinner, she tackles me and says "I love you too". I say, "Elizabeth, let's grab your dolls and play downstairs while I cook". She's suddenly deaf and continues to play as though I had never spoken. Two more times and I lose it... "E-LIZ-A-BETH!" I shout, "Take your dolls downstairs so I can start dinner!!!!" She puts her hand on my arm, looks me in the eye and says "I love you too". I play the trump card, say goodbye over my shoulder and begin heading downstairs. 'WAAAAIT!!" she panics and begins following me. "I've won" I think. But at the bottom of the stairs she mutters, "I'll go in the car with you." Huh? I turn to her, "Elizabeth, I'm not going anywhere, I'm making dinner". She smiles innocently, "I thought we were grabbing dinner and watching a movie".
HOLY CRAP! They're in it together! Because THEN, Super Villain walks over to Daddy and starts cute-ing it up with I love you too's and hugs, etc. and after their video game, William aka Mike's Mini-Me puts on his best charm act and begins with the "ooohhh what is that? dinner smells good. can I help set the table?" I think he's making up for being a turd earlier and tell him he can put out the napkins and forks. He's doing it and giving me hugs in the meantime and just as I'm about to congratulate myself on my sweet son, he says it - "soooo, I was talking to Dad about watching a movie during dinner..."
AAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Bait and Switch: The method most employed by our "innocent" little kids, this is the method wherein THEY are the miscreants, but WE take the blame. It's genius really. I believe this is the one turning my road to the funny farm into a steep, downhill slide rather than a gradual winding road. I realized it tonight as Mike and I both talked about moments this week where we (in the words of a fellow-parent) "lost our shit." You know - yelled, turned red, frothed at the mouth until noticing our children were wearing expressions of utter fear and confusion. We laughed and said that we'll just label those moments as "future therapy sessions" and make sure to apologize to our kids. For example... Elizabeth (who in this case is my mini-me) eating. Eating with her is torture now. TORTURE. She's a space cadet. (My mother is enjoying this right now). It takes her, like, 5 hours to complete a meal because she's staring off, singing, jumping from thought to thought fast enough to make a schizophrenic whistle in admiration and decorating her chair and the surrounding floor with enough food to feed a family of 5. IT'S KILLING ME. I could tie her to the table and she would still manage to NOT eat over her plate (shut up Ma). I say at least 10 times per meal, "USE YOUR FORK OR SPOON! NO HANDS!" and at least 20 times "TWO HANDS ON YOUR CUP!". And then, I lose it. I take her plate away... yelling, swearing, inching closer to that fatal heart-attack and she begins crying. She's saying sorry and bawling and I feel bad. So I apologize. I APOLOGIZE. What? I have been training this girl on table manners since she was 15 months old. SHE'S THREE!!! But there it is. Parenting fail, future therapy bill, I'm sorry Elizabeth. And, being mini-me, she decides to make me feel even more insane by instantly drying her tears, looking at me like she can't believe I'm hanging on to this moment and uttering some total non sequitur like "smell my feet, they're stinky."
Divide and Conquer: A new and rather effective tactic, our children have now figured out how to use their 2.75 year age difference to their advantage. They often ask for "boy time" and "girl time" since Elizabeth has yet to attain the fine-motor skill to play video games and William now realizes that playing with dolls is "girl stuff." Ever seeking to be the best parents, Mike and I divvy up the monsters so they can each have some time alone with us.
But I see now... THIS IS WHAT THEY WANT. This gives William (Mike's Mini-Me in this case) the chance to "buddy up" with Dad, lull him into a false sense of security and then ask him something about which Mommy has already said, "no." You see, they're counting on us being so burned out by the end of the day that we won't have the energy to compare stories. They're thinking (often correctly) that we'll be floppy, drooling messes sitting on the couch laughing to The Daily Show or defusing our anger by imagining that we're Raylan Givens on Justified. Tonight, however, Mike and I made time for each other and uncovered what devious little gremlins we've produced. Mike was telling me about how William actually had the gall to say to Mike, "You're my favorite" because he was trying to A) get more video game time and B) get Mike to say yes to watching a movie during dinner when I had already said no.
Meanwhile, Super Villain aka Dizzy aka Elizabeth is upstairs with me playing Strawberry Shortcake and working on me to get more playtime and/or a later bed time. She's plying me with lots of hugs and "I love you too's". And I realize, that little Super Villain, isn't being loving when she says it. It's a ploy with her. She says it either A) to distract me or B) as her way of saying, "now mommy, calm down. you're about to lose your shit again". I'm not kidding. For as she sees me preparing to head downstairs to make dinner, she tackles me and says "I love you too". I say, "Elizabeth, let's grab your dolls and play downstairs while I cook". She's suddenly deaf and continues to play as though I had never spoken. Two more times and I lose it... "E-LIZ-A-BETH!" I shout, "Take your dolls downstairs so I can start dinner!!!!" She puts her hand on my arm, looks me in the eye and says "I love you too". I play the trump card, say goodbye over my shoulder and begin heading downstairs. 'WAAAAIT!!" she panics and begins following me. "I've won" I think. But at the bottom of the stairs she mutters, "I'll go in the car with you." Huh? I turn to her, "Elizabeth, I'm not going anywhere, I'm making dinner". She smiles innocently, "I thought we were grabbing dinner and watching a movie".
HOLY CRAP! They're in it together! Because THEN, Super Villain walks over to Daddy and starts cute-ing it up with I love you too's and hugs, etc. and after their video game, William aka Mike's Mini-Me puts on his best charm act and begins with the "ooohhh what is that? dinner smells good. can I help set the table?" I think he's making up for being a turd earlier and tell him he can put out the napkins and forks. He's doing it and giving me hugs in the meantime and just as I'm about to congratulate myself on my sweet son, he says it - "soooo, I was talking to Dad about watching a movie during dinner..."
AAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Monday, February 6, 2012
Letter of the law... and when they're ready to PRACTICE Law
Folks, watch your words when you have children. Now, I'm not talking about swearing here... I'm talking about what you say to your children because, I'm warning you now, they are literal creatures. First, because that's all their little minds can grasp and then... oh boy and then, because they have figured out how to obey the letter of the law while ignoring the spirit of it. It's at this point that you realize they are working on outwitting you... and starting to practice law themselves.
Exhibit A: Two Hands
When you say this to a young toddler they will grasp their cup with two hands just as you are showing them and attempt to drink. Now... they may spill a little, but it's because they are learning. I no longer have obedient toddlers. I have a thinking scheming pre-schooler and a corresponding kindergartner. So NOW when I will look over to Dizzy and see her 10 little fingertips balancing the UNDER side of the cup and the cup wobbling precariously as it is raised to her mouth and say "TWO HANDS!" I am greeted with a look of obvious disdain and the reply "I AM using two hands." Jeez, really? Do I really have to say, "Two hands completely cupped on either side of your cup with palms and fingers touching?" I mean, can we not obey the spirit of the law rather than the letter?
Even better, when I say "Two hands!" to William and follow it up with "Think about what you are teaching your sister!" because I see him casually using one hand and the milk sploshing out before he's raised it an inch off the table, he replies, "I AM thinking about it. I'm thinking about how to teach her to drink with one hand!" Kill me now.
Exhibit B: Butts and Knees
This is a phrase we utter in our house whenever the children momentarily lose their mental faculties and attempt to stand on furniture that is designed for sitting. When they were darling, willing-to-please toddlers, this phrase would get them to automatically drop to theirs knees or bottoms and sit as instructed on a chair, couch, etc. I should have predicted this, too, would end. The other day Elizabeth wanted to play at the table with her little Disney castle and dolls the way she sees her big brother doing with his Star Wars guys. So I put together THREE (count 'em three) dining chairs in an effort to make a "bench" long enough for her to play on safely as she is not my most graceful child. Like her mother before her, she's often so engrossed in her little inner world that she falls, trips, bangs into things, etc. I set up her bench and proceed to cook. Not even 10 minutes into playing I look up juuuuuust in time to see her go end-over-end onto the floor. "Elizabeth!" I shout, "did you forget about butts & knees?" Dazed and looking up at me from the floor she says, "Uhhhhh no. My knee WAS on the chair." I think about it for a sec... "just ONE knee Elizabeth?" "Well, yeah," she replies, "I was reaching for my doll who fell!" I see that I must now explain that one knee will not prevent a fall when 90% of your body weight is dangling into open space. Sigh.
Exhibit C: Wipe a little, flush a little
So William has been learning to tidy himself after going #2 because we figure a school-age child should be able to manage all elements of personal bodily functions while away from home. William, being the fastidious little one that he is, immediately began clogging toilets as soon as we started him on this venture. So one day I tell him (again, not thinking), "okay William, do NOT use so much paper. You need to wipe a little, flush a little." and then in my usual yada-yada voice I end with "you know... wipe.flush.wipe.flush. and so on". I'm feeling very proud that this is working when one day I'm cooking and realize he's been in that damn bathroom for over a 1/2 hour and I think I might be hearing my 9th flush. So I peek in to see what horrible ailment has accosted my son's bowels and say, "are you okay?". And then, I see it. He is LITERALLY taking perhaps two squares of paper, wiping and then flushing, AFTER EVERY SINGLE WIPE. Now, while I'm happy the clog problem is solved, I don't want to have to explain to the community at large that the next Pacific Northwest water shortage is tied to my son's bowel habits. "William!" I stop him, "what are you doing?" He looks totally shocked. "You said - wipe, flush, wipe, flush!" Oh boy. "Hon, I said, wipe a little, flush a little, wipe, flush, wipe flush, etc. I meant that you should wipe a couple or few times and then flush to make sure you don't clog the toilet and then repeat that if you need to." He still looks confused. "Oh, okay. Well why didn't you say THAT then!?" Exactly.
Now, I know what you're thinking folks... Mariska, this is a teaching moment. Time to teach them how to obey the spirit of the law OR time to learn how use my obviously superior grasp of the English language to get the results I want. Don't get cocky folks. It won't matter. Because once they begin learning the "letter of the law" trick... their crafty little minds jump to even more complex reasoning. Their practicing law like a seasoned defense attorney and finding ways to use YOUR ideas to THEIR benefit.
For example... Dizzy and the potty. I have accepted that she will poop on the potty in her own time. This does not, however, prevent me from offering incentives or performing little "verbal trick" attempts to get her to at least try to overcome her fear and yet FEEL that it is HER choice not mine. It worked on her most recent success (3 days straight of #2 on the potty) when I made the potty "talk" and say "I want your poops!" She laughed hysterically and tried. For 3 days. So today I think it may have worked when she walks into the bathroom sits on the potty and says, "the potty wants my poops." Victory, I think. I've done it. She pees and asks for a diaper. I look at her surprised, but not refusing the diaper and innocently reply, "Oh! I thought the potty wanted your poops today!" She looks at me and the potty like we have a serious case of lack-of-gratitude, hands me the diaper and says, "Well! The potty can have my PEES". Checkmate.
William, too, has shown this advanced reasoning, when it comes to bedtime. He HATES sleeping alone. He's having lots of nightmares and monster fears, etc. so he's always asking if one of us will sleep with him, or he'll con Dizzy into it. However, he finally realized that sometimes Dizzy is not the best choice because this girl practices some sort of mixed martial arts in her sleep. If you sleep anywhere near her, be prepared for a combination of arms, hands, elbows, knees and feet to strike you throughout the night. So, the other night, he asks me if I'll lie down with him until he falls asleep. "No," I tell him, "I've got too much to do downstairs. I can come up later, but I'm sure you'll be asleep by then." A little voice floats out of Elizabeth's room, "I'll sleep with you Bubba!" I see him contemplating it. Sleep alone. Brave Elizabeth's own special brand of night-time self defense. "Mo-om... please." I'm thinking I've given him the perfect logic quandary. "William, you have a choice. Let Dizzy in here with you. Otherwise, fall asleep alone and maybe I'll sleep up here later, but by that time you'll be asleep anyway." He's staring at the space next to him for a long time. "OKAYYYY", he yells to Dizzy, "Diz, you can sleep in here!" I think I've won. I tuck Elizabeth in and then come around his side to tuck him in and as I'm hugging him he whispers, "So here's the plan, let her fall asleep in here and let me fall asleep and then when you're ready to go to bed, carry HER to her own bed and sleep with ME!" He's smiling at his brilliance. I'm thinking he has a future in law.
Exhibit A: Two Hands
When you say this to a young toddler they will grasp their cup with two hands just as you are showing them and attempt to drink. Now... they may spill a little, but it's because they are learning. I no longer have obedient toddlers. I have a thinking scheming pre-schooler and a corresponding kindergartner. So NOW when I will look over to Dizzy and see her 10 little fingertips balancing the UNDER side of the cup and the cup wobbling precariously as it is raised to her mouth and say "TWO HANDS!" I am greeted with a look of obvious disdain and the reply "I AM using two hands." Jeez, really? Do I really have to say, "Two hands completely cupped on either side of your cup with palms and fingers touching?" I mean, can we not obey the spirit of the law rather than the letter?
Even better, when I say "Two hands!" to William and follow it up with "Think about what you are teaching your sister!" because I see him casually using one hand and the milk sploshing out before he's raised it an inch off the table, he replies, "I AM thinking about it. I'm thinking about how to teach her to drink with one hand!" Kill me now.
Exhibit B: Butts and Knees
This is a phrase we utter in our house whenever the children momentarily lose their mental faculties and attempt to stand on furniture that is designed for sitting. When they were darling, willing-to-please toddlers, this phrase would get them to automatically drop to theirs knees or bottoms and sit as instructed on a chair, couch, etc. I should have predicted this, too, would end. The other day Elizabeth wanted to play at the table with her little Disney castle and dolls the way she sees her big brother doing with his Star Wars guys. So I put together THREE (count 'em three) dining chairs in an effort to make a "bench" long enough for her to play on safely as she is not my most graceful child. Like her mother before her, she's often so engrossed in her little inner world that she falls, trips, bangs into things, etc. I set up her bench and proceed to cook. Not even 10 minutes into playing I look up juuuuuust in time to see her go end-over-end onto the floor. "Elizabeth!" I shout, "did you forget about butts & knees?" Dazed and looking up at me from the floor she says, "Uhhhhh no. My knee WAS on the chair." I think about it for a sec... "just ONE knee Elizabeth?" "Well, yeah," she replies, "I was reaching for my doll who fell!" I see that I must now explain that one knee will not prevent a fall when 90% of your body weight is dangling into open space. Sigh.
Exhibit C: Wipe a little, flush a little
So William has been learning to tidy himself after going #2 because we figure a school-age child should be able to manage all elements of personal bodily functions while away from home. William, being the fastidious little one that he is, immediately began clogging toilets as soon as we started him on this venture. So one day I tell him (again, not thinking), "okay William, do NOT use so much paper. You need to wipe a little, flush a little." and then in my usual yada-yada voice I end with "you know... wipe.flush.wipe.flush. and so on". I'm feeling very proud that this is working when one day I'm cooking and realize he's been in that damn bathroom for over a 1/2 hour and I think I might be hearing my 9th flush. So I peek in to see what horrible ailment has accosted my son's bowels and say, "are you okay?". And then, I see it. He is LITERALLY taking perhaps two squares of paper, wiping and then flushing, AFTER EVERY SINGLE WIPE. Now, while I'm happy the clog problem is solved, I don't want to have to explain to the community at large that the next Pacific Northwest water shortage is tied to my son's bowel habits. "William!" I stop him, "what are you doing?" He looks totally shocked. "You said - wipe, flush, wipe, flush!" Oh boy. "Hon, I said, wipe a little, flush a little, wipe, flush, wipe flush, etc. I meant that you should wipe a couple or few times and then flush to make sure you don't clog the toilet and then repeat that if you need to." He still looks confused. "Oh, okay. Well why didn't you say THAT then!?" Exactly.
Now, I know what you're thinking folks... Mariska, this is a teaching moment. Time to teach them how to obey the spirit of the law OR time to learn how use my obviously superior grasp of the English language to get the results I want. Don't get cocky folks. It won't matter. Because once they begin learning the "letter of the law" trick... their crafty little minds jump to even more complex reasoning. Their practicing law like a seasoned defense attorney and finding ways to use YOUR ideas to THEIR benefit.
For example... Dizzy and the potty. I have accepted that she will poop on the potty in her own time. This does not, however, prevent me from offering incentives or performing little "verbal trick" attempts to get her to at least try to overcome her fear and yet FEEL that it is HER choice not mine. It worked on her most recent success (3 days straight of #2 on the potty) when I made the potty "talk" and say "I want your poops!" She laughed hysterically and tried. For 3 days. So today I think it may have worked when she walks into the bathroom sits on the potty and says, "the potty wants my poops." Victory, I think. I've done it. She pees and asks for a diaper. I look at her surprised, but not refusing the diaper and innocently reply, "Oh! I thought the potty wanted your poops today!" She looks at me and the potty like we have a serious case of lack-of-gratitude, hands me the diaper and says, "Well! The potty can have my PEES". Checkmate.
William, too, has shown this advanced reasoning, when it comes to bedtime. He HATES sleeping alone. He's having lots of nightmares and monster fears, etc. so he's always asking if one of us will sleep with him, or he'll con Dizzy into it. However, he finally realized that sometimes Dizzy is not the best choice because this girl practices some sort of mixed martial arts in her sleep. If you sleep anywhere near her, be prepared for a combination of arms, hands, elbows, knees and feet to strike you throughout the night. So, the other night, he asks me if I'll lie down with him until he falls asleep. "No," I tell him, "I've got too much to do downstairs. I can come up later, but I'm sure you'll be asleep by then." A little voice floats out of Elizabeth's room, "I'll sleep with you Bubba!" I see him contemplating it. Sleep alone. Brave Elizabeth's own special brand of night-time self defense. "Mo-om... please." I'm thinking I've given him the perfect logic quandary. "William, you have a choice. Let Dizzy in here with you. Otherwise, fall asleep alone and maybe I'll sleep up here later, but by that time you'll be asleep anyway." He's staring at the space next to him for a long time. "OKAYYYY", he yells to Dizzy, "Diz, you can sleep in here!" I think I've won. I tuck Elizabeth in and then come around his side to tuck him in and as I'm hugging him he whispers, "So here's the plan, let her fall asleep in here and let me fall asleep and then when you're ready to go to bed, carry HER to her own bed and sleep with ME!" He's smiling at his brilliance. I'm thinking he has a future in law.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
That was Then... This is Now
No, I am not referring to the S.E. Hinton novel (cousin Jewels, that's a little shout out to you). Rather, I am talking about just how much life changes when you become a parent.
You see, Mike and I were joking with William the other night that we would be returning him to the baby store as we were dissatisfied with our purchase and Mike said, "we could take Elizabeth back too!" I followed that with, "we could take a vacation," he topped with "we could take a cruise!" and I nearly shouted in temporary delirious excitement "we could go back to IRELAND!!". And suddenly... it hit me. Life is SO different now. Everything has taken on another meaning. The world looks different. Children change EVERYTHING. The thought followed me around today as I giggled to myself about how something like the phrase "all nighter" has changed with age and parenthood. Then I began to make myself a list of all of those changes.
Parents... enjoy.
Phrase: ALL NIGHTER
Then: this is staying up all night to write a paper you waited til the laaaaaast minute to write, partying all night or staying up all night just to see the sun rise.
Now: this is because your colicky baby LITERALLY does not sleep all night, staying up with a child who is vomiting every 15 minutes ALL through the night, or being the kind of insane parent who sews, knits or builds some special project for your kid and seriously underestimating how long it will take to finish
Phrase: INTOXICATED OR DRUNK
Then: This is having consumed too much of a mind or mood alternating substance either legal or illegal in nature.
Now: This is trying to put the milk away in the laundry room, trying to start your car with toy keys, wearing two different shoes all day without realizing it, making up words to the Curious George book you're reading because your vision is blurred from exhaustion, handing your husband a sippy cup and your daughter a pilsner glass, or laughing hysterically when your kid swears not because it's funny, but because you're too tired to do something else. No substance required, the lack of quality sleep does the trick.
Phrase: MULTI-TASKING
Then: This is the phrase you list on your resume because you've juggled a multi-line phone with filing, handled a high pressure job that involves dealing with the public in the worst of circumstances, etc.
Now: This is squatting down and balancing a nursing child in one arm and helping a potty-training toddler with the other hand to sit on the potty, wipe, flush, dress and wash hands. This is fashioning a device out of your nursing bra and stretchy shirt to hold a pump in place so you can pump breast milk, make dinner, hold a baby and do a puzzle with your 3 year old at the same time. This is alternating being Princess Leia and The Fairy Godmother so that you can play with two kids at the same time and keeping one ear on one story line and the other ear on the other story line so you can jump accurately from character to character.
Phrase: A NICE DINNER
Then: One in a dimly lit restaurant that requires fancy dress and costs more than it honestly should.
Now: One wherein there are no time-outs are given, 80% or more of the food makes it into human mouths rather than the dog's, I do not utter the phrases "less talk more eat," "smaller bites," "two hands on your cup," "sit properly in your chair," "chew with your mouth closed," etc more than 10 times, I don't have to explain what "the green thing" is or where food is not-so-subtly pushed around because it doesn't meet the discerning palate of a child barely old enough to wipe their own butt.
Phrase: STAYING HOME SICK
Then: Taken because you are feeling under the weather, drank too much the night before, want to ditch work, got last minute concert tickets out of town, etc. you sleep in, stay on your couch watching movies or go somewhere fun but far enough away you won't get caught.
Now: Forget "sick days", you don't get them any more. Now this is one or more family members huddled together, voluntarily quarantined while some vomit or mucus or fever super-bug renders you all semi-conscious and LUCKY is if a) you have enough toilets that you don't start using buckets, bowls, etc and/or b) the bug has rendered the kids as weak as you are because otherwise sick kids run around like maniacs with bodily fluids flying willy-nilly while you can barely move and you pray that you have enough episodes of Phineas and Ferb on your DVR that you might get some sleep or at least get to stop moving for a while.
Phrase: BEAUTIFUL
Then: The hot guy or girl in your class, the first sunny spring day when you live in a rainy place, the dress you always wanted, a sunset on a date, seeing a shooting star.
Now: Your baby the first time you hold him/her, the sound of your kids laughing together, your kid's first smile (and really, every smile after that), the sound of your baby's cry when he/she is delivered after some complications and you're terrified they won't make it, that picture of your child's tiny, tiny hand in their father's.
Phrase: BREAK
Then: This word follows Winter, Spring or Summer and signifies when you get to party, vacation, go back home or let loose.
Now: 5 minutes alone on the toilet, an uninterrupted shower, 10 minutes in the doctor's office waiting room, when your kick-ass husband takes the kids out for a few hours so you don't go bat-shit insane.
Phrase: LOUD
Then: Your neighbor's party the night before your biggest final, the a-hole's car down the street because he thinks it's cool to drive sans muffler or "trick out" his Toyota Tercel.
Now: Your kids 99.9% of the time. They will speak at heretofore unthinkable decibels even if you're sitting RIGHT next to them. They do not come with volume controls. Just warning you now.
Phrase: MESS
Then: Your apartment after a party, your room because cleanliness comes last after classes, boyfriends, extra-curricular activities, etc. your car because you neglected to dispose of the most recent McDonald's evidence or you're so busy you often carry a change of clothes.
Now: Any room, seat at the table, vehicle or item of clothing that your small child has spent more than 5 minutes in. Be prepared for an array of petrified snacks, spoiling liquids, bodily fluids and mystery substances.
Phrase: LOVE
Then: That jumpy feeling in your stomach when you're falling for someone, sharing your dessert even when it's your favorite, making reservations somewhere special on Valentine's Day, that strange euphoria/oh-shit panic combo you feel when you know you've found "the one."
Now: The literal, PHYSICAL ache you feel during an unwanted separation from your child, attempting to sleep all night in an upright position so your kid can breathe when they're sick, sharing tears with your preschooler because he comes home sad and says, "no one wanted to play with me today," giving up a boys/girls night out because your kid's face when they ask for a special "family night" or a special "mommy or daddy date" is so heartbreakingly precious that you forget you need a break.
Phrase: HEAVEN
Then: Falling asleep on the beach because the sun is so warm, a vacation in a beautiful place, a perfect date, a massage.
Now: That moment before you fall asleep and you hear soft breathing on the monitor and know everyone is safe, sitting with a flashlight in a blanket fort with a kid cuddled under each arm reading a story, teeny arms wrapped around your neck while a little voice says, "I love you mommy" and a little hand in yours while you walk on a gorgeous summer day while a little voice says, "I'm so glad you get to stay home with me now mommy".
Life has indeed changed. I am immune to vomit, poop, spit, mucus and pee. I often scream myself hoarse not because my children are horrible, but I'm so short on sleep I cannot handle even a little bit of misbehavior. I take showers at 10:30 at night or 6:00 in the morning if I want a GUARANTEE it won't be interrupted. Vacations now involve mouse ears instead of tropical locales. I know the theme songs to Phineas & Ferb, Dinosaur Train, Olivia, Caillou, Super Why, My Little Pony and Curious George. I worry incessantly about my kid's health, sanity, happiness and safety.
Am I complaining? Nope. See above definitions of Love and Heaven. Ain't life grand?
You see, Mike and I were joking with William the other night that we would be returning him to the baby store as we were dissatisfied with our purchase and Mike said, "we could take Elizabeth back too!" I followed that with, "we could take a vacation," he topped with "we could take a cruise!" and I nearly shouted in temporary delirious excitement "we could go back to IRELAND!!". And suddenly... it hit me. Life is SO different now. Everything has taken on another meaning. The world looks different. Children change EVERYTHING. The thought followed me around today as I giggled to myself about how something like the phrase "all nighter" has changed with age and parenthood. Then I began to make myself a list of all of those changes.
Parents... enjoy.
Phrase: ALL NIGHTER
Then: this is staying up all night to write a paper you waited til the laaaaaast minute to write, partying all night or staying up all night just to see the sun rise.
Now: this is because your colicky baby LITERALLY does not sleep all night, staying up with a child who is vomiting every 15 minutes ALL through the night, or being the kind of insane parent who sews, knits or builds some special project for your kid and seriously underestimating how long it will take to finish
Phrase: INTOXICATED OR DRUNK
Then: This is having consumed too much of a mind or mood alternating substance either legal or illegal in nature.
Now: This is trying to put the milk away in the laundry room, trying to start your car with toy keys, wearing two different shoes all day without realizing it, making up words to the Curious George book you're reading because your vision is blurred from exhaustion, handing your husband a sippy cup and your daughter a pilsner glass, or laughing hysterically when your kid swears not because it's funny, but because you're too tired to do something else. No substance required, the lack of quality sleep does the trick.
Phrase: MULTI-TASKING
Then: This is the phrase you list on your resume because you've juggled a multi-line phone with filing, handled a high pressure job that involves dealing with the public in the worst of circumstances, etc.
Now: This is squatting down and balancing a nursing child in one arm and helping a potty-training toddler with the other hand to sit on the potty, wipe, flush, dress and wash hands. This is fashioning a device out of your nursing bra and stretchy shirt to hold a pump in place so you can pump breast milk, make dinner, hold a baby and do a puzzle with your 3 year old at the same time. This is alternating being Princess Leia and The Fairy Godmother so that you can play with two kids at the same time and keeping one ear on one story line and the other ear on the other story line so you can jump accurately from character to character.
Phrase: A NICE DINNER
Then: One in a dimly lit restaurant that requires fancy dress and costs more than it honestly should.
Now: One wherein there are no time-outs are given, 80% or more of the food makes it into human mouths rather than the dog's, I do not utter the phrases "less talk more eat," "smaller bites," "two hands on your cup," "sit properly in your chair," "chew with your mouth closed," etc more than 10 times, I don't have to explain what "the green thing" is or where food is not-so-subtly pushed around because it doesn't meet the discerning palate of a child barely old enough to wipe their own butt.
Phrase: STAYING HOME SICK
Then: Taken because you are feeling under the weather, drank too much the night before, want to ditch work, got last minute concert tickets out of town, etc. you sleep in, stay on your couch watching movies or go somewhere fun but far enough away you won't get caught.
Now: Forget "sick days", you don't get them any more. Now this is one or more family members huddled together, voluntarily quarantined while some vomit or mucus or fever super-bug renders you all semi-conscious and LUCKY is if a) you have enough toilets that you don't start using buckets, bowls, etc and/or b) the bug has rendered the kids as weak as you are because otherwise sick kids run around like maniacs with bodily fluids flying willy-nilly while you can barely move and you pray that you have enough episodes of Phineas and Ferb on your DVR that you might get some sleep or at least get to stop moving for a while.
Phrase: BEAUTIFUL
Then: The hot guy or girl in your class, the first sunny spring day when you live in a rainy place, the dress you always wanted, a sunset on a date, seeing a shooting star.
Now: Your baby the first time you hold him/her, the sound of your kids laughing together, your kid's first smile (and really, every smile after that), the sound of your baby's cry when he/she is delivered after some complications and you're terrified they won't make it, that picture of your child's tiny, tiny hand in their father's.
Phrase: BREAK
Then: This word follows Winter, Spring or Summer and signifies when you get to party, vacation, go back home or let loose.
Now: 5 minutes alone on the toilet, an uninterrupted shower, 10 minutes in the doctor's office waiting room, when your kick-ass husband takes the kids out for a few hours so you don't go bat-shit insane.
Phrase: LOUD
Then: Your neighbor's party the night before your biggest final, the a-hole's car down the street because he thinks it's cool to drive sans muffler or "trick out" his Toyota Tercel.
Now: Your kids 99.9% of the time. They will speak at heretofore unthinkable decibels even if you're sitting RIGHT next to them. They do not come with volume controls. Just warning you now.
Phrase: MESS
Then: Your apartment after a party, your room because cleanliness comes last after classes, boyfriends, extra-curricular activities, etc. your car because you neglected to dispose of the most recent McDonald's evidence or you're so busy you often carry a change of clothes.
Now: Any room, seat at the table, vehicle or item of clothing that your small child has spent more than 5 minutes in. Be prepared for an array of petrified snacks, spoiling liquids, bodily fluids and mystery substances.
Phrase: LOVE
Then: That jumpy feeling in your stomach when you're falling for someone, sharing your dessert even when it's your favorite, making reservations somewhere special on Valentine's Day, that strange euphoria/oh-shit panic combo you feel when you know you've found "the one."
Now: The literal, PHYSICAL ache you feel during an unwanted separation from your child, attempting to sleep all night in an upright position so your kid can breathe when they're sick, sharing tears with your preschooler because he comes home sad and says, "no one wanted to play with me today," giving up a boys/girls night out because your kid's face when they ask for a special "family night" or a special "mommy or daddy date" is so heartbreakingly precious that you forget you need a break.
Phrase: HEAVEN
Then: Falling asleep on the beach because the sun is so warm, a vacation in a beautiful place, a perfect date, a massage.
Now: That moment before you fall asleep and you hear soft breathing on the monitor and know everyone is safe, sitting with a flashlight in a blanket fort with a kid cuddled under each arm reading a story, teeny arms wrapped around your neck while a little voice says, "I love you mommy" and a little hand in yours while you walk on a gorgeous summer day while a little voice says, "I'm so glad you get to stay home with me now mommy".
Life has indeed changed. I am immune to vomit, poop, spit, mucus and pee. I often scream myself hoarse not because my children are horrible, but I'm so short on sleep I cannot handle even a little bit of misbehavior. I take showers at 10:30 at night or 6:00 in the morning if I want a GUARANTEE it won't be interrupted. Vacations now involve mouse ears instead of tropical locales. I know the theme songs to Phineas & Ferb, Dinosaur Train, Olivia, Caillou, Super Why, My Little Pony and Curious George. I worry incessantly about my kid's health, sanity, happiness and safety.
Am I complaining? Nope. See above definitions of Love and Heaven. Ain't life grand?
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Penalty... excessive celebration
This title is in honor of my son, who loves football to a degree that still baffles me. But then, a lot baffles me these days. I'm a mom. My brain is fried.
What is excessive celebration? You know... the ridiculous victory dance, spiking the ball, the stupid gyrating that fame-hungry or over-testosterone-pumped players do when a camera is on them. OR it's what you stupidly do as a parent before God takes you down a peg. Football players get penalized some yardage... parents lose sanity points.
New parents, let me give you a tip. Don't congratulate yourself. EVER. Don't think you've mastered ANYTHING. Because children are there to make sure you realize that you know NOTHING. You are guessing, stumbling in the dark, conducting a life-long sociological study, screwing up, falling down, and basically racking up future therapy bills. Yours or theirs. Take your pick.
Now, you can see this as a negative. Or you can look at it as an opportunity to learn, laugh at yourself, gain a whole new appreciation for your parents or to have fabulous fodder for a blog. Quite honestly, I often veer toward the negative and then try to steer the crazy-Mariska ship in a more fruitful direction. But lately it's been hard. Really hard. So hard I actually forgot about being thankful that I was home with my kids and wanted to return to work. I realized I longed for work that involved schedules, adult conversation, BREAKS, sick days, vacations and the ability to GET AWAY, clock out and leave for the day. The kind of work where home was a refuge and holidays were a change of pace. Motherhood is NOT that job. I had been able, until recently, to accept that that was the sacrifice I made becoming a mom rather than holding an office job.
You see, I made the mistake of starting my victory dance a few months ago. I had the kids teachers, strangers in restaurants, parents in play groups, etc. complimented. I was the mom people called "together" or "organized". No longer. The whistle blew and I've been penalized for excessive celebration. God took me down a peg and now this little control freak is having to learn how to roll with punches and frankly, I'm getting tired of the bruises.
So why am I losing it? I can't tell you folks. I don't know. I've just turned a new corner and this little Alice is ready to leave this part of Wonderland. William has become my misdirected energy/bad attitude/smart mouth/disrespectful son and Elizabeth is my mood-swing/increasing tantrums/incredibly clingy/I'm-starting-to-wonder-if-she-has-some-kind-of-sensory-issue daughter. I know kids have their good and bad days and I was handling it. But this past couple weeks, EVERY DAY one of them gave me trouble. They were kind enough to alternate days so it wasn't both at the same time, but that was little comfort. I honestly began to think, "Okay, I suck at this job. I will put get them back in with a caregiver who can help them better than I can." I felt defeated, deflated and tired. Why? Here's a snapshot:
William as of late:
Me - William get up it's a school Day.
William - I'm too tired.
Me - Too bad, time to get up.
William - NOOOOO! It's too cold!
Me - Put some clothes on and you'll be warm. No one asked you to sleep in your undies.
William - But my LEGS HURT.
Me - Get up and dressed and I'll give you some Tylenol. Now move.
William - BUT I'M STARVING!!!
Me- So get up and you can eat. Now, stop shouting, quit complaining about being tired when you choose to stay awake during nap time, put some clothes on and come downstairs when you can be polite to me. I'm getting your sister ready and heading downstairs.
William (hysterical) - DON'T GO DOWNSTAIRS WITHOUT ME, I'M SCARED!!!
Me - So. Calm. Down. Get. Dressed. LISTEN and come with me. I'm done with the attitude. Get moving. NOW.
William - but I'm too TIRED!
I can't take it anymore and start walking downstairs. William's yelling turns to a fever-pitched-cry-yell combo
"NOOOOOOOO! MO-OM! COME BACK! IT'S NOT FAIR. I'M NOT DONE YET! I'M NOT EVEN DRESSED!!"
This little event will repeat itself with the conversation variants revolving around his goofing off rather than brushing his teeth and putting on socks and shoes for school, cleaning up toys and using the potty before naps, cleaning up toys and feeding the dog before dinner and heading up stairs for bath and stories before bed. I'm thinking of buying a whistle at this point and teaching him some basic whistle commands like in drill team because my voice just can't take much more.
Now a recent snapshot of miss Elizabeth:
She wakes in the morning totally happy and first words out of her mouth, "we have to take Bubba to school today?"
Me - yup. (I begin carrying her toward the bathroom and she goes jelly-like in my arms and her voice is instantly in the glass-shattering range)
Elizabeth - NOOOOOO! I don't have to go potty! Nooooooo! Noooooo! (the cries are only stopped by the "singing" of her potty because she has IN FACT gone pee).
Me - Good job, let me get your undies.
Elizabeth - I don't have to POOOOOOP! I poop in a diaper.
Me - I said nothing about poop. I'm getting your undies and clothes, calm down.
Elizabeth - I don't want clothes. Can I be a princess?
Me - No sweety, it's FREEZING outside. When we get back from taking Bubba, you can be in a costume.
Elizabeth - I want to be NAY-KEEEEEE (naked). She's now running around sans pants, not wiped, dripping pee all over my bathroom.
Me - Elizabeth SIT DOWN. I tell you every day. Sit down on the potty and wait for mommy.
She explodes into a puddle of tears, drool, snot and is lying face down on the floor. I wipe her, wrestle undies and clothes onto her and she suddenly bear hugs me getting her tear/snot/spit combo all over my hair, cheek and shirt.
Elizabeth - you happy mommy? Don't be mad.
Me - Elizabeth, I just need you to focus and listen to...
I stop. She can't even hear me. She's distracted by something. This child who cannot BEAR the sound of the hairdryer, car wash, blender, food processor or sometimes just the sound of her brother talking or singing is suddenly deaf. She honestly can't hear a word I say. I clap really loudly and she snaps back to me, jumping out of her skin.
Me- ELIZABETH. Focus. Look in my eyes. Are you listening to me?
It's too late. She's entered another dimension. She can't hear me anymore. I tell her to wash her hands and have to physically pull her back into the bathroom because she has not heard me and she collapses from my touch screaming "OW!!!"
This is my whole day with her. She's either speaking in a volume so incredibly loud I need earplugs or plugging her own ears and shouting "stop it! that hurts my ears!!!" She's playing with other kids one minute and then commanding them to leave her alone the next. She turns on a dime. And eating with her now is torture. She no longer has her vomiting issue, but she still has issues putting too much in her mouth and then being totally confused by her gag reaction. She still spits out certain textures. She still has trouble handling her utensils. She still has trouble realizing when she's full. And potty training? Forget it. Pee is fine, but poop is another story. She honestly cannot figure out her bowels in a seated position. She can do it standing with a diaper on. But seated? Nope. She makes noises and is confused as to why it's not working. She cannot figure out how to use her body to do it. I'm at the point where I'm just waiting. Is it a control issue? Is it her constant trouble with constipation? Or is it something bigger along with the noises and food that I'll have to address with a doctor? I don't know. I'm too tired to figure it out right now.
And William? Is it just being 5 1/2 that makes him run around like a crazy person, disrespect Mike and I, be in constant look-at-me mode and fight incessantly during play dates? Or do I need to do something different? I don't know.
I'm so tired right now the answers elude me. I'm treading water, hoping to get the strength to swim again soon. After all, it could be worse. I could have a child with major special needs. I could have been barren. I could be struggling through a horrible marriage on top of all this. But I was able to conceive. I don't think my kids have special needs. I'm in a happy marriage. I have to remember that. As my friend Monica says... "just keep swimming, just keep swimming..."
What is excessive celebration? You know... the ridiculous victory dance, spiking the ball, the stupid gyrating that fame-hungry or over-testosterone-pumped players do when a camera is on them. OR it's what you stupidly do as a parent before God takes you down a peg. Football players get penalized some yardage... parents lose sanity points.
New parents, let me give you a tip. Don't congratulate yourself. EVER. Don't think you've mastered ANYTHING. Because children are there to make sure you realize that you know NOTHING. You are guessing, stumbling in the dark, conducting a life-long sociological study, screwing up, falling down, and basically racking up future therapy bills. Yours or theirs. Take your pick.
Now, you can see this as a negative. Or you can look at it as an opportunity to learn, laugh at yourself, gain a whole new appreciation for your parents or to have fabulous fodder for a blog. Quite honestly, I often veer toward the negative and then try to steer the crazy-Mariska ship in a more fruitful direction. But lately it's been hard. Really hard. So hard I actually forgot about being thankful that I was home with my kids and wanted to return to work. I realized I longed for work that involved schedules, adult conversation, BREAKS, sick days, vacations and the ability to GET AWAY, clock out and leave for the day. The kind of work where home was a refuge and holidays were a change of pace. Motherhood is NOT that job. I had been able, until recently, to accept that that was the sacrifice I made becoming a mom rather than holding an office job.
You see, I made the mistake of starting my victory dance a few months ago. I had the kids teachers, strangers in restaurants, parents in play groups, etc. complimented. I was the mom people called "together" or "organized". No longer. The whistle blew and I've been penalized for excessive celebration. God took me down a peg and now this little control freak is having to learn how to roll with punches and frankly, I'm getting tired of the bruises.
So why am I losing it? I can't tell you folks. I don't know. I've just turned a new corner and this little Alice is ready to leave this part of Wonderland. William has become my misdirected energy/bad attitude/smart mouth/disrespectful son and Elizabeth is my mood-swing/increasing tantrums/incredibly clingy/I'm-starting-to-wonder-if-she-has-some-kind-of-sensory-issue daughter. I know kids have their good and bad days and I was handling it. But this past couple weeks, EVERY DAY one of them gave me trouble. They were kind enough to alternate days so it wasn't both at the same time, but that was little comfort. I honestly began to think, "Okay, I suck at this job. I will put get them back in with a caregiver who can help them better than I can." I felt defeated, deflated and tired. Why? Here's a snapshot:
William as of late:
Me - William get up it's a school Day.
William - I'm too tired.
Me - Too bad, time to get up.
William - NOOOOO! It's too cold!
Me - Put some clothes on and you'll be warm. No one asked you to sleep in your undies.
William - But my LEGS HURT.
Me - Get up and dressed and I'll give you some Tylenol. Now move.
William - BUT I'M STARVING!!!
Me- So get up and you can eat. Now, stop shouting, quit complaining about being tired when you choose to stay awake during nap time, put some clothes on and come downstairs when you can be polite to me. I'm getting your sister ready and heading downstairs.
William (hysterical) - DON'T GO DOWNSTAIRS WITHOUT ME, I'M SCARED!!!
Me - So. Calm. Down. Get. Dressed. LISTEN and come with me. I'm done with the attitude. Get moving. NOW.
William - but I'm too TIRED!
I can't take it anymore and start walking downstairs. William's yelling turns to a fever-pitched-cry-yell combo
"NOOOOOOOO! MO-OM! COME BACK! IT'S NOT FAIR. I'M NOT DONE YET! I'M NOT EVEN DRESSED!!"
This little event will repeat itself with the conversation variants revolving around his goofing off rather than brushing his teeth and putting on socks and shoes for school, cleaning up toys and using the potty before naps, cleaning up toys and feeding the dog before dinner and heading up stairs for bath and stories before bed. I'm thinking of buying a whistle at this point and teaching him some basic whistle commands like in drill team because my voice just can't take much more.
Now a recent snapshot of miss Elizabeth:
She wakes in the morning totally happy and first words out of her mouth, "we have to take Bubba to school today?"
Me - yup. (I begin carrying her toward the bathroom and she goes jelly-like in my arms and her voice is instantly in the glass-shattering range)
Elizabeth - NOOOOOO! I don't have to go potty! Nooooooo! Noooooo! (the cries are only stopped by the "singing" of her potty because she has IN FACT gone pee).
Me - Good job, let me get your undies.
Elizabeth - I don't have to POOOOOOP! I poop in a diaper.
Me - I said nothing about poop. I'm getting your undies and clothes, calm down.
Elizabeth - I don't want clothes. Can I be a princess?
Me - No sweety, it's FREEZING outside. When we get back from taking Bubba, you can be in a costume.
Elizabeth - I want to be NAY-KEEEEEE (naked). She's now running around sans pants, not wiped, dripping pee all over my bathroom.
Me - Elizabeth SIT DOWN. I tell you every day. Sit down on the potty and wait for mommy.
She explodes into a puddle of tears, drool, snot and is lying face down on the floor. I wipe her, wrestle undies and clothes onto her and she suddenly bear hugs me getting her tear/snot/spit combo all over my hair, cheek and shirt.
Elizabeth - you happy mommy? Don't be mad.
Me - Elizabeth, I just need you to focus and listen to...
I stop. She can't even hear me. She's distracted by something. This child who cannot BEAR the sound of the hairdryer, car wash, blender, food processor or sometimes just the sound of her brother talking or singing is suddenly deaf. She honestly can't hear a word I say. I clap really loudly and she snaps back to me, jumping out of her skin.
Me- ELIZABETH. Focus. Look in my eyes. Are you listening to me?
It's too late. She's entered another dimension. She can't hear me anymore. I tell her to wash her hands and have to physically pull her back into the bathroom because she has not heard me and she collapses from my touch screaming "OW!!!"
This is my whole day with her. She's either speaking in a volume so incredibly loud I need earplugs or plugging her own ears and shouting "stop it! that hurts my ears!!!" She's playing with other kids one minute and then commanding them to leave her alone the next. She turns on a dime. And eating with her now is torture. She no longer has her vomiting issue, but she still has issues putting too much in her mouth and then being totally confused by her gag reaction. She still spits out certain textures. She still has trouble handling her utensils. She still has trouble realizing when she's full. And potty training? Forget it. Pee is fine, but poop is another story. She honestly cannot figure out her bowels in a seated position. She can do it standing with a diaper on. But seated? Nope. She makes noises and is confused as to why it's not working. She cannot figure out how to use her body to do it. I'm at the point where I'm just waiting. Is it a control issue? Is it her constant trouble with constipation? Or is it something bigger along with the noises and food that I'll have to address with a doctor? I don't know. I'm too tired to figure it out right now.
And William? Is it just being 5 1/2 that makes him run around like a crazy person, disrespect Mike and I, be in constant look-at-me mode and fight incessantly during play dates? Or do I need to do something different? I don't know.
I'm so tired right now the answers elude me. I'm treading water, hoping to get the strength to swim again soon. After all, it could be worse. I could have a child with major special needs. I could have been barren. I could be struggling through a horrible marriage on top of all this. But I was able to conceive. I don't think my kids have special needs. I'm in a happy marriage. I have to remember that. As my friend Monica says... "just keep swimming, just keep swimming..."
Friday, September 30, 2011
I'm Going to Dizzyland!
Nope, that's not a typo. I know how to spell Disneyland. But I'm talking about a whole other world and it's ruled by my little, blond daughter.
Elizabeth's nickname (her brother gave it to her pretty early and it has stuck) is Dizzy. Sometimes, it really fits. She loves to dance in circles, spin in circles, twirl, run in circles... but mostly, she like to keep me running in circles, or so it seems.
Elizabeth is now 2 1/2 and she truly lives HER way in her own little world... Dizzyland, I shall call it. This is a land where dressing up means changing your costume every 2 minutes, mom should always know exactly what she wants when she wants it, her family and friends should ALWAYS know which Star Wars character she has chosen to be for the day (and ONLY address her thus) and where manipulation is always done in a sweet, yet patronizing way.
1st stop in Dizzyland - Pottyland. A world where all the familiar tactics, hopes, dreams, bribes, rewards, etc. should be thrown out the window and parents should just hang on to their hats & glasses, 'cuz it's a wild ride kids. A week or so ago, Dizzy randomly asks to go to the potty prior to her nap. This is a common stalling technique for her and I have TOTALLY given up on potty training her right now, but I still have to put away some lunch dishes and get William into bed so I think, "what the heck?". I stick her on the potty, hand her some books and walk away. When I come back downstairs from putting William down I walk into a rather "smelly" bathroom. SHE HAS POOPED AND PEED ON THE POTTY! Now I'm doing a victory dance akin to scoring the last-second-winning-touchdown-after-trailing-the-whole-time-in-the-Super-Bowl and she's nonchalantly staring at me like this is something she does daily. She continues to use the potty and does the very same the next day. "WOOOO HOOOO!!" I think, "She's finally ready!". No dice kids, she stops the next day and wails like I'M the one who started this when I even mention the potty. So I give up again. Then 3 days ago she randomly walks into the house from the backyard and announces she would like to use the potty. Whatever. I'm trying not to get my hopes up these days. I stick her on the potty and leave her alone again when I hear Mike go in there and say, "hey hon, you may want to check on her, it stinks in there." She has done it AGAIN!!! More victory dancing ensues. High fives come out. William gives her a hug and a kiss. We celebrate. It continues for a day and stops again. What the hell? I give up. Time for mommy to travel to a new land, because this one is making ME Dizzy.
2nd stop in Dizzyland - Imaginationland. Forget rabbit holes and wicked queens, kids. Fantasyland ain't got nothin' on Miss Dizzy and her world. Now, I had (well, still have) a CRAZY imagination as a child. I played dress-up non stop. And I didn't just use costumes or clothes that I had lying around. Oh no, kids, I DESIGNED the crap I wore. I pieced together all my mom's old scarves and things and created strange, flowy, colorful garments and then traipsed all over the house in them, inventing stories as I went along. Apparently, my daughter is like me. When she imagines, she REALLY gets into it. She was a princess the other day, as she informed me immediately upon entering the playroom, and she proceeded to point out and describe the dragon who was apparently besieging our castle. Not only is her imagination wild, but she HAS to be the director as she is intent upon assigning the parts we all play as well as blocking out where our action is to take place. When she was the princess and I asked if I was the queen, she informed me (rather indignantly), "you are NOT the queen and Daddy is NOT the king" (geez, Daddy was innocently working downstairs at this time, but apparently she didn't want us laboring under false pretenses). I was then told to "stand here" and fight the dragon. Only apparently I wasn't doing it right because she broke into my play-acting with a barely-masked exasperation and said, "No, no mommy, not like that." And then she decided my play just didn't measure up at all and switched the game.
And when this girl picks out a character, she doesn't just pick it out for play time. No, no. She's that person for the WHOLE day. Earlier this week she informed William and me that she was "Manakin" (that's Anakin as in Anakin Skywalker and if you don't know who that is, you are not a huge Star Wars geek like me). The WHOLE DAY, if you dared call her anything else, she would stop dead in her tracks and say "No! I Manakin!" I'm not kidding. We were at Tiny Tots (our indoor playground) and had to leave and I'm frustrated with her usual slow and distracted meandering path to our car, so I yell, "DIZ. Come on!! I said NOW." She looks at me deadpan and goes, "Mom, I Manakin!". So I say, "FINE. COME. ON. ANAKIN!" She looks pleased and says, "Okay, Manakin coming." Then during lunch I tell her "Dizzy, stop playing with your food, just eat." She raises the fork to her mouth, backs the fork back out and says, "I'm Manakin" and then takes her bite. "WHATEVER, AN-A-KIN," I spit, "just eat!". "OOOOOKAAAAAY" she says in her best impression of a surly 13-year-old, "Manakin EEEEEEatingbathtime. She and William are playing this game where he asks her for a cup of water and she fills his cup only so that he will throw the water back at her and she can laugh hysterically. They are both laughing hysterically as this cycle repeats itself, but I'm cracking up because each time William asks for the water he's laughing and gasping, "Diz, Diz, can I have more water?" and she's cracking up too and starting to fill his cup, but then stopping and saying, "No, I Manakin!" And will not pour the water. So then poor William gets frustrated that she's holding up the game and says, "Fine! ANAKIN, can I have more water?" and then she continues to fill his cup like nothing happened. It KILLED me.
And finally, in her Imaginationland, she must always be in costume. Now William loves dressing up too, but he only wears one costume. He's consistent like that. Picks one, sticks with it. FOREVER. Not Dizzy. She'll ask to be Tinkerbell, decide something is wrong and switch to Cinderella only to melt down and insist that she CAN'T be Cinderella, she HAS to be a Clone Trooper and then rip off that costume and accusingly throw her purple cheerleader outfit at me and then huff that she's "Rapunzel, NOT a cheer-eater" (that's how she pronounces cheerleader and I love it) when I ask if she's decided to be a cheerleader. Tired, I will tell her to pick a last costume because it's time to prepare lunch or something and we've done two hours of costume changes and she will FREAK out and cry about wanting to return to the Tinkerbell costume we started with. I swear, this child is just staying up at night plotting ways to rush me to the funny farm.
3rd stop in Dizzyland - Manipulationland. A subtle world of pretty smiles, batted eyelashes, and clever words meant to turn parents around until they are hopelessly lost. Now, William not a subtle manipulator. He's that kid who THINKS he is, but isn't. You know the type to actually say, "wink, wink" when they are trying to trick you. Not Dizzy. Nope, this one will smile sweetly and pat you the way you would a crazy relative who you're trying to keep from tipping into sanatorium-grade levels. My favorite is her current way of getting out of eating something she doesn't like. Now most children will scream no or fling food or make faces or turn their heads. Not so my little Dizzy. When you hold up the offending item, she will very gently place your hand back down, give it a little pat and say, "let's just put this down." You know, in that condescending way nurses use "let's" when they say things like "let's just try using a LITTLE less morphine today okay? i think perhaps our pain tolerance isn't so good." I died the first time she did it. I was asking her to try some mashed potato and she pushed my hand down twice and when I asked, "What's up Diz? Do you not like the potatoes, or are you full?" she looked over at me in that sorry way like she wanted to say "poor mommy, you're just not too bright are you?" and patted my hand. Then she sort of sighed out a quiet, "let's just put this down." I think my water came out my nose. I tried again with another item on her plate, stuffing I think, and she just gently shook her head again pitying her mother's lack of intelligence and said, "let's just put this down." And the thing is, I was so busy laughing and marvelling at what a strange little creature she is, that I forgot about asking her to eat anymore. She knows what she's doing, that one, she really does.
Final stop in Dizzyland - Mainstreet Meltdown. As you are leaving Dizzyland, do not get sucked into Mainstreet for just like Disneyland's Mainstreet where you get sucked into buying something just to escape the labyrinth that is that park, you will find yourself scrambling to stop a meltdown with heretofore methods you swore you would never use. Elizabeth has suddenly become the master of turn-on-a-dime-I'm possibly-bipolar-or-practicing- to-become-a-stereotypical-woman-who-always-changes-her-mind FREAK. It's like living in Tornado Alley and never knowing when that damn twister is going to change course and level your little farmhouse. Seriously. It's nuts. The other day I go to get her when I hear her wake up from naps and she's all smiles and "hi mommy, can I go play?" cuteness. Yet somehow, in the 10 steps it takes to get to her bedroom to the top of the stairs she FREAKS out. I cannot understand a word through the bubbling tear/drool/snot fest that her face has become and I finally have to ask her to go to the bathroom or some other place and calm down and return only when she can speak. She calms down and comes out and when I ask, "are you ready to be nice? Can you tell mommy what it is you need?" she melts into "I WANT MIIIIIIIIILLLLLLLLKKKKK!" and falls to the floor shouting, "Milk! I need milk! I want milk" as though I had refused to give it to her. And no amount of reassurances that I am indeed completely willing to pour her a glass nor the sight of me preparing the glass will console her. I completely forget that she has not asked politely and said please as I demand in our house and am lost in the storm that is Dizzy. Finally, I get relief as she's gone back to some safe spot to finish her tantrum because she now knows that mommy is done tolerating her tantrums. She may throw them... just not anywhere near me. And this is nearly a daily experience now. She's all fine and dandy and then apparently the world turns upside down and right is wrong. I don't know. She was LOVING Mike's uncle Rich when he came to visit not too long ago. She was showing him her costumes, dancing, etc. And then we're eating lunch together and she looks at him across the table and apparently decides he has been replaced by BEELZEBUB, because she begins her tear/drool/snot fest again and reaches for me in panic. 5 minutes later, when she's done eating, she hops down, runs over and pretends to sprinkle him with "pixie dust" and ask him to fly with her. He shoots me a quizzical look and all I can do is shrug. Man, this kid is as much of a mystery to me, dude. Can't help ya, I'm just trying to find a way out myself.
All this craziness makes me wonder what's around the corner with her. Congraulations mommy, you've navigated the waters of a crazy 2 1/2 year old. Where are you going?
I'm going to Dizzyland!
Elizabeth's nickname (her brother gave it to her pretty early and it has stuck) is Dizzy. Sometimes, it really fits. She loves to dance in circles, spin in circles, twirl, run in circles... but mostly, she like to keep me running in circles, or so it seems.
Elizabeth is now 2 1/2 and she truly lives HER way in her own little world... Dizzyland, I shall call it. This is a land where dressing up means changing your costume every 2 minutes, mom should always know exactly what she wants when she wants it, her family and friends should ALWAYS know which Star Wars character she has chosen to be for the day (and ONLY address her thus) and where manipulation is always done in a sweet, yet patronizing way.
1st stop in Dizzyland - Pottyland. A world where all the familiar tactics, hopes, dreams, bribes, rewards, etc. should be thrown out the window and parents should just hang on to their hats & glasses, 'cuz it's a wild ride kids. A week or so ago, Dizzy randomly asks to go to the potty prior to her nap. This is a common stalling technique for her and I have TOTALLY given up on potty training her right now, but I still have to put away some lunch dishes and get William into bed so I think, "what the heck?". I stick her on the potty, hand her some books and walk away. When I come back downstairs from putting William down I walk into a rather "smelly" bathroom. SHE HAS POOPED AND PEED ON THE POTTY! Now I'm doing a victory dance akin to scoring the last-second-winning-touchdown-after-trailing-the-whole-time-in-the-Super-Bowl and she's nonchalantly staring at me like this is something she does daily. She continues to use the potty and does the very same the next day. "WOOOO HOOOO!!" I think, "She's finally ready!". No dice kids, she stops the next day and wails like I'M the one who started this when I even mention the potty. So I give up again. Then 3 days ago she randomly walks into the house from the backyard and announces she would like to use the potty. Whatever. I'm trying not to get my hopes up these days. I stick her on the potty and leave her alone again when I hear Mike go in there and say, "hey hon, you may want to check on her, it stinks in there." She has done it AGAIN!!! More victory dancing ensues. High fives come out. William gives her a hug and a kiss. We celebrate. It continues for a day and stops again. What the hell? I give up. Time for mommy to travel to a new land, because this one is making ME Dizzy.
2nd stop in Dizzyland - Imaginationland. Forget rabbit holes and wicked queens, kids. Fantasyland ain't got nothin' on Miss Dizzy and her world. Now, I had (well, still have) a CRAZY imagination as a child. I played dress-up non stop. And I didn't just use costumes or clothes that I had lying around. Oh no, kids, I DESIGNED the crap I wore. I pieced together all my mom's old scarves and things and created strange, flowy, colorful garments and then traipsed all over the house in them, inventing stories as I went along. Apparently, my daughter is like me. When she imagines, she REALLY gets into it. She was a princess the other day, as she informed me immediately upon entering the playroom, and she proceeded to point out and describe the dragon who was apparently besieging our castle. Not only is her imagination wild, but she HAS to be the director as she is intent upon assigning the parts we all play as well as blocking out where our action is to take place. When she was the princess and I asked if I was the queen, she informed me (rather indignantly), "you are NOT the queen and Daddy is NOT the king" (geez, Daddy was innocently working downstairs at this time, but apparently she didn't want us laboring under false pretenses). I was then told to "stand here" and fight the dragon. Only apparently I wasn't doing it right because she broke into my play-acting with a barely-masked exasperation and said, "No, no mommy, not like that." And then she decided my play just didn't measure up at all and switched the game.
And when this girl picks out a character, she doesn't just pick it out for play time. No, no. She's that person for the WHOLE day. Earlier this week she informed William and me that she was "Manakin" (that's Anakin as in Anakin Skywalker and if you don't know who that is, you are not a huge Star Wars geek like me). The WHOLE DAY, if you dared call her anything else, she would stop dead in her tracks and say "No! I Manakin!" I'm not kidding. We were at Tiny Tots (our indoor playground) and had to leave and I'm frustrated with her usual slow and distracted meandering path to our car, so I yell, "DIZ. Come on!! I said NOW." She looks at me deadpan and goes, "Mom, I Manakin!". So I say, "FINE. COME. ON. ANAKIN!" She looks pleased and says, "Okay, Manakin coming." Then during lunch I tell her "Dizzy, stop playing with your food, just eat." She raises the fork to her mouth, backs the fork back out and says, "I'm Manakin" and then takes her bite. "WHATEVER, AN-A-KIN," I spit, "just eat!". "OOOOOKAAAAAY" she says in her best impression of a surly 13-year-old, "Manakin EEEEEEatingbathtime. She and William are playing this game where he asks her for a cup of water and she fills his cup only so that he will throw the water back at her and she can laugh hysterically. They are both laughing hysterically as this cycle repeats itself, but I'm cracking up because each time William asks for the water he's laughing and gasping, "Diz, Diz, can I have more water?" and she's cracking up too and starting to fill his cup, but then stopping and saying, "No, I Manakin!" And will not pour the water. So then poor William gets frustrated that she's holding up the game and says, "Fine! ANAKIN, can I have more water?" and then she continues to fill his cup like nothing happened. It KILLED me.
And finally, in her Imaginationland, she must always be in costume. Now William loves dressing up too, but he only wears one costume. He's consistent like that. Picks one, sticks with it. FOREVER. Not Dizzy. She'll ask to be Tinkerbell, decide something is wrong and switch to Cinderella only to melt down and insist that she CAN'T be Cinderella, she HAS to be a Clone Trooper and then rip off that costume and accusingly throw her purple cheerleader outfit at me and then huff that she's "Rapunzel, NOT a cheer-eater" (that's how she pronounces cheerleader and I love it) when I ask if she's decided to be a cheerleader. Tired, I will tell her to pick a last costume because it's time to prepare lunch or something and we've done two hours of costume changes and she will FREAK out and cry about wanting to return to the Tinkerbell costume we started with. I swear, this child is just staying up at night plotting ways to rush me to the funny farm.
3rd stop in Dizzyland - Manipulationland. A subtle world of pretty smiles, batted eyelashes, and clever words meant to turn parents around until they are hopelessly lost. Now, William not a subtle manipulator. He's that kid who THINKS he is, but isn't. You know the type to actually say, "wink, wink" when they are trying to trick you. Not Dizzy. Nope, this one will smile sweetly and pat you the way you would a crazy relative who you're trying to keep from tipping into sanatorium-grade levels. My favorite is her current way of getting out of eating something she doesn't like. Now most children will scream no or fling food or make faces or turn their heads. Not so my little Dizzy. When you hold up the offending item, she will very gently place your hand back down, give it a little pat and say, "let's just put this down." You know, in that condescending way nurses use "let's" when they say things like "let's just try using a LITTLE less morphine today okay? i think perhaps our pain tolerance isn't so good." I died the first time she did it. I was asking her to try some mashed potato and she pushed my hand down twice and when I asked, "What's up Diz? Do you not like the potatoes, or are you full?" she looked over at me in that sorry way like she wanted to say "poor mommy, you're just not too bright are you?" and patted my hand. Then she sort of sighed out a quiet, "let's just put this down." I think my water came out my nose. I tried again with another item on her plate, stuffing I think, and she just gently shook her head again pitying her mother's lack of intelligence and said, "let's just put this down." And the thing is, I was so busy laughing and marvelling at what a strange little creature she is, that I forgot about asking her to eat anymore. She knows what she's doing, that one, she really does.
Final stop in Dizzyland - Mainstreet Meltdown. As you are leaving Dizzyland, do not get sucked into Mainstreet for just like Disneyland's Mainstreet where you get sucked into buying something just to escape the labyrinth that is that park, you will find yourself scrambling to stop a meltdown with heretofore methods you swore you would never use. Elizabeth has suddenly become the master of turn-on-a-dime-I'm possibly-bipolar-or-practicing- to-become-a-stereotypical-woman-who-always-changes-her-mind FREAK. It's like living in Tornado Alley and never knowing when that damn twister is going to change course and level your little farmhouse. Seriously. It's nuts. The other day I go to get her when I hear her wake up from naps and she's all smiles and "hi mommy, can I go play?" cuteness. Yet somehow, in the 10 steps it takes to get to her bedroom to the top of the stairs she FREAKS out. I cannot understand a word through the bubbling tear/drool/snot fest that her face has become and I finally have to ask her to go to the bathroom or some other place and calm down and return only when she can speak. She calms down and comes out and when I ask, "are you ready to be nice? Can you tell mommy what it is you need?" she melts into "I WANT MIIIIIIIIILLLLLLLLKKKKK!" and falls to the floor shouting, "Milk! I need milk! I want milk" as though I had refused to give it to her. And no amount of reassurances that I am indeed completely willing to pour her a glass nor the sight of me preparing the glass will console her. I completely forget that she has not asked politely and said please as I demand in our house and am lost in the storm that is Dizzy. Finally, I get relief as she's gone back to some safe spot to finish her tantrum because she now knows that mommy is done tolerating her tantrums. She may throw them... just not anywhere near me. And this is nearly a daily experience now. She's all fine and dandy and then apparently the world turns upside down and right is wrong. I don't know. She was LOVING Mike's uncle Rich when he came to visit not too long ago. She was showing him her costumes, dancing, etc. And then we're eating lunch together and she looks at him across the table and apparently decides he has been replaced by BEELZEBUB, because she begins her tear/drool/snot fest again and reaches for me in panic. 5 minutes later, when she's done eating, she hops down, runs over and pretends to sprinkle him with "pixie dust" and ask him to fly with her. He shoots me a quizzical look and all I can do is shrug. Man, this kid is as much of a mystery to me, dude. Can't help ya, I'm just trying to find a way out myself.
All this craziness makes me wonder what's around the corner with her. Congraulations mommy, you've navigated the waters of a crazy 2 1/2 year old. Where are you going?
I'm going to Dizzyland!
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
When it's YOUR kid
There are times in parenthood when you observe the behavior of another child and you are thrilled that they are not YOUR child. As a child melts down in the middle of a store, or goes wild in a restaurant or hits their parents in public, etc. you are thrilled that it's not YOUR child attracting all this attention. There's even a little self congratulatory devil sitting on your shoulder bemoaning the obvious parental shortcomings of the other parent and/or mentally disciplining the poor out-of-control child. The angel on your other shoulder (the one who knows of Karma, cosmic justice and God's wonderful sense of humor) warns you that on another day, that will be you. To exhibit forgiveness and not judgement, patience and not exasperation, and for-God's-sake to control your facial expressions!
Now there are also times in parenthood when you hear or see something with another child and you WISH that were YOUR child. You know, when you hear Competitive Mommy Extraordinaire exclaim, "Little Timmy started reading when he was 3" or "Little Mary potty trained at 18 months" and that devil on your shoulder says, "you should be jealous! what can YOUR kid do?" Meanwhile, the angel is tsk-tsking and reminding you that all kids do their own special things and grow on their own timeline.
Recently, I had the mind-blowing experience of having my kid be THAT kid on the same day. Now perhaps I'm tired, worn-out, slightly crazy or all of the above... but I found my mental capacity completely lacking in how to handle both.
Last Friday, as I was dropping William off at school, his teacher pulled me aside. Uh-oh, I thought, what's this? But she said, "This is my 8th year of teaching and I have to tell you that in my 7 years of teaching so far, I have NEVER had a kid who reads like William. He pulled a book off the shelf and read it today and it's a book most 2nd graders can't read!" She then proceeded to praise his behavior, patience, maturity, etc. and tell me what an absolute pleasure he is to have in class. I was glowing, walking on air, thrilled beyond belief. Here was my little boy, a star in school already and not only that, but socially pleasant as well. "Well!" I told myself, "I must be doing something right!" My child was THAT child today. The one who could stand out in a good way. Insert Fate shaking her head here and proceed to our play date a mere 3 hours later.
We're trying to meet some friends at a park exceedingly close to our house (so as not to be too late) but I find myself in the endless leaving-the-house struggle... and it's NOT with Elizabeth. William is in super-whine mode and is loudly complaining that he didn't get to play with his Legos and wants to be dressed up in his Snake Eyes (from GI Joe) costume. I point out he woke up so dang early that he got to play with his Legos for a WHOLE HOUR before school, that the Snake Eyes costume wasn't going anywhere and the HE was the one who asked for a play date with his friend Gavin (which is awesome because his little sister Dannika is Elizabeth's age, so this particular family is always fun for play dates). We finally manage to make it to the park (we freakin' DRIVE because, although it is totally within walking distance, we are now running late). Luckily, our friend is running later, so I'm calmed down when she arrives.
When our friends arrive and I ask about enjoying our picnic, both of my kids insist they are not hungry (even though they are usually FAMISHED by this time) and run off to play. Not long into the play I see William and Gavin at the top of the slide. Gavin begins to go down first and I see William bodily STOP this larger boy and try to push his way down the slide first. William is currently (along with most 5 year olds I know) in an I-have-to-go-first phase that is making me CRAZY. So I call him down, tell him to apologize to his friend and tell him he has to go last now because of his rude behavior. They play nicely for a while, but hungry grumpies start to set it and William is bitching endlessly that his friend doesn't want to play with him (in truth it's that Gavin doesn't want to play exactly what William is playing, which is apparently a criminal offense in my son's book). I'm hoping this lunch break is what we need for a smoother play date, so we sit and eat. Not long after eating and the return to playing I see William and Gavin with arms entangled and the kind of red, rage-filled faces that precede hitting. So I pull them apart and ask what's up. Gavin says, "he has my shoe!" and I see that William is, in fact, holding Gavin's shoe and not returning it. I turn on my son now and seeing my face he launches into, "I was just playing a game! I wasn't being mean! It's not my fault..." and I hold up THE HAND OF SILENCE.
"Dude," I say. "I am NOT refereeing all day, do you hear me?! EVERY TIME you guys play, you argue (Which is, unfortunately for our girls who get along great, true) What have I said about games? It is not a game if you don't agree to it! I don't think taking your friend's shoe is a good game and he obviously does not think so either! You return it IMMEDIATELY and apologize!"
"He grabbed me!!!" William shouts and I can see parents' heads turning.
They play for not much longer and I think they are at peace on this rope pyramid thingy when Gavin comes over and says to his mom, "William is spitting at me. And then he hit me." Now, I know William didn't hit him because I haven't taken my eyes off of them, but the spitting part gets me.
"Let's go see what's up," I hear Gavin's mom say, but I'm already on my way.
"William! Did you spit at Gavin and hit him?" I ask.
"No! He's lying!" William shouts.
"Well, now I've got his word against yours, what do I do?"
He looks at me and says, "I didn't hit him mom, I promise" and I notice he says nothing about the spitting.
"Did you spit? Why would he say you did?"
"Uummmmm.... I was doing it to myself" (I HATE this answer. He gives this one a lot when he's caught teasing his sister)
"EXCUSE me? I don't think so," I fume, "we DON'T SPIT PERIOD. And there's no such thing as spitting at yourself."
"Well, I was spitting, but he asked me to stop and I did."
"No he didn't!" Gavin interjects... and I'm done. I'm done for the day. After such a wonderful morning, to be dealing with constant refereeing (and the fact that William and Gavin ALWAYS fight when they are together), I. AM. DONE.
"Okay." I breathe, "I'm DONE. We're leaving."
The kids eyes widen as I walk toward our bags and my friend and all the children realize I'm dead serious. Screaming ensues. William is trailing behind me crying-screaming that we can't leave, he's so sorry, he didn't know, this isn't fair, he'll be better, he didn't mean to be so bad today, this is the worst day ever, he was SO good this morning that he's just tired and on, and on, and on. He is attracting a lot of attention at this point.
I'm just trying to fight either tears or the urge to hurt my child in public... I'm not sure which. I'm just impressed that for once I'm not yelling. I am so angry and embarrassed that I'm actually talking in a voice so low and deep, I hardly recognize it as mine. I gather my stuff and instruct William to put on his shoes as I get Elizabeth ready to go. I tell my friend apologetically that I think it's just time for us to leave. I hate to cut the play date short, but I cannot referee today. I just can't. She totally understands and says she agrees it's for the best. William is sobbing so loudly against this tree that people are looking. Gavin is now saying that it's okay if William stays and he knows William is sorry and he wants William to keep playing. I'm torn for a second and then I remember that I TOLD William we would leave. I have to stick to my word. I have to show him I'm serious. And it hurts.
We head home and William is sniffling the whole time. I send him upstairs and get his sister ready for naps and then I go into his room. He's totally apologetic and shame-faced and tear-stained and pulling at my heart strings. I'm remembering my therapists words "remember, he's only 5." But on the way home I had told him that there would be no stories before naps, we just needed to have a chat. He starts quietly crying and apologizing and asking can he "please just have one short story." I know he's truly sorry. I know it was rough and embarrassing for him and I want to fold. But I don't. I give him a hug and a kiss and tell him I love him, but there will be no story. I remind him that today was HIS turn for forgiveness. For recently, when a friend had lost a play date, he got cocky and said his friend was "bad" and I told him, "no, he's having a bad day. We all have good and bad days and we must be loving and forgiving, because sometimes it will be our turn for a bad day and we'll want our friends to forgive us."
"Oh. Yeah." He remembers the conversation. He lies down and thoughtfully looks up at his ceiling and as I'm closing his door says, "well, I hope Gavin forgives me my bad day."
Ouch. Today was my day. Today it was MY kid... the good, the bad, AND the ugly.
Now there are also times in parenthood when you hear or see something with another child and you WISH that were YOUR child. You know, when you hear Competitive Mommy Extraordinaire exclaim, "Little Timmy started reading when he was 3" or "Little Mary potty trained at 18 months" and that devil on your shoulder says, "you should be jealous! what can YOUR kid do?" Meanwhile, the angel is tsk-tsking and reminding you that all kids do their own special things and grow on their own timeline.
Recently, I had the mind-blowing experience of having my kid be THAT kid on the same day. Now perhaps I'm tired, worn-out, slightly crazy or all of the above... but I found my mental capacity completely lacking in how to handle both.
Last Friday, as I was dropping William off at school, his teacher pulled me aside. Uh-oh, I thought, what's this? But she said, "This is my 8th year of teaching and I have to tell you that in my 7 years of teaching so far, I have NEVER had a kid who reads like William. He pulled a book off the shelf and read it today and it's a book most 2nd graders can't read!" She then proceeded to praise his behavior, patience, maturity, etc. and tell me what an absolute pleasure he is to have in class. I was glowing, walking on air, thrilled beyond belief. Here was my little boy, a star in school already and not only that, but socially pleasant as well. "Well!" I told myself, "I must be doing something right!" My child was THAT child today. The one who could stand out in a good way. Insert Fate shaking her head here and proceed to our play date a mere 3 hours later.
We're trying to meet some friends at a park exceedingly close to our house (so as not to be too late) but I find myself in the endless leaving-the-house struggle... and it's NOT with Elizabeth. William is in super-whine mode and is loudly complaining that he didn't get to play with his Legos and wants to be dressed up in his Snake Eyes (from GI Joe) costume. I point out he woke up so dang early that he got to play with his Legos for a WHOLE HOUR before school, that the Snake Eyes costume wasn't going anywhere and the HE was the one who asked for a play date with his friend Gavin (which is awesome because his little sister Dannika is Elizabeth's age, so this particular family is always fun for play dates). We finally manage to make it to the park (we freakin' DRIVE because, although it is totally within walking distance, we are now running late). Luckily, our friend is running later, so I'm calmed down when she arrives.
When our friends arrive and I ask about enjoying our picnic, both of my kids insist they are not hungry (even though they are usually FAMISHED by this time) and run off to play. Not long into the play I see William and Gavin at the top of the slide. Gavin begins to go down first and I see William bodily STOP this larger boy and try to push his way down the slide first. William is currently (along with most 5 year olds I know) in an I-have-to-go-first phase that is making me CRAZY. So I call him down, tell him to apologize to his friend and tell him he has to go last now because of his rude behavior. They play nicely for a while, but hungry grumpies start to set it and William is bitching endlessly that his friend doesn't want to play with him (in truth it's that Gavin doesn't want to play exactly what William is playing, which is apparently a criminal offense in my son's book). I'm hoping this lunch break is what we need for a smoother play date, so we sit and eat. Not long after eating and the return to playing I see William and Gavin with arms entangled and the kind of red, rage-filled faces that precede hitting. So I pull them apart and ask what's up. Gavin says, "he has my shoe!" and I see that William is, in fact, holding Gavin's shoe and not returning it. I turn on my son now and seeing my face he launches into, "I was just playing a game! I wasn't being mean! It's not my fault..." and I hold up THE HAND OF SILENCE.
"Dude," I say. "I am NOT refereeing all day, do you hear me?! EVERY TIME you guys play, you argue (Which is, unfortunately for our girls who get along great, true) What have I said about games? It is not a game if you don't agree to it! I don't think taking your friend's shoe is a good game and he obviously does not think so either! You return it IMMEDIATELY and apologize!"
"He grabbed me!!!" William shouts and I can see parents' heads turning.
They play for not much longer and I think they are at peace on this rope pyramid thingy when Gavin comes over and says to his mom, "William is spitting at me. And then he hit me." Now, I know William didn't hit him because I haven't taken my eyes off of them, but the spitting part gets me.
"Let's go see what's up," I hear Gavin's mom say, but I'm already on my way.
"William! Did you spit at Gavin and hit him?" I ask.
"No! He's lying!" William shouts.
"Well, now I've got his word against yours, what do I do?"
He looks at me and says, "I didn't hit him mom, I promise" and I notice he says nothing about the spitting.
"Did you spit? Why would he say you did?"
"Uummmmm.... I was doing it to myself" (I HATE this answer. He gives this one a lot when he's caught teasing his sister)
"EXCUSE me? I don't think so," I fume, "we DON'T SPIT PERIOD. And there's no such thing as spitting at yourself."
"Well, I was spitting, but he asked me to stop and I did."
"No he didn't!" Gavin interjects... and I'm done. I'm done for the day. After such a wonderful morning, to be dealing with constant refereeing (and the fact that William and Gavin ALWAYS fight when they are together), I. AM. DONE.
"Okay." I breathe, "I'm DONE. We're leaving."
The kids eyes widen as I walk toward our bags and my friend and all the children realize I'm dead serious. Screaming ensues. William is trailing behind me crying-screaming that we can't leave, he's so sorry, he didn't know, this isn't fair, he'll be better, he didn't mean to be so bad today, this is the worst day ever, he was SO good this morning that he's just tired and on, and on, and on. He is attracting a lot of attention at this point.
I'm just trying to fight either tears or the urge to hurt my child in public... I'm not sure which. I'm just impressed that for once I'm not yelling. I am so angry and embarrassed that I'm actually talking in a voice so low and deep, I hardly recognize it as mine. I gather my stuff and instruct William to put on his shoes as I get Elizabeth ready to go. I tell my friend apologetically that I think it's just time for us to leave. I hate to cut the play date short, but I cannot referee today. I just can't. She totally understands and says she agrees it's for the best. William is sobbing so loudly against this tree that people are looking. Gavin is now saying that it's okay if William stays and he knows William is sorry and he wants William to keep playing. I'm torn for a second and then I remember that I TOLD William we would leave. I have to stick to my word. I have to show him I'm serious. And it hurts.
We head home and William is sniffling the whole time. I send him upstairs and get his sister ready for naps and then I go into his room. He's totally apologetic and shame-faced and tear-stained and pulling at my heart strings. I'm remembering my therapists words "remember, he's only 5." But on the way home I had told him that there would be no stories before naps, we just needed to have a chat. He starts quietly crying and apologizing and asking can he "please just have one short story." I know he's truly sorry. I know it was rough and embarrassing for him and I want to fold. But I don't. I give him a hug and a kiss and tell him I love him, but there will be no story. I remind him that today was HIS turn for forgiveness. For recently, when a friend had lost a play date, he got cocky and said his friend was "bad" and I told him, "no, he's having a bad day. We all have good and bad days and we must be loving and forgiving, because sometimes it will be our turn for a bad day and we'll want our friends to forgive us."
"Oh. Yeah." He remembers the conversation. He lies down and thoughtfully looks up at his ceiling and as I'm closing his door says, "well, I hope Gavin forgives me my bad day."
Ouch. Today was my day. Today it was MY kid... the good, the bad, AND the ugly.
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