I Learned Everything I Needed To Know About Parenting In One Day

These lessons have worked so far, but my oldest is only 13 so I can't guarantee they work after that. I'll let you know. 

Ironflower learned to walk late. I swear she would look at my face and cling more tightly to the table, instead of toddling off like she had been about to do. I wanted her to reach her milestones, of course, but I wanted her to do so without falling down. And then one day, as she creeped along the coffee table (baby-proofed with foam corner covers, of course), she slipped and whacked her head on the side.

Valuable parenting lesson number one: You can do everything right and they still might fall down.    

I was 8 months pregnant with Lovebug at the time and Hot Guy wasn't home. And I couldn't even call him, because he was literally on the radio at the exact moment it happened.

I'd been relying on Hot Guy to calm me down ever since Ironflower was born, so this was not good.

I remember Ironflower looking at me right after it happened, and I know the terror showed on my face. She didn't cry until after she looked at me. And soon we were both in tears.

She calmed down first. At least until I tried to put ice on the bump growing on her head. She did not want the ice. I explained this to the (saintly) pediatrician on call. His response? You're the parent.

That was valuable parenting lesson two. 

I put on the Wiggles and held that damn ice pack to her head while she kicked and yelled every time the Wiggles lost her attention. When it seemed like the bump had subsided a bit, I let her down to play again. Immediately she pulled herself up on the coffee table and looked at me. I smiled. She cruised along the table for a few steps and looked at me again. I didn't know if she remembered that that was where she'd fallen before. I certainly did, but I also didn't want her to be too afraid to try it again.

So I smiled and nodded. And she cruised around the whole room. She didn't start walking, because this was real life and not a movie. But she did not so many weeks later.

Valuable parenting lesson three: They're looking at you to see how to react.  And it's probably a bad idea to project that fear onto them, especially if you'd like them to make any progress. 

To this day, there are people who think I'm a calm parent and that I never freak out. They've actually said this to me and they weren't being sarcastic. 

I checked. 

These people have no idea that I'm basically freaking out at all times and neither do my kids. 

After circling the room, Ironflower eyed the ice pack still in my hand. I'd been too chicken to run to the kitchen 8 feet away while she was cruising. She reached for it and I gave it to her. She put it on her own head and I applauded. She put it on and took it off dozens of times while I read to her. I don't know if it really helped, but it was certainly more pleasant than me holding it to her head while she wiggled and yelled.

Valuable parenting lesson four: Don't do things for them that they can do for themselves. Especially if they don't like it when you do it. 

Turning Forty-Two Tuesday: Holy Crap

Sometime in the next few days, it will be the twentieth anniversary of my graduation from college. Actually, it may have already happened. I know it was in May, 1993, though. Which, holy fucking crap, was twenty years ago.

I have been an (alleged) adult for TWENTY YEARS.

You'd think I would have gotten better at it by now.

To be fair, I am much less insane than I was twenty years ago. Also, less blond. And far less skinny. But in general, I prefer being 42 to being 22, unless I'm looking in a mirror.

A fancy dinner with Dad, Grandma and Mom

Yeah, I wore hiking boots and a flannel under my gown. It was 1993, okay? 

Notice how I have cunningly left my then fiancee, now ex-husband out of these photos? Fortunately my parents insisted on some pictures where he was not plastered to my side. Thank God. 

Which leads me to the advice section of this post. Take heed of my wisdom, new graduates and other youngish people. . .because I don't have a lot of it and what I do have is very precious to me.

1. When you are taking pictures at a life event, focus on taking pictures with your family - especially your grandparents. I do know some couples who have been (happily) together since college and even high school, but I know a lot more people who cringe when you bring up the "love" of their 22 year old selves. Play it safe. 

2. Hiking boots should only be worn when hiking and never as a fashion statement. 

3. Listen to music that actually makes you happy, not what is hipster and cool, unless you really like what is hipster and cool.

4. Tattoos are forever. Be sober for them. 

5. Piercing any part of the ear that is not the lobe never, ever heals. 

6. You've only a year or two left before sleeping on a futon becomes uncomfortable. Start saving for an actual bed now. And buy a good one. 

7. Contrary to (some) popular belief and any '80's movies you may have seen, you do not have to have your life figured out now. In fact, just when you think you do have it figured it out, something will change. You are never going to feel all grown up. But you will feel much more sure of yourself.

8. If you are too shy to buy condoms at your local drug store and to ask your doctor for  birth control, you are not ready to be having so much sex. 

9. Don't go to graduate school right away. You need to excel at graduate school and you'll be a lot more motivated if you've worked at a crappy job for a while. 

10. Travel. By yourself. I don't care if it's just a five hour road trip to visit your best friend from high school, just go. 

Throwback Thursday: Motherhood

Still true. Still advice I would give to any new mother  - and still how I feel about people who claim every moment is a joy. 

On Motherhood

I love being a mother. I love my children more than I thought it was possible to love anything. Every day I get to see them and talk to them and hug them is a day that I am very lucky. When Ironflower says, "I love you, Mommy" or Lovebug gives me a hug I am filled with a happiness that I only thought possible with the benefit of prescription painkillers.

But when I hear a mother say something like, "Every moment is a joy," I want to smack her. Not only does that statement indicate that the doctor did a lobotomy during her c-section, it's a nasty thing to say around pre-mothers. You hear enough statements like that and you feel like there's something wrong with you when, as a new mother, you wind up crying at 3 am along with the inconsolable baby.

Every moment is worth it. Every moment means you are lucky. But some moments still suck. My children are real, fallible little human beings, not perfect little dolls dropped from heaven, and when they throw up on me I don't feel joy. (In fact, no children are actually dropped in from heaven, they all make mistakes and have flaws and it's better to accept it now then when the school is calling about your child's bratty, bullying behavior for the second time that day) I suspect that no mother actually feels joy when her child is sick because even if s/he is not actually throwing up on you, the kid is SICK. There's no joy when something is wrong and you can't fix it, let me tell you.

So, new and future mommies, take heart: not every moment will be a joy. And anyone who tells you otherwise is lying, or on prescription painkillers. No child is perfect, except in that s/he is a perfectly flawed, complex little creature. Sometimes you will wish you believed in spanking. Sometimes you will wish you could just have quiet for one minute. Sometimes you will fantasize about torturing Dora, Diego and that stupid monkey. But that's all NORMAL.

And stay away from the competitive Stepford Mommies. As they brag about 2 year old Aidan's excellence in French class, love of sushi and broccoli and talent in music class, know this: Aidan will probably burn out in middle school and spend most of his free time in therapy or in detention. 

I Am So Qualified To Give Medical Advice

So it's been 16 days since my tonsillectomy and I'm almost a normal person again. Yay! What this means for you, dear readers, is that it's time for. . .my last post about my freaking throat, I swear to God.

Adult Tonsillectomy Advice. . . From A Patient


1. Get your tonsils out as a child. Seriously. If your pediatrician suggests that your kid might need her tonsils out, DO IT. Don't wait. It's much easier on children.

2. Don't read the health message boards related to adult tonsillectomy. You will have nightmares.

3. Clear your schedule for 2 weeks. You'll probably start to feel better after a week or 10 days, but unless your job is being a Real Housewife, you're not going to be ready to go back to it. And if you stay home with your kids? Pray that you have fabulous relatives. Or hire a nanny.

4. Don't plan on talking much for 10 days. If you've been considering joining Twitter, Facebook and/or Pinterest, THIS IS THE TIME. Social media will let you feel connected to others the way conversations used to. Also, people on Facebook may be more sympathetic to your whines than your spouse is after the first week or so.

5. Drink water. It's gonna hurt, but not as much as not drinking water does. Besides, getting up to pee 10 times a day is going to be your only form of exercise.

6. Take your pain medication like a drug addict. You don't wanna find out what it's like when it wears off. Ask your doctor if you can supplement with ibuprofen, too.

7. Put on your big girl panties and eat some food. Again, it's gonna hurt, but it's better than being nauseous and in pain, which you will be if you don't eat. Think bland, think soft, think dairy only after the first 24 hours. *

8. Get some really mindless, trashy stuff to watch. This is not the time to start watching Mad Men or Game of Thrones. If you've ever been stoned, assume your post-tonsillectomy intellect will be at the same level. Plan accordingly. **

9. Ice  your neck. They'll give you some after the surgery, but plan on wrapping ice packs in a scarf for the next week.

10. Nobody warned me about the fatigue. But I have had much fatigue. Honestly, it's kinda been like having mono again.

11. Keep a pillow nearby so that you can squeeze it whenever you sneeze, cough or yawn. Make sure it's a pillow that you don't like very much, because it will probably be useless when you're well again.


*Bread. American cheese. Yogurt. Creamy soups. Ice cream. Basically, if it's bad for you, eat it. 


**I watched Sex and the City 2 and many episodes of Law and Order. And, of course, The Real Housewives. 

Retinol Is The Devil

I mean, it's not a devil like Rush Limbaugh or heroin, but I still think it's pretty bad. Granted, I'm no scientist. Or dermatologist. Or someone who didn't cheat her way through the only chemistry class she ever took (by the way, thanks Gregg and Tom - I couldn't have passed without you!). But I am a person who started getting wrinkles and zits at the same time and was told by numerous magazines and websites that Retinol would save my skin.

Now you could argue that my skin has just gotten worse in the last 8 years because I've had 3 kids, been in the sun too much and turned 40. In fact, that was the argument I would have given you as I was buying my retinol based skin cleanser and moisturizer at Walgreens.

 Then I forgot my retinol stuff when we went to Florida.

I was convinced that I was going to break out in some horrible way, but I really didn't want to send Hot Guy on yet another run to the local Publix until it actually happened. I also thought my wrinkles might turn into craters, which is why I slathered regular moisturizer onto them each night.

Instead, during my week without retinol my skin improved. So I didn't use it when I got home. Just as a little experiment. I figured the water or the lack of stress in Florida were what saved my skin. But it's now been over a month and I haven't broken out at all. In any way. My skin is less splotchy than it's been in years. My wrinkles even appear to be holding steady.

Before writing this, I tried to do a little actual research about retinoids (while all of my cosmetic products call the Vitamin A derivative "retinol" on the bottle, most reputable sites I found called the topical stuff "retinoids"). The most reputable thing I found was an article summarizing actual scientific research by the Environmental Working Group. Other reputable sites suggested not using retinoids if they caused peeling, redness or other irritation. But that never happened to me.

The University of Maryland Medical Center points out that over-the-counter retinol products are unregulated and may not contain any retinol at all. On my tube and jar, it's listed as the only active ingredient, but even that doesn't mean anything. So I suppose it's quite possible that it's not the retinol/retinoid that screwed up my skin, but one of the many inactive ingredients. I don't know.

The main thing I found in my research were sites that purported to be written by a dermatologist or a make-up artist and filled with testimonials about how awesome retinoids are. So I decided to write my own testimonial.

          Do not use retinol products on your skin, especially if you're just picking them up at the 
          drugstore. The more hippie all natural stuff I use, the better my 40 year old skin looks. And if 
          could go back and tell the teenage me one thing, it would be to only use hippie all natural 
          stuff on my skin. And to not cheat in chemistry, so that maybe I could understand all the
          studies described on the National Institutes of Health website. 


Do you/have you used a retinol product? What do you think? Is my skin just weird?




   

Since I'm Socially Inept. . .

I thought I would get advice where all socially awkward people get advice: the internetz. So. . .

Ironflower is my social butterfly. She makes friends wherever she goes and instinctively handles herself well in social situations. But she's also pretty sensitive, so when she first started talking about . . .um, let's call her Nastygirl. . .last year I didn't take it very seriously. Nastygirl told Ironflower that her Tinkerbell backpack was babyish. Nastygirl said her drawing was ugly. Nastygirl, it turned out, always had a negative comment for Ironflower.

I encouraged Ironflower to ignore Nastygirl, explained that she must be very unhappy. I eavesdropped on a playground conversation or two, wondering if my daughter had brought this on herself. But it sure didn't sound like it. As I got to know Nastygirl's mom, I was really surprised. Nastygirl's mom is really sweet. And seems to have no idea that her daughter hates my daughter. I didn't know how to bring it up and decided not to since Ironflower had other friends in her class.

I was incredibly relieved when they were put in different classes for first grade. It's not so much that Nastygirl was truly upsetting Ironflower anymore, but who needs a constant negative commentary? And I lived in fear of her nice mother suggesting a play date.

But naturally we've run into them twice now that soccer has taken over our lives. At the last game, Nastygirl laughed when Ironflower got hurt. And told her she wasn't any good at soccer. Ironflower is already a little self-conscious about her (lack of) soccer skills, so naturally this didn't help at all. I think at this point it's bothering me more than Ironflower, thought, the poor kid just expects Nastygirl to be, well, nasty to her. But I can't decide if I should say anything to Nastygirl's sweet mom, or just ignore the situation. If my kid was making comments like that, I would want to know. But Hot Guy and I are very big on our kids not turning into bullies or their minions, which I can't say for everyone around here. And honestly, I cannot imagine what I would say in this conversation, how I would say it or if I'm being a total helicopter parent.

What do you think, wise internetz?

Dating Insights from my Two Year Old

Today I saw the future.

And quite possibly the explanation for half the guys I dated.

It started on the playground at Ironflower's school, where I was following Hugmonkey. I usually follow Hugmonkey around her playground - not only is it not built for 2 year olds, the boy also has a habit of hitting strangers. Sometimes I kinda hope one will (gently) hit him back to teach him a lesson, but so far he has only attacked nice children who just look at me in horror. Anyway, today Hugmonkey was approached by one of Ironflower's classmates, a sweet girl who totally needs a baby sibling. He ran away from her.

Then he spotted the older sister of Ironflower's friend. He strutted in front of her a few times. When that didn't elicit a "Hi, cutie!" or other positive attention, he threw a rock at her. That, of course, got a response. A hugely negative one. I forced him to apologize and he walked away to regroup.

He then began performing for her. There was jumping, a recent accomplishment that involves both feet actually leaving the ground. There was dancing, a perennial standby that always elicits cries of adoration from the family. There was grinning and cocking his head, which is pretty much how he gets out of all the trouble he causes. After proving his adorableness, he sidled up to her again. "Hi!" he said loudly.

She said hi back. He took that as an invitation to start trying to play with the Pokemon cards she had. When she expressed dismay, he picked one up and handed it to her, grinning. She grinned back and started to pay attention to him.

He promptly ran away.

All I could think was, "Holy crap, I dated someone exactly like that - more than once!" I suppose that's an odd thing to consider when watching your toddler at play, but trust me, he was totally trying to woo her. At the beginning anyway.

"I guess he's over me, " said the little girl cheerfully. She started to play with a friend. Hugmonkey's response was to coming running back, I kid you not. This time he skipped over rock throwing and went right for the dance moves.

When I was dating guys like that - and finally realized that they were indeed guys like that - I always assumed that they had mommy issues. Or terrible childhoods. Or some other reason to fear commitment. It never occurred to me that they were born that way. But Hugmonkey and I have a normal relationship, his childhood is not so terrible and it's not like he's had his heart broken or anything.

So either there's a gene responsible for this behavior, or the adult men who act this way haven't evolved beyond the age of 2. I'm hoping for the latter, otherwise I'm going to feel compelled to write a warning letter to every woman Hugmonkey eventually dates.

True Confession Tuesday II

Like the Roman Numerals? I'm going to see how many I can remember before I have to Google them. Also, even though I'm on the third installment of how I (eventually) became Mrs. Hot Guy, this is only the second time I've done it on a Tuesday. If you'd like to join in, write a post on your own blog and leave a comment so I can link to it. Or you can just confess in the comments.

Episode 1

Episode 2

I decided to tell the whole saga to A, the older, happily married custodian at the school where I taught first grade. After my fifteen minute long diatribe, during which A. could have being doing better things like leaving for the day, he was kind enough to smile. And then he said, "Do you mean to tell me that an attractive, educated woman such as yourself can't do better than a freak and a child?"

Hmm. That certainly put things in perspective. And after he told me that six or seven more times, as Freakboy  acted like a boyfriend one day and a pal the next and 21 year old showed himself to have both the personality and IQ of a Labrador, I finally realized he was right. Freakboy and I became STRICTLY friends and I only talked to 21 year old on the phone when he called me. As summer school ended, A. made me promise that I would use my time off wisely.

Hehe. Thus began the season of dreadful dates. There was D., cute and intelligent, his only flaw being his obsession with his ex-wife. I realized it was getting to me when spending the night watching Law and Order seemed preferable to going out on a second date. Then there was Mark, who did not ask me one question all evening and then complained that I didn't talk enough. There was also Joe, so sweet and thoughtful it was like going on a date with my best friend. My best girl friend. From fourth grade.

I gave up when football season started, spending my weekends watching games with my friend Mimi, flirting with her boyfriend's friends (who were all married or alcoholics) in a desultory way. I did some volunteer work and some tutoring after school. I began going dancing a lot (which, by the by, is not really a good way to meet straight men). I was content.

And that's when my friend T. decided we should harness the power of the internet to improve our dating lives.

I Can't Bring Myself To Re-Enlist

"You know how some kids act out a lot after a parent is killed?" said a good friend, former colleague and still practicing teacher to me last night on the phone.

"Mmmmhmmm," I said, images of kids flashing through my head. I'd had a fair number of students with at least one dead parent - and most of those deaths had not been caused by diseases, either. Kids - at least the kids I'd taught - tended to become wild after such a thing, or incredibly quiet and hard-shelled. My friend continued to tell me about her extremely disturbed student, who had transferred in from the inner city district where we both used to teach.

As she continued with the girl's story, I began to feel somewhat ill. With guilt.

When I hear about kids from my old district, and especially when I (very rarely) hear about kids that I taught, I instantly feel like a soldier that has gone AWOL. The euphoria over having escaped is mixed in with massive amounts of guilt.

The last year that I taught - while I was pregnant with Lovebug - I had a seriously crazy parent who may have wanted to beat the crap out of me. Or something else. The threats were unclear. Not that it was my first threat, but he was the only one who continually hung around the school and tried to get into my classroom. The school I taught at for the first three years of my career was in a neighborhood where nobody I knew would even drive into. I had a few scarily violent (and yes, that is possible when you're dealing with mentally ill 7 year olds) over the years, too.

My supervisors tended to be idiots - people too dumb or cynical (or both) to get jobs anywhere else. I had one in particular who couldn't pronounce words like "specific" and "individual". And another - the one who really drove me out of teaching - later fired for embezzling funds. The pay was laughable - I never made more that $34,000 a year from teaching in that district. And all the promised perks were being slowly eroded.

And then there were my students. Students with dead parents. Students who had been (or, unfortunately were still being) abused. Students repeatedly hospitalized with sickle cell problems. Students who couldn't get a good night's sleep because of gunfire. Students born in prisons. Students with various untreated mental problems. Students who didn't know what the sky was called. Students who didn't know any English. Students who were autistic but got very little support.

So yeah, it felt like fighting in a losing war. A noble cause, to be sure. And there were some victories, for this or that student. But for every victory there was a failure. Or two.

I'm not saying what I did even comes close to what soldiers do every day. But I sure relate.

Sometimes I tell myself that I put in my time and it's okay to never go back to teaching in an urban district. Actually, I don't want to go back to teaching at all. Not that I really know what I'd like to do instead, of course.

But then I hear a story about my old district and the guilt washes over me.

Anybody got any advice?