Thoughts Only Parents Have

Before I had kids, I had the usual long list of things I would never do as a parent. I think my oldest was 7 months old when I did the first one and it's all been kinda downhill from there. But in addition to all the things I've done as a parent that I thought I'd never do (going to school drop off in my pajamas comes to mind), there are the thoughts I've had. Thoughts that I never thought would pop into my head in a million years.

• Well, at least my kid didn't spit on anyone today.
• I'm pretty sure everyone who works at Nick Jr. is high. 
• Where are Max and Ruby's parents and why am I jealous that their kids can be left alone for days on end?
• Small Lego pieces by all the windows would have been great security when I lived in that crappy apartment in college.
• Is it harder to listen to second graders play the violin or to watch them play baseball?
• I wish I could have parented back in the days when it was okay to teach your five year old how to mix a cocktail. 
• I love it when most of the kid's vomit makes it into the trash can.
• I can't wait until the kids go to bed and I can "sort" their Halloween candy. 
• Nobody is paying their nanny enough. 
• I think taking away TV time is a bigger punishment for me than it is for my kid. 
• If ketchup counts as a vegetable, then I didn't lie to the pediatrician when I told her that my kids eat vegetables every day. 
• Why couldn't there have been only "9 Bottles of Beer on the Wall?"
• If your kid wasn't being such a jerk, my kid wouldn't have hit him. 

What thoughts have you had as a parent that you never would have expected? 

Never Have I Ever: Mom Edition

Who has (possibly hazy) memories of playing the drinking game, "I Never"? Apparently now it's called, "Never Have I Ever" but the premise is the same. One person makes an adult-type statement, such as "Never have I ever had sex," and then everyone who has had sex has to take a sip of their alcoholic beverage. A way to be a good sport was to say something that you had, in fact, done. So if we were playing together right now, I might say, "I never played drinking games." And then I would drink.

One of the things that I always liked about the game was that it was a great way to build rapport and to find out you weren't alone in some of your stupid mistakes. I've been going through old blog posts lately, and one thing that strikes me is how alone I felt in my earlier days of motherhood. I was sure no one else's kids threw as many tantrums as mine, or that I was the only one who spent an entire day covered in stains and messy hair. So. . . .

(You don't HAVE to drink if you've ever done any of these things. You can just mention it in the comments. Or chuckle to yourself. But if you'd like to drink, have at it. I won't be drinking, because I've done all of them and Monday morning is not an appropriate time to get white girl wasted.)

Never Have I Ever:

• Gone out in public in clothes I thought were presentable only to find out that I have baby spit up down my back.
• Accidentally flashed anyone while breastfeeding in public.
• Licked my baby's pacifier after it fell on the floor and stuck it back in his mouth.
• Had my toddler scream so loudly in the grocery store that people turned to stare. 
• Restrained my toddler so that I could get him into his car seat.
• Had my toddler run away from me in a public place. 
• Bribed my child with my phone to get him to behave.
• Had to carry my child out of a play date.
• Accidentally cursed in front of my children so often that they said, "Shit!" when they dropped something as toddlers.
• Given in to my toddler's demands just to stop the screaming.
• Gone to the store in pajama pants.
• Forgotten about a class or practice, even though it was written on my calendar.
• Sent my kid to school in dirty socks because there aren't any clean ones. 
• Let my kids eat fast food for dinner.
• Let my kids be on screens for more that an hour a day.
• Yelled.
• Secretly donated a toy that I really, really hated.
• Forgotten to make my child do her homework.
• Let my kids miss school to do something fun. 

What about you? What embarrassing/not so responsible things have you done as a parent? Let me know in the comments. 

Dear Moms of Infants

There's a baby swim class at the same time as Hugmonkey's new swim class. It's great because when it's not Hugmonkey's turn, I can watch all the adorable babies. It's hard not to have baby lust when you like babies and your "baby" is 5.

Fortunately, the baby class ends at the same time as Hugmonkey's. I get to see the moms struggle to change diapers and rinse babies and get out of their own bathing suits and deal with crying and bottles and pacifiers on the floor. Meanwhile, I'm checking my phone because Hugmonkey is in a stall dressing himself. The baby lust recedes quickly.

Sometimes I participate in the conversations the moms are having while they wait their turns for the changing tables. Sometimes they even ask me questions as I lounge against the wall. Usually, I don't really get to answer because babies aren't conducive to conversations. Of course, neither is Hugmonkey when he's ready to get going and have lunch. Anyway, here is what I'd like to tell the "baby moms" I see every week. . .

• Just buy the minivan. Even if you only ever have one kiddo, there will come a time in the not-too-distant future where you'll be hauling extra kids around. Trust me. 
• No one cares whether your baby's socks match. 
• Write down (even if it's just on Facebook) when especially cute or funny stuff happens, because your memory is never going to work as well as it used to. 
• Baby swim class is a fine activity, but just because your kid likes it now, that doesn't mean he's destined to be the next Ryan Lochte. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing. 
• The same holds true for baby music, baby gym, baby art and (for Brooklyn parents) baby DJ class. 
• I know you can't imagine why I'm so entertained by "talking" to your baby, but you'll understand someday when your youngest child regularly performs 30 minute monologues on Minecraft. 

I Think I Need Help

Ironflower and Lovebug appeared in their Theater Week play Friday night. They were, of course, wonderful and it was adorable and I am so proud. Of them.

I was not so much proud of myself as I dragged us to the front of the auditorium and whipped out my iPad. This was after freaking out, thinking we were too far back in the line to get good seats (of course there was a line to go in and of course people lined up way early for it). In addition to recording every moment (even though there were many moments where you couldn't see either kid) of the show, I had my dad and Hot Guy taking pictures during the whole thing, too.

Note to self: White kids, stage lighting and iPhone flashes are not, perhaps, the best combination for taking photos that show faces. Lovebug is the taller one in the middle. 

But even more shameful than acting like the paparazzi staking out Lindsay Lohan at a nightclub, I totally waved at my kids while they were on stage. More than once. I held  bounced the iPad with one hand and WAVED at my kids with the other. Hell, at one point, when one of Ironflower's friends was on the floor near us, I waved at her too.

You know, when Ironflower was first teething and I went from "No TV until she's in preschool" to "Look, if the Wiggles make her stop crying for 15 minutes, she can watch the damn Wiggles at 7 months old", I grasped that actual motherhood might not look like I had imagined it. I realized that many of those things I swore I'd never do would turn out to be done on a regular basis.

But realizing your TV standards are unworkable is one thing, it's quite another to turn into a waving idiot. I mean, I realize that my kids haven't quite got a creative process and that Theater Week doesn't foster deep investment into one's stage character, but still. I was waving. While they were trying to perform. In a way I'd never do during a soccer game. In a way that would have made me cringe in horror if my own mother had ever done it to me. Did I mention I also tried gesturing to Lovebug to get him to stop messing with his costume? And that I started to mouth one of Ironflower's lines with her?

I'm pretty sure I'm just a step or two away from wearing t-shirts with their faces on them to all of their sporting events and performances. Or yelling, "Sing out Louise!" like that crazy mother in Gypsy.

Please stop me.

At Least One of Us Is Growing Up

Yesterday - or was it forever ago? - it seemed like I spent my days comforting kids. Toddlers falling, babies needing to be held, preschoolers wanting their way, someone constantly needed cuddles and soothing words. Some days it was pretty damn exhausting. Some days I probably wasn't quite as comforting as I could have been.

How was I to know that only a few years later I'd watch my daughter get hit the face with an iceball and not comfort her?

I wanted to go to her. I wanted to hug her and comfort her. I wanted to yell at the boy who (admittedly accidentally) threw the iceball at her face. But instead I just watched her. I watched her tear up, cover her face with her hand and turn away from the crowd for a few minutes. I watched her not look to me, or to anyone else, while she calmed herself down. 

I repeated, "She knows where I am, she knows where I am if she needs me,," over and over to myself. Except that I must have started to say it out loud, because the mom next to me said, "She looks like she wants to handle it herself." I nodded. 

I knew that she did. Her body language, the way she's been dying to do things for herself lately, her embarrassment that her parents actually remain on the playground with her, all taught me that running through the snow in my clogs to give her a hug would not have been a comfort to anyone but me. 

A few minutes later - after throwing some iceballs at the boy - she finally looked at me. I asked her if she was okay. She nodded and went back to her game. Later, because I felt bad for not rushing to my child's side, I asked her if it was okay that I didn't run to her side when she was hurt. "Mom, it just stung. I was fine. It would have been embarrassing if you'd run to me. Sheesh." 

Ironflower was 14 months old the first time I realized how big an impact my reactions had on her. I was 8 months pregnant with Lovebug and Ironflower was cruising around the living room. She managed to bang her head on the side corner of the coffee table (the part not covered with bumpers, of course) and started to cry. I scooped her up and soothed her calmly, until I saw the huge bump on her head. Then I started to cry, because hormones and injured toddlers are a bad combination. Of course, when I started crying, Ironflower stopped calming down and started wailing louder and louder. It was a fun night, let me tell ya. 

Since then, I have managed to keep my emotions/hormones/reactions in check no matter what the injury. So much so that local moms describe me as calm. Too bad they don't give out Golden Globes for faking it; I would so love to meet Tina Fey and Amy Poehler. But it's one thing to fake it as I hold  my kiddo up close and see that the injury isn't so bad, it's another when I'm watching from afar. It's another when my kid doesn't even look at me for a reaction. 

I mean, part of me thinks it's great. It's great that she can calm herself down; that she can assess her own injury level. It's great that she's so independent. Really. But all those times I daydreamed about having independent, capable kids? I didn't realize that meant I'd have to just stand there and watch them get hurt sometimes. 

I'm going to be a fucking mess when all the middle school drama starts, aren't I? 

Throwback Thursday: She Is Definitely Tougher Than I Am

From November 5th, 2007.

I Think She's Tougher Than I Am

Not quite 3 year old Ironflower, approximately two weeks before I originally posted this.

My daughter is tough. From seeming to improve (from her bad cold) on Saturday, things grew horrible on Sunday. After a disastrous attempt to have dinner at my parents' house (like we do most Sundays), Mom (who is such a wonderful grammy and whom we appreciate so much) and I took Ironflower to the ER (Hot Guy was working). The Motrin (which is SO MUCH BETTER than Tylenol, BTW) wore off early and her fever shot up. Then she complained about an earache. She hadn't complained of any pain the whole time and I almost felt relieved. Surely an ear infection explained the fever?

But despite thinking that I at least had an explanation, Ironflower was worrying me (and her grammy). So we went to the ER while my Dad watched Lovebug (which I needlessly worried about, they had a great time and I am very grateful).

Ironflower just clung to me, not wanting to talk or hear stories or sing. The wait was not as long as I'd feared, though it still left me enough time to mentally insult all the people waiting ahead of us. None of them looked that sick, let me tell you.

Anyway, the condescending nurse (apparently I made a lot of wrong decisions concerning Ironflower's care, like dressing her too warmly even though she complained of cold and not giving her a dose of Motrin when the last one wore off, even though she was only supposed to take it every 8 hours and it had only been 7 hours, but it's not like I care what that nurse thinks) finally led us to her triage room. Ironflower, despite feeling like hell, cooperated and barely whimpered during the poking and prodding.

We were sent to treatment room. Ironflower was given what must have been a double dose of Motrin and a dose of antibiotics, which she responded to fairly quickly. But still, it's hard to get poked and prodded even when you're feeling 100% and Ironflower handled the doctor wonderfully. It's not that I would have been upset if she'd cried or protested or fought, it was what I expected. Hell, I cried when I got a spinal before Lovebug's c-section (okay, the doctor also had some issues inserting it, but that's another post). But Ironflower stuck her chin out and showed her will of Iron. She understood that everything was necessary so that she could feel better and so she handled it.

Color me impressed.

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. 

Basically, I'm a Liar

I swore I would not be one of those mothers who babied her youngest child. This was a swear that I made AFTER becoming a parent, so it counts way more than all those swears I had before becoming a parent. All those things I said before I became a parent, about no TV and all organic food and never raising my voice, they don't count at all. I know that.

But the no babying rule was made when my children looked like this:

Notice how there are only two of them? 

That's practically not being a parent yet. I mean, I think this picture shows a 2 year old and a 9 month old. I was swamped with baby-ness. Of course I looked forward to not having a baby around. 

But now the child who wasn't even a twinkle in his father's eye when that photo was taken is FOUR. 

My baby. 

I have tried to hold Hugmonkey to the same standards as his siblings. I made him learn to put on his own shoes and to get himself dressed, despite his aversion to both ideas. He's probably had more chores than they had at his age, actually. 

But he still can't buckle his seatbelt - and usually Lovebug is the one helping him with it. 

And he still doesn't clean up very well - and usually Ironflower is the one helping him with it. 

Sometimes he has to remind me not to feed him. 

Most damning of all, my go-to nickname for him is "Baby." He did go through a phase where he would yell back, "I'm not a baby!" but that's passed. It's like he's accepted his fate. 

And I've finally accepted that I shouldn't swear to anything when it comes to parenthood. 

PS: Happy birthday to my fantastic mom! Thank you for everything, all the time. 

Ticked Off Tuesday*

So Elizabeth Banks said having two kids makes her feel like a real mom. You could just hear the whole internet going. . . .

Did that bitch just insult my choices? Is she implying I'm not a REAL MOM? Kill her!

Or something like that. I only read the article and skimmed the comments.

I think the "Kill her!" part was merely implied. By hundreds of people who were very upset that Ms. Banks seems to think that having only one child doesn't make you a real mom. Technically, I should be upset on behalf of my mother, who, despite having only one child, was definitely a real mother. Except that I don't think my mother would waste her time being bothered by this statement. She knows she was a real mother - ask her about all the times she had to take me to the pediatrician in an average year.

Totally real mother of one in this picture. Just look at those roots. 

It ticks me off that people are so insecure about motherhood that they can get insulted over anything.

I didn't FEEL like a real mother until Lovebug was two years old and I handled a supermarket meltdown calmly. I had been a real mother for more than 3 years at that point - nursing, getting up in the middle of the night, changing diapers, getting thrown up on - but it wasn't until then that I felt like one.

This is not to say that if I'd had only one child, I never would have felt like a real mother. I'm sure Ironflower would have provided me a moment to feel like a "real mother" eventually. My point is that when we ARE real mothers and when we FEEL like them are two different things. If it took Elizabeth Banks two kids and time without a nanny to feel it, why does it matter to the rest of us?






*I know that I rant a lot. I have decided to accept it instead of letting it boil up until it explodes with like ten rants in the space of a week. So welcome to my new weekly feature, "Ticked Off Tuesday." Feel free to put your own rant in the comments. I may have tried this before. I can't remember, so I'm assuming you can't either. 

Stop Playing With Your Kids

Not you. I'm sure you play with your kids the right amount. I'm sure your kids can entertain themselves for an age-appropriate amount of time without having to stare at some kind of screen. I'm sure your kids don't rely on you to direct their play. I'm sure your kids are great.

But those other people? Need to stop coddling their children. 

Look, it's no secret that I'm not really into playing with my kids. Unless it involves a sand castle or a soccer ball or this odd game we play at the playground. I've recently had to step back from Legos and blocks, not because I don't enjoy them, but because I get a little too attached to my creations. But I'm not saying this as a parent, I'm saying this as a former teacher. 

Stop playing with your kids.

Recently I did a little Facebook stalking. Don't look at me like that - you've done it too. But maybe not with your now high school and college aged former students. Students that I used to watch play every day (okay, some days) at recess and every Friday during "Fun Friday". Little first and second graders who are now dating and going to college and whatnot.

I'm a little worried about the whatnot, but all the ones on Facebook seem to be hiding the whatnot rather well. Anyway, the kids who were best playing seem to be the most successful now. And by "best at playing" I mean able to take turns with toys, find something to do independently and not beg for the computer the entire time.

One of the boys I remember really well still looks so much the same. He's a kid who really struggled academically and his behavior wasn't the greatest. But when he did get to play at recess or on Fun Friday he was so happy and so capable. Now, even though his spelling hasn't really improved since the second grade, he has a job and friends and hasn't dropped out of school. That's incredibly significant when you check out the statistics on his classmates, even the ones who were more academically gifted than he was.

I know this evidence is anecdotal, not scientific. Here's a slightly more scientific article about motivating your kids. And one about the importance of play. And one about the importance of self-control. And an academic paper about independent play.

The thing is, when a kid relies a parent, baby-sitter or other caregiver for play all the time, the kid doesn't learn. The kid doesn't learn to entertain herself, to wait his turn, to share, to create or problem solve or exhibit self-control. And that makes teaching the kid SO MUCH HARDER. Really.

Plus, you know, someday your kids will have to function in the world without you. Why not let them practice when you're nearby instead of when you drop them off at school or college or their first job?

Baby Cravings

I didn't think it would happen to me.

I had 3 kids in 4 years. All told, I spent over 3 years nursing. I have owned and used a triple stroller and several double strollers. I had at least one kid in diapers for 6 years straight. I still don't know what it's like not to carry snacks in my purse.

But.

I haven't held a baby for more than a few minutes in ages.

That's Lovebug. 

That's Ironflower.

That's HugMonkey. I hardly have any pictures of the poor kid by himself.

I'm craving a baby. Even as I celebrate Hugmonkey heading to daily preschool, the joy of life without diapers and the fact that I don't even have to bring a sippy cup with me everywhere, I am a little sad. There are no babies in this house and there won't be ever again.*  I really thought that 6 years of baby and toddlerhood straight would cure me of the baby cravings. I thought I'd had enough. Apparently I was wrong. 

Last week, Ironflower and Lovebug asked for a little sister. It killed me. It was so sweet and adorable and impossible I actually teared up. In a perfect world, they would have a little sister. You know, if money and multiple c-sections weren't a factor in our lives. And if I thought I could deal with having a toddler again. 

You see, I love babies. I've had baby cravings for most of my life. I love preschoolers. I love elementary school kids. I can even enjoy teenagers. But toddlers? Toddlers are tough. And the thing is, even if I could still get pregnant and afford to have Zara (because that would have to be her name), she wouldn't stay a baby. At some point she would turn into a toddler. And I would become a lousy mother, because I'm pretty sure that Lovebug and Hugmonkey used up all my toddler parenting patience. Toddlers are awesome in many ways, but there are no easy days with them. Hell, there are no easy hours with them. At least not the toddlers I have. 

Clearly I need to get my baby fix another way. Any ideas? 

*I'm 41 and my tubes are tied and we are way too broke to adopt. That ship has sailed so far away that you can't even see it anymore. Unless someone goes all Baby Boom on me and leaves me one. Which would be really, really, weird. 

I Let My Kids Watch Toddlers and Tiaras

The first time I let them see Toddlers and Tiaras, it was an accident. A younger Ironflower caught a glimpse of a girl in a sparkly dress before I turned the television off. Immediately she wanted to know why a girl her age had such a "beautiful" dress. I tried to explain the horror of child beauty pageants. She begged to be in one.

Obviously my explanation needed work.

The next time it happened, I was just trying to avoid a completely annoying commercial airing during House Hunters. I'll be honest here, I can't stand to watch children's television any more. So when we have our weekly casual dinner in front of the TV (okay, it may be a twice weekly thing), I try to find something that we can all enjoy and that won't force me to explain topics I'd rather avoid at this juncture, like sex and Republicans.

As I flipped, we caught another girl in a sparkly dress. Who was having a total meltdown. My kids were horrified by the things she said. We wound up talking about the difference between looking pretty and acting pretty. Of course, we also watched to see if she won a crown or not. That's how it happened the first time.

We've watched other episodes since. It's not that I tape it, it's just that it happens to be on when we're having casual dinner night. And it really prompts interesting discussions - what clothes are appropriate, how the little girls are always cuter in the before pictures, what they should say if they want to give up one of their activities, what to do if you forget your part during a performance.

Besides, anything that makes my children say, "spray tans are ugly" has got to be insurance against them winding up on Jersey Shore 25, right?

Some Thoughts On Parenting

"Never do anything for your kid that they can do themselves."

I've read that quote, in various forms, in lots of different parenting advice books. I was able to do it when the first 2 kids were small. With them being 15 months apart, Ironflower pretty much had to learn to do things for herself quickly. And of course Lovebug wanted in on the action. But with Hugmonkey, things have been different. Even if I couldn't do something for him, one of his siblings could. So I would get them to do it. It was so much faster and easier. 

It was when he was 3 and was still not even attempting to put on his own slip on shoes that I realized I'd screwed up. Lovebug and Ironflower put on their own shoes well before 3. It was hell getting Hugmonkey to put his own shoes on. But after 2 months of hell, he does it now. And his coat if I lay it out for him. He gets his own pajamas. He puts on his own underwear, his own pants. None of this is huge, exactly, but in the last few weeks? His behavior has gotten so much better. The more I teach him to do, the more praise he gets for accomplishments like getting his own yogurt tube out of the refrigerator, the better he behaves in general. Apparently self-esteem and behavior are very closely tied together. I think I used to know that. 

So then we come to Ironflower and Lovebug. So capable at 2 and 3, 3 and 4. So well-behaved. It's not that they're poorly behaved now. But maybe things could be better. And maybe I should stop laying out their clothes for them. It seems that while I was able to overcome control freak tendencies when they were small, I've sort of kept them at those same levels. I still put toothpaste on their toothbrushes so they won't make a mess. At 7 and almost 6, they don't know how to answer the phone. Sure, they dress themselves and I have taught them to shower on their own, but that's about all the progress we've made since they were 3. Whoops.

So I need suggestions. What else can a kindergartner and a first grader do independently? I know I should step back from the toothpaste and laying out their clothes for them, but what other tasks are reasonable? What chores should they have around the house? Right now, it's picking up their own toys - something else they've been doing since they were small. Though, oddly, they do not seem to have gotten any faster at it. Anyway, how can I encourage competence and thus (hopefully) better behavior? I keep threatening to make them clean the bathroom as a punishment, but I'm guessing that's a little too advanced.

Also, I should probably stop threatening them with things I'm not going to do. Pretty sure I remember that rule from my teaching days, not to mention the countless parenting books. Next thing you know, I'll be feeding them Red Bull and pixie sticks before I force them to participate in "beauty" pageants.

Just kidding. I would never feed my kids Red Bull. 

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?

Not A Completely Whiny Post

When I was a teacher, I used to have something called "sick days". Perhaps you've heard of them? I would make lots of extra worksheets, write out what I did all day and then spend a few days on the couch, secure in the knowledge that a substitute was filling in for me. When I came back, I would glance through the worksheets and the substitute's usual indecipherable note (no offense to substitute teachers in general, but most of the ones we got in KCK would not have qualified to sub in any other state, nor in most other districts) and then toss them all into the trash. And that would be the end of it - then everything would be back to normal.

It was kind of a shock for me that when I had my first illness as a stay-at-home mom, no one came in and took over.

So this week when, 2 days after finishing my round of antibiotics for the evil strep/sinus infection combo, I developed another fever and sore throat, I cried. Then I headed back to the doctor for superstrong antibiotics (with nasty side effects, but that's another post) and arranged for rides for the kids during the 2 days I would still be contagious. Then I managed to bathe, feed and clothe my children - without letting them kill each other - for several days while being massively ill.

And that's fine, I get that moms don't get substitutes.

What's not fine is that I can't just chuck everything into the garbage can right now. The laundry has piled up into epic proportions, not to mention the general mess of my house. I haven't written anything in days, I haven't bought the tights Ironflower needs for her recital next week, I haven't, I haven't, I haven't. I can't believe how far behind I am with everything. Oh, and my children now think they can get away with murder.

Seriously, something about seeing me on the couch watching The Real Housewives while retching into a garbage can has made my children think that they don't have to listen to me anymore. Or possibly it was a week of  killer parenting comments like, "I don't care what you do, just be quiet and don't hurt each other," that caused them to think I wasn't paying attention. In any case,  I have some serious re-parenting to do.

I'm exhausted just thinking about it.

Maybe there should be substitutes for moms. I wonder if that would work as a corporate model. . ."Momitutes: for when mom needs a substitute". What do you think?

I Used To Be Cool, I Swear

I didn't feel bad when we bought the minivan. It had SO MUCH room, after all. And I didn't have to hunch to strap the kids into their seats. A sense of unease began to creep in when I realized that the only shoes I wear are clogs or flip flops, but I ignored it. It was a little harder to dismiss that I always have band aids, wipes and pretzels on my person, but surely the fact that I carried them in a stylish purse had to excuse something, right?

It wasn't even driving my kids to lessons at the Y and hitting the grocery store twice a week that brought it all home. It was signing them up for soccer this afternoon.

Soccer.

Next fall I will be spending my weekends watching my 2 older children on the soccer field. While wearing my clogs and (probably) pulling band aids out of my purse.

I am now a soccer mom.

It doesn't matter that I have tattoos or that I've danced on bars or that I've gotten high in Amsterdam. It doesn't matter that we have dancing time and go on nature walks and listen to Led Zeppelin in our household. It doesn't matter that my kids have never actually seen a soccer game.

I've still turned into a stereotype of suburban motherhood.

I don't know why soccer sign ups are worse than being the last person to hear about Florence and the Machine or realizing that I can't remember the last party I went to that didn't involve goody bags of candy, but they are. Possibly because there is just no way to make a bunch of 6 year olds running around a muddy field hip or cool in any way.

Also possibly because I will probably enjoy making small talk while my kids run around a muddy field. So it's not so much that I'm a soccer mom now, it's that I like it. Just please don't let me start listening to Michael Bolton and taping Oprah.

My Super New Genius Parenting Idea

Ironflower requested a meal the other day. Lovebug asked for more apple just now. Hugmonkey is actually eating the food he asks for these days. Things are freaking weird around here. 

My kids have always been lackluster eaters. Not only are they picky, they just don't eat a lot. Even of their favorite foods. After initial anxiety caused by our former pediatrician (who felt that, despite Ironflower's health, height, head circumference and achieved developmental milestones, she was unhealthy because she wasn't a fat baby), we have pretty much let the kids be. Sure, we try new foods and make them finish their fruit, but we don't enforce cleaned plates and we give them very small portions. 

Hugmonkey is the most enthusiastic eater of all, but according to one parenting article I read his intake has been on the bottom level of normal at best. Mostly it's just that he eats more than the other children. 

I'm overexplaining so that you'll understand why I'm so freaked out. My kids keep asking to eat. And eat. And eat. And they're not even asking for junk food all the time. And I'm a wreck. How do parents of good eaters deal with this all the time? It seems like every 5 minutes I'm getting a snack together for someone. Or preparing a meal (I might also be traumatized because Hot Guy is pretty much never home to make dinner anymore, which I know is in breach of our marriage contract and is making the kids a little too familiar with the local pizza place.). Or loading the dishwasher. Or finding rogue bits of food on the floor by the couch. 

So I've been toying with the idea of a kind of kid buffet, kind of like the craft services on they have on TV shows and movies with budgets.  I'll just put a bunch of healthy and healthy-ish foods out on the table and the kids can just go eat whenever they feel like it. If they are hungry, the food will be right there, much like when they were breastfeeding. And I'll be able to write a post or an article or go to the bathroom without someone whining for food. 

I realize that this would cut down on our family meal times, but I also think I'd be a lot happier during those meal times if we didn't have them 3 times a day, plus innumerable snacks. Beside, isn't grazing supposed to be healthier? 

I know I read an article about this once. I think it was really about making snacks accessible, but I didn't pay much attention because at the time I had 2 kids under 2 and my goal in life was to make things inaccessible for them. I couldn't imagine having children who could open a drawer and not make a huge mess. Actually, I still can't. Even Hot Guy messes up my attempts at refrigerator organization* on a daily basis. 

Maybe it should be the kids and husband buffet. 

*Yes, I would keep my fridge organized if I could. And the snack drawer. And the bread box. I actually used to be known for being organized professionally and for having a clean house. You know why things were organized and clean? Because I never let anyone mess it up, that's why. And then I had kids. 

With the buffet system, no one will go into the kitchen and dump the cracker box upside down so that only half of the crumbs wind up on the plate. No one will let the grapes get squished under the juice boxes. No one will demand this or that for lunch - the only choices will already be on the table. No one will get interrupted 3 separate times in the space of 8 minutes! 

I am so trying my super new genius parenting idea Tuesday. 

Are You Experienced?

Just now I was messing about on The Twitter when I heard Hugmonkey scream and then cry. I glanced down the hall to see him sprawled on the ground in the living room. "You okay, buddy?" I called. He ran to me for a hug, then ran off to destroy something. I have no idea what happened. And it occurred to me that that whole scenario never would have happened when Ironflower was 2. When Ironflower was 2, we were either in the same room or she was in her crib. When Lovebug was 2, he may have been in another room but I would have quizzed Ironflower on what happened while I scooped him up. Now I wait for the piercing scream before I go running. 

I am now an experienced mother. 

You too are an experienced parent if. . . 

1. You don't jump every time someone cries,

2. The 5 second rule sometimes stretches into the 10 second rule, or even the oh-well-he-already-put-it-back-in-his-mouth rule. 

3. You keep toys, food and extra clothes in your bag and/or your car. Because you learned your lesson when you had to wrap your child in your sweater after a poopslosion, or you had to buy overpriced snack food somewhere after a meltdown or you ever tried to eat out with your children.

4. Your child has uttered a swear word she learned from you.

5. You realize that your children's sleeping habits and temperaments have more to do with luck than with your parenting skill.

6. You have done at least 3 things you swore you'd never do as a parent.

7. The sound of Dora's voice makes your skin crawl, but you've still let her baby-sit your child while you take a damn shower.

8. You have dawdled on your solo trip to the grocery store because you know to take your "me" time when you can get it. 

What do you think makes an experienced parent?

I'm Not the Crazy One, Right?

So I read parenting magazines. Sometimes I find good ideas in them, sometimes I read about complicated crafts I will do with my kids if I ever have a lobotomy. Mostly they are just a good way to feed my addiction to the printed word. And occasionally they give me the chance to be a snarky bitch.

I've been obsessing about this one story I read and I've finally decided to appeal to the wisdom of the internets. I can't remember where the story was or precisely what it was in reference to - maybe something about a little disappointment being okay for kids? I'm not sure.

What I do remember is this: A woman's 2 daughters were given two different toys in their Happy Meals. The franchise was out of one toy, so the mother drove to FOUR DIFFERENT McDonald's franchises to find it. So her daughters could have the same toy.

Now, I'm all about my kids getting the same stuff and equal treatment and all that. BUT oh my freaking goddess, this is a McDonald's toy we're talking about. Those of us who give in to the demon fast food throw out bags of those toys every year. Chances are the kids would have gotten over it quickly, but the mother didn't want her kids to be upset for even a second.

Those kids are going to be a lot of fun when they get to kindergarten and find out they can't be line leader every day. Right? I mean, this woman's crazy, isn't she? She even said that the kids had both fallen asleep in the car by the time she got the toy. This is taking the whole positive experiences/devoted parenting thing too far, is it not?

It occurred to me, though, after my initial shock wore off, that I know some parents who would do this. That maybe I'm the one who's crazy - crazy mean, that is. So, what do you think? Would you drive to 4 McDonald's franchises so that your kids could have the same toy? Or is this woman what's with kids today?

At Least My Kid Doesn't. . . .

We don't like to talk about it, unless we're douchebags who troll well-known parenting blogs just to hurl insults.

But we all do it.

Even though most of us aren't douchebags.

We've all had the thought, "At least my kid doesn't do THAT." That, of course, could be anything from nose picking to eating fast food to punching siblings. Those of us with a modicum of self-awareness and humility don't say these things out loud. We know that our kids do embarrassing things too. But just not THAT. For which we are grateful.

Until - possibly thanks to all of our smug little thoughts - our kid DOES do THAT. Like, I never used to understand toilet locks. My toddlers weren't interested in the toilet and would never think of playing in it. Then I had Hugmonkey, who has only recently forgotten about the joy of throwing toys into the toilet. Or splashing in it.

And you would think, having learned that the crazy/annoying stuff kids do has less to do with parenting skill and more to do with personality and opportunity, that I would have stopped having smug little thoughts. But you would be wrong. Even after the toilet thing, I had "My kids have never mess around with scissors" and "My kids don't stick things up their noses".

Ironflower decided to cut her hair Sunday morning. It was in a ponytail and she cut some section behind her ear. I didn't notice until I was brushing her hair out, intending to redo the ponytail. There was a huge knot, which made me ask if Hugmonkey had grabbed her hair (visions of peanut butter clumps dancing in my head). Suddenly the knot came out. . .into my hand. I may have freaked out a bit until I realized it had been cut. Not that she admitted it for quite awhile.

Though she did admit to the time she got a pretzel stuck up her nose at her Grammy's house, "And Grammy had to get it out with a tweezer!". She shared this while I removed a Lego from Hugmonkey's nose. At least I didn't have to resort to tweezers.

But still.

I'm really going to try harder to be less smug. So even though Lovebug is not mentioned in any of these disillusionment stories, I am not going to brag about how at least I have one kid who doesn't do THAT. No, I am definitely not going to feel the least big smug.

Especially since he's the one who removed his dirty diaper once and. . .well, let's just say I had to scrub the walls after that nap session.

What are or have been your smug little parenting thoughts? Have you had to get over them?

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