Every year Michael and has dad go on a 5 day fishing trip in late fall. This year it fell on a particularly busy week of work and soccer games. So I prepare carefully, timing events just right to get everyone back and forth to where they need to be at the right location. I'm feeling pretty good about myself by day 2- so good that I decide to tackle Lila's bookcase that was delivered in pieces with a label that says "Requires 2 adults to assemble".
Guess what? 3 hours later it's DONE! My confidence is growing, so the next day when my left rear blinker light goes out I'm all about fixing it myself. I go to an auto parts store, get the blinker light, come home and spend the next 2 hours trying to figure out how to get my tail light assembly out that is held in place by 2 deep set hex bolts when I have no hex-bolt-screwdriver thingy.
Using some creative engineering I get it out, replace my bulb, replace the tail light assembly and I'M DONE! And it works! Luke is nearby and rejoices with me in my accomplishement. In the midst of my exultation I make an offhand comment "Daddy better watch out!! We're not gonna be needing him around anymore!!".
Only when I heard Luke gasp did I realize my mistake. I spun around and saw him frozen, eyes wide with panic. Stupid, stupid! I think to myself... poor baby thinks I'm serious- of course that's not something to joke around about with a 6 year old!
As I reach out to comfort him, I assure him of course daddy's still going to be here- I was just kidding and I promised never to joke like that again. Luke sighs with clear relief and says..... wait for it.....
"Oh good, mom. I was really worried about who was going to hang up those Christmas lights!".
Luke loves his daddy- he really does. He just REALLY loves Christmas lights and apparently has little faith that I could manage it properly. I'm not sure who should be more offended.....
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Friday, November 12, 2010
The no good, very bad evening.
So Thursday was a bad parenting day. Well, I should be fair; it was a bad parenting evening. And to be even more fair- it technically was a bad CHILD day as I wasn't the one causing all the drama.
It started when I picked up Luke from swim at 5:00. Usually he doesn't go to swim on days he has a soccer game but today was an exception since I had to work late. I remind him that his last soccer game is that evening and that afterwards he gets to get a trophy and medal. Now this might would be considered a good thing to most kids; Luke saw it as instant pressure.
"It's my last game- what if I don't score a goal? What if I don't play good and they won't give me a trophy?" Combined with an occasional "I don't even want to go! I don't want a trophy!".
Sigh. So here we go, insert explanation that everyone gets a trophy, just need to have a good attitude, yada yada yada. I don't typically endorse medicating children but if there were an all natural, no negative side effect mood stabilizer for children on the market I would buy it in bulk.
We get home. Lila and Michael get home. The usual chaos of getting everyone fed and clothes changed. 10 minutes before we leave I start asking Lila if she needs to go to the bathroom. No. I KNOW she needs to go to the bathroom. After asking, demanding, her sitting and crying on the toilet while screaming "I don't need to!" we finally go.
6:30- game begins.
6:32- Lila realizes we forgot her snack at home.
6:35- arrived home to get Lila's snack. Tried to get her to go to the bathroom.
6:40- arrived back at soccer game.
6:42- Luke scores his first goal... into the other teams goal. Immediate fall into the depths of depression ("my team hates me!"), Luke sits out and sulks.
6:45- Lila announces "I need to go to the bathroom!". Refuses to use the soccer bathrooms because they are "nasty". Find a hiding place between 2 cars for her to pee. Me looking like an insane lunatic muttering/whisper-shouting at a 2 year old about how I told her so.
6:50-Luke has to go back in. He's still depressed so he mostly mopes around the field 10 feet behind everyone else. Whatever, he's out there.
7:20- game finally ends, Luke gets his trophy, all is well.
Then it's back home where no one wants to take a bath. Everyone is made to take a bath, Lila crying and Luke stomping the whole time "I'm not even dirty!".
At 8:40 everyone's in bed and I finally feel like I can relax. Until 8:45 when I hear Lila's door open. Sigh.
"What is it, Lila?"
"My potty's in here and it needs to be in the bathroom." The potty is one that you flip the top down on and it converts to a step-stool. That's all it's used for since Lila uses the regular toilet.
"Lila, it's fine. Just leave it in your room."
"Noooo! It needs to be in the bathrooooom!" She's using her stubborn I-can-do-this-for-hours whine.
"FINE!!!" I go grab the potty/step-stool, take exactly 2 stomps towards the door and feel cold liquid all over my shirt and dripping down my legs onto the carpet. I don't think I need to explain further. Lila thought it was pretty amusing.
So yes, it was a bad evening. I ended up yelling a lot, which I hate doing. But I only got a couple of sentences written on my "Free kids to any home" ad on Craigslist before I erased it. Well, not erased it; saved it on my harddrive. No sense it having to start from scratch next time.
It started when I picked up Luke from swim at 5:00. Usually he doesn't go to swim on days he has a soccer game but today was an exception since I had to work late. I remind him that his last soccer game is that evening and that afterwards he gets to get a trophy and medal. Now this might would be considered a good thing to most kids; Luke saw it as instant pressure.
"It's my last game- what if I don't score a goal? What if I don't play good and they won't give me a trophy?" Combined with an occasional "I don't even want to go! I don't want a trophy!".
Sigh. So here we go, insert explanation that everyone gets a trophy, just need to have a good attitude, yada yada yada. I don't typically endorse medicating children but if there were an all natural, no negative side effect mood stabilizer for children on the market I would buy it in bulk.
We get home. Lila and Michael get home. The usual chaos of getting everyone fed and clothes changed. 10 minutes before we leave I start asking Lila if she needs to go to the bathroom. No. I KNOW she needs to go to the bathroom. After asking, demanding, her sitting and crying on the toilet while screaming "I don't need to!" we finally go.
6:30- game begins.
6:32- Lila realizes we forgot her snack at home.
6:35- arrived home to get Lila's snack. Tried to get her to go to the bathroom.
6:40- arrived back at soccer game.
6:42- Luke scores his first goal... into the other teams goal. Immediate fall into the depths of depression ("my team hates me!"), Luke sits out and sulks.
6:45- Lila announces "I need to go to the bathroom!". Refuses to use the soccer bathrooms because they are "nasty". Find a hiding place between 2 cars for her to pee. Me looking like an insane lunatic muttering/whisper-shouting at a 2 year old about how I told her so.
6:50-Luke has to go back in. He's still depressed so he mostly mopes around the field 10 feet behind everyone else. Whatever, he's out there.
7:20- game finally ends, Luke gets his trophy, all is well.
Then it's back home where no one wants to take a bath. Everyone is made to take a bath, Lila crying and Luke stomping the whole time "I'm not even dirty!".
At 8:40 everyone's in bed and I finally feel like I can relax. Until 8:45 when I hear Lila's door open. Sigh.
"What is it, Lila?"
"My potty's in here and it needs to be in the bathroom." The potty is one that you flip the top down on and it converts to a step-stool. That's all it's used for since Lila uses the regular toilet.
"Lila, it's fine. Just leave it in your room."
"Noooo! It needs to be in the bathrooooom!" She's using her stubborn I-can-do-this-for-hours whine.
"FINE!!!" I go grab the potty/step-stool, take exactly 2 stomps towards the door and feel cold liquid all over my shirt and dripping down my legs onto the carpet. I don't think I need to explain further. Lila thought it was pretty amusing.
So yes, it was a bad evening. I ended up yelling a lot, which I hate doing. But I only got a couple of sentences written on my "Free kids to any home" ad on Craigslist before I erased it. Well, not erased it; saved it on my harddrive. No sense it having to start from scratch next time.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Halloween drama
Sigh. Halloween night. The night Luke has been dreaming about, asking about, counting down to for weeks now. He decided months ago to be the headless horseman wearing a scary pumpkin head mask. I knew it would be disastrous.
Whenever Luke has ever gotten his expectations up really high about anything he gets disappointed and therefore his entire experience is ruined. Tonight was no exception.
The family arrived a little early to go trick or treating with us... amidst the chaos of having 6 extra adults and 2 extra kids in the house it took a while to notice Luke wasn't joining in the festivities. With a groan and feeling of trepidation I go into his room. Sure enough, his costume is stripped off and he's assumed his standard "it's the end of the world" dramatic facedown on the bed pose.
"What's the matter, Luke?"
"I really wanted to be the headless horeseman but the mask is bothering me!"
"Okay so don't wear the mask."
Wailing- "But without the mask no one will know who I aaaaammmm!"
Much conversation follows, all attempts at alterations to the mask have failed, there is no face paint in the house and Luke is in all-out crisis mode.
My frustration mounting, I finally convince him to put on his skeleton shirt and carry the mask with him, putting it on only when it's time to knock on someones door. He reluctantly agrees. 4 houses later he's given up on life and wants to go home. Michael surprises him by actually AGREEING to take him home (I strongly suspect a football game on TV may have been the motivation) and they head home. 3 minutes later I hear shouting of "wait for me!" as they come back to join the group. Now Michael is grumpy.
It was pure happiness for exactly 8 minutes. Then Luke trips over his cape on the sidewalk and falls full out into a patch of grass FULL of cockle burs. Seriously, there were HUNDREDS of them covering his shoelaces, pants, sleeves and cape. Much screaming ensues.
All 12 of us stop while the adults try to extract cockle burs... pretty unsuccessfully. Bloody fingertips aplenty, Luke's wailing subdued to intermittent whimpers, we forge on. Finally, we've completed the half-mile circle around our neighborhood. It took 45 minutes. We're back home, buckets full, relieved to have accomplished our goal. We took our kids trick or treating.
We spread the loot out on the table to check it and sort out who wanted what... Lila, having an indiscriminate sugar palate, wanted it all. Luke painstakingly sifted through until he picked out exactly 2 fun sized Hershey bars, 4 packs of mini M&M's and 3 mini boxes of nerds. He would have picked out all the Double Bubble too but a quick reminder of why he's "not allowed to ever have gum again as long as he lives under my roof" nixes that idea.
So yeah. All that work and hassle and counseling for a kid who doesn't even really like candy. But when I went to tuck him in tonight he gave me the biggest hug, apologized for being so "difficult" and said it was the best Halloween ever.
This is the part where a "good mom" would say that that hug, apology and declaration would have made the whole nights trouble all worth it. I say not hardly. But I'm glad the kids ended up thinking they had a good time and even more glad that I have a whole 364 days to convince the kids that October 31st only occurs every 4 years.
Whenever Luke has ever gotten his expectations up really high about anything he gets disappointed and therefore his entire experience is ruined. Tonight was no exception.
The family arrived a little early to go trick or treating with us... amidst the chaos of having 6 extra adults and 2 extra kids in the house it took a while to notice Luke wasn't joining in the festivities. With a groan and feeling of trepidation I go into his room. Sure enough, his costume is stripped off and he's assumed his standard "it's the end of the world" dramatic facedown on the bed pose.
"What's the matter, Luke?"
"I really wanted to be the headless horeseman but the mask is bothering me!"
"Okay so don't wear the mask."
Wailing- "But without the mask no one will know who I aaaaammmm!"
Much conversation follows, all attempts at alterations to the mask have failed, there is no face paint in the house and Luke is in all-out crisis mode.
My frustration mounting, I finally convince him to put on his skeleton shirt and carry the mask with him, putting it on only when it's time to knock on someones door. He reluctantly agrees. 4 houses later he's given up on life and wants to go home. Michael surprises him by actually AGREEING to take him home (I strongly suspect a football game on TV may have been the motivation) and they head home. 3 minutes later I hear shouting of "wait for me!" as they come back to join the group. Now Michael is grumpy.
It was pure happiness for exactly 8 minutes. Then Luke trips over his cape on the sidewalk and falls full out into a patch of grass FULL of cockle burs. Seriously, there were HUNDREDS of them covering his shoelaces, pants, sleeves and cape. Much screaming ensues.
All 12 of us stop while the adults try to extract cockle burs... pretty unsuccessfully. Bloody fingertips aplenty, Luke's wailing subdued to intermittent whimpers, we forge on. Finally, we've completed the half-mile circle around our neighborhood. It took 45 minutes. We're back home, buckets full, relieved to have accomplished our goal. We took our kids trick or treating.
We spread the loot out on the table to check it and sort out who wanted what... Lila, having an indiscriminate sugar palate, wanted it all. Luke painstakingly sifted through until he picked out exactly 2 fun sized Hershey bars, 4 packs of mini M&M's and 3 mini boxes of nerds. He would have picked out all the Double Bubble too but a quick reminder of why he's "not allowed to ever have gum again as long as he lives under my roof" nixes that idea.
So yeah. All that work and hassle and counseling for a kid who doesn't even really like candy. But when I went to tuck him in tonight he gave me the biggest hug, apologized for being so "difficult" and said it was the best Halloween ever.
This is the part where a "good mom" would say that that hug, apology and declaration would have made the whole nights trouble all worth it. I say not hardly. But I'm glad the kids ended up thinking they had a good time and even more glad that I have a whole 364 days to convince the kids that October 31st only occurs every 4 years.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Poetry and Prose
"The first child is pure poetry; all the rest are prose." Harriet Beecher Stowe
I heard this quote on the radio a few weeks back and it immediately struck me as true. Since then I've been pondering why it is that it DOES strike me as true. This is what I've come up with.
Poetry is beautiful. It gives you a feeling of magic and romance; as you open the pages of a book of poetry you feel intellectually and emotionally superior to your neighbor to the right who just broke open the latest of the Twilight saga. You hold your poetry book up a little higher, sit a little straighter just so everyone around you can get a good look at the title...only YOU haven't actually taken a good look at the title. You open to the first page, expecting to be engrossed in the lovely language of Shakespeare or Dickinson...instead you realize you're holding Dr. Seuss's Green Eggs and Ham.........written in Latin.
Yes, it should be simple. The concept is simple anyway. You know the general gist of what is supposed to be happening in the text...but as far as the details go you're completely clueless. You muddle through it, using outside resources and filling in the blanks with what you hope is something that is close to the original interpretation... mostly you feel overwhelmed, under prepared and confused as to why you are having so much trouble with a poem that everyone else in the world seems to have memorized!
Then comes prose. Good old prose. After your experience with poetry you've lost your sense of superiority over the Twilight readers- turns out those folks had the right idea. So you open your new book slowly, nervously. You know what you get? Tolstoy's War and Peace. Is it complicated? Yes. Is it a long, tedious read? Yes. But by God it's in English and that's a comfort. You start of shaky but quickly fall into a nice rhythm.... could it be that you're actually relaxing a little?
So yeah, I get what Stowe was saying. I don't think she was actually calling her first child poetry and all the others prose; I think she was referring to the experience of mothering. How yes, the first child brings magic and fierce emotions but also a lot of confusion and questioning. The second child brings it's own set of challenges but at least you have a better understanding of the language.
I heard this quote on the radio a few weeks back and it immediately struck me as true. Since then I've been pondering why it is that it DOES strike me as true. This is what I've come up with.
Poetry is beautiful. It gives you a feeling of magic and romance; as you open the pages of a book of poetry you feel intellectually and emotionally superior to your neighbor to the right who just broke open the latest of the Twilight saga. You hold your poetry book up a little higher, sit a little straighter just so everyone around you can get a good look at the title...only YOU haven't actually taken a good look at the title. You open to the first page, expecting to be engrossed in the lovely language of Shakespeare or Dickinson...instead you realize you're holding Dr. Seuss's Green Eggs and Ham.........written in Latin.
Yes, it should be simple. The concept is simple anyway. You know the general gist of what is supposed to be happening in the text...but as far as the details go you're completely clueless. You muddle through it, using outside resources and filling in the blanks with what you hope is something that is close to the original interpretation... mostly you feel overwhelmed, under prepared and confused as to why you are having so much trouble with a poem that everyone else in the world seems to have memorized!
Then comes prose. Good old prose. After your experience with poetry you've lost your sense of superiority over the Twilight readers- turns out those folks had the right idea. So you open your new book slowly, nervously. You know what you get? Tolstoy's War and Peace. Is it complicated? Yes. Is it a long, tedious read? Yes. But by God it's in English and that's a comfort. You start of shaky but quickly fall into a nice rhythm.... could it be that you're actually relaxing a little?
So yeah, I get what Stowe was saying. I don't think she was actually calling her first child poetry and all the others prose; I think she was referring to the experience of mothering. How yes, the first child brings magic and fierce emotions but also a lot of confusion and questioning. The second child brings it's own set of challenges but at least you have a better understanding of the language.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Welcome and I'm sorry
Welcome to my blog. To the "perfect" parents out there I apologize in advance for polluting the sanctity of motherhood... apparently it's supposed to be all unicorns and cupcake-pooping unicorns- at least that what moms tell non-moms and moms-to-be.
People lied to me. Just like magazine ads airbrush out the wrinkles, cellulite and bulges from their ad models, moms tend to "pretty up" motherhood. The mental snapshots that people choose to keep and showcase to their friends tend to be the most rare fleeting moments- the one second of bliss as a young mother dreamily smiles down at her newborn... just before he throws up all over her quintessential white nightgown.
People who know me know that I love my kids. Sometimes I do not enjoy mothering. I did not enjoy pregnancy nor did I find childbirth particularly empowering or spiritual. When I was pregnant, moms would ooh and ahh over my expanding belly, practically peeing themselves with excitement. At the time I thought they were being overly dramatic, pretending to be thrilled over every little description of food cravings and fetal movement.
Now I know the secret. The secret is that they really ARE thrilled. Just like when you're having a rough day and you find out that your friend is having a rough day too it makes you feel just a little tiny bit better; moms are happy to have another one cross over to "their" side- another woman that will finally GET IT. Get how hard it is, how rewarding it is, how impossible it is to meet your own self-imposed standards of what makes someone a "good mom".
I'm relatively new to the mom club. I was inducted only 6 and a half years ago. From what I understand I haven't gotten to the hard part yet. Parents of adolescents and teenagers obviously have it rough; which is part of the reason why I believe they tend to romantisize those early years. They remember the toddler chubbiness and spaghetti stained cheeks and the photos in their albums are all of silly faces and piggy back rides. Toddler tantrums and defiant first graders must barely register on the radar of rebelliousness when you're dealing with the raging hormones of a 16 year old.
So I'm going to write about my experiences and observations during this so-called easiest period of parenting; if nothing else I'll look back at it when my kids are teenagers and laugh at myself for thinking I had it tough.
People lied to me. Just like magazine ads airbrush out the wrinkles, cellulite and bulges from their ad models, moms tend to "pretty up" motherhood. The mental snapshots that people choose to keep and showcase to their friends tend to be the most rare fleeting moments- the one second of bliss as a young mother dreamily smiles down at her newborn... just before he throws up all over her quintessential white nightgown.
People who know me know that I love my kids. Sometimes I do not enjoy mothering. I did not enjoy pregnancy nor did I find childbirth particularly empowering or spiritual. When I was pregnant, moms would ooh and ahh over my expanding belly, practically peeing themselves with excitement. At the time I thought they were being overly dramatic, pretending to be thrilled over every little description of food cravings and fetal movement.
Now I know the secret. The secret is that they really ARE thrilled. Just like when you're having a rough day and you find out that your friend is having a rough day too it makes you feel just a little tiny bit better; moms are happy to have another one cross over to "their" side- another woman that will finally GET IT. Get how hard it is, how rewarding it is, how impossible it is to meet your own self-imposed standards of what makes someone a "good mom".
I'm relatively new to the mom club. I was inducted only 6 and a half years ago. From what I understand I haven't gotten to the hard part yet. Parents of adolescents and teenagers obviously have it rough; which is part of the reason why I believe they tend to romantisize those early years. They remember the toddler chubbiness and spaghetti stained cheeks and the photos in their albums are all of silly faces and piggy back rides. Toddler tantrums and defiant first graders must barely register on the radar of rebelliousness when you're dealing with the raging hormones of a 16 year old.
So I'm going to write about my experiences and observations during this so-called easiest period of parenting; if nothing else I'll look back at it when my kids are teenagers and laugh at myself for thinking I had it tough.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)