I Don't Negotiate With Terrorists

I don't negotiate with terrorists.

If you fling yourself on the floor and cry in protest...

If you whine and complain and carry on...

If you stonewall and act like the world owes you something...

If you pitch a fit because you aren't getting your way...

If I ask you to do something and you fail to do it...

If you can't seem to get along nicely with other people simply because they exist...

You are a terrorist.

I don't care if you're only 3 or 5 or 7 or 9 or 12 years old.

I will not negotiate with you.

Don't mess with me.

I have enough self-control to outlast you... and I will.

Make no mistake that you will lose your bid to control this family.

I make no apologies for doing my dead-level best to turn you into a decent human being and I am willing to go down in flames trying.

Feel free to tell your friends.

I make no apologies.

I'm a mean Mother.

~ G

Not Such A Crap Mommy

Every now and then one of the kids will do something so sweet it takes my breath away.

Today, Little One walked her stuffed puppy to her bed.  She carried him and said sweet things to him as she laid him... wait, he's a her.  The puppy's a "her."  She told me that on our drive home.  So she was tucking her into bed.

I followed her silently, listening.

She repeated what she's heard me say to her over and over and over and over...

when I'm not cranky.

This is what she's heard.  This is what she is enacting.  She's remembering the sweet mommy times.  She thinks this is how a mommy behaves.

Sigh.  Relief.

Maybe I'm not such a crap mommy after all.

~ G

Sleep... Not So Much

Well, I kinda got to sleep in this morning.  "Kinda" as in, I had to remind Darling he was getting up and I was sleeping in today.

This was after I got up to let out the dog.  And after I padded down the hall to tell the boys (who had woken up on their own at 6:30) that they needed to clean their room before playing any electronic devices.

I got back in bed and tried to not sound like a maniacal fog horn bellowing at Darling to get up because it was my turn to sleep in.

The thing is, once I'm awake, I'm awake.  Thank you, Motherhood.

So, I laid in bed, tossed and turned, could hear everything happening in the kitchen and everything happening in the family room, but felt determined to take advantage of "sleeping in."  I rested, but sleep... not so much.

It was still nice.  And the kids got some time with their daddy - who made their breakfast and watched "The Universe" with them.  Well worth it.

~ G

A Parent's Perception of Perfection

I've been thinking lately about how we set our minds in terms of how we see our children.  Parents, you know what I mean.  We have a "creative" or an "energetic" or a "happy" or a "grumpy" child, right?  We all assign some kind of label to our kids, usually from years of experience with said child.  

This is on my mind today because I have a friend who swears her child would "never do anything to hurt someone's feelings."  Really?  This statement came after her child played at our house and I watched him deliberately tell Middle One he couldn't play with him and Big Kid.  Middle One got tears in his eyes because he wanted to play and begged to participate.  Guest child refused and told him he didn't know how to play "right."

At that point, I intervened and made it clear that in our house we are kind to one another and if we can't be kind, guests go home early.  That settled it rather quickly and all three boys went off to play.

So, when my friend said her child would never do anything to hurt anyone's feelings, I knew for a fact that she was wrong.  Is she delusional or is she blinded to her child's faults or does he have a dark side she doesn't get to see or was her son just trying on his big boy attitude at my house?  I don't know.  I do know that because she doesn't see it as an issue in her son, she likely doesn't feel the need to work to instill in him kindness and consideration for others.

I also know it reminds me to be careful when I declare things about my children.  They're kids.  They're learning about the world and who they are.  Between now (before now?) and the day they leave this earth, they will try on new ideas, experiment with new thoughts, and do things I never thought possible for them.  

Heck, on my wedding day, my mom said to my cousin that she'd "never seen [me] like that."  I was very serious and very focused and thinking very much that I was making a very permanent choice and the weight of that very important decision grounded me like nothing before.  Even my own mother had never seen me like that.  

If my mom, who knew my personality better than anyone and who had watched me closely for 20 some-odd years, saw something new about me on my wedding day, chances are good that as mothers of young children we don't know everything about our children's personalities.  

Maybe we should be open to that and not box our kids in with what we think we know about them?  What lessons are we omitting because we're sure our child will never cheat or lie or be ugly to someone?  Being blinded by our perceptions of our child's perfection doesn't help them.  I'm just sayin'.

Tips and Tricks for Domestic Sanity - Kitchen Pt. 1

Periodically, I'll post some tips and tricks for domestic sanity.  No, it isn't crafty - but it is domestic.

Today I'm going to 'fess up and tell you that if you come to my house mid-morning, you'll see a dirty kitchen.  That's right.  It'll be dirty.  But, if you're here after lunch, you'll see that it's clean.  It'll (usually) be clean before bedtime again.

Somewhere in my journey to domestic bliss, I learned that if I became a slave to keeping my kitchen clean, I'd never sit down. I'm the mom in a family of five. We do a lot of eating and a lot of dish dirtying.  Now, instead of rushing in to clean the kitchen every time it gets dirty, I wait until the kids are eating.  We sit down and eat dinner as a family, but during breakfast and lunch I serve as a go-fer.  Who am I kidding?  I am a go-fer at dinner, too.  The only difference is that at dinner I make a concerted effort to SIT with the family and eat.

The rest of the time, I clean the kitchen and talk with the kids while they eat.  It serves a dual-purpose.  The kitchen gets clean and I visit with the kids while they eat.  Okay, really it's a triple purpose - I don't have to sit and look fascinated when the kids talk about legos for the gagillionth time.  Plus, it gives them a chance to talk without me interfering.  I'm in the room, I hear what's happening, I follow the conversation, interjecting when appropriate and I get the kitchen cleaned while they're eating.  I'm also already up on my feet when go-fer duty calls.  By the end of the meal, they're full, we've visited, I'm not insane from talking about Kung Fu Panda (again), and the kitchen's cleaned.

How often/when do you clean your kitchen?

~ G

When Is a Wipe More Than a Wipe?

Last night I had to make a mad dash quick run to the Target pharmacy. While racing in like a mad woman because the pharmacy was closing walking in with calm decorum, I scrolled through all the nonsense in my brain, trying to remember what on earth I'd written on the ever-renewing store list on the fridge.  Wipes.  We were almost out of baby wipes.

Paid-for prescription procured, I stood in the checkout line with my huge box of wipe refills.  740 wipes or something. Basically, it's 8 refill packs for the wipes box.  Chances are very good that Little One will be potty-trained before we run out.  I stared at that box, thinking how it represented  a huge milestone for Little One, for me, for our family.  She's our last baby and it was quite possibly the last package of baby wipes I'd ever buy for my babies.

So I stood there in line, really wanting to talk about it to someone.  Usually there's a mom or dad in line and comments about wipes and babies and babies growing up don't seem too weird.  Usually we can laugh or smile or encourage one another in a few seconds' exchange.  Alas, the muscle-bound, very single-looking dude behind me buying a single pillow (seriously, who goes to Target and buys ONE item???) didn't look like he wanted to talk about babies and how they grow.

Okay.  That's not quite true.  I made some kind of brilliant hysterical comment about how my big box of wipes didn't look like a whole lot of fun.  Now, had he been a parent, he would have had some kind of telling response.  He didn't.  He looked confused.  Clearly, he's not the guy to chat with about wipes and babies.

So I stood there in line, thinking how I'm not all broken up about getting close to the end of the baby chapter in my life. No sniffles.  Just peace.  I've been through plenty of therapy in my short little life and I found myself doing an emotions check.  Okay.  That's not quite true, either.  I've always been a navel-gazer introspective.  Just ask my mother.  I digress.

The point is I'm okay.  I'm sure I'll shed a quiet tear of acknowledgment when the day comes, like the day we converted her crib to a toddler bed and like the day she wanted to walk and hold my hand as we went into the grocery store, rather than being held.  But, I feel very differently than I did when Big Kid graduated from diapers and finally potty trained. My first baby was growing up and I wasn't ready to let go of those days.  I wasn't finished with babies.  I wasn't ready to be done.  I had more mothering-of-babies in me.  When Middle One got there, I felt more stoic - like it was something to bear and I would be just fine, thank you.  Of course, by the time Middle One got there, I'd miscarried twice in the past year and I was so-oh-oh sure God had finished blessing us with babies.

Before Little One arrived, I always believed women who said they were done with makin'-the-babies and were happy with the number of children they had were lying to themselves.  I didn't think it was ever possible to feel satisfied, that the desire to carry and birth and hold a new baby could never leave.  I was wrong.  I was very, very, naively wrong.  The minute Little One was placed in my arms, I felt such peace about being finished having babies, I don't think I can adequately explain it.  We were a complete family.  I felt satisfied and calm and... right with the world.  It didn't feel like anyone was missing anymore.  We were all present.  We are all present

So there I stood with my big 'ol box of wipes on the conveyor belt, the box that's still sitting in the kitchen, the box that will get moved to Little One's closet today.  And now I'm thinking about how much I love this journey, how thankful I am to be the mother of three children who are here and healthy, how thankful I am that God trusted me with life, how I relish watching my children grow, and how I'm excited for the next chapter of our lives, and curious to see who they become.  Dang.  And now I have tears brimming and threatening to tumble down my cheeks.

When is a wipe more than a wipe?  When there is a Mommy is attached to it.

~ G

Lessons Our Mothers Omitted

As a mother on whom all ills will be blamed, I tend to tread very lightly when it comes to blaming my mother for my issues shortcomings.  It's dangerous ground.  Rest assured, I won't be going "there."

Where I am going is to question what lessons my mom repeated incessantly, but I ignored inadvertently missed teaching.  I ask this because I had a really cool conversation with a friend the other day.  She said her mother taught her that she needed to be kind to everyone and to keep her mouth shut if she didn't have something kind to say.

My mother never said anything of the sort.  But then, my mother never gossiped.  I've never heard her gossip, unless I drag her into it and then she's anxious to move to other topics.  Her sisters don't gossip.  My cousin and I... yeah, we gossip.  We try not to get ugly about it, but we gossip.  Now how is it my mother doesn't gossip, but I do?  Did her mother impress upon her to not gossip?  Is that why she might have said something I don't remember didn't make an impact on me to not gossip?

It makes me wonder what lessons I missed or what lessons she didn't think to impart.  There were lots of wonderful things my mom taught me.  Obviously.  It makes me wonder what lessons I'm failing to impart or not impressing enough upon my kids.

For instance, a very well-mannered friend visited us a few years ago and her son dismantled something one of my sons built.  He wanted to use the pieces to build something else.  When my son realized his creation had been obliterated, he was crushed.  In fact, he still talks about it.  Know what upsets him the most?  No, not that the other kid took apart his invention without asking.  He still notes that the boy didn't apologize!  He didn't apologize.  Now, how is it that my friend who is the epitome of proper has a son who doesn't apologize.  She was standing right there and she didn't instruct him to apologize.  How is that?

So again, I wonder what lessons our mothers omitted and what lessons we are omitting.  What is it in our brains that clicks on some things to impart and not others?  What do you think?

~ G

Who Is This About - Really?

Here it is.  The Attachment Parenting post.  Surely more will follow, but this is the one I've been thinking about and the one I started before Little One smashed her chin and drama ensued.

Knickers-in-a-wad warning: I'm approaching this from the traditional, married mother and father, healthy full-term baby perspective.  If you don't fall into that category, this post isn't for you, so don't get your knickers in a wad.

I have been a sometimes willing, other times reluctant, participant in the Mommy Wars for nine years.  The Wars start when you get pregnant and last until ... I don't know when.  From the moment you conceive, you're bombarded with opinions, solicited and otherwise.  Likewise, from many moments before you conceive, you have lots of your own opinions.  Admit it, you have opinions.  Chances are, you are like me and you read and ask tons of questions.

There's a lot out there about how we should mother our babies.  There's the Ezzo school of thought that babies are master manipulators and you must train them according to your schedule.  There's the Attachment Parenting school of thought that babies need to be physically attached to you via sling or co-sleeping, with nursing on demand.  The battle rages between the two and both sides get nasty.  Have you ever read comments on articles about parenting?  Have you read any message boards about mothering babies?  They get rabidly cruel.

My thought is that both sides are a little too sure of themselves.  Both sides do a dramatic disservice to mothers and babies alike.  One side thinks too much of their adult lives and the other side thinks too little about their adults lives.  So, who is this about - really?

It's easy to have one child and think you know everything about mothering.  Hello, I did it.  I was one of those mothers at the park who was sure she knew it all because I'd figured out my only child.  Well, congratulations to me.  I did.  I had.  But what worked for him and for me and for our family of three may not work for other families.  In fact, what worked for the three of us didn't work so well when there were four of us, and certainly not when there were five of us.  And that's the part missing from the discussion.

The part that's missing from the discussion is what's better for the specific family.  When a baby is born, that baby isn't the creation of the family.  When a man and woman get married, they are the beginning of the family.  The first baby is just the first addition.  While in the first few weeks the baby's needs should be met as needed, once the baby is past newborn stage (six weeks), the baby should be a part of the family - not the center of the family.

What I know about parenting after only nine years is that unless you're actively doing harm (not feeding your child and/or literally abusing your child), you need to lay down the guilt.  Just lay it down.

You are NOT a bad mother if you:

• ...don't sleep with your baby.  That's why monitors were invented.  Get one with lights and maybe a vibrate feature.  Plainly, some of us can't sleep with little snorters and wheezers.  Those of us who punch our husband's shoulders when they're snoring are not good co-sleeping candidates.  Just sayin'.
• ...don't wear your baby.  Unless you have a robot changing the baby, feeding the baby, burping the baby, or snuggling with the baby, your baby's getting plenty of loving touches.
• ...don't nurse your baby.  Yes, breast milk is best; however, some of us can't nurse for various reasons.  Even if you just don't feel comfortable enough with your breasts to nurse or pump, it doesn't mean you're a bad mother.  Henri Nestle invented formula in 1867 to feed a baby who couldn't nurse.  The formula saved the baby's life.  Shame on the woman who makes you feel like less of a woman or mother because you don't feed your baby from your breast.
• ...don't nurse your baby, part two.  Robot alert again.  Unless you have a robot feeding your baby while you're swilling martinis and getting a mani/pedi in the next room, you're holding your baby and snuggling plenty.  You're a mom. 
• ...use a stroller.  Yes, you're "pushing away" your child - while holding onto the handlebar and going the same place as your child.  So, unless you're standing at the top of a hill and shoving your child-filled stroller down a steep incline, you're not a crap mom.
• ...sleep-train your child.  Sleep is important.  Kids need good sleep.  Parents need good sleep.  Getting up multiple times in the night with a (healthy) ten month-old is ridiculous.  Crying it out does not mean putting your child in bed and going out for drinks while he screams himself into unconsciousness.  Crying it out means setting a timer for yourself so you don't rush in like the crazed-mother-that-you-are and saving him from himself.  Set the timer for 20 minutes.  Let the baby figure out how to calm himself down.  If he can't after 20 minutes, go in and help.  When he's calm and relaxed, do it all over again.  Believe me, a night of screaming that results in many nights of good sleep is preferable to no crying and many nights of broken sleep.  
• ...allow your baby to use a pacifier.  If your baby is underweight and you're using a pacifier, you might want to reconsider how much you're (not) feeding your baby.  Otherwise, a pacifier won't wreck his his life.  Now, if your child has to remove the binky to have a conversation, I'd say you've let the binky-love go on a little long, but that's another post.  ;-)    
• ...shun the notion that you need to teach your child that you'll "always be there."  The truth is that you won't.  You will not always be there when she's trying to figure out how to sit and smashes her face in the carpet.  You will not always be there when he's learning to walk and plops down on his bottom.  You will not always be there when he goes out to play and the other kids make fun of him for having a binky.  Unless you're planning on full-time helicopter parenting and plan on welcoming home your kid who flunked out of college because it's the first time she had to do anything without your express supervision and - gasp - failed, you won't always be there.  Little, bitty, baby steps of independence need to start fairly soon.  Learning to fall asleep without being held or without a boob in the mouth is a good start.  

~ G

A Thought for Mothers of Boys

So last night I was talking to my sister-in-law. Yes, this is the sister-in-law of caramel popcorn fame. (Check out the recipe here.) I digress. Last night I was telling her a story about a baby who had gotten poop all over her crib, herself, her walls - everything. We were laughing about babies and messes and I said, "you know you'd have to be the one to clean it." She said, "no, actually, your brother would do it all if he were the one to find the mess."

What?

You're pausing, aren't you? Would your husband clean it up? Stop laughing! Yeah. Mine, either. Gets your goat a little, doesn't it? Surely she's exaggerating, right?

When my brother and sister-in-law became parents, I assumed my brother would be as domestically useless as my husband - and all the other husbands I know. Granted, my husband will take care of it if I'm not home. He won't call and expect me to return just to clean up a mess or rescue him from crying babies, but that is not the case if I'm in the house. He'll come report the mess. If I have the flu, running a high fever, and a kid is sick, he'll expect me to get up and tend to the sick kid - even if he's fine. I'd have to be literally dying for my husband to stay home from work to give me a sick day. Your husband, too? Thought so.

I digress again. When my brother and sister-in-law became parents, I assumed he'd be like my husband and every other father I know - loving and kind, but not inclined to do any real domestic work. Seems my brother isn't like the other dads out there. Seems he'll clean a mess. Seems he'll take care of the kids and let his wife sleep when she's overtired or sick. Seems he assumes that since he's a parent, it's also his responsibility to do laundry, clean, care for the kids, etc. Now, I'm not saying my brother's a saint (ahahahahahahaha - don't make me laugh.) What I am saying is that after my conversation last night, it finally dawned on me that instead of being incredulous that he's doing a fair amount of work, maybe my brother is different.

So I started thinking about my other brother. Turns out he also does laundry. Cleans. Cooks. Takes the kiddo to the doctor. Cares for the sick kiddo and cleans messes when he finds them. There has to be a common link. Turns out... it's my mom.

...and I can say this because I grew up in the same house. My mom expected more from her sons than any other mother I ever met. While I was outside learning how to change the car's oil and rotate tires with my father, the boys were in the house with my mom learning how to clean and do the domestic stuff. That was common in our house. For years, I only remembered my dad saying, "there won't always be a man around to take care of you." What I failed to think about was mom inside saying, "there won't always be a woman around to take care of you." The proof is in the pudding. It worked. Neither of my brothers expect their wives to do the bulk of the domestic and childcare work.

So I say this to mothers of boys: Expect more from your boys. Teach your sons to do their laundry. Teach them to cook. Teach them to clean. Expect them to pull their weight around the house. Teach them that they are part of the family team and they can get spots out of the carpet as well as mow the yard. Teach them how to take care of other members of the family. They need to be able to care for themselves by the time they leave the house for college. Someday they will be husbands and fathers. What you teach them will carry into their marriages and parenting. Do it for your future daughters-in-law.

Not convinced? Think about all the times you got out of bed to clean up after a sick kid while your husband pretended to sleep. Think about all the times you were sick and your husband acted like he was dying when he got a sniffle and took to his bed - while you hauled your 103-fevered self around the house to care for the feverish kids. Think about the times the baby cried and your husband handed her to you because he didn't know what to do. Think about all the things you do because your husband either doesn't know how to do them or doesn't think it's his job. Wouldn't it be nice if someone had taught him?

Exactly.