Category Archives: Parenting

Make way for the GUILT

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I know that most people dread Monday mornings….the back to work routine… the end of rest and relaxation. But I secretly don’t mind Mondays because they signal the end to harried weekends.  It’s almost impossible to have any semblance of “relaxation” on the weekend – there’s always one more fight to call truce for, one more cup of water to get (come on, 3-year-old, reach the sink already, would ya?), one more spill to wipe up. But Monday? Monday morning I get to sit down at my grown-up desk, reach for a cup of coffee (that is still warm), and think about….ah….ADULT stuff (as well as wonder if I packed the quarter for milk in the lunch box, if Super Tall Guy is behaving at school, if I remembered to pay the day care bill….fleeting, fleeting worries…back to work).

Sometimes, I even feel just a tad bit guilty for liking Monday mornings when everyone else is moaning. But that’s only because it’s clear that as a parent, you will feel guilty about almost absolutely every single decision you make and even ones that you didn’t really make.

My latest parent guilt trip took off last week. For the first time, I had to go away for a business trip (and was actually looking forward to a quiet evening alone in a hotel room!). I kept the upcoming 36 hour getaway low key early in the week and the boys said goodbye pretty easily Thursday morning (though Mr. Ornery slept through the kiss I planted on his forehead). By Thursday night, however, I was talking with Super Tall Guy at an hour past his bedtime and listening to his weeping, sobbing cries of “I need you here, Mommy?….Why did you leave me?…..There is no meeting more important than me, Mommy.”  (You know it’s a tear-jerker when it’s weeping, sobbing crying!). Of course, he was in the excellent hands of my sister and mother, and yet I felt pretty bad about leaving him and for “burdening” my family with the care of my three rambunctious temperamental boys (though I confess, the king-size bed was pretty sweet without my usual 90-pound son encroaching upon my space!).

And this came on the heels of my wallowing guilt for Super Tall’s two-weeks of nonstop saliva-spitting throat pain after his tonsillectomy. So I’m feeling a bit fragile in the parenting department right about now.

The problem with parenting is that you feel guilty no matter what. I yelled at my kids too much today. I put them in daycare rather than having Mary Poppins nanny at home. I work rather than be a stay-at-home mom (even though I’m single and have to be the bread-winner!). I fed them McDonald’s two days in a row. I put the blue lid on the green sippy cup. I forgot the water bottle for the soccer game. I rocked him to sleep. I didn’t rock him to sleep. I left the chocolate bar within reach. I told him a thousand times not to touch the hot pan – he still touched it. I snapped at the three-year-old for wetting his pants….and at the five-year-old for wetting his pants. I bought a Nerf gun. I let him sleep over at a friend’s house when he was already tired. I only read one book before bed. I thought the 32 stickers on the belly were cute…until we tried to take them off.

I missed church today….again. I didn’t have the energy to battlezoo 2014 Super Tall Guy and his argument that he’s practically at church all week by attending a Christian school. Instead we had a “quiet” morning of indoor soccer goalie practice (nothing shattered) and then headed to the zoo. It was a perfect sunny day and I sat watching them scurry through the mole rat maze. Peace. And I didn’t even play with my phone – I just rested in the moment. A mother bouncing a ten-month old sat next to me and we struck up that typical “hey, your baby is cute and boys are WAAAAY different than girls” parenting conversation. She confessed that they had also missed church despite having gotten dressed and ready….but just didn’t get there. I shared that I had also given in and decided I could be a less-stressed, more patient mother by enjoying just a bit of time with them this morning as well. Before parting, she said, “Thank you for the affirmation. Sometimes I feel so guilty.”

Sometimes we have to remember that we are being the best parent that we can be in the moment that we have. I know that so many times I want to have done better. So many times I wish there was a rewind button, even if only 5 minutes back, to have a chance to do it over and do it “right” this time. But often I have to remember that there usually isn’t a “right” way to do it. There are so many factors at play – what I’m bring to the situation, what the kid is bringing and the context that we’re in.

Sometimes, I’m a “good enough” parent. I’ll never be a perfect parent. There is no perfect person….no perfect kid. But the fact that I care enough to think about it – that I care enough to experience guilt (on a pretty regular basis) – that it matters to me….that’s what makes me a pretty good parent. The willingness to try my best despite suffering “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” of parenting – that’s what matters. There will always be guilt. There will always be a next time. May we continue to encourage each other to be the best we can be in the moment…and practice forgiveness.

When Parenting Drop-kicks your Expectations

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“Parenting – the hardest job you’ll ever love.”  I don’t know, sometimes, it just doesn’t work for me. Sometimes it’s just way harder than I’d like it to be….and I’m not seeing much of the flames of love.

Most of the time, it’s hardest when it spits at and flaunts my expectations for the day. You’d think that with a cumulative “parenting age” of 16 (8 + 5 + 3), I could learn not to have expectations….but no…..I’m still a young and naïve student of erratic, nonsensical, disruptive young boy behavior.

The earliest lessons in false expectations are learned dramatically by all parents in naptime woes. You think you’ve managed to keep the little 3-month-old awake all morning and put him down at 10:00 am so you can catch the Ellen Show…but no….five minutes after you just sit down, right after her dance routine fades into commercials, and…. “waaaah.” Crushing.

You think you’re going to enjoy a nice afternoon at the Museum of Natural History, dsc_0243but you spend the entire time chasing down an escaping two-year-old, cornering him in the bathroom after he’s already wet his pants, and then staring in shock as he drops his knickers in full view to pee on the grass near Dippy the Dinosaur outside. Mind-numbing, drop-kicking parenting.

Then there’s the recent experience with the tonsillectomy where I figured about 4-5 days of ice cream, popsicles and jello and we’d be right back into routine.  But no…..two trips to the ER, return trip to the operating room and two weeks of spitting out saliva. Messy, disgusting, worrisome….and so knocking out my expectation.

Parenting…. drop-kicks every expectation, right?!?

But no, I don’t even learn the hard way. Tuesday morning….it’s my birthday….and what do I expect?  Silly of me to even think that we could possibly have a peaceful day. Super Tall wakes up beside me and wonders, “Do I get to stay home from school for your birthday?” “No, my dear,” I reply, “I don’t even get to stay home from work!” And since it was the first day back to school after a long holiday weekend, the boys sure weren’t going to work too hard on having a peaceful back-to-school moment just because it was my birthday!

But I out of work a little early to pick them up from the bus and take them out for some ice cream (my treat) …. and that was the end of the peace. Parents picked up Thai food earlier and reheated it for dinner. Boys bounced on and off chairs and screeched and babbled at the table repetitively. Every few minutes another pile of dog poop was gleefully discovered under the table and had to be cleaned up. The wine glass stood untouched. The food was cold by the time it reached my lips. The fight over who was going to blow out the candle (clearly not the birthday girl) was not surprising, of course, and the chaos before the quiet of deep sleep was only a tad more than typical. “Exhausting” is not even an adequate adjective.

My brother called around 8 pm and asked, “So – what’s your resolution for this upcoming year of your life?” Without pause I replied, “Next year – next year on my birthday, I am going to be at a nice restaurant with adult friends enjoying some peace and quiet and a very fine glass of wine!” He seemed surprised. I don’t know why.

In about 50 weeks, I’ll let you know time and location ….and I’m going to expect some good cheer, belly laughs, and a table full of peace and quiet!!

You can hold me to it.

(Of course, this expectation will be dashed by a kid who breaks his arm falling off the top of the minivan at 4:00 pm!)

 

Same Day Surgery

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Scanning the surgical waiting room, I know that every parent here has just done the same heart-wrenching thing I did….turned and walked away from one of the most precious things in their life….their child strapped to a narrow Operating Room bed.

I had my hand on his arm as his eyes closed from the “magic air” flowing through the mask on his face. “Sometimes they do just drift off so quietly like that,” the anesthesiologist offers. “Now kiss his hand good-bye.”  “No wait!” I wanted to scream ….from that tiny voice in the back of your heart that always wants to scream and warn “this may be the very last time you see your child. This may be the image forever burned into your soul. This could be it. Cherish the moment.” But the moment is fast. When you need just a few more seconds, they usher you out of the cold, efficient, sterile room as the surgeon, nurses and techs stand poised ready to spring into action – willing you to leave their domain.

The tech makes pleasant conversation as you join her to “follow the green squares on the floor” that lead to the waiting room. Her rattling tries to push your fears aside. You walk alongside, numb to her words. You check in with the waiting room attendant but can’t remember her instructions; you’re too busy memorizing your child’s “number” so you can jump up every few minutes to check the “board.” It doesn’t change. “11788: OR in.” You wait. “11788: OR in.” Wait.

A couple sits side by side, absorbed in their respective iPads. A pinkified two-year old skips circles around the man playing solitaire and another couple hiding in their magazines. Parents pop up and down to check the board. Phone calls beckon families back to the recovery rooms. Surgeons gather families to talk in the “consult” rooms. A constant hum, constant motion, constant and welcome distracting dance of people’s lives. I put my book down. I can’t read anyway. I wait.

On this day, there’s no greater joy than in seeing your baby’s face again – even if he is 4-foot-7 and 87 pounds. He’s still my baby. But the alligator tears that spill from his eyes at the sight of me pierce my heart. His bravado, his cool, his composure melts at my touch, at the warmth of my arms around him, and the gentle kiss. This is when the tongue really hurts and the tears flow. I search briefly for a tissue, but wipe the wetness away with his blanket. I ache to soothe him, but my words and touch are of little comfort. Within minutes, another bit of medication through the IV site sends him back into sleep. My baby snores. I stroke his face.

Knowing that he’s safe again, I sit back and cuddle into the warmed blanket offered by the gentle nurse. I pause to be thankful that my touches of the “health care system” have all fallen within “the normal kid stuff” – the tonsils, the stitches, the corneal abrasion, rashes, sprains. I can cope with this normal. Yet my heart aches for the families who sit in the waiting room for the ninth or tenth time for their child. For the parents who never hear the surgeons say, “It was all routine. No problems. He’ll be just fine.” For the ones who walk away from their “sleeping” child on that cold table and never hold them again.

There are deep dark fears in loving and parenting. There are deep dark moments that remind us to cherish each breath and each smile and even each time the boys hit each other. As my heart swirls and thunders and catches itself today, I look upon my baby and lift up a prayer for him….and for all the other families.

Let the images be burned into my soul forever.

I shall cherish the love.

Wasn’t expecting to be so verklempt this weekend

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Every few weeks, the moment that Super Tall Guy stumbles into my room and climbs into my bed coincides with me getting into bed myself. I would sit and read and spend a few minutes counting the length of the pauses in his breathing. It never reached my doctor definition of “scary”….but the fact that he would just stop breathing never sat right with me.

So at the end of June, we spent the night at the sleep center with him hooked up to a tangle of wires and enough “goo” in his hair to send us for a buzz haircut the week after.  He was a good sport about it and proclaimed it as “fun.” I was exhausted for days after.

Super Tall Guy is a mouth-breather. He drooled until he was 4 and a half (who does that?). And, he has mild to moderate Obstructive Sleep Apnea.

And, he’s scheduled to have his tonsils out in two days.

And so – I’m an emotional wreck. Because I’m a mom and I’m worried. Because I’m a doctor and I can tell you all the things that can and do go wrong. Because I’m a human and I’m good at getting stressed about the new and the foreign.

So I came into the weekend with this nagging in the back of my heart. After two nights of little sleep in preparation for a community yard sale, I spent ten hours yesterday encouraging deal-finders to spend more for the “kids at the crisis nursery.” Just as the sale was wrapping up, I took Super Tall Guy down to the church that had hosted his summer day camp. He was getting ready for his very first night away from me. He didn’t seem concerned at all. Huh. Not like his mom

I came back to the church for the 6 o’clock service to see Super Tall Guy sing and sign four songs at the start of the service….and I fell apart. Tears streamed down my face. They sang

“Savior, He can move the mountains

My God is mighty to save; He is mighty to save”

I was a wreck.

I wiped the tears. There in the front row was my little boy – the one that God had saved and was saving. The one that was born to a woman caught in the cycle of homelessness, prostitution and drugs. The one that was born so tiny and is growing so big. God saved him from the life that he was born into and moved him to a new life.

Anyone who knows Super Tall Guy knows this was a momentous weekend. He was chosen to be part of the kids’ choir and he accepted. He was invited to spend the night at the church and he did (AND he stayed dry ALL night!!). He sang and signed in front of 5 different groups of worshippers and he hates to be in front of people!!  He sat almost perfectly still (except for a bit of fiddling and nose booger-fishing) during five sessions of communion before singing again and begging me each time to “save me” some grape juice. He pulled it all together and kept it all together.

And then he fell asleep in the car….right after I asked him if I could drive past Gammie’s house and just keep driving for a bit so that he could sleep. He nodded.

He was emotionally and physically tired.

As was I.

I watched my baby boy grow up a little this weekend. I watched him do things I never thought he ever would this weekend.

It’s been a long journey.
There have been some pretty high mountains
And some pretty low valleys.

 

There have been battles
And rules drawn
And struggles
That have challenged us and caused heartaches and pain.

 

And yet, there are these huge moments of joy
There are these glimpses of grace
There are reasons for great pride

 

Those moments hold me
They remind me
They assure me that the long hours
And the physical and the emotional weariness of parenting

 

It’s all worth it
In the moments.

 

And so I wept in thankfulness that he was saved and that he came to me

And I wept in nervousness about this week and what the surgery holds.

And I wept in joy.

 

 

 

 

 

Roll of the moody dice

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It’s not really quite possible to describe the “typical” amount of chaos that just hangs in the air at our house. I suppose that if you are neighbors, you probably hear it quite regularly. I suppose that if you really wanted to experience it, you’d offer to babysit all five boys by yourself for the day for free (haven’t found that person yet). Or if you’re brave enough, you would stop by for a couple hours….get a hefty dose….and tell yourself, “Wow, I am so lucky to live alone/only have one kid/only have two kids/(fill in the blank!)”

We’re not really loud and chaotic all the time, though. Generally, after 9:00 pm, you could actually give us a call and maybe hear just one little squeaky voice in the background. You could also stop by around midnight when I’m up working in the office….and it’s pretty quiet right now. Super Tall Guy will come stumbling down the steps any minute to be tucked in again and The Little Guy is slated to need someone to “cover me” around 3:00 am and again at 4:30 and then likely at 5:42….or he could be up for good at that time.

But in these few, entirely delectable quiet moments of the night (when I’m energized by Ben & Jerry’s Coffee Coffee Buzz Buzz…mixed with Chocolate Therapy delight….a combination I just discovered yesterday and is guaranteed to add a few pounds to my slowed-metabolism midriff), in these ephemeral glimpses of peace….

Hmmm….seems like I should be able to think of something profound to write about. Huh.

Ah, yes – brain reconnecting now…

The thing about these quiet moments is that they absolutely never happen when the boys’ eyes are open. Even if you put on the most engrossing movie possible, you’ll only get 138 seconds of stillness before The Little Guy loses attention and moves on to beeping the walkie-talkie followed by the predictable, responsive barks of “Quit that!!” “Be quiet!” “I can’t hear!” “MOOOOOOM!!!”

The other day I thought about this constant flurry of activity and how the escalations and dips really vary depending on so many things and a great deal on the personalities and quirks and behaviors and current moods of each boy. (Oh….it’s 11:21 pm…and there’s The Little Guy whispering, “Mommy…I want you to cover me.”  Must go tuck….Will be back….)

The days are a game of chance….a roll of the dice. Five dice constantly being shaken. If the mood is good (a number 1 or 2), those 1-3 boys escape up to the toy room, drag out the bins of train tracks and set up an elaborate system in the tiny hallway at the top of the stairs and demand that no one remove it or trip over it trying to go downstairs.

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If a 5 or a 6 is thrown, the sour angry pesky rage kicks back at a brother who accidentally brushed passed. The seething narrow eyes find their prey and deviously trip the happy 1 or 2 bouncing down the stairs seeking someone to admire the train track at the top.

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It’s almost impossible to predict from one moment to the next. How will these dice get along? When will the next shake-and-roll jostle the current interaction patterns? How much can we the parents control this chaos?

 

A couple weeks ago, I took my boys to a friend’s house for the Fourth of July. We stayed up for the community fireworks and the “family” fireworks party at the grandmother’s house afterwards. We played hard the next morning and returned to Pittsburgh happy, yet exhausted (moods teetering, dice weighted heavily).  My sister took her boys to spend the night at another friend’s house and they got home a few hours before us. The moment we walked in, the battle lines were drawn. The brothers chose family sides. A constant exchange of verbal and physical attacks ensued followed by an occasional retreat and regroup. It didn’t take long before adult-intervention was clearly needed to separate the spinning dice.

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(By the way, we’re not even going to add the variable here of our new little completely unpredictable, nonverbal canine pal….who can get all the dice wound up and running squealing around the indoor Victorian home track!)

So….my job as a parent is to monitor the current playing field. Re-shake when necessary. Remove a couple dice if needed. Tip an angry 5 to a more content 3 range.

And when all else fails…..cheat.

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Ahhh…..peace…..

When you are Three Feet Tall….

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The Little Guy went sliding across the floor this afternoon, landing face-first on the Jack and the Neverland Pirates “telescope” in his hands. He cried. The bruise formed.

“Aw,” I said. “Mommy just mopped the floor there because something spilled and you slipped on the wet floor.”  For the rest of the evening, he repeated in various renditions the woes of running across a wet floor and how it would be better to walk.

It made me think about Life from Three Feet. There is so much to learn….and most of it from experience.  “Wet floor” = slippery = fall on face! And the world is so very different from the perspective of being three feet tall….

When you are Three Feet Tall:

  • Big dogs are actually very scary monsters. Their happily wagging tail is aimed directly for your eyes and yet everyone keeps telling you, “he’s really friendly – you don’t have to be scared of him!” Try being hit in the face with that lashing rope and see what you think about his “friendliness”!
  • A simple task of “Go wash your hands” becomes an acrobatic feat as you balance atop a stool and lunge your belly onto the sink to teeter precariously while somehow turning a knob clockwise, twisting your torso to reach the soap, then lather and rinse. Boom! Landing on your feet again with pride….your joy is dashed when out rings, “Turn off the water!” Oh, darn.
  • Every single little bitty toy you want to play with has been placed high on top of the mantle with those tall parental creatures thinking that “out of sight” is “out of mind.” Not so!.  Look, I may be short….but the brain still works, buddy!
  • Brothers barreling through the room at full speed are almost guaranteed to knock you off your feet – especially the 85-pound one who barely seems to have any control of his flailing arms (or maybe he does….maybe he just pretends that “was an accident”….hmmmm….something to think about…..).
  • People say things like, “Oh look, you’re tall enough to ride the roller coaster this 130525-Idlewild-Amusement-Park-45-1024x681year!” They never once consider whether or not you might actually want to ride the roller coaster….and since you have no clue what that word means, you decide to go along with the apparent giddy waiting in line….climbing aboard….SHEER TERROR!!!
  • Of course, the very next weekend, they might deem you “too little” to join them in roller skating…or bowling….or Laser Tag. Come on – sometimes I’m “too big” to still be wetting my pants and then “too little” to hang with the cool dudes?!?
  • You practically run a 10K every time the family decides to go for a “short walk.” Anyone ever think about the fact that these legs are half the size of yours….thus they only move half the distance?  I’m doing 5 or 6 steps for every one of yours – think that might be why I’m so far behind you?

Some great things about being Three Feet Tall though:

  • You can still cuddle up in laps to read books at bedtime.
  • People still carry you around when you lift your hands halfway through a “short walk.”
  • Bending over to pick something up off the floor is hardly any work.
  • People tend to think you’re just really cute…like all the time! And this can go a long way. A Long, Loooong Way!

It helps me to think about Life from Three Feet a little. To be a little more patient with the short legs, the earnest attempt to complete tasks while living in the world of giants, and the view of big things coming at you fast. Sometimes it helps to slow down a bit and view the world from the kids’ point of view….rather than my own.

 

Why we absolutely Do NOT need a dog for any reason…..maybe….

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There’s been a lot of talk in this neck of the woods lately about getting a little dog. Super Tall Guy has been begging for one since the moment he could talk. I have him generally pacified with the excuse of needing to move first so that we’ll have a nice big yard for the dog to run (and theoretically not have to do daily excrement removal!). He did inform me just the other day, though, that the excuse is wearing a bit thin….and “if we don’t move this year, we must get a dog before my next birthday.”  I’m still not quite giving in.

I thought about it briefly last monthly….briefly enough to begin a conversation with the other head-of-household.  But then I let it drop….and now it surfaces again as the next boy approaches the tender age of 8 – apparently the age to consider getting a dog.

But….let me just say this (you know, in a blog, rather than in conversation….) – here are ALL the reasons why we don’t need a dog, actually:

Dogs bite – particularly little puppies. They are always nipping on something…your shoes, your TV remotes, your body. And really, we already have a biter in the house. His name is Mr. Trouble. Come to think of it – he’s never bitten me (wise young man), but he so enjoys shocking his mother with a good nip or causing a ruckus by attacking the back or arm of an unsuspecting brother/cousin. So why add another random pain inducer?

Dogs are constantly underfoot and you are always tripping over them. We have that already – The Little Guy. You turn around and boom – there he is! You trip over him.  You walk into the kitchen and he circles in front of you – boom! Trip over him. Anywhere you turn. Anywhere you walk. It’s uncanny. There is The Little Guy … underfoot! Boom. Trip.  (“uncanny?” …more like “annoying” is what it is!!)

Dogs tend to “piddle” in the house and usually in a most unwelcome place. We already have that – “Mommy, ‘someone’ peed on the floor again!!” – in the toy room, in a bed room, on the hardwood floor….a nice puddle of yellow. Seems Mr. Trouble went through a stage of marking his territory which (knock-on-wood) has subsided, but The Little Guy is still having enough “accidents” in his toileting “stage” that I’m not so eager to bring another creature lacking bowel and bladder control into the house!

Dogs bark a lot and you can’t actually make them be quiet if they don’t want to. And we really already have a whiny, crying little being – The Little Guy. He gets into fits of whine and cry that no amount of threat, cuddles, hugs or admonitions is going to snap him out of it. He’s particularly good about starting into a fit around 5:40 in the morning….just when you need that last bit of sleep cycle to get the body rested. Why would we want another incessant noise-maker???

Dogs shed, and tear up newspapers, and scratch up furniture, and pull things off counters, and carry shoes around the house and leave them in miscellaneous places, and splash water all over the floor while drinking, and…. And, really, the five creatures who ambulate on two feet pretty much do the exact same things – shed scratched tableclothes wherever they happen to be standing, tear up newspapers or books, scratch the dining room table with the tines of forks (despite repeated admonitions), pull candies and treats off the counters, carry one shoe off and leave it wherever they last changed their focus of attention, and can’t possibly direct every drop of water from a cup into their mouth, thus splattering the floor… And this is all in a 20-minute period – now just keep repeating that throughout the day!

in the office

Dogs wander into places you don’t want them to go unless you’ve managed to train them to be in the crate or a room for the day. Children also seem to have the habit of wandering into rooms that you’ve expressively forbidden them numerous times. And when caught red-handed, they hide under your office room chair and pretend they’re not there and that that’s obviously not their mess on your desk!

Okay… in an attempt to be fair and reasonable, there are a couple reasons why we do need a dog…

They clean up the house – at least of anything edible.  I have, in fact, vowed to never feed the boys spaghetti again until we have a dog who will clean the floor. I have to date broken that vow numerous times….but I still say it every time I attempt to get the sticky stringy noodles to stop clinging to the broom bristles and move into the dustpan.

They are generally protective and since we’ve already been robbed….it stands to reason that it might be nice to have a loud boisterous deterrent guarding the door and the little ones inside.

They are adorable and cuddly …. For just a wee bit of time ….just like the cute and cuddly newborns ….who suddenly grew up to be loud and boisterous boys craving independence and “power.”

They are a “man’s best friend” and since we’re in the process of raising a rambunctious handful of men, it might be nice for them to have a friend….and a few lessons in “responsibility” wouldn’t hurt.

We’ll let you know what he/she looks like…. And, of course, we sure would love your advice for “family-friendly”…. “semi-shed-free” …. “lovable, adorable” dogs in the comments below.

….if you wouldn’t mind…

….just sayin’……

(thanks)

Everything I need to know I learned from my son’s first grade

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M & N 4-30-14Love your job and do it. – Super Tall Guy struggled with high energy and impulsivity the entire school year. It seemed like every day he was getting into a bit of trouble in first grade. Wrapping up a parent-teacher conference with the principal in attendance, I thanked the two of them with heartfelt gratitude for being willing to work so hard with him. “Of course,” said the principal, “It’s our job and we love him.” It struck me that she was right and I was thrilled to see them do their job with such loving hearts.

Judge less. Give more grace. – Super Tall Guy informed me one day, “Mom, why are you always judging me? They give me more grace at school.”  Apparently, my constant parent-harping is considered judging and I should give him a little more grace. Very true. They speak the truth.  And if you make a mistake and “judge” the wrong kid, apologize and make amends. That’s what his teacher does

Some things take a lot more time and money than you expect. Let’s take shopping for school supplies at the beginning of the year as an example. Enough said.

Find a routine that works and stick to it….up until the point at which you find you absolutely must change it. Figure out when that homework must be done and stick to it. Kids smell weakness.

It’s okay to reward some behaviors. It is amazing how the “Spelling” grade sky-rocketed once practice was tied to the reward of “ten minutes of TV” (well, technically, “screen time” as the TV is still out of commission thanks to the mysterious “somebody” who keeps getting into trouble!). Rewards in the form of “Leaping for Joy” from the teacher can also become screen time!

Be patient and try again. You won’t always succeed on the first (or 200th) time, but keep trying. Math facts and phonics “special sounds” are pure memorization – do the drill to get the result.

Be present in the moment….and actually listen. If your kid has something to say about school other than a monosyllabic grunt, shut your mouth completely and give space for whatever he wants to say. It’s going to be rare.

Make new friends and cultivate your friendships. Bug your mother incessantly until she sets up a playdate – it’s important. Spend time with people.

Remember that the start and end of a project are always the busiest times. Plan for that.  The first couple weeks of school take an enormous amount of energy to get into a rhythm and you might as well just take off work the last week of school, what with awards ceremonies, family picnics, early dismissal…..

Hug and Kiss your kid every single day. Tell them that they are doing a good job and that they will change the world. Someday they just might believe you.

 

 

Getting ready for summer!

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I haven’t quite figured out when to “change out” the boys’ clothes and finally switch seasons. We had a spell of warmth that demanded the window air conditioners….and then we pulled out the blankets!

But as June arrives, there are just so many wonderful things to do. Check out this list by Pittsburgh Mommy Blogger! Of course, my kids’ favorite is anything that involves water, so I’ve decided it’s time to switch my car over to summer! (And according to the Farmer’s Almanac, it’s going to be a Scorcher this summer!)

My advice after 8 years: This is what you need to have in the trunk this summer:

  1. Swim bag for each kid
    1. swimsuit
    2. beach towel
    3. plastic goggles – the cheap ones because they constantly lose them, bite them to pieces, or otherwise mangle some part of them
    4. sunglasses – which go by the same rule as the goggles
    5. a change of clothes.
  2. Mommy’s swim bag (my favorite bag is a tote by LLBean which they don’t seem to carry any more, but it’s held up!)
    1. Sunscreen
    2. Extra towels
    3. Snacks for rumbly bellies
    4. Cash at all times (replace when used up!!) to buy more snacks for rumbly bellies because they don’t really want the healthy ones that you packed.
    5. Bandaids – you know that they will actually never abide by the “no running” rule around a pool!
    6. Tissues – love when the boys surface from below the water with boogers streaming down into their mouths, completely oblivious, and I try to pretend not to notice ….while motioning dramatically in one of those “get-over-here-and-wipe-your-snot!!” fashions.  Must have tissues….though baby wipes or the towel can be used in a pinch!
  3. Insect repellant – the tick season is upon us and Lyme Disease is hitting epidemic proportions in Southwest PA. Here’s some information from a friend of mine who is THE Lyme Disease expert in the whole world….or at least in Pennsylvania! Dr. Andrew Nowalk’s Lyme disease frequently asked questions
  4. Baby wipes – I can’t say enough about the importance of having these in the car at all times! They clean chocolate off the steering wheel (it happens!), sticky fingers, forgotten-mashed-smelly banana pieces, and so much more. In fact, I love baby wipes so much, I wrote a whole post about them almost 2 years ago!
  5. Bottles of water – this is particularly important for boys who are almost always thirsty, especially after running around under the hot summer sun. But they also come in handy cleaning up messes when you’ve decided to let the younger twoNate mud 5-14wp play by themselves on the other side of the soccer field while Super Tall Guy has practice and you, for the first time ever, spend the session talking with another mother. And then the younger boys return covered head to toe, very literally, in mud and you remember why you never stand and talk to another mother!!  It was particularly humorous, though, to hear another parent find the two boys (as I stood rustling in the trunk for the water) saying, “Um….does anyone know who these kids belong to?” in that unmistakably disapproving tone.  Yes – me… the negligent mother who is happy the boys found dirt, yet slightly distracted by finding ways to keep too much mud from settling inside the car! (Side note – a head full of mud-laden ringlets leads to a very long bath punctuated with clear joy that beckons the other boys to see that the water has become “poop.”  An inspiring conversation about this episode on Facebook has me contemplating the name for a new daycare center or boys’ school – “Boogers, Poop and Bugs.”  Has a fine ring to it, doesn’t it?!)
  6. Rounding out the back of my van, it also helps to have an umbrella (because it suddenly storms), fold-up camp chairs (because I get tired of standing for soccer/flag football), miscellaneous balls to toss around, and $20 cash hidden in the car for the spontaneous pull-over to an ice cream stand moment!

Summer is a joy! Savor every hot sizzling moment and pray there’s an ice cream truck in your neighborhood!

The Moments of Mothering

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What I don’t do anymore                                           What I do:

  • Fly to Italy for a long weekend to celebrate a friend’s wedding
 Dread long weekends of entertaining five young boys
  • Wonder at the beauty of long walks under a moonlit sky
 Fall asleep at 7:30 while putting the kids to bed
  • Sleep in on a Saturday and enjoy a delightful morning run
 Pretend to be sleeping yet with heads near my head guarding against “pows” from rambunctious boys
  • Play Rummikub on a Sunday afternoon while sipping hazelnut coffee and nibbling freshly baked scones
 Watch boys play flag football while alternating between freezing under an umbrella or frantically searching for sunscreen
  • NOTHING
 Dream of sitting around and doing nothing!
  • Go out for Happy Hour, take in a play, relax at the symphony, enjoy lectures at the Carnegie
 Build Lego aircraft, join orange Matchbox tracks, wash clothes, wash dishes, wash boys, repeat
  • Be spontaneous.
 React spontaneously
  • Borrow other people’s children to play with or take to visit the zoo
 Get smothered by tons of love, kisses, hugs, joy, laughter, giggles, bubble juice, slobber, drool, sticky fingers, sticky faces, mud, dirt, stains, sweat, tears, bruises, and whatever else a little boy can find.

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What I do now is let a huge crocodile tear escape from the corner of my eye as I whisper to Super Tall Guy the other night – “You, boy….you are the one that made me a mother. Thank you.”

You see….don’t be fooled by this mothering business.

You are not going to “love” every moment.

But you are going to love having had “the” moments.