Have you noticed that no matter how organized you are, no matter how far you plan ahead, no matter how perfect your day planner is, or how set your family routine, there are always little unexpected adventures that end up defining your day?
The littlest parts of the day, such as waking up, brushing teeth, getting dressed, driving, getting ready for bed, or hearing a story are all individual adventures, quickly forgotten in the rush of the day, but, in the moment, all-consuming. There are precious little moments that I long to capture and hold in my heart forever. Waking up with the Boy Badgers jumping into my bed, laughing and playing. Sighing at Baby as she bathes herself in yogurt in her high chair. Little Brother Badger putting on his clothes backwards, and being so adamant about fixing it himself. Big Brother Badger pretending to swim like a shark in the bathtub. And there are other moments that I don't mind letting go. Such as the Boy Badgers' endless complaining over their dinner not being pizza. Trying to stuff Baby into her car seat wearing her puffy winter coat. Little Brother Badger whining over having to use a big boy cup at the table.
It's the adventure that makes me so tired. It's the adventure that makes me so happy! It's the little adventures that are so hard to remember a year later, or even that night. Big-ticket items such as birthdays, holidays, vacations, first steps, first words: they are obvious. But they are not the whole story. They are not life. Life is the boo-boo and the band-aid. Life is the blown-out diaper. It is the way my child's hair falls across his forehead. It is the important bill that was cut up by a boy with a pair of scissors. That snort that my son makes when he's being funny. A cupboard emptied out all over the kitchen. My husband walking through the house with all three kids hanging onto his legs while everyone squeals with laughter. A trash can that always seems to be full. The song on the radio that works so perfectly for a spontaneous family dance party.
Who could remember every little thing? Who could document every little adventure in a day? I feel a sense of sadness that not a journal, nor a camera, can truly capture these moments as they pass, spontaneous and unscripted. They are sweeter because they are so transient. They are meant to be lived, not caught and held. They are like the wind between your fingers.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
The Pink Poodle
Baby Badger's ultimate favorite toy is a stuffed pink poodle. She carries it around everywhere; in the car, up and down the hall at home, and even to dinner. If she forgets and leaves it somewhere, woe be to the family member who picks it up. She's chased her older brothers, teeth bared, until, backs against a wall, they've handed it over resignedly. It's more than a little funny to see Little Brother Badger quickly fetch the poodle for her from the basement as she sits imperiously on the sofa in the living room. Once reclaimed, she'll clutch the poodle to her chest and say "MINE!". Daddy River Badger once made the mistake of trying to take the poodle away after putting her in her high chair. Hysterics ensued, and the poodle shared some yogurt.
The poodle made a rather dramatic entrance into our family. The whole Badger clan (DRB's side, anyway) was out "camping"at one of those fun family parks where you can enjoy cabins with hot water and beds, catch fish in a small pond, and drink beer next to a fire as late as you want. On the second day, when everyone else was on a hayride, Grammy Badger, Baby, and I went to the camp store. At the back there was a rack of stuffed animals, and the poodle was among them. This poodle was very pink. It had permed fur and ribbons on its ears. It was expensive. It was kind of cute, but nothing I would ever have picked out. Baby did, though. She practically leaped out of my arms grabbing for it. I attempted to say "no", I really did! I tried to surreptitiously exchange the poodle for something a little less pricey, but the shrieks of my quite spoiled daughter brought all sorts of convenient excuses to mind. It was a vacation. The Boy Badgers had gotten sleeping bags but she hadn't (still being in her crib). Look how much she seems to like it! Getting it will make her happy and get her to be quiet and keep all the other parents in the store from shaking their heads at me. Um, yeah, and it was vacation! So, the poodle was ours. It looked more than a little triumphant as Baby carried it out of the store.
Now it sits, mocking me with its little beady eyes. "You spoil your children," it smirks, "You do not have a backbone and will become one of those parents hovering uncomfortably behind their diva-princess daughter as she stars on reality TV." "Mind your own business, poodle, you'd never had it so good before I showed up," I reply. "You have kid snot all over your coat," it retorts.
The poodle is a loudly pink reminder that I have a tendency to indulge my kids, to the eternal dismay of Daddy River Badger. I tend to run out to Target and get them stuff they don't need. I tend to buy them chocolate milk at McDonald's right before lunch. I tend to be the one who goes a little over the top at the party store for birthdays. I'll always go for the concession stand pretzel at basketball games. The poodle knows all this and smiles knowingly; I think it believes DRB will eventually throw me out. But the poodle does have one weakness: it is not machine-washable. I'm going to run out and buy finger paints at Target.
Monday, November 26, 2012
When is it okay to tattle?
The Boy Badgers are of an age that they love to tattle. They tattle on each other, "Mommy, he HIT me!"; they tattle on Mommy, "Daddy, Mommy's STILL not out of bed!"; they tattle on inanimate objects, "Mommy, the toilet is dirty, AGAIN!". And all of it is done in a sing-song voice and punctuated with earnestness. They are our family's new morality police. I remember from my own childhood, and from watching Goodfellas, that tattling is wrong. One shouldn't rat out one's friends. And so I consistently preached, "Don't tattle! Telling on someone isn't nice!". I believed this is what I was supposed to do, and, honestly, it was easier than the alternative. I didn't have to get up off the couch and thoroughly investigate situations if I could just write them off with a quick, "Don't tell on him!". Short-cut parenting always works out, right?
Hah. One day Little Brother Badger caught Baby Badger standing on a chair in the kitchen and called for me to come and get her, "Mommy, baby is being BAD!". I got there just in time to catch her before she fell on her head. So, telling worked here. I gave LBB an M&M and thanked him for helping keep his sister safe. Then, Big Brother Badger told on his little brother when LBB was attempting to climb the shelves in the basement. Another trip to the ER averted, good job! M&M's for everyone except LBB...and me. I felt like I was giving conflicting messages. Sometimes it's okay to tell, sometimes not. To an adult, it seems relatively cut and dry. When someone is in danger, or is endangering others, it is correct behavior to tell Mommy. Alternatively, when someone has just grabbed a train toy because someone else stepped on his foot because the first someone threw a sippy cup, then Mommy probably doesn't want to hear about it. Cut. And. Dry. However, the Little Badgers are young. I think that they can infer, in certain situations, that there might be danger involved, but I can't count on their judgment, and I shouldn't. I also know that, try as I might, I can't be everywhere at all times, so an extra pair of eyes is helpful. In both of the "danger-averted" moments above I was helping a boy on the potty or changing a diaper in another room. I need to somehow let the Little Badgers know that it is okay to tell, but not to tattle. Good luck to me in getting that subtlety across.
A potential solution is for me to altogether stop yelling at them to not tell on each other. I would accept the 98% tattling, 2% telling proportion in order to keep the 2%. But, I don't think this solution works at school, or on playdates. I don't want my kid to be the one running to the teacher every five minutes tattling on so-and-so for this-and-that. I recently talked to a Mommy friend of mine who expressed having the same problem. Her daughter had told on Big Brother Badger as he was running with a stick at the park. My friend's first response was to tell her daughter not to be a tattle-tale, but then she paused. BBB could have hurt himself or someone else. So, we had a conversation about what we should do in these situations, and, to be honest, we came up empty. Consistency was not the answer, and subtlety seemed presently out of reach, given the children's ages.
So, I feel as though I am winging it. Parenting on the fly. I hate this feeling; I am one for a clear set of rules and consistency and routine. So far, I've been trying to augment the "Don't tattle!" with a discussion about working things out, and adjust the "Thank you for telling me!" to a discussion of why it is good to look out for one's family. This strategy is resulting in a lot of discussing, and even my eyes start to glaze over sometimes. Welcome to gray-scale parenting. Can't wait for the birds and the bees.
Hah. One day Little Brother Badger caught Baby Badger standing on a chair in the kitchen and called for me to come and get her, "Mommy, baby is being BAD!". I got there just in time to catch her before she fell on her head. So, telling worked here. I gave LBB an M&M and thanked him for helping keep his sister safe. Then, Big Brother Badger told on his little brother when LBB was attempting to climb the shelves in the basement. Another trip to the ER averted, good job! M&M's for everyone except LBB...and me. I felt like I was giving conflicting messages. Sometimes it's okay to tell, sometimes not. To an adult, it seems relatively cut and dry. When someone is in danger, or is endangering others, it is correct behavior to tell Mommy. Alternatively, when someone has just grabbed a train toy because someone else stepped on his foot because the first someone threw a sippy cup, then Mommy probably doesn't want to hear about it. Cut. And. Dry. However, the Little Badgers are young. I think that they can infer, in certain situations, that there might be danger involved, but I can't count on their judgment, and I shouldn't. I also know that, try as I might, I can't be everywhere at all times, so an extra pair of eyes is helpful. In both of the "danger-averted" moments above I was helping a boy on the potty or changing a diaper in another room. I need to somehow let the Little Badgers know that it is okay to tell, but not to tattle. Good luck to me in getting that subtlety across.
A potential solution is for me to altogether stop yelling at them to not tell on each other. I would accept the 98% tattling, 2% telling proportion in order to keep the 2%. But, I don't think this solution works at school, or on playdates. I don't want my kid to be the one running to the teacher every five minutes tattling on so-and-so for this-and-that. I recently talked to a Mommy friend of mine who expressed having the same problem. Her daughter had told on Big Brother Badger as he was running with a stick at the park. My friend's first response was to tell her daughter not to be a tattle-tale, but then she paused. BBB could have hurt himself or someone else. So, we had a conversation about what we should do in these situations, and, to be honest, we came up empty. Consistency was not the answer, and subtlety seemed presently out of reach, given the children's ages.
So, I feel as though I am winging it. Parenting on the fly. I hate this feeling; I am one for a clear set of rules and consistency and routine. So far, I've been trying to augment the "Don't tattle!" with a discussion about working things out, and adjust the "Thank you for telling me!" to a discussion of why it is good to look out for one's family. This strategy is resulting in a lot of discussing, and even my eyes start to glaze over sometimes. Welcome to gray-scale parenting. Can't wait for the birds and the bees.
Friday, November 23, 2012
Giving Thanks with Little Badgers
The River Badger clan traveled for Thanksgiving this year. Not too far, but still a significant trek for three small children. We have the one-night travel packing routine down pat: we've got one large suitcase that's filled with kids' clothes, diapers, lotion, jammies, toys, a couple of books, blankets, and (in the bit of room that's left) maybe an outfit for Mommy and Daddy and some deodorant. The kids got into the car with one toy each (a truck, a lizard, and the pink poodle), and Baby got a bottle of milk. We're lucky and all three fell asleep pretty quickly so Mommy could run into the Wawa and get the super-jumbo diet coke. Then it's to Grandmother's house we go!
I love going to Daddy River Badger's parents' house for holidays. It is always warm, inviting, smells good, and is well-stocked with wine. When we arrived this year, the kids ran to greet their cousins. Big Brother Badger hugged his cousin tightly for a whole minute-they've been best friends since birth. Family is so important. I tell the Little Badgers that it is most important-something to be grateful for. One thing about being a Mommy is that I am grateful every day. I have moments where I practically fall on my knees from gratitude. I have other moments where gratitude is something I think about quickly, as the day flies past. On Thanksgiving, I want my children to think about being grateful for all the good things they have in their lives. Their loving family, their toys, their cat. Going to karate class and swim lessons and play dates. On this day especially, I want them to learn about being thankful. But, this is easier said than done.
The family sat down to dinner, and what a dinner it was! Grammy Badger outdid herself with a beautiful turkey and six pies. But even saying the blessing had to be done quickly with small kids under five. Any contemplation of gratitude had to be done in between passing the gravy and cleaning up where Baby had flung her mashed potatoes. After dinner, kids were running, laughing, watching movies, playing outside, going to the playground. Was I grateful? Yes. Were they grateful? Well, they were for the cookies and the pie. I know that it is a stretch to think that I can force a lesson on them. It's enough on a daily basis for them to say "thank you" for a cup of milk. And they are so young. Heck, I didn't even think much about gratitude myself until I had kids. I guess I didn't know what I had to lose until I had kids. To list everything I am thankful for would go on for a while. Every Mommy's list would. Every day we learn and love and say a thank you to the powers that be. We hope that our kids appreciate what they have.
Well, Thanksgiving night wrapped up with three happy Little Badgers tucked into bed, cuddling toys and sleeping peacefully. They said "thank you" for their milk, and to their Grammy for their dinner. They said the words, at least, and I think that is enough.
The following morning we headed home. We packed up the kids, the milk, the truck, the lizard, and the poodle, and picked up the super-sized diet coke. On the road, before falling asleep, the Boy Badgers talked about the day before, and how much fun they had. They remembered the cookies, the pie, and the DVDs, but also playing with their cousins, hugging their Grammy, being together. Even if they didn't know to say it, thank you.
I love going to Daddy River Badger's parents' house for holidays. It is always warm, inviting, smells good, and is well-stocked with wine. When we arrived this year, the kids ran to greet their cousins. Big Brother Badger hugged his cousin tightly for a whole minute-they've been best friends since birth. Family is so important. I tell the Little Badgers that it is most important-something to be grateful for. One thing about being a Mommy is that I am grateful every day. I have moments where I practically fall on my knees from gratitude. I have other moments where gratitude is something I think about quickly, as the day flies past. On Thanksgiving, I want my children to think about being grateful for all the good things they have in their lives. Their loving family, their toys, their cat. Going to karate class and swim lessons and play dates. On this day especially, I want them to learn about being thankful. But, this is easier said than done.
The family sat down to dinner, and what a dinner it was! Grammy Badger outdid herself with a beautiful turkey and six pies. But even saying the blessing had to be done quickly with small kids under five. Any contemplation of gratitude had to be done in between passing the gravy and cleaning up where Baby had flung her mashed potatoes. After dinner, kids were running, laughing, watching movies, playing outside, going to the playground. Was I grateful? Yes. Were they grateful? Well, they were for the cookies and the pie. I know that it is a stretch to think that I can force a lesson on them. It's enough on a daily basis for them to say "thank you" for a cup of milk. And they are so young. Heck, I didn't even think much about gratitude myself until I had kids. I guess I didn't know what I had to lose until I had kids. To list everything I am thankful for would go on for a while. Every Mommy's list would. Every day we learn and love and say a thank you to the powers that be. We hope that our kids appreciate what they have.
Well, Thanksgiving night wrapped up with three happy Little Badgers tucked into bed, cuddling toys and sleeping peacefully. They said "thank you" for their milk, and to their Grammy for their dinner. They said the words, at least, and I think that is enough.
The following morning we headed home. We packed up the kids, the milk, the truck, the lizard, and the poodle, and picked up the super-sized diet coke. On the road, before falling asleep, the Boy Badgers talked about the day before, and how much fun they had. They remembered the cookies, the pie, and the DVDs, but also playing with their cousins, hugging their Grammy, being together. Even if they didn't know to say it, thank you.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Hey, who wants to sell me some class?
I am not a yummy mummy. I am a fleece-wearing, sneaker-sporting, jeans-rocking, hair-in-a-ponytail, maybe-some-mascara Mama. I still practice what my mother told me when I was eighteen, that I don't need to wear foundation every day because I'm young. Yeah, that was a loooong time ago, but presently convenient. It's not that I don't enjoy using products, dressing up and blow-drying my hair, it's that I think I'm too lazy for a regimen. There, I'll admit it! But, I occasionally do get bored, or my little ones have dumped my make-up in the toilet, so every few months I'll revamp my beauty routine (translation: skip out to Target after the kids go to bed and buy a bunch of stuff) and experiment a little. Here's how my last trip went... .
I walk in with a list of things that I'm convinced will make me gorgeous. Make-up, moisturizer, eye cream, nail polish, night cream. They have to catch my eye quickly, as I've only got 45 minutes to browse. I won't buy products advertised by celebrities I don't like. I do like Jennifer Garner! She is pretty! And relatable! Foundation, check! I'll choose eye shadow based on the instructions given on the back. Does it tell me how to apply it? Yes! Check! Moisturizer is based on sun protection and lack of chemicals. If the ingredients list is pretty straightforward, check! Now, eye cream and night cream are a little harder. I think I might need the chemicals here. After all, these products are essential non-essentials. They promise a lot, and if I remember to apply them, I might see a difference! Nail polish is the most fun. My hands are weird-they look very strange with dark-colored polish. Also, dark colors show chips. Okay, so pale shades....and without formaldehyde (!)...and, ooh, this one will help my nails grow faster! Check! I am now decked out. I'm sure this is how Jennifer Garner shops, too. 10 minutes to spare! Let's look at lipstick! Somehow, this Target does not have security guards patrolling the make-up section because it is very hard to find a lipstick that has not been opened and "tested". Maybe I'll skip the lipstick.
Okay, I'm home. Little Badgers are asleep and husband is watching TV, so I sneak upstairs and put on products. I do my nails. I am pretty much Jennifer Garner, except that I cannot pull off the bangs. I sashay downstairs and bat my eyelashes at Daddy River Badger. He's mildly interested and says something very nice and sweet. So I ask, "Hey, honey, don't you like it when I get all dolled up?". And he replies, "Babe, if it makes you feel good about yourself, and you smile and are happy, then that's what I like.". Hmmm, maybe I won't tell him how much I spent.
So this was news to me. Do I look my best when I'm happy? No products or regimen needed? This makes me feel a little better about my (lack of) everyday personal style. But, then, why the impulse to buy "stuff" every now and then? I suppose there's a deep-down feeling that I need to be trying harder. There's a romantic notion I have that a put-together lady has a consistent beauty regimen honed over years of practice, faithful and true to a selection of products. My mother is such a lady. But, you know, maybe if being happy is what makes my eyes sparkle, and happiness partly comes from an impromptu trip to the make-up section where I can browse and play and escape...well, then I guess I should just go with what works for me. After all, my better half thinks I'm pretty cute with just a smile, and I should have confidence in that. With a touch of mascara thrown in, of course. It's usually on sale.
I walk in with a list of things that I'm convinced will make me gorgeous. Make-up, moisturizer, eye cream, nail polish, night cream. They have to catch my eye quickly, as I've only got 45 minutes to browse. I won't buy products advertised by celebrities I don't like. I do like Jennifer Garner! She is pretty! And relatable! Foundation, check! I'll choose eye shadow based on the instructions given on the back. Does it tell me how to apply it? Yes! Check! Moisturizer is based on sun protection and lack of chemicals. If the ingredients list is pretty straightforward, check! Now, eye cream and night cream are a little harder. I think I might need the chemicals here. After all, these products are essential non-essentials. They promise a lot, and if I remember to apply them, I might see a difference! Nail polish is the most fun. My hands are weird-they look very strange with dark-colored polish. Also, dark colors show chips. Okay, so pale shades....and without formaldehyde (!)...and, ooh, this one will help my nails grow faster! Check! I am now decked out. I'm sure this is how Jennifer Garner shops, too. 10 minutes to spare! Let's look at lipstick! Somehow, this Target does not have security guards patrolling the make-up section because it is very hard to find a lipstick that has not been opened and "tested". Maybe I'll skip the lipstick.
Okay, I'm home. Little Badgers are asleep and husband is watching TV, so I sneak upstairs and put on products. I do my nails. I am pretty much Jennifer Garner, except that I cannot pull off the bangs. I sashay downstairs and bat my eyelashes at Daddy River Badger. He's mildly interested and says something very nice and sweet. So I ask, "Hey, honey, don't you like it when I get all dolled up?". And he replies, "Babe, if it makes you feel good about yourself, and you smile and are happy, then that's what I like.". Hmmm, maybe I won't tell him how much I spent.
So this was news to me. Do I look my best when I'm happy? No products or regimen needed? This makes me feel a little better about my (lack of) everyday personal style. But, then, why the impulse to buy "stuff" every now and then? I suppose there's a deep-down feeling that I need to be trying harder. There's a romantic notion I have that a put-together lady has a consistent beauty regimen honed over years of practice, faithful and true to a selection of products. My mother is such a lady. But, you know, maybe if being happy is what makes my eyes sparkle, and happiness partly comes from an impromptu trip to the make-up section where I can browse and play and escape...well, then I guess I should just go with what works for me. After all, my better half thinks I'm pretty cute with just a smile, and I should have confidence in that. With a touch of mascara thrown in, of course. It's usually on sale.
Monday, November 19, 2012
Popularity
It occurred to me the other day that I am popular. Finally, after years of associating myself with fringe groups, I am now with the in-crowd. I'm so popular that I cannot even pee in private. I'm like an older, more masculine version of Justin Bieber. The fact that my new clique is all under five-years-old doesn't bother me. The fact that my popularity has been bought by packages of fruit snacks, bottles of milk, and hours of cartoons doesn't phase me either. I am a Little Badger icon.
From the moment I wake up, I am in demand. Like I said, I can't even sneak off to the bathroom without the paparazzi following me. Putting on make-up? Very difficult when my mascara is grabbed and run off with as a souvenir. I'll probably be able to find it again on e-Bay (or the trash can). Getting dressed is even trickier. My followers debate if I've had work done, "Mommy, why is your belly squishy?". There are fights over who will sit next to me at breakfast. And, when my clique gets to school, my name gets dropped over and over, "MY Mommy, NOT yours!". My talents are so much in demand that I am begged for story after story at bedtime, and all the stories have to involve a loving Mommy T-rex, or bat, or moose, etc.
Now, all this could go to my head, so it's a good thing I have my husband to bring me back down to earth. If I'm a version of Justin Bieber, he's like Bruce Springsteen. Daddy River Badger can lift kids clear over his head so they can touch the ceiling. He can burp really loudly. He can make the best grilled cheese sandwiches. He definitely can't get any privacy in the bathroom, "Whatcha reading, Daddy?".
In high school I was not one of the popular kids. I wasn't at the bottom of the social world, either-just kind of in the middle, doing my own thing. I didn't really think about being popular, aside from some wistful dreaming about how when you are popular your hair is never frizzy and your really short skirt was never caught by the nuns. Of course, once college and grad school rolled around, the notion of popularity kind of faded in the face of real deadlines and pressures. So the present unabashed adoration of three small kids has me grappling with what popularity means now, for a parent.
I love that the Little Badgers look up to me and want to be near me. But, I am faced with the pressures of being their role model. Not just with things like not saying swear words, or chewing with your mouth closed, or not hitting, but also with things like how I treat my spouse, how I speak to my own parents, how I treat the lady at the cash register. I should make sure to exercise and eat right, so that they see me do it. I should apologize when I am wrong, so that they see the good example. I should always offer someone else the last piece of dessert, so that they know to avoid selfishness. All these "shoulds" result in my desperate longing to stuff my face with a cheeseburger while flipping the bird to my husband and hoarding the whole stinkin' pie. I'm afraid that popularity means not being me.
As a parent, I have to try to be "on" all the time, at least when the kids are around. And the "on" isn't like a regular celebrity, where one just has to make sure one is wearing underwear when climbing out of cars. It is much tougher, and more unrelenting. It is a series of uncomfortable realizations that I'm not as kind, or as generous, or as forgiving as I thought I was. But, I try, try again. Because I don't want any more gleeful shouts of "a%#hole driver!" coming from the back seat.
From the moment I wake up, I am in demand. Like I said, I can't even sneak off to the bathroom without the paparazzi following me. Putting on make-up? Very difficult when my mascara is grabbed and run off with as a souvenir. I'll probably be able to find it again on e-Bay (or the trash can). Getting dressed is even trickier. My followers debate if I've had work done, "Mommy, why is your belly squishy?". There are fights over who will sit next to me at breakfast. And, when my clique gets to school, my name gets dropped over and over, "MY Mommy, NOT yours!". My talents are so much in demand that I am begged for story after story at bedtime, and all the stories have to involve a loving Mommy T-rex, or bat, or moose, etc.
Now, all this could go to my head, so it's a good thing I have my husband to bring me back down to earth. If I'm a version of Justin Bieber, he's like Bruce Springsteen. Daddy River Badger can lift kids clear over his head so they can touch the ceiling. He can burp really loudly. He can make the best grilled cheese sandwiches. He definitely can't get any privacy in the bathroom, "Whatcha reading, Daddy?".
In high school I was not one of the popular kids. I wasn't at the bottom of the social world, either-just kind of in the middle, doing my own thing. I didn't really think about being popular, aside from some wistful dreaming about how when you are popular your hair is never frizzy and your really short skirt was never caught by the nuns. Of course, once college and grad school rolled around, the notion of popularity kind of faded in the face of real deadlines and pressures. So the present unabashed adoration of three small kids has me grappling with what popularity means now, for a parent.
I love that the Little Badgers look up to me and want to be near me. But, I am faced with the pressures of being their role model. Not just with things like not saying swear words, or chewing with your mouth closed, or not hitting, but also with things like how I treat my spouse, how I speak to my own parents, how I treat the lady at the cash register. I should make sure to exercise and eat right, so that they see me do it. I should apologize when I am wrong, so that they see the good example. I should always offer someone else the last piece of dessert, so that they know to avoid selfishness. All these "shoulds" result in my desperate longing to stuff my face with a cheeseburger while flipping the bird to my husband and hoarding the whole stinkin' pie. I'm afraid that popularity means not being me.
As a parent, I have to try to be "on" all the time, at least when the kids are around. And the "on" isn't like a regular celebrity, where one just has to make sure one is wearing underwear when climbing out of cars. It is much tougher, and more unrelenting. It is a series of uncomfortable realizations that I'm not as kind, or as generous, or as forgiving as I thought I was. But, I try, try again. Because I don't want any more gleeful shouts of "a%#hole driver!" coming from the back seat.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
The Picture on my Wall
I am experiencing a creative re-birth. At least, that's what it feels like. I was a classical musician for many years, even pursuing it at a conservatory before quitting cold-turkey for a more technical field. Years of schooling and a career made me less likely to write, or play music, or draw for creativity's sake. You know that line in "Jurassic Park" when Jeff Goldblum says, "Nature found a way."? Well, my oft-suppressed self is finding its way. I've written about my children's profound impact on my life, but there is also something else.
My parents are two different, yet complementary people. To simplify it tremendously, my Mom is sensitive and artistic, and my Dad is more analytical and technically-inclined. Somehow, I've managed to be lucky enough to get some of both of them. Lately, though, the technical side was at the forefront, as a consequence of my job. I think my creative side was being repressed, and, as creative-types sometimes are, was not too happy to remain in the shadows. As I've turned to writing, and also to drawing (paints are way out of my league), tears and feelings of frustration seem to be calmed. I'm embracing that I am the sum of both parts of me. Right and left-brain. This realization is good for my relationship with my kids, too. I love thinking up art projects, and talking to them about colors, and encouraging their imaginations. I also throw in a bit of science, but I don't hit them over the head with it.
So, getting to this picture. I am inspired by pictures in magazines, translating dark and light into lines and shading. I don't really advertise my work, as it mostly sits in a folder, or hangs on the walls of my bedroom. I think I gave one to my Mom. This particular picture was adapted from a photograph in National Geographic. I don't remember the story behind the photo, but in the way I drew it, I can sometimes convince myself the woman was feeling extreme joy, and other times extreme grief. I chose to hang it on my wall instead of some "happier" drawings. Why did this one capture my attention so? I think because of the ambiguity; it is emotion without context. The reason behind the woman's strong feelings is not apparent, but the presence of raw emotion is. It is the feeling that is important, not the analysis of the situation. I look at this picture as a reminder that one's creative, emotional side is valid and powerful, too. Even if it doesn't bring in a paycheck.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Don't put Baby in a corner (she'll bite you)
My Mom has a great story from when she was little about how she was the most famous Biter-baby on her block. Depending on how tall the tale gets, she bit everyone from her mother to the mailman to the dog next door. The Boy Badgers stare wide-eyed at Grandma while this story is told but Baby Badger looks strangely smug. Lately, she's been living up to this family legacy.
When those first two teeth broke through, I ran for the camera and rained praise on her. I oohed and ahhed over every new addition. Maybe that's what started it, because now she is all about the chompers. She rips at pieces of meat at dinner, she flashes her pearly whites whenever she hears the word "cheese", she races her brothers to the sink to be the first to brush her teeth, and, lately, she'll take a bite out of you if you let your guard down.
The worst thus far came last night. When Baby heads upstairs for bed, her routine is to walk around the playroom and give kisses and hugs. She gave Daddy River Badger a hug and a kiss, "mmmmwah!", and then Little Brother Badger. I turned my head for a second and then I heard it: "AAAGH! Mommy, she BIT me!". Poor Big Brother Badger had been ambushed. Baby looked delighted by his reaction. And here's where I have some trouble. She loves the reaction! The sharp intake of breath and the yelp when her little teeth find your skin? She loves it! The look of confusion? Yup, loves it! The scolding and the time-out? She's unfazed.
I think I'm going to start calling her Fang.
Anyway, the only thing that seems to have an effect is for me to put her down immediately and not give her attention for a few minutes. She pouts, and clings to my leg, and eventually cries. My big show of indifference appears to dent the armor, but it hasn't solved the problem. Biter-baby always returns, teeth at the ready. So far, I haven't heard anything from her teachers at school. Maybe they're afraid of her, too.
I LOVE her smile; especially "with teeth". It is precious and endearing and joyful. It is representative of her personality, her spirit. My intuition rationally tells me that this biting phase will pass, as both Boy Badgers went through it, albeit with less enthusiasm. Of course, my intuition also chokes up and gets emotional, thinking of the passage of time, to the day when "Biter-baby" will be a story she'll tell to her kids or grandkids. So, for the moment, I'll just keep holding my girl close, despite the danger. Maybe I'll just wear more layers.
When those first two teeth broke through, I ran for the camera and rained praise on her. I oohed and ahhed over every new addition. Maybe that's what started it, because now she is all about the chompers. She rips at pieces of meat at dinner, she flashes her pearly whites whenever she hears the word "cheese", she races her brothers to the sink to be the first to brush her teeth, and, lately, she'll take a bite out of you if you let your guard down.
The worst thus far came last night. When Baby heads upstairs for bed, her routine is to walk around the playroom and give kisses and hugs. She gave Daddy River Badger a hug and a kiss, "mmmmwah!", and then Little Brother Badger. I turned my head for a second and then I heard it: "AAAGH! Mommy, she BIT me!". Poor Big Brother Badger had been ambushed. Baby looked delighted by his reaction. And here's where I have some trouble. She loves the reaction! The sharp intake of breath and the yelp when her little teeth find your skin? She loves it! The look of confusion? Yup, loves it! The scolding and the time-out? She's unfazed.
I think I'm going to start calling her Fang.
Anyway, the only thing that seems to have an effect is for me to put her down immediately and not give her attention for a few minutes. She pouts, and clings to my leg, and eventually cries. My big show of indifference appears to dent the armor, but it hasn't solved the problem. Biter-baby always returns, teeth at the ready. So far, I haven't heard anything from her teachers at school. Maybe they're afraid of her, too.
I LOVE her smile; especially "with teeth". It is precious and endearing and joyful. It is representative of her personality, her spirit. My intuition rationally tells me that this biting phase will pass, as both Boy Badgers went through it, albeit with less enthusiasm. Of course, my intuition also chokes up and gets emotional, thinking of the passage of time, to the day when "Biter-baby" will be a story she'll tell to her kids or grandkids. So, for the moment, I'll just keep holding my girl close, despite the danger. Maybe I'll just wear more layers.
 |
| My little Biter-Baby! |
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Riding In Cars With Boys
Ah, the ride to and from daycare. It's hardest on a Monday morning, when the Little Badgers have just had a whole weekend away from a strict schedule. It's also "hardest" on a Friday afternoon, when they are burned out and tired. Since Baby Badger is very young, she can usually be placated with a bottle of milk or her famous pink poodle. The Boy Badgers were a little harder to figure out.
I started by stocking the back seat of the van with toys and books, but fights would break out over those. I figured they were hungry, especially in the afternoon, and was sure to have snacks on hand. But heaven forbid the fruit snacks had different wrappers! And my rule about no juice in the backseat didn't go over very well.
The fights were getting louder, and the tensions were rising. Not good for a Mommy trying to pay attention to the road. My strategy thus far had been to bribe, threaten, or, finally, yell. This did not help the tension one bit. At one point, during an afternoon drive, a squabble started in the back over which Boy Badger had seen a certain truck and which one was a liar. They were yelling over each other, calling each other names. I felt a headache coming on. Traffic stretched in front of me. I took a deep breath to yell, and then...had a thought. Maybe they were frustrated because they didn't know how to have a real conversation in that situation. In the van, they are strapped into their carseats. They can't use their body language, or really gesture, or be physical at all. They had to use their voices alone to get a point across. And apparently they had to learn some rules that go with that. Turns out my yelling wasn't helping very much. Okay, time to step up.
So I said, as calmly as possible, "Hey, boys, where do you think clouds come from?". There was a brief silence. Then they started talking at the same time. I stopped them with the suggestion the Big Brother Badger talk first, and then Little Brother Badger have his turn. It worked pretty well. On that drive home, they learned that interrupting was not nice, that having turns gave everyone a chance to speak (even Baby Badger), and that screaming that someone was lying was not helpful to the discussion. Having the opportunity to express themselves, with the security of knowing it was their turn, was relished. Little Brother Badger started off most of his turns that day with, "Whyyyy......whyyyyy....ummmmm...". He had a big smile the whole time-he was driving the conversation and he didn't know where to begin!
We now start off our drive home with a snack, the stuffed poodle, and a bottle of milk, but also a question, "What would you boys like to talk about?". Their answers fascinate me. They ask questions..."How do dolphins breathe when they sleep?", "Do spiders make expressions on their faces?". They make observations..."Woody is taller than Buzz, and Buzz is fatter than Woody!", "There are a bunch of birds in that field!". They talk about rain, or traffic lights, or bugs, or deer. I've tried to answer questions about the homeless man asking passing drivers for money, or why ambulances drive so fast. I've enjoyed a breathtaking rainbow with them, and waxed poetic about white light being split into its component wavelengths. I've had to explain many times about why we couldn't just drive to Grandma's. Even Baby chimes in, and of course, is given the same respect as the rest of the family. You can see the joy on her face as she is acknowledged in the same way as her older brothers.
Riding in the car presents its own challenges, different from interactions at home, but also its own opportunities. I love the perspective I get from the kids. The kinetic energy they're usually spending racing in circles, pushing, or jumping up and down is replaced by thinking and talking energy. And I learn something new every trip.
I started by stocking the back seat of the van with toys and books, but fights would break out over those. I figured they were hungry, especially in the afternoon, and was sure to have snacks on hand. But heaven forbid the fruit snacks had different wrappers! And my rule about no juice in the backseat didn't go over very well.
The fights were getting louder, and the tensions were rising. Not good for a Mommy trying to pay attention to the road. My strategy thus far had been to bribe, threaten, or, finally, yell. This did not help the tension one bit. At one point, during an afternoon drive, a squabble started in the back over which Boy Badger had seen a certain truck and which one was a liar. They were yelling over each other, calling each other names. I felt a headache coming on. Traffic stretched in front of me. I took a deep breath to yell, and then...had a thought. Maybe they were frustrated because they didn't know how to have a real conversation in that situation. In the van, they are strapped into their carseats. They can't use their body language, or really gesture, or be physical at all. They had to use their voices alone to get a point across. And apparently they had to learn some rules that go with that. Turns out my yelling wasn't helping very much. Okay, time to step up.
So I said, as calmly as possible, "Hey, boys, where do you think clouds come from?". There was a brief silence. Then they started talking at the same time. I stopped them with the suggestion the Big Brother Badger talk first, and then Little Brother Badger have his turn. It worked pretty well. On that drive home, they learned that interrupting was not nice, that having turns gave everyone a chance to speak (even Baby Badger), and that screaming that someone was lying was not helpful to the discussion. Having the opportunity to express themselves, with the security of knowing it was their turn, was relished. Little Brother Badger started off most of his turns that day with, "Whyyyy......whyyyyy....ummmmm...". He had a big smile the whole time-he was driving the conversation and he didn't know where to begin!
We now start off our drive home with a snack, the stuffed poodle, and a bottle of milk, but also a question, "What would you boys like to talk about?". Their answers fascinate me. They ask questions..."How do dolphins breathe when they sleep?", "Do spiders make expressions on their faces?". They make observations..."Woody is taller than Buzz, and Buzz is fatter than Woody!", "There are a bunch of birds in that field!". They talk about rain, or traffic lights, or bugs, or deer. I've tried to answer questions about the homeless man asking passing drivers for money, or why ambulances drive so fast. I've enjoyed a breathtaking rainbow with them, and waxed poetic about white light being split into its component wavelengths. I've had to explain many times about why we couldn't just drive to Grandma's. Even Baby chimes in, and of course, is given the same respect as the rest of the family. You can see the joy on her face as she is acknowledged in the same way as her older brothers.
Riding in the car presents its own challenges, different from interactions at home, but also its own opportunities. I love the perspective I get from the kids. The kinetic energy they're usually spending racing in circles, pushing, or jumping up and down is replaced by thinking and talking energy. And I learn something new every trip.
Monday, November 12, 2012
Teamwork or just working each other over?
There are three Little River Badgers. Two boys and a girl. A 4-year-old, a 2-year-old, and a 14-month-old. The time they spend together is usually complete bliss, or complete chaos; there really is no middle ground.
There are flashes of incredible sweetness, such as when Big Brother Badger sits between his two siblings, "reading" them a story. There are moments of calm joy, when all three kids play together in the yard, the sun shining on their hair. There are instances of energetic revelry, when the Little Badgers chase each other in circles through the house, giggling and squealing. With all these, I am torn between wanting to run for the camera and standing absolutely still, appreciating. In these moments, I believe that they will grow up as a team, working together, defending each other, having each other's back.
Then, there is the rest of the time. This morning, after getting the Little Badgers dressed for school, there was a fight over a toy, followed by Little Brother Badger dragging his older brother out of the room by his sweatshirt. Last night, Baby and LBB got into it over one thing or another, and she ended up being tackled after slapping LBB in the face. Pretty much every day I hear Big Brother Badger screaming in a "stranger, danger" sort of way because his toys have been snatched. In these moments, I am convinced that we will end up as a family thrown to the winds, with infighting and drinking characterizing our every holiday.
Most of the conflicts end with me yelling at someone or everyone. A lot of yelling. At the end of a bad day, I'm really sick of my own voice. And, to be honest, I feel a little inadequate as a referee. I usually do not see the first salvo-who really hit first? And there is the issue of the differences in the children themselves. Besides their ages, they have different personalities. Each one is fighting his or her own battle, feeling wronged in different ways. Do you punish equally across the board or take a more nuanced approach? When there is a brawl, and everyone seems to be involved, does everyone go to time-out? Or just one?
Big Brother Badger gets very upset when his toys are messed with. He always has a grand story being played out, with each dinosaur or car acting an integral role. Lose one, and the world is at an end. Plus, since he is the biggest, he tries hard not to hit his younger siblings, and so usually gets smacked first. He loses his temper from a feeling of powerlessness. On the other hand, Little Brother Badger acts out not so much from toy-taking, but when he feels no one is listening to him. He wants to do things on his terms, which is hard when he is in the middle. He loses his temper from a feeling of frustration. Baby Badger will walk up to her brothers and brazenly slap them. They know not to hit her back (usually), so she plays the baby-card. I want her to stand up for herself, but I refuse to raise a bully.
Which offense or counter-offense is worthy of a time-out, or just an apology, or a hard line go-to-bed-early is difficult to judge, especially when the offenses seem to happen all together and everyone is very upset. I'd like to try to maintain consistent discipline, but also to address each child's situation. So I ask questions. Who hit first? What did you do to make him/her hit you? Why were you both in the kitchen in the first place? I don't want to encourage them to start lying to me, either.
I worry about the fine line between letting them work things out and keeping them from working each other over. I want them to be a team. Maybe it's a work in progress.
There are flashes of incredible sweetness, such as when Big Brother Badger sits between his two siblings, "reading" them a story. There are moments of calm joy, when all three kids play together in the yard, the sun shining on their hair. There are instances of energetic revelry, when the Little Badgers chase each other in circles through the house, giggling and squealing. With all these, I am torn between wanting to run for the camera and standing absolutely still, appreciating. In these moments, I believe that they will grow up as a team, working together, defending each other, having each other's back.
Then, there is the rest of the time. This morning, after getting the Little Badgers dressed for school, there was a fight over a toy, followed by Little Brother Badger dragging his older brother out of the room by his sweatshirt. Last night, Baby and LBB got into it over one thing or another, and she ended up being tackled after slapping LBB in the face. Pretty much every day I hear Big Brother Badger screaming in a "stranger, danger" sort of way because his toys have been snatched. In these moments, I am convinced that we will end up as a family thrown to the winds, with infighting and drinking characterizing our every holiday.
Most of the conflicts end with me yelling at someone or everyone. A lot of yelling. At the end of a bad day, I'm really sick of my own voice. And, to be honest, I feel a little inadequate as a referee. I usually do not see the first salvo-who really hit first? And there is the issue of the differences in the children themselves. Besides their ages, they have different personalities. Each one is fighting his or her own battle, feeling wronged in different ways. Do you punish equally across the board or take a more nuanced approach? When there is a brawl, and everyone seems to be involved, does everyone go to time-out? Or just one?
Big Brother Badger gets very upset when his toys are messed with. He always has a grand story being played out, with each dinosaur or car acting an integral role. Lose one, and the world is at an end. Plus, since he is the biggest, he tries hard not to hit his younger siblings, and so usually gets smacked first. He loses his temper from a feeling of powerlessness. On the other hand, Little Brother Badger acts out not so much from toy-taking, but when he feels no one is listening to him. He wants to do things on his terms, which is hard when he is in the middle. He loses his temper from a feeling of frustration. Baby Badger will walk up to her brothers and brazenly slap them. They know not to hit her back (usually), so she plays the baby-card. I want her to stand up for herself, but I refuse to raise a bully.
Which offense or counter-offense is worthy of a time-out, or just an apology, or a hard line go-to-bed-early is difficult to judge, especially when the offenses seem to happen all together and everyone is very upset. I'd like to try to maintain consistent discipline, but also to address each child's situation. So I ask questions. Who hit first? What did you do to make him/her hit you? Why were you both in the kitchen in the first place? I don't want to encourage them to start lying to me, either.
I worry about the fine line between letting them work things out and keeping them from working each other over. I want them to be a team. Maybe it's a work in progress.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
There's a Ladder in my Bathroom!
A somewhat lighter contribution after 24 hours of a stomach bug. Turns out my kids' immunity-boosting methods of digging in trash cans and scoping out food on the floor were actually the way to go.
I could move it, but it would return.
There is a pile in my bedroom.
Why it remains there, I'll never learn.
There are tomatoes on my countertop.
An empty bowl for them is near.
But I'd never trade your faults for other's
and I'll hold you forever, my dear.
Daddy River Badger is as close to a perfect Daddy as can be. From attending 10 weeks of Bradley Method childbirth courses with me all the way to (claiming to) finding me sexy as hell even after three kids in just over four years. He is thoughtful, kind, sensitive, and responsible. My friends love him, my colleagues respect him, my parents ADORE him.
So how can I complain about him?
Well, I am a wife. I live with the guy 24-7, and there are little things that build up. Steam to blow off over some wine and a heart-to-heart with a girlfriend or sister. It is bad, though, when I've spent my 15 minutes complaining about the mess in his car, or the tools he used to fix the bathroom still sitting there eight days later, and my counterpart rolls her eyes. Not in the "what a jerk!" way, but in the "WTF are you complaining about?" sort of way. *sigh*
Most of the time, what annoys me about him is that fact that he is always right. He has fantastic intuition about people, and can stick to a budget, and can usually read a situation perfectly. Whereas I typically cannot do any of those things. So, I end up being annoyed that I married a good, smart, competent guy. I know, eye roll, right? And, with the kids, because of his good traits, he usually ends up playing the bad cop role. I buy McDonald's and spend money on toys at Target, and give them milk in the middle of the night, and he doesn't, because he holds the line.
No wonder he sometimes feels he can't win.
So, on the occasion of his birthday, I want to tell Daddy River Badger that I love him and that I see his many strengths, both as a partner and as a father. He is amazing. I will pledge to hold the line more, so that he can sometimes give the kids ice cream in the afternoon. I will pledge to greet him with a smile and a hug, because I know he worries about me when I'm feeling down about myself. And I will pledge to ignore that ladder lingering in my bathroom because it was put there by a man who is working hard for his family.
Friday, November 9, 2012
Little Stings
I remember going to the doctor for my checkup a couple months ago and getting my flu shot. The nurse always says, "It's just a little sting!". It is, really, just a prick. I've gone through some physically uncomfortable things in my life so far (running a marathon, natural childbirth, a full-on Brazilian bikini wax), so I feel pretty dumb for the rush of anxiety I felt as I watched the nurse prep the needle. But even little stings can hurt.
Stings aren't restricted to needles, either. Emotional stings can hurt, too. Especially if a bunch of them show up all one after another. Like today, for example. You may have read about my ongoing battle with Little Brother Badger. Well, this morning it continued with him refusing to give me a hug or a kiss until Daddy River Badger loudly insisted on it. Ouch. Then, I caved and got a really unhealthy fast food breakfast on the way to work. While walking to my office, someone noticed and commented, "You really eat a lot of fast food.". Ouch. Later, I overheard someone happily describing an interview she had gotten the day before. It was with a company to which I had sent a resume a while back. Ouch, again. This combined with some lingering little stings. My Mom has been asking me a lot if I'm okay. What's worse is that my sister, who is brilliantly handling newborn twins, also concernedly asks if I'm okay. What? Should be situation reversed, right? She's got two brand new babies on her hands whereas I do not. Bah.
So, I know that a lot of this has to do with my own self-perception. All these things separately are not game-changers. LBB is a two-year-old testing his boundaries. I do eat too much fast food. I knew I may not have the kind of specialized experience that particular company (or a bunch of others) is looking for. I haven't been trying very hard to look nice lately, and I know it's showing. But it is still hard to hear from others, even indirectly, and little stings can add up to one big hurt pretty quickly when you're feeling down about yourself. I am wallowing, but I have enough fight left in me to recognize that the buck stops here when it comes to making changes.
I think that I better start dealing with this hurt. Wallowing is never good, and especially when I've got three pairs of little eyes watching me. I am an example, and I don't want the example to be how I am right now. I think I need to counter the little stings with little steps. Like, stop eating the f*%king fast food! Re-tool the resume and work it. Appreciate that I've got a loving and concerned mother and sister. Give kisses, hugs, and steady loving discipline to Little Brother Badger. Choices all through the day, adding up to a surplus, instead of a deficit. Let's git'er done!
Stings aren't restricted to needles, either. Emotional stings can hurt, too. Especially if a bunch of them show up all one after another. Like today, for example. You may have read about my ongoing battle with Little Brother Badger. Well, this morning it continued with him refusing to give me a hug or a kiss until Daddy River Badger loudly insisted on it. Ouch. Then, I caved and got a really unhealthy fast food breakfast on the way to work. While walking to my office, someone noticed and commented, "You really eat a lot of fast food.". Ouch. Later, I overheard someone happily describing an interview she had gotten the day before. It was with a company to which I had sent a resume a while back. Ouch, again. This combined with some lingering little stings. My Mom has been asking me a lot if I'm okay. What's worse is that my sister, who is brilliantly handling newborn twins, also concernedly asks if I'm okay. What? Should be situation reversed, right? She's got two brand new babies on her hands whereas I do not. Bah.
So, I know that a lot of this has to do with my own self-perception. All these things separately are not game-changers. LBB is a two-year-old testing his boundaries. I do eat too much fast food. I knew I may not have the kind of specialized experience that particular company (or a bunch of others) is looking for. I haven't been trying very hard to look nice lately, and I know it's showing. But it is still hard to hear from others, even indirectly, and little stings can add up to one big hurt pretty quickly when you're feeling down about yourself. I am wallowing, but I have enough fight left in me to recognize that the buck stops here when it comes to making changes.
I think that I better start dealing with this hurt. Wallowing is never good, and especially when I've got three pairs of little eyes watching me. I am an example, and I don't want the example to be how I am right now. I think I need to counter the little stings with little steps. Like, stop eating the f*%king fast food! Re-tool the resume and work it. Appreciate that I've got a loving and concerned mother and sister. Give kisses, hugs, and steady loving discipline to Little Brother Badger. Choices all through the day, adding up to a surplus, instead of a deficit. Let's git'er done!
Thursday, November 8, 2012
I Heart Thomas the Train
Thomas the Tank Engine is huge in the Badger den. When Big Brother Badger was about a year old, he received a Thomas train and a small wooden track set, and adored it. He mysteriously called Thomas, "Bat-shlah!". I fondly remember, when I was pregnant with Little Brother Badger, a Thomas Christmas DVD playing over and over in the month leading up to the holiday. After LBB was born, we upgraded to a larger track set and table, adding more of the characters. Little Brother Badger's name for Thomas was, "Dee-dee!". We introduced Percy, and Henry, and James. A little while later, we went on our first Day Out with Thomas as a family. You should have seen the amazement of the Boy Badgers when they saw Thomas coming down the track, whistle blowing, and smoke curling into the sky. We added Hiro and Toby and Salty the Diesel. Now, Baby Badger is just as entranced as her brothers. Of course, right now she mostly knocks over the track and bites the train wheels, but she always runs to the TV whenever hearing the Thomas theme song. So far, she seems to be on track to actually come close to saying, "Thomas!". Thomas is still the go-to show, the inspiration for hours spent at train museums, and the source of everyone's excitement when we see a train go by on the railroad tracks.
In my opinion, Thomas is good, clean fun. Each story has a moral. There are no frenetic flashes of light, or scary monsters or weapons. I've heard Sir Topham Hatt referred to as a petty dictator by haters, but I like the ideas of respect and responsibility that I see promoted. Team-work is emphasized, and all the engines love to have their bath.
But another reason I heart Thomas is because I secretly empathize with Thomas. Thomas is excited, loyal, and eager to have fun, but makes lots of mistakes. He usually goes into situations with the best of intentions, but always ends up screwing up. There are people who have gotten up and left the room during a Thomas episode because they are so fed up with Thomas doing dumb things. I usually smile and duck my head sheepishly. I hope those people won't be so hard on me.
I tend to overspend my budget sometimes for no good reason, or forget that my husband really doesn't like marinara sauce, or end up making a bunch of family members irritated because I was trying too hard to make everyone happy. I go into things with the best of intentions, and usually end up messing something up. And it seems that the harder I try to avoid screwing up, the more screwing up I tend to accomplish. I feel you Thomas.
But, as we know, the stories end with Thomas showing his best effort and good heart and getting everything back on track again. He makes it through thanks to his friends, his persistence, and his ability to avoid having his spirit damaged by criticism, both outwardly and inwardly inflicted. Serious turn there, folks. I'll let you know when I've made it through.
In my opinion, Thomas is good, clean fun. Each story has a moral. There are no frenetic flashes of light, or scary monsters or weapons. I've heard Sir Topham Hatt referred to as a petty dictator by haters, but I like the ideas of respect and responsibility that I see promoted. Team-work is emphasized, and all the engines love to have their bath.
But another reason I heart Thomas is because I secretly empathize with Thomas. Thomas is excited, loyal, and eager to have fun, but makes lots of mistakes. He usually goes into situations with the best of intentions, but always ends up screwing up. There are people who have gotten up and left the room during a Thomas episode because they are so fed up with Thomas doing dumb things. I usually smile and duck my head sheepishly. I hope those people won't be so hard on me.
I tend to overspend my budget sometimes for no good reason, or forget that my husband really doesn't like marinara sauce, or end up making a bunch of family members irritated because I was trying too hard to make everyone happy. I go into things with the best of intentions, and usually end up messing something up. And it seems that the harder I try to avoid screwing up, the more screwing up I tend to accomplish. I feel you Thomas.
But, as we know, the stories end with Thomas showing his best effort and good heart and getting everything back on track again. He makes it through thanks to his friends, his persistence, and his ability to avoid having his spirit damaged by criticism, both outwardly and inwardly inflicted. Serious turn there, folks. I'll let you know when I've made it through.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Does being average mean you've failed?
Have you gotten the feeling that the term "average" is equated to failing in the Mommy-verse? If you're not covered in superlatives, you're dismissed as average. Kind of a smugly derisive way of letting you know that you're not up to snuff. But with all the complexity of life, how do we even know what average means? Who gets to judge? Does it mean that doing your best is not good enough, if it doesn't result in some tangible measure of excellence, some demonstrable example of how you are better than your peers?
I think that all too often, the tangible measure ends up being created for the sole purpose of shaming other Mommies. We all know these vocal strivers of the Mommy world. They may stay home with their kids, or work 80-hour weeks, but they will make sure you know that whatever they do is better than what you do. They may homeschool, or eat all organic, or have a fancy nanny who speaks 3 languages. They may put their kids in front of educational programming on TV for hours a day, or shun peanut butter, or let discipline go wild, or force their kid to practice the piano for hours at a time. But they will let you know about it. And they will insist that their particular view of excellence is indeed the correct one. You see, the metrics of parenting can be a little vague. How does one know that one's kid is better than his or her peers? More likely than not it's because one is (loudly) insisting on it.
So, if you aren't busy out-shouting and one-upping the other parents in the room, you may be viewed as just being average. The other parents, arguing over the right kind of diaper, may take a quick break to glance at you and shake their heads. Obviously, she's one of those average parents. Her kid's going to end up at a state university.
I've been there, in that room, waiting for my kid to finish swimming class or whatever, and listening to a group of Mommies heatedly talk back and forth. I won't call it conversing, because they really weren't listening to each other. And they also weren't too interested in watching their kid participate in his or her activity.
I suppose I would be considered an average parent when it comes down to things like food choices, use of hand sanitizer, early language classes, or other potential bragging categories. But what about the intangible measures of excellence as a parent. The ones you can't brag about. Like listening to your child and letting him or her see the pride on your face. Like being there for your child and being a good example. Like trying your very best every day as a parent and enjoying the experience. Like actually having fun watching your child's swim class instead of getting into it with some other mothers over who made the best work-life choices.
So, there you go. I don't know if being judged as average really means anything at all, or if it's just a reflection of different priorities and measures of success. Or, if I'm being less generous, just a way for some insecure folks to get through the day.
I think that all too often, the tangible measure ends up being created for the sole purpose of shaming other Mommies. We all know these vocal strivers of the Mommy world. They may stay home with their kids, or work 80-hour weeks, but they will make sure you know that whatever they do is better than what you do. They may homeschool, or eat all organic, or have a fancy nanny who speaks 3 languages. They may put their kids in front of educational programming on TV for hours a day, or shun peanut butter, or let discipline go wild, or force their kid to practice the piano for hours at a time. But they will let you know about it. And they will insist that their particular view of excellence is indeed the correct one. You see, the metrics of parenting can be a little vague. How does one know that one's kid is better than his or her peers? More likely than not it's because one is (loudly) insisting on it.
So, if you aren't busy out-shouting and one-upping the other parents in the room, you may be viewed as just being average. The other parents, arguing over the right kind of diaper, may take a quick break to glance at you and shake their heads. Obviously, she's one of those average parents. Her kid's going to end up at a state university.
I've been there, in that room, waiting for my kid to finish swimming class or whatever, and listening to a group of Mommies heatedly talk back and forth. I won't call it conversing, because they really weren't listening to each other. And they also weren't too interested in watching their kid participate in his or her activity.
I suppose I would be considered an average parent when it comes down to things like food choices, use of hand sanitizer, early language classes, or other potential bragging categories. But what about the intangible measures of excellence as a parent. The ones you can't brag about. Like listening to your child and letting him or her see the pride on your face. Like being there for your child and being a good example. Like trying your very best every day as a parent and enjoying the experience. Like actually having fun watching your child's swim class instead of getting into it with some other mothers over who made the best work-life choices.
So, there you go. I don't know if being judged as average really means anything at all, or if it's just a reflection of different priorities and measures of success. Or, if I'm being less generous, just a way for some insecure folks to get through the day.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Empathy
Have you noticed that young children have a great capacity for recognizing when others are upset, or sad, or scared? They recognize strong emotion and are deeply affected by it. Even when that emotion is on TV or in a movie. I felt terrible when, during a movie (G-rated, folks!), I turned around and saw Big Brother Badger in tears because of something happening on screen. He was watching a scene where a daddy lion is chasing after his baby son, who has just been snatched up by some humans. As adults, most people would be saying, "oh, sure, he'll find him again before the movie's over". As a child, my son was feeling the daddy lion's anguish as he saw his baby being taken away. Oh, my! I stopped the movie and had a talk with my Little Badger. I tried to explain things like the plot line, and how it's just a story, etc., etc. But the simple fact was that he felt that character's pain and that was it.
So what happens to us as adults? Do we lose the ability to empathize, or does it just get buried under layers and layers of defense mechanisms? Why do we tend to see impassivity as a strength and empathy as a weakness? I'll tell you, I used to be as jaded as they come. I almost aspired to it. I watched Sophie's Choice and Jaws and didn't blink. I took pride in rolling my eyes at tear-jerker scenes in movies. I cracked sarcastic jokes. I refused to cry. Ever.
Then I had kids.
Now, I can't watch anything. I bawl my eyes out at TV advertisements for St. Jude donations as well as Hallmark commercials and that Pampers ad with the violin last year? Bah!
I think my children saved me. Empathy for others is something that is so important. It affects everything from how you deal with other drivers on the road to how you tip your waitress to how you vote. I feel strongly, and I think it has helped make me a better person. I'm more gentle, more patient. I try to put myself in another's shoes.
The flip side of this is not just feeling when others are hurting, but also excitement and joy and wonder. Most of the time it takes very little to make a child smile or laugh. It takes very little to make a child's eyes widen with amazement. After I've spent time around my children I find myself watching clouds, and getting excited when a train rolls by, and enjoying a silly joke. I am relaxed. I'm not worrying about appearing weak for displaying the tears and the laughter or showing concern for another.
It's not just learning from my children's example, it's also recognizing the depth of love I have for them. While voting today, I thought about how mothers see the world a little differently. We see a bit more clearly the joy and the pain. The potential and the damage. We feel, and with that feeling comes fear, but also hope.
Thanks for the save, kids, I won't let you down.
So what happens to us as adults? Do we lose the ability to empathize, or does it just get buried under layers and layers of defense mechanisms? Why do we tend to see impassivity as a strength and empathy as a weakness? I'll tell you, I used to be as jaded as they come. I almost aspired to it. I watched Sophie's Choice and Jaws and didn't blink. I took pride in rolling my eyes at tear-jerker scenes in movies. I cracked sarcastic jokes. I refused to cry. Ever.
Then I had kids.
Now, I can't watch anything. I bawl my eyes out at TV advertisements for St. Jude donations as well as Hallmark commercials and that Pampers ad with the violin last year? Bah!
I think my children saved me. Empathy for others is something that is so important. It affects everything from how you deal with other drivers on the road to how you tip your waitress to how you vote. I feel strongly, and I think it has helped make me a better person. I'm more gentle, more patient. I try to put myself in another's shoes.
The flip side of this is not just feeling when others are hurting, but also excitement and joy and wonder. Most of the time it takes very little to make a child smile or laugh. It takes very little to make a child's eyes widen with amazement. After I've spent time around my children I find myself watching clouds, and getting excited when a train rolls by, and enjoying a silly joke. I am relaxed. I'm not worrying about appearing weak for displaying the tears and the laughter or showing concern for another.
It's not just learning from my children's example, it's also recognizing the depth of love I have for them. While voting today, I thought about how mothers see the world a little differently. We see a bit more clearly the joy and the pain. The potential and the damage. We feel, and with that feeling comes fear, but also hope.
Thanks for the save, kids, I won't let you down.
Monday, November 5, 2012
We may be saving daylight, but what about my sanity?
So, yesterday was daylight saving time. We "fell back" one hour in the dark of night, giving us all a chance to relax in bed for an extra hour on Sunday morning, enjoying the paper and breakfast in bed.
Riiiiight.
I remember back in the spring when we turned our clocks forward. Daddy River Badger actually gave me a fist bump right after dinner when he realized that the "new time" put us nearly at Badger bedtime! Now we're making up for that. With small children, an extra hour sounds lovely in the abstract. An extra hour of playing! And on the weekend, too! An extra hour of fun together! In reality, not so much. Reality involves children waking up just as early as ever even though parents had snuck in that extra hour of TV the night before. Kids get cranky when naps are pushed back, and meals slightly postponed. Kids that were used to a routine (because that's what good parents do, right?) now see the disruption of the routine as a good reason to throw it out the window completely. If you were inclined to chart disobedience and disrespectful behavior, I think daylight saving time might mark the peak of the curve.
And then throw in a Little Badger getting sick and all bets are off!
Yesterday was a bit chaotic (she wrote in her best genteel tone). I guess you can't use clusterf&*k in a family blog. It was almost a parallel universe where dirty dishes and laundry spontaneously appeared from thin air, previously well-behaved pets started doing very naughty things, and babies decided that applesauce and yogurt would make excellent facial and hair products for the entire family.
Not to say that there weren't fun moments. Big Brother Badger had an amazing imaginary story going about dinosaurs living in an apartment waiting for trick-or-treaters. I think the dinosaurs planned on eating the trick-or-treaters, but knew they were out of luck when they realized that they'd have to wait a few million years. Little Brother Badger got in two hours of Thomas the Tank Engine! Baby Badger enjoyed playing with her tea set and feeding us all delicious cakes and appetizers. And Mommy River Badger had a very nice nap with a very tired LBB after answering his many questions about jet planes, extinction events, and Daddy climbing up on the roof. Everyone ate his or her dinner, and mostly played nicely. BBB taught an impromptu karate class for his little brother and sister, which ended with Mommy (a bad guy) getting pummeled.
Despite the mayhem from earlier, all three Little Badgers were happy to stretch into their new bedtimes by day's end. The Boy Badgers enjoyed a story about a family of dolphins, and fell asleep talking to each other, as usual. Today actually started pretty smoothly, as I learned to appreciate the extra hour that appeared in the morning. So, we made it. No fist bumps this time, though.
Riiiiight.
I remember back in the spring when we turned our clocks forward. Daddy River Badger actually gave me a fist bump right after dinner when he realized that the "new time" put us nearly at Badger bedtime! Now we're making up for that. With small children, an extra hour sounds lovely in the abstract. An extra hour of playing! And on the weekend, too! An extra hour of fun together! In reality, not so much. Reality involves children waking up just as early as ever even though parents had snuck in that extra hour of TV the night before. Kids get cranky when naps are pushed back, and meals slightly postponed. Kids that were used to a routine (because that's what good parents do, right?) now see the disruption of the routine as a good reason to throw it out the window completely. If you were inclined to chart disobedience and disrespectful behavior, I think daylight saving time might mark the peak of the curve.
And then throw in a Little Badger getting sick and all bets are off!
Yesterday was a bit chaotic (she wrote in her best genteel tone). I guess you can't use clusterf&*k in a family blog. It was almost a parallel universe where dirty dishes and laundry spontaneously appeared from thin air, previously well-behaved pets started doing very naughty things, and babies decided that applesauce and yogurt would make excellent facial and hair products for the entire family.
Not to say that there weren't fun moments. Big Brother Badger had an amazing imaginary story going about dinosaurs living in an apartment waiting for trick-or-treaters. I think the dinosaurs planned on eating the trick-or-treaters, but knew they were out of luck when they realized that they'd have to wait a few million years. Little Brother Badger got in two hours of Thomas the Tank Engine! Baby Badger enjoyed playing with her tea set and feeding us all delicious cakes and appetizers. And Mommy River Badger had a very nice nap with a very tired LBB after answering his many questions about jet planes, extinction events, and Daddy climbing up on the roof. Everyone ate his or her dinner, and mostly played nicely. BBB taught an impromptu karate class for his little brother and sister, which ended with Mommy (a bad guy) getting pummeled.
Despite the mayhem from earlier, all three Little Badgers were happy to stretch into their new bedtimes by day's end. The Boy Badgers enjoyed a story about a family of dolphins, and fell asleep talking to each other, as usual. Today actually started pretty smoothly, as I learned to appreciate the extra hour that appeared in the morning. So, we made it. No fist bumps this time, though.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Battle Royale!
Little Brother Badger and I are at an interesting point in our relationship.
Basically, anything I want him to do, he desires to do the opposite. When he wakes up, I ask him to go potty. He refuses, just before the point of wetting his pants, and then stalks into the bathroom angrily. When he has breakfast, I ask him to use a "big-boy" cup, and eat his cereal, and stay seated at the table, and stop hitting his brother. He insists on drinking from a sippy cup, ignoring his food while standing on his chair and flinging his spoon at Big Brother Badger. When, for lunch, I make him a special peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich without crusts, he ignores my effort and complains that his apples still have their peels on them. He demands a certain color of socks after I've already picked out others. He argues with me about getting into the bath, and then out of it.
He ignores me when I speak sternly. He laughs at me when I try to be nice. He pouts through his time-outs, and informs me that "Me want my Daddy!" when I tell him that I love him.
I know that I shouldn't take a two-year-old too seriously, but this is starting to affect my self-esteem. Why does he fight me on everything? Why does he shun things that I know he enjoys in order to make a point of defiance?
He is so precious, and sensitive, loyal to his brother and gentle to his little sister. And all I want to do is cuddle him. He is two! I thought that this intransigent phase would come when he was a teenager, at least, or even in his twenties. So what to do? Part of me wants to indulge him, to let him have what he wants. I reason that if he feels like he has control over his life and choices, he will feel more relaxed and happy overall. He will no longer have a need to fight me. And it's easier for a Mommy to indulge. The other part of me frowns and says, "HE IS TWO!". He needs discipline. He needs to recognize boundaries. It is harder for a Mommy to play the bad cop. I make an effort at the latter, but sneak in enough of the former for my heart's sake.
My heart versus my brain in a battle royale. Guess which one is winning?
Basically, anything I want him to do, he desires to do the opposite. When he wakes up, I ask him to go potty. He refuses, just before the point of wetting his pants, and then stalks into the bathroom angrily. When he has breakfast, I ask him to use a "big-boy" cup, and eat his cereal, and stay seated at the table, and stop hitting his brother. He insists on drinking from a sippy cup, ignoring his food while standing on his chair and flinging his spoon at Big Brother Badger. When, for lunch, I make him a special peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich without crusts, he ignores my effort and complains that his apples still have their peels on them. He demands a certain color of socks after I've already picked out others. He argues with me about getting into the bath, and then out of it.
He ignores me when I speak sternly. He laughs at me when I try to be nice. He pouts through his time-outs, and informs me that "Me want my Daddy!" when I tell him that I love him.
I know that I shouldn't take a two-year-old too seriously, but this is starting to affect my self-esteem. Why does he fight me on everything? Why does he shun things that I know he enjoys in order to make a point of defiance?
He is so precious, and sensitive, loyal to his brother and gentle to his little sister. And all I want to do is cuddle him. He is two! I thought that this intransigent phase would come when he was a teenager, at least, or even in his twenties. So what to do? Part of me wants to indulge him, to let him have what he wants. I reason that if he feels like he has control over his life and choices, he will feel more relaxed and happy overall. He will no longer have a need to fight me. And it's easier for a Mommy to indulge. The other part of me frowns and says, "HE IS TWO!". He needs discipline. He needs to recognize boundaries. It is harder for a Mommy to play the bad cop. I make an effort at the latter, but sneak in enough of the former for my heart's sake.
My heart versus my brain in a battle royale. Guess which one is winning?
Thursday, November 1, 2012
M-o-o-o-o-o-m
Well, it has happened. I have become "Mom". I started out as "Mama", moved on to "Mommy", and am now "Mom". I think the only thing left is "Mother, Dearest" before moving, finally, to "Old Bat". Big Brother Badger is calling me Mom, and I think he learned it from watching older kids on TV. Big boys call their mothers "Mom", and give her a kiss on the cheek before taking out the garbage and going to college.
I'm not ready to be Mom! I'm still wrapped in the warm and fuzzy glow of baby voices saying Ma-ma. "Mommy" is necessary in a child's life. She is the one called when there is a boo-boo, or when a child has a bad dream, or wants milk and cookies, or wants to read a book or play. "Mommy" is said breathlessly when something exciting happens, or softly when it's time to be tucked in at night. "Mommy" means comfort, calm, home.
"Mom" means sitting on the sidelines during practices, buying pizza rolls for snacks, and pretty much staying out of the way. "Mom" can be easily turned into "M-o-o-o-o-m" (with eye-rolling and arms crossed). "Mom" is held at arm's length.
So, when I heard my little boy nonchalantly call me "Mom" for the first time, I freaked out. I asked him where he had heard that. I asked him if I had done anything wrong. With tears in my eyes I asked Daddy River Badger why my son was mad at me. Basically, I treated it like he had walked into the kitchen and asked for some f***ing food. Mom-fail.
Names are important, after all. Being a Mommy represents what is most precious in my life right now. Being a Mom is a little scary because it represents change. Children growing up and moving on. When I was nearing the end of my pregnancy with Big Brother Badger I had a sharp realization that this was the closest he would be to me. As soon as he was born and ever after he would be moving away, growing up. This is as it should be, but it doesn't make it any easier for me. So now I have three, all growing up. Being a "Mom" is inevitable, I guess, but I think I'll hold on to the "Mommy" as long as I can.
I'm not ready to be Mom! I'm still wrapped in the warm and fuzzy glow of baby voices saying Ma-ma. "Mommy" is necessary in a child's life. She is the one called when there is a boo-boo, or when a child has a bad dream, or wants milk and cookies, or wants to read a book or play. "Mommy" is said breathlessly when something exciting happens, or softly when it's time to be tucked in at night. "Mommy" means comfort, calm, home.
"Mom" means sitting on the sidelines during practices, buying pizza rolls for snacks, and pretty much staying out of the way. "Mom" can be easily turned into "M-o-o-o-o-m" (with eye-rolling and arms crossed). "Mom" is held at arm's length.
So, when I heard my little boy nonchalantly call me "Mom" for the first time, I freaked out. I asked him where he had heard that. I asked him if I had done anything wrong. With tears in my eyes I asked Daddy River Badger why my son was mad at me. Basically, I treated it like he had walked into the kitchen and asked for some f***ing food. Mom-fail.
Names are important, after all. Being a Mommy represents what is most precious in my life right now. Being a Mom is a little scary because it represents change. Children growing up and moving on. When I was nearing the end of my pregnancy with Big Brother Badger I had a sharp realization that this was the closest he would be to me. As soon as he was born and ever after he would be moving away, growing up. This is as it should be, but it doesn't make it any easier for me. So now I have three, all growing up. Being a "Mom" is inevitable, I guess, but I think I'll hold on to the "Mommy" as long as I can.
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