The Little Badgers are growing up. Big Brother Badger opened a bag of cereal all by himself this morning. Sometimes I can't do that without ripping the bag. Baby Badger is starting to really talk, and she can climb into her car seat without any help. And Little Brother Badger went on his first sleepover last weekend. Of course, since he is three, it was a sleepover at his cousin's house, and Mommy came along to spend some quality time with Auntie. But, still, a legitimate, all-night-long sleepover.
After some careful packing (he can't sleep without his turtle blanket, pillow pet, stuffed snake, stuffed Thomas, toy border collie, and Thomas pillowcase), I drove him up on a crisp Saturday afternoon. The drive was about 25 minutes, and he was chattering the whole way. What would his cousin want to play? Will there be a toy fire truck? Will we get to watch "Thomas"? Can I have my milk in a sippy cup? By the time we pulled in, and his cousin ran to greet him, I was worried that all the excitement would result in a quick burnout and tears. Much to my relief, there was nothing but joy for both little boys.
They played outside in the sand box, discovering a mutual love for construction equipment. They traded stories about how soon each of them would reach the exalted age of five. They shared a train push-toy as best as I could have hoped for. At dinner, they both dug in to big bowls of mac n'cheese, and encouraged each other to eat their broccoli. Cookies and milk followed, with thanks to Auntie for finding a suitable sippy cup in her cupboards. Little Brother Badger expressed amazement that his cousin had different toys, but the same big potty. TV and inside toys, and then a reaaaaaallllly long bath, and then bedtime. The boys planned the layout of the stuffed animals, snuggled through a story, and giggled together as Auntie and I left the room.
It took a while for them to go to sleep. We had to go up a couple times, and reassure Little Brother about spiders and strange shadows. We had to fortify the nightlight situation. But, eventually, we crept downstairs and just listened. Auntie was very clever and had set up a baby monitor so we could stay downstairs and not worry. Of course, worry we did anyway, and we listened to the children's endearing, heart-squeezing, tear-inducing conversation on the monitor. The little boys talked about missing their Daddies (one being at home, the other out with friends) and other things, their small voices growing softer and more tired. Eventually, we moved away from the monitor to share some wine and our own conversation. Every now and then we heard laughing, and then, finally, it seemed like both boys had fallen asleep.
We had an early wake-up the next morning, but things went so well overall. It wasn't until I was driving Little Brother back home that I started to think about what this meant for him. He had politely refused to let me hold him while at his cousin's house, saying, "You can hold me when we get home, Mommy". I think he was trying to be a big guy, but his poor Momma is not quite ready to let him grow up so fast. There was so much happiness in my boy as he raced around in his pajamas and Lightning McQueen slippers with his cousin, up and down the stairs. But his pajamas were just a bit too big, and his hair was just a bit too long, making him look so little. He's had the same sweet smile since he was a tiny baby, and I'm sure he'll wear that particular smile on through adulthood and it will make me cry on his wedding day.
I observed to Daddy River Badger the other day that even though each new stage brings sadness that the Little Badgers are growing up, it brings joy, too. Big Brother Badger just turned five, and I can't wait to watch him shine every day, reveling in his imagination, his delight at being a big kid, his discoveries. I miss my shy baby, but I burst with pride at my new little man. As the Semisonic song goes, every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end. I always wondered why I cry so much as a Mommy. I think I know now it's from the gaining and losing, the bright joy and subtle sadness, the lost and found, and all in a day's work. And over it all the desperate hope that I won't forget a moment and the painful realization that I probably will. See you tomorrow, folks.
Monday, March 25, 2013
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Brains, Heart, Courage, and Respectful Children
Growing up, I remember watching "The Wizard of Oz" on network television once a year. My sister and I would be allowed to stay up late, and we would fall in love all over again with Dorothy and her ruby slippers. I also remember reading the book; the shoes were a little different, but the love was still there. Something about the characters and the simplicity of the tale fascinated me, even as a child. Growing up, it seemed like the story was everywhere. Cultural references, school plays, my excitement to buy my niece a pair of sequined "ruby slippers" for her birthday.
I've now been reading the book to the Boy Badgers, a bit every night. They are entranced as well, but as opposed to being obsessed with the fancy shoes, like I was, they are more interested in squishing witches with houses and huge friendly lions who can talk. But, the best part of reading the story once more is that I have the opportunity to really think about the characters and the story. As an adult, with a bit more life experience behind me, I find I still have the love, and now, somewhat more perspective.
The characters are simple, each representing something yearned for by any one of us. Self-confidence, smarts, the capacity for love, loyalty to and nostalgia for home and family. The characters experience the transition from naiveté to the realization that some things in life take more than just the asking, even if one already has the tools in one's grasp. Each of the main characters effectively possessed their heart's desire, but did not have the ability to recognize it in themselves.
As a parent, I find I look often to others for advice, or for potential answers, or just for camaraderie. There is something about the importance of raising a child that makes me anxious for "certainty". I want to be certain that I am doing the right thing. I want to be certain that I am not missing anything important. Perhaps this classic story has more applicability in my life now than ever before. Each of the main characters knew what they wanted most and they knew why they wanted it. They just needed a little help in getting where they needed to be.
Becoming a parent feels like an initiation, and being a parent can sometimes feel like a trial. In the daily commotion, it is sometimes hard to find your way or recognize your own abilities. For myself, my heart's desire is to be a good parent. I want to raise strong, responsible, respectful children who help make the world a better place. There are days when I feel like I am lacking, faltering, when it seems like my desire is thwarted by easy fixes that fall short. Perhaps not surprisingly, it is usually the observation of an outsider that helps me realize that I'm not doing such a bad job after all. Someone else, a friend, a sister, another parent, a kind lady at the mall, helps me recognize the tools that I already have, and helps me find the confidence to use them.
Going it alone as a parent, even as a pair of parents, can lead to tunnel vision, to a lack of perspective, to an inner monologue that constantly lists faults and mistakes and ignores successes and good calls. Having someone tell you that you are doing something well is sometimes the only way the "wins" will sink in. Whatever we are trying for, be it brains and courage, or a way to get through to a stubborn toddler, more likely than not we already have what we need, and here's to the people who help us recognize it.
I've now been reading the book to the Boy Badgers, a bit every night. They are entranced as well, but as opposed to being obsessed with the fancy shoes, like I was, they are more interested in squishing witches with houses and huge friendly lions who can talk. But, the best part of reading the story once more is that I have the opportunity to really think about the characters and the story. As an adult, with a bit more life experience behind me, I find I still have the love, and now, somewhat more perspective.
The characters are simple, each representing something yearned for by any one of us. Self-confidence, smarts, the capacity for love, loyalty to and nostalgia for home and family. The characters experience the transition from naiveté to the realization that some things in life take more than just the asking, even if one already has the tools in one's grasp. Each of the main characters effectively possessed their heart's desire, but did not have the ability to recognize it in themselves.
As a parent, I find I look often to others for advice, or for potential answers, or just for camaraderie. There is something about the importance of raising a child that makes me anxious for "certainty". I want to be certain that I am doing the right thing. I want to be certain that I am not missing anything important. Perhaps this classic story has more applicability in my life now than ever before. Each of the main characters knew what they wanted most and they knew why they wanted it. They just needed a little help in getting where they needed to be.
Becoming a parent feels like an initiation, and being a parent can sometimes feel like a trial. In the daily commotion, it is sometimes hard to find your way or recognize your own abilities. For myself, my heart's desire is to be a good parent. I want to raise strong, responsible, respectful children who help make the world a better place. There are days when I feel like I am lacking, faltering, when it seems like my desire is thwarted by easy fixes that fall short. Perhaps not surprisingly, it is usually the observation of an outsider that helps me realize that I'm not doing such a bad job after all. Someone else, a friend, a sister, another parent, a kind lady at the mall, helps me recognize the tools that I already have, and helps me find the confidence to use them.
Going it alone as a parent, even as a pair of parents, can lead to tunnel vision, to a lack of perspective, to an inner monologue that constantly lists faults and mistakes and ignores successes and good calls. Having someone tell you that you are doing something well is sometimes the only way the "wins" will sink in. Whatever we are trying for, be it brains and courage, or a way to get through to a stubborn toddler, more likely than not we already have what we need, and here's to the people who help us recognize it.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Spring has sprung...and we're tired!
Moving the clocks forward in those delicate days as Spring approaches is like an opening salvo in the face of desperately clinging Winter. It is invigorating to have the extra sunlight in the evening, and even more delightful when those first days are warm and bright. Buds on the trees, bulbs peeking from the ground, the absence of a chill in the air. I love the amazing energy and feeling of newness. Even more so than the first day of the year, when winter is its deepest and the revelry of the holidays is waning in the face of diets and deprivation, these first days of Spring hold promise and sunshine. It's hard not to be joyful as the laughter of children mingles with the bright songs of robins.
For us, adjusting the clocks is like exhaling after holding your breath all winter. It's a first step towards the glory days of summer, where after-dinner family walks, baseball games, swimming pools, sprinklers, and barbecues reign. The part the Little Badgers notice most of all is that it is still light out when Daddy gets home. There's more time for playing. Period. Everything else is gravy.
The only problem with Springing Forward! is that when the mind leaps, the body is sometimes slower to follow. We leap, we jump, we play, and at the end of the day, we're tired. One day we're closing out with dinner, and the next day the warmth has encouraged us to indulge the daylight to the fullest. Daddy River Badger and I have both been heading dutifully to the gym for the past two-and-a-half months trying to get in shape, and even with that, we're both drooling on our pillows in the morning, too exhausted to get up.
I love this time of year, as much for the sense of anticipation as for the change of season. I look forward to running outside, to drinking beer on the deck, to long walks down to the lake with the Little Badgers, and to running out the door without struggling into coats, hats, and gloves. I'm excited to start my garden, to dress Baby in her summer dresses, to help the Boy Badgers master riding their bikes, and to wear bright colors. I've been anticipating hearing the bugs "singing" at night since last fall, when the cold won out.
We throw ourselves into Spring full-throttle, eager to play, eager to dream, and eager to burst on through into summer. So, it's natural we're a little tired. Especially early in the morning, when it used to be even earlier just a couple days ago.
For us, adjusting the clocks is like exhaling after holding your breath all winter. It's a first step towards the glory days of summer, where after-dinner family walks, baseball games, swimming pools, sprinklers, and barbecues reign. The part the Little Badgers notice most of all is that it is still light out when Daddy gets home. There's more time for playing. Period. Everything else is gravy.
The only problem with Springing Forward! is that when the mind leaps, the body is sometimes slower to follow. We leap, we jump, we play, and at the end of the day, we're tired. One day we're closing out with dinner, and the next day the warmth has encouraged us to indulge the daylight to the fullest. Daddy River Badger and I have both been heading dutifully to the gym for the past two-and-a-half months trying to get in shape, and even with that, we're both drooling on our pillows in the morning, too exhausted to get up.
I love this time of year, as much for the sense of anticipation as for the change of season. I look forward to running outside, to drinking beer on the deck, to long walks down to the lake with the Little Badgers, and to running out the door without struggling into coats, hats, and gloves. I'm excited to start my garden, to dress Baby in her summer dresses, to help the Boy Badgers master riding their bikes, and to wear bright colors. I've been anticipating hearing the bugs "singing" at night since last fall, when the cold won out.
We throw ourselves into Spring full-throttle, eager to play, eager to dream, and eager to burst on through into summer. So, it's natural we're a little tired. Especially early in the morning, when it used to be even earlier just a couple days ago.
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
The Highs, The Lows, and The In-Betweens
Yesterday, everything clicked after dinner. The Little Badgers were in amazing moods, we found spectacular "dance party" music on the radio, and everyone had lots of fun playing football with Daddy and pretending to be mascots. I was flying high, so happy to be a parent, and filled with pride at how joyful the Little Badgers were. The feeling was so profound that I paid closer attention to the ups and downs of today. On reflection, it actually felt strangely like a high school dance. First I was popular, then I wasn't. I successfully spiked the punch and was a hero, and then suddenly I was Carrie, covered with guts and humiliated in front of the whole school. Once I started thinking about it, I was struck by how wild the swings can be in a day with children, and how quickly one can forget the bad stuff in the face of the happy moments.
The day started off with a high: the Little Badgers were so happy in the morning, eating their cereal, reading to each other, playing with their stuffed animals. They couldn't wait to get outside, and we all had fun waving at the cool guys on the trash truck. Then, Little Brother and Baby asked to go for a walk, and there started the wild swing towards a low. Big Brother did not want to go for a walk; he wanted to keep playing with his plastic bugs in the bushes next to the house. To make a long story short, the first twenty minutes were filled with screaming and yelling and dawdling, to the point where one of my neighbors came running out of her house to see if she could help the child in apparent distress. Yeah, super embarrassing, that. We finished our walk (Big Brother decided he was having fun after a while) and headed home. Here's an "in-between". The rest of our walk was pretty uneventful. When we got home, we ate an early lunch and everyone finished their food. In-between.
Swinging back to low: driving to the library after lunch only to find that it didn't open for another hour. Poor Little Brother Badger, his heart having been set on looking for a book on fish, lost it on the sidewalk outside, and Bad Mommy had to carry him back to the van in front of the entire nursery school class playing outside next door. But, then, before I could get too worked up, another in-between: kids enjoying a quick episode of "Dinosaur Train" and then heading for naps without too much drama. And then, out of nowhere, a quiet high: Little Brother falling asleep playing with my hair, his long lashes brushing his rosy cheeks, and his toy penguin under his arm.
More highs followed, today: Big Brother gently holding his sister's hand and giving her hugs and kisses when she woke up from her nap crying; Daddy River Badger bringing Baby, fresh from her bath and wrapped in a towel, into the kitchen to give me a kiss; The Boy Badgers sitting together in bed reading a book, giggling and talking excitedly.
In fact, as I look back over today, I mostly remember the highs. I discussed the lows, strategizing with Daddy in a quick jam session before dinner, but they served as lessons learned, guideposts for tomorrow. Most of the in-between moments strangely turned into highs as I contemplated them, as I discovered all the little hidden details. Details like Baby's success at eating yogurt without ruining her shirt, Big Brother's generous sharing of his favorite toy with his brother, and three Little Badgers singing along to a TV show, happy and smiling, all three next to each other on the couch.
Even though the high of last night got me paying attention, the ups and downs of today had me hooked. Happiness, pride, anger, frustration, fear, joy, all buffeted and driven by love. Like the Navy says, it's not a job, it's an adventure. Like my Mom says, welcome to parenting.
The day started off with a high: the Little Badgers were so happy in the morning, eating their cereal, reading to each other, playing with their stuffed animals. They couldn't wait to get outside, and we all had fun waving at the cool guys on the trash truck. Then, Little Brother and Baby asked to go for a walk, and there started the wild swing towards a low. Big Brother did not want to go for a walk; he wanted to keep playing with his plastic bugs in the bushes next to the house. To make a long story short, the first twenty minutes were filled with screaming and yelling and dawdling, to the point where one of my neighbors came running out of her house to see if she could help the child in apparent distress. Yeah, super embarrassing, that. We finished our walk (Big Brother decided he was having fun after a while) and headed home. Here's an "in-between". The rest of our walk was pretty uneventful. When we got home, we ate an early lunch and everyone finished their food. In-between.
Swinging back to low: driving to the library after lunch only to find that it didn't open for another hour. Poor Little Brother Badger, his heart having been set on looking for a book on fish, lost it on the sidewalk outside, and Bad Mommy had to carry him back to the van in front of the entire nursery school class playing outside next door. But, then, before I could get too worked up, another in-between: kids enjoying a quick episode of "Dinosaur Train" and then heading for naps without too much drama. And then, out of nowhere, a quiet high: Little Brother falling asleep playing with my hair, his long lashes brushing his rosy cheeks, and his toy penguin under his arm.
More highs followed, today: Big Brother gently holding his sister's hand and giving her hugs and kisses when she woke up from her nap crying; Daddy River Badger bringing Baby, fresh from her bath and wrapped in a towel, into the kitchen to give me a kiss; The Boy Badgers sitting together in bed reading a book, giggling and talking excitedly.
In fact, as I look back over today, I mostly remember the highs. I discussed the lows, strategizing with Daddy in a quick jam session before dinner, but they served as lessons learned, guideposts for tomorrow. Most of the in-between moments strangely turned into highs as I contemplated them, as I discovered all the little hidden details. Details like Baby's success at eating yogurt without ruining her shirt, Big Brother's generous sharing of his favorite toy with his brother, and three Little Badgers singing along to a TV show, happy and smiling, all three next to each other on the couch.
Even though the high of last night got me paying attention, the ups and downs of today had me hooked. Happiness, pride, anger, frustration, fear, joy, all buffeted and driven by love. Like the Navy says, it's not a job, it's an adventure. Like my Mom says, welcome to parenting.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
It's really nice to have a village sometimes
What does community mean for raising young children? Does it mean proximity to family and friends? A supportive church? Good schools? These things, while important, leave out a crucial, and quite simple, element-people themselves. As a parent, I'm ashamed to say that people at large tend to fade into a background of potential dangers. I hold tightly to the Little Badgers, eyeballing them leaving the house, barking orders at them walking down the sidewalk, keeping them in line in stores. I tell myself that all this is putting their safety and protection first. If I relax, they could get hit by a car, or grabbed by a stranger. If I let my guard down, they could be the subject of angry glares by other customers, or sharp comments about their behavior. Essentially, there's a whole lot of negativity about what might happen. What seems the best thing, in the moment, may not be the better way, overall. This was brought home recently by a positive encounter that I couldn't have predicted.
The other day I took the Little Badgers to the grocery store. They were very good in the store, helping to carry the basket and putting the candy back when I asked. However, on the way back, it was like they, actually Big Brother Badger in particular, needed to make up for it. He refused to listen when I asked him to walk near me on the sidewalk, and he threatened to bolt across crosswalks before I could get there. Finally, he broke and ran across the street. I yelled at him to get back to me, and after initially hesitating, he reluctantly returned. I grabbed the front of his jacket and gave him a stern talking-to. He was being smart, and smirked at me the whole time. Not good. As I stood up, though, I heard a man say, "Excuse me!" My first thought was that the stranger was going to say something negative to me about my handling of the situation, but, instead, he came over and addressed Big Brother Badger.
"You like to run, don't you?" he asked. I noticed that the man was wearing a jacket with a track club logo on it. Maybe a coach? Our Boy Badger was, at this point, shuffling his feet and looking (finally!) sheepish. The man introduced himself and asked Big Brother his name. I prompted him, and he did it. Mr. H told him that it wasn't a good idea to run across streets and disobey his mother. Big Brother gave a very quiet, "Yes, sir." Mr. H reminded him to listen, and to be a good example for his younger brother and sister. Then he smiled at me and said, "Good-bye, now, nice to meet you." Big Brother mumbled a reply, and shook hands. I said "Thank you", and we continued on. My energetic Badger made sure to hold my hand when we crossed the street from that point forward.
This one encounter with a total stranger helped on a several counts. Big Brother realized that his disobedience was considered wrong by others, not just Silly Mommy. He was encouraged to be polite, and to address someone with respect, shaking hands, making eye contact, saying his name. But, perhaps more powerful, was the dawning feeling I had, that a community made up mostly of strangers, might share a common goal to help raise up children right. I suppose I could have been annoyed, having a stranger come up and talk to my son. Instead, I felt grateful. There were others who cared about a small child doing dangerous things. It made me proud of my community.
I don't think I'm going to stop watching the Little Badgers like a hawk when they walk next to a busy road, or hold their hands when we're in parking lots. I don't think I'm going to stop sternly insisting they behave correctly in the store, or to be respectful. But, I do think I'm going to see people in our community differently. Being a parent might feel isolating at times, but I'm happy to discover support in unlikely places.
The other day I took the Little Badgers to the grocery store. They were very good in the store, helping to carry the basket and putting the candy back when I asked. However, on the way back, it was like they, actually Big Brother Badger in particular, needed to make up for it. He refused to listen when I asked him to walk near me on the sidewalk, and he threatened to bolt across crosswalks before I could get there. Finally, he broke and ran across the street. I yelled at him to get back to me, and after initially hesitating, he reluctantly returned. I grabbed the front of his jacket and gave him a stern talking-to. He was being smart, and smirked at me the whole time. Not good. As I stood up, though, I heard a man say, "Excuse me!" My first thought was that the stranger was going to say something negative to me about my handling of the situation, but, instead, he came over and addressed Big Brother Badger.
"You like to run, don't you?" he asked. I noticed that the man was wearing a jacket with a track club logo on it. Maybe a coach? Our Boy Badger was, at this point, shuffling his feet and looking (finally!) sheepish. The man introduced himself and asked Big Brother his name. I prompted him, and he did it. Mr. H told him that it wasn't a good idea to run across streets and disobey his mother. Big Brother gave a very quiet, "Yes, sir." Mr. H reminded him to listen, and to be a good example for his younger brother and sister. Then he smiled at me and said, "Good-bye, now, nice to meet you." Big Brother mumbled a reply, and shook hands. I said "Thank you", and we continued on. My energetic Badger made sure to hold my hand when we crossed the street from that point forward.
This one encounter with a total stranger helped on a several counts. Big Brother realized that his disobedience was considered wrong by others, not just Silly Mommy. He was encouraged to be polite, and to address someone with respect, shaking hands, making eye contact, saying his name. But, perhaps more powerful, was the dawning feeling I had, that a community made up mostly of strangers, might share a common goal to help raise up children right. I suppose I could have been annoyed, having a stranger come up and talk to my son. Instead, I felt grateful. There were others who cared about a small child doing dangerous things. It made me proud of my community.
I don't think I'm going to stop watching the Little Badgers like a hawk when they walk next to a busy road, or hold their hands when we're in parking lots. I don't think I'm going to stop sternly insisting they behave correctly in the store, or to be respectful. But, I do think I'm going to see people in our community differently. Being a parent might feel isolating at times, but I'm happy to discover support in unlikely places.
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