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!
Friday, November 9, 2012
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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