However, there are certain manners that are more complicated than please and thank you. These more difficult ideas have been integrated into our adult lives for so long we don’t realize how insane they are until we have children.
When we burp, we say, “Excuse me,” but when we burp out our butts, we pretend it didn’t happen. Sure, kids can say excuse me for the first few years, but what happens when mama farts in the grocery store line? MAMA, YOU TOOTED! WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY EXCUSE ME? And trust me, by the time they are 3 years old, you can’t blame it on them. They are too tuned into their bottoms to fall for it.
Another favorite of mine, because I’m a picker, is when we pick our nose, we are supposed to use a tissue except when we are in a car because we’re suddenly INVISIBLE. Or we are allowed to pick a booger if we use a knuckle. Knuckles are somehow not fingers so they don’t count unless your kid sees you do it because in science class the knuckle is a joint OF THE FINGER, and the question will be asked, “Why can’t I pick my nose, too, Dada?”
The manners list doesn’t end there. There are wedgies and ear wax and eye boogers to pick. Friends with food in their teeth and flies down and cookies to share and how to invite not quite everyone over for parties. Best friends and good friends and just friends and acquaintances and not friends at all. There is so much to navigate with only manners and luck and fortitude and OMG please don’t take that personally. And I’m not even very good at some of those things as an adult in her 30s.
But I have boogers and farts down pat and I’m good at teaching my kids to care about others. I think we’re okay for a few more years before we need that social etiquette tutor.
]]>I was out with my children, and the day was supposed to be about them having fun. However, there were 2-3 teenagers who were probably drunk or high. (I’m too old to tell what people are on anymore.) They laughed and got into my personal space and pretended to be cookies. I attempted to ignore them. I rolled my eyes at them. I boxed them out when I noticed my 3 year old looking over at the especially loud needy am-I-standing-still swaying teenage girl.
But I didn’t tell security or management. I didn’t even turn to them and call them morons.
I avoided the latter because I didn’t want to make a scene with obnoxious drunk kids as the only adult with my young children. Plus, I don’t teach my kids to call others names even stupid teenagers who show up at places at 3 p.m. drunk/high and loud/proud. I think that was the right thing to do.
However, I am sure if not telling security about the teenagers was the right thing to do. I remember being a teenager. I remember partying. I was not so blatant about my habits mostly because I knew getting caught meant I couldn’t KEEP partying the following day/week/month.
I also don’t carry a breathalyzer with me. Maybe the teenager were just being dumb and attention-seeking and not drunk at all. I would’ve felt pretty stupid if that was the case. I don’t have teens so I’m basing my response on my memories from 2 decades ago.
Finally and perhaps least “village-like,” I wanted to focus on my children. I didn’t want to drag them around looking for security and describing the teenagers and what I thought they might have done. I wanted my village to end at my family that afternoon.
I don’t usually parent so close to home because I believe all children need us to care about them. But between not knowing if I was correct, not knowing what to do and being the only parent in the area, I chose my family first. I feel sorry for those teenagers though. I hope they were caught. Or it was a one time deal. I hope they didn’t hurt anyone. But hoping isn’t doing so I still don’t know if I did the right thing.
What would you have done? I still feel conflicted over my decision and would love honest input as to how to handle a similar situation in the future; however, I do not want self-righteous queen of the parenting brigade input although if you are royalty some of your subjects are drunk.
]]>My children put away their laundry. No seriously, I have a system.
Each kid has a clean laundry basket that they fill with their clean clothing from the dryer.
We got fancy baskets at our baby shower. I don’t think fancy motivates them. I think NO TV or I CAN DO IT MYSELF does.
We drag them over to their bureaus, which I chose for their kid-height, and each item — underwear, socks shirts, shorts — have a color-coded drawer so my kids have been able to put away their own clothing since age 2 except for the very few things that we hang in the closet.
These are from IKEA. We almost didn’t have enough room to bring home our kids. TOTALLY WORTH IT THOUGH.
I WIN PARENTING. The award and book deal is in the mail. Well, until this month…
Me: Before we watch television, I need you guys to put away your laundry.
Out of nowhere my 5-year-old son, E, clutches his midsection and yells: OOH, MY STOMACH! MAMA!
Me: Oh my gosh, are you okay? What hurts?
E: It’s my stomach. I think I need food or somthing.
My suspiciousness kicks out my maternal-ness.
Me: Can you point to where it hurts?
E points above his belly button then lays on me like he’s dead.
Me: Hmm, could this pain be related to doing laundry?
E: It really hurts, Mama.
Well, now I feel guilty and spend the next few minutes rubbing his belly and worrying.
That is until my daughter runs by us, and E is distracted into playing with exuberance.
Me: Your stomach feels better?
E: Not well enough to put away laundry. You’ll have to do it yourself, Mama. Thank you so much for putting away my laundry!
And he runs out of the room.
I need a color-coded basket for craftiness and not the kind that wins Pinterest and parenting admiration.
PS. If anyone wonders if I put away sneaky E’s laundry, the answer is no plus much laughter. This kids has no idea who he’s dealing with as long as he never reads my teenage diary although it sucks that I can only blame myself for his evil genius. {sigh}
]]>We have dinner together as a family at the table most nights of the week. We make exceptions for movies nights or if the kids forgot to watch their favorite television shows until later or if Scott and I are dying of exhaustion, but for the most part, we are sitting at the dining room table together.
I believe in setting the expectation early (my children are 5 and 3) that we come together at least once a day to be a family, to catch up or just to laugh and eat. This usually lasts for 10-15 minutes with kids as young as mine except the nights in between when our dinner time looks like this:
My kids: Mama, I’m so hungry!
Me: I just put food on the table so please get out of the refrigerator.
My kids: But I’m so thirsty!
Me: Well, get your cups and I’ll pour you milk.
My kids: You get our cups.
Me: No.
My kids: Can you PLEASE get our cups?
Me: That is a much nicer way to ask but no. You have legs and arms for a reason. Go get your cups please.
My kids: Oh look! Here’s a cup.
{gulp}
Me: That’s MY cup!
We finally move towards the dinner table with homemade pizza and corn on the cob (what? it’s grocery store night which means we eat whatever is left that hasn’t gone bad) and no drinks when I realize that my son is in Scott’s seat. (yes, we have assigned seating because I got tired of the cup fight being a preliminary for the seat fight)
Me: E, you’re in the wrong seat.
My son: I want to eat by myself please.
Now, we are a big proponents of taking alone time and my son is definitely teetering on the edge of EVERYONE IS ANNOYING ARGH and the fact that he noticed and doesn’t want to take it out on everyone else is something I want to reinforce.
Me: That’s fine.
My daughter, my husband and I start to eat together while E eats in the other room.
Within minutes, my daughter pushes her plate away and announces: I’m done.
Me: You have hardly eaten anything, N.
N: I have things to do, Mama. I’m a hero you know. I need to train. And save the world.
My husband and I look at each other because it’s difficult to argue with her logic and awesome career choice.
Me: Fine.
Now our family dinner looks a lot like Scott and I having dinner together. Sometimes we have to make fight to enforce ideas, but, other times, we just supposed to enjoy the quiet.
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Last year, I made the biggest St. Patrick’s Day parenting mistake there is to make with a child.
No, I didn’t forget to tell my son he’s (1/16th) Irish.
No, I didn’t forget to give him something green to wear.
No, I didn’t dress him like a leprechaun and call it festive.
This is what happens when I get sole decision-making power for outfits on St. Patrick's Day. Nary a leprechaun in sight.
I didn’t even delve into the social and political ramifications of England, Northern Ireland and the IRA.
What I did was much, much worse.
I told my then-4-year-old son, who was refusing to wear green on March 17, that he had to do it OR ELSE HE’D BE PINCHED.
Yes, I perpetuated for another generation the ol’ pitch-the-guy-not-wearing-green elementary and middle school Irish extravaganza. Because nothing says SAINT like black and blue mark. I said it off-handed and because I’m obsessed with holidays. I said it without realizing that the boy, who wears green so he doesn’t get pinched, is sure as heck going to be looking for some suckers, who’s parents forgot the day of green, to pinch.
Not because he’s a mean kid but because his mom pretty much told him to.
The moment we walked into his classroom, E went on the prowl. He started with a teacher and happily informed 3 preschoolers before hang up his coat. All I can hope for this year is that his memory will fail on March 17 so I don’t have to relive my parental faux pas.
Although he’d better wear green like I insist, because I’m pretty sure his friends are looking for pay back this year and St. Patrick’s Day falling on a Saturday may not be enough to stop them from showing up.
PS. I’ll also being wearing green because those preschool parent’s aren’t very forgiving either.
Can't touch this. (us from last St. Patrick's Day)
the rest of the photos are obviously by me
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My toddler daughter is a listener. Sometimes I have to say something twice, but after my second explanation, she’s on board. She’s always been that way. Her teachers call her disciplined and socially aware.
On the other hand, my son didn’t find that phase until yesterday. Well, maybe more like between 4 and 5 years old, but not at 2. He was mostly described as focused, which sounds similar but that’s because the rest of the sentence is mumbled and should sound more like: very focused ON HIS IDEAS.
I have taken full advantage of my daughter’s listening gene mostly because it means less moving for me.
So as my daughter is skipping down the sidewalk outside of school, I smile and continue putting school bags in the car while humming along to my she-always-stops song.
I look up and think: Now, she’ll stop.
And then I say: Hey, N, stop there.
And she turns, smiles and KEEPS GOING.
Except the sidewalk does not keep going. The sidewalk ends in the school parking lot.
I begin to shout, and she begins to giggle as though running into the middle of a parking lot during the chaos that is preschool pickup is also a George Carlin stand-up routine.
I go full-on mom sprint (basically, The Flash but faster) and scoop her up halfway to a moving car while smiling apologetically at the driver willing this parent to forgive my inability to keep my daughter safe.
I give N the stern, We don’t run in the parking lot. We listen to Mama. We don’t make Mama run ever, talk and carry her back to the car as I try to catch my breath and dignity and parenting skills between mind’s eye movies of her being hit by a car.
As I walk up to my own car, I assure myself that this could happen to anyone and she usually listens and for every person looking at me cross-eyed another is nodding her head in understanding. Until my five year old greets me with a loud: Mama, you left me by the car with no grownup.
I give up and roll out the abducted-by-strangers tape between the N-in-the-hospital-after-being-hit-by-a-car highlights while thinking back to the times I forgot to buckle the car seat, E hid behind kitchen cabinets in Lowe’s, and when I didn’t realizing the back gate was unlock until my son tackled my daughter as she toddled to the road.
My rational mind knows these moments happen to every parent, but I hear and see and know horrible consequences can follow a flash of forgetfulness.
My times of bad parenting are few and I believe to end them completely, I’d have to keep my kids in a bubble leashed to my belt. This tends to be frowned upon, and honestly, I don’t want to do that to them. I don’t want to parent them to the point that they don’t grow.
But sometimes I can’t let go of the what ifs.
And when I read the news, I’m awed by my moments of luck between my years of diligence.
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Well, it’s that time of year again. When we all make promises, resolutions, intentions and plans like we’ll be different people in January 2012. And we might be. Until we catch up with ourselves in February.
Here’s what my January self will be doing until December Alex shows up.
1. Dress my age, which is 33. This means I have to wear skinny jeans and heels instead of a mumu and slippers. Maybe I can pretend to be 75.
2. Take more time for myself. After looking over my schedule, midnight to 1 a.m. works perfectly.
3. Get more sleep. If I do #2, I’ll need to sleep in until 9:30 in the morning. Sorry Scott. And kids. And work. And school.
4. See my friends more. I wonder if they’re available at 1 a.m.?
5. Have a clean house. Related: Buy a new house.
6. Get in shape. I already have a gym membership from August. I last saw the inside of that gym in September, BUT FREEZING COLD JANUARY WILL BE DIFFERENT.
7. Spend an entire weekend writing. I’ll just fire my family Friday night and rehire them on Sunday.
8. Stop taking things like Facebook, Twitter and people so personally. (I hope everyone else’s New Year’s resolution is to be nicer to me.)
9. Be a better listener instead of assuming which way the conversation is going. Of course, I’m usually right but I’m going to try to listen anyway even while you go on and on and on about the subject trying to get out of what I want you to do even though you clearly should do it because you must have forgotten about the time that I helped you last week or that time next week when you are gone three nights in a row so how am I supposed to not think that I should have tonight and wait, what? Oh, you’re okay with my plans even though I have to leave right now? And you’ve been trying to say that for the last 10 minutes?
10. Be on time to every appointment by turning the clocks to Daylight Savings Time on New Year’s Day. This is the one resolution I can keep until March 11th!
See you next year – a little larger, a little less fashionable and completely exhausted.
Happy New Year!
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We go all out for Halloween. And by “we,” I mean “me,” and my insistence on a massive theme of awesomeness.
In fact, I have only missed 2 Halloweens in my 33 years.
But to keep it from being too easy (because then it wouldn’t be PARENTING), my son always picks his costume, and I create the entire theme around it.
Like when he wanted to be a chicken so we were Why Did The Chicken Cross The Road?…
WANT may be a little strong but we were given the costume and VIOLA! Pure genius
Or Superman so we were Lois Lane and Lex Luther…
Scott really did shave his head and wear his wedding tux.
Once we had two kids, I still could pull off the thematic extravaganzas because only one had opinions. I could acquiesce to the I want to be a banana of my son and make my daughter an apple, add grapes and a bowl, build a frame and we’re A Still Life Painting …
Yes, some people thought Scott was wearing a diaper. He really is a trouper.
All was going well in my Halloween extravaganzas until this year, when my children ruined Halloween.
My oldest wants to be Spider-man. I thought: Okay, my daughter could be Spider-woman or The Wasp, and we can just bend The Avengers time-space continuum. Scott and I will be super villains just like all parents are at some point in their children’s lives! Haha. This will be awesome!
Until my daughter said: I want to be Snow White.
Wha? I know I shouldn’t be shocked since my house is a small homage to Disney with a sprinkling of Marvel comic book superheroes and Star Wars, but I was dumbfounded.
Mostly because SNOW WHITE AND SPIDERMAN HAVE NEVER HUNG OUT TOGETHER. Ever. Not a single crossover movie, TV show or comic book. Those dwarfs kept her busy, and Spider-man didn’t hike much (which I admire in a superhero).
What will we do? Because I’m not the type of parent who will try to talk either of them out of their Halloween costumes. I mean, I WANT their minds to change and I’M WILLING to use Jedi mind tricks but not by using my words. I’M SUCH A MARTYR.
I see only 2 choices. We can either divide up as evil villains being only 50% awesome or fade away into parenting obscurity with all those who have not dressed up since they were 12 years old.
Great, I’m now a DEPRESSED martyr.
My only solace is buying this giant bag of candy 8 more times between now and the 31st.
It's helping.
Princesses have infiltrated my world. It began with a nostalgia for Aladdin on a rainy afternoon and morphed into 13 books, every G-rated movie with a princess-looking character on the cover, 23 dolls, 2 crowns, and 1 trip to Disney on Ice. We are living in castles and bursting into song at the dinner table.
I’m not terribly concerned since my daughter’s favorite princesses are ones in big ball gowns who shoots people.
Or maybe I should be more concerned?
So while the parenting gurus line up to learn how I’ve done such a great job teaching my children the fundamentals of life, I’ll share a little of what I’ve learned from Disney.
10 Things I’ve learned from Disney Princesses:
1. Spells are broken by kissing, dying, crying and killing someone. But never by doing your homework or listening to your parents.
2. Being able to carry a tune will pretty much guarantee people will like you. Or at least mice and birds will.
3. There are a LOT of unwed princes out there.
4. If one of your parents is dead, you are probably a princess.
5. Anyone with a cackle instead of a laugh, apples or money should not be trusted. And if they are called “trusted advisor”? RUN.
6. Parents lose their children much too often.
7. Talking animals are not as rare as biology class leads you to believe.
8. Do not grow your hair past your waist unless you’re comfortable with people climbing it.
9. Keep track of your shoes.
10. If it’s too good to be true, it probably is. Except for love-at-first-sight, fairy godmothers, ball gowns and magical tears.
Now, let’s all live happily ever after.
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I reached a point in parenting, not too long ago, where I raised my eyes to the heavens, shook my fist and yelled: WHY CAN’T I HAVE NICE THINGS.
Things my children broke (in no particular order):
15 necklaces of mine including one with handmade beads by my friend A. Conveniently ”beads” also mean “hockey pucks.” (Wait, does anyone in Richmond even know what those are anymore?)
Every other container that I bought to become AMAZINGLY ORGANIZED. As it turns out, my kids version of organized is somewhere between stepping on boxes and sitting in boxes and watching boxes being thrown out.
My heart. I’m pretty sure it hasn’t been on purpose. YET.
My husband’s glasses. Because “Hide the Glasses” is way more fun than hundreds of dollars worth of toys. Too bad I can’t trade toys for eyewear. Or really for ANYTHING.
Multiple cats.
Why yes, I do have a cat collection and that does make me awesome. Well, until it mostly contsained incapacitated cats.
My rearview mirror. Because you can’t see the car floor with it on the windshield!
3000 matchbox cars. If it’s any indication of their future driving skills, I’ll be keeping my kids on an enclosed track until they’re 30. With their hatred of rearview mirrors, this is probably the right call anyway. Plus, look at all the cool things those enclosed track cars get to do in the commercials!
My shoes. MY SHOES. {insert crying and the tearing of hair}
Their own artwork. Like it’s some sort of Freudian rebellion against my “THOSE ARE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL BLUE BLOBS I’VE EVER SEEN!”
We take pictures to remember them by.
But, of course, PEOPLE are more important than THINGS. In other words, they have never broken my iPhone so I continue to love them.
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