easter chocolate sugar kids

I've read parenting books that say studies show sugar doesn't affect children's behavior. They say you should just let them self regulate, and I can't help but think


Have you never been around children??

We let the kids eat as much as they want on easter and halloween. I mean, I remember the glory of incredible indulgence, handfuls of little foil wrapped eggs; I remember that joy. I would hate to deprive them of that. But also - I want them to be able to connect the effects and their bodies. It's amazing how unaware of our bodies we can be. So sure; why not? Let them feel the glorious high of waaaaaayy too much sugar, and feel the crash of it too.

Yesterday we couldn't completely send them to the wolves, so we did force a cheese stick upon each before we let them descend upon their baskets. And I made them drink whole milk (glass after glass, good grief) as they downed their chocolates. There were a few jelly beans but if you're gonna go all out with a huge juicy mouthful of some kind of candy, I'm a firm believer that it really should be chocolate. I did get pastel peanut M&Ms in an attempt to counter the sugar with peanut protein. (In retrospect, I'd say that's like tossing pebbles into the grand canyon.) Clark ate his entire chocolate bunny before 7 am. It was about 7:30 when Frances said, "My tummy doesn't feel so good," and I hugged her and said, "I bet it doesn't." That girl loves sweets.

I hope it pays off in the end. Meantime, we spent a good bit of Sunday afternoon contending with meltdowns. They weren't so bad. A little loud, and somewhat frustrating, but not so bad. We were with a great big family who lovingly included us in their midday feast and one of the major meltdowns involved the four year old's wanting to be the one up to kick in the kickball game though his team was in the outfield.

It's tragic, being a child.

Point is: sugar makes for mini disasters. Anyone who wants proof of this is welcome to join us this halloween.

Not only that. Clark woke last night in a complete panic about an hour after bedtime, some kind of night terror. Poor guy. He was shaking and didn't at first even want me to hold him. I turned on the light so he could see where he was, could see he was awake. It was like he was still asleep and couldn't come out of it although his eyes were open and he was looking at me. He calmed down and let me rock him, but it took him a few moments. It was the worst one he's had in a while.

Later I slept blissfully, but apparently Mitch was up with Clark two thirds of the night. (I don't really know what that was about, but I'd be willing to bet the sugar has something to do with it.)

AND eating so much easter day means less leftover for me to eat. (I really lost control yesterday over the robin's egg malt balls. Hadn't had them in years. I suspect it was a nostalgia craving because my enjoyment of them was much greater than they deserved.) PLUS right now I'm at the tail end of my botox treatment period which means my headaches are hovering these days. Bummer for me easter didn't fall soon after a treatment.... Next one is April 18 yay yay yay! And then - behold! - that coconut cream egg behind the rice milk in the pantry is mine.

By the way, the eggs above we wrapped in rubber bands before dying. Aren't they lovely? 

quiet time parenting success! and the holidays

Yay me! A couple of weeks ago I bought Frances a big round old school $3.99 Target clock with numbers and hands in bright yellow (so sunny!). The next day I told her to play in her room and watch the clock, and when the big hand came all the way around to the 12, she could come out. I put public radio on low (which here is excellent musical programming during the day) and left her to herself. One time when I came in she was humming and dressing some polly pockets, and she didn't even speak to me though she smiled (so engrossed...), and the 2nd time I checked on her the room was spotless and she was sitting in her chair listening to the music and watching the clock. "It's on the 11, Mom!" she said. All very exciting stuff, these clock hands. I didn't foresee a clean room as one of the perks, and I'll take it.

Meanwhile, Clark listened to a book on tape, then I set him up with a Christmas ISpy. I read a couple of pages to him and helped him find the objects, then he was off and running on his own, and I was free to straighten up the house. After that he just moved around me while I did my work and he did his.

A couple of days after our phenomenal success we left for NC for a lovely 5 day family visit. I'm now in the throws of having to implement this whole thing again now that we're home, travel always interrupting any possible routines.

It's not long before we leave again - this time for Florida and my in-laws - and I've been feeling enormous pressure to make christmas cookies and ornaments and gingerbread houses. I'm mighty glad I got the (silver! aqua!) trees up before we left. The kids, of course, decorated the bottom halves of the trees and the ornaments are clustered in twos and threes, which is a lovely look, turns out.

Aaaaand now I have pneumonia, plus Mitch is going to be out of town all next week, both of which mean I'm letting go of my ambitions for cookies and ornaments and gingerbread houses. Only so much one sick human can do, and now what I can do is lie on the couch and play knights with little playmobil folks while closing my eyes.

In other news: the botox is working this time. Headaches be gone! And the snow is coming, some of it already swirling around in the air, father winter on his way. Can't wait!

aaaand onto the next thing

Things are changing around here. Clark decided he was missing too much possibly exciting activity when he was napping, and though he loved his naps greatly, he has given them up. We are in transition, that amorphous space between this routine and that one, and in fact we don't know yet what shape that one is going to take. That's okay; working on it, waiting patiently.

By patiently I mean I've pretty much given up cooking and doing laundry in order to spend all my time with or near the kids. When they played outside today in the driveway I rearranged the garage, and when they moved to the back of our yard I abandoned my garage project and took up raking near them.

I am trying to establish the best routine for us. The key seems to be the balance of big activity to quiet, high energy to low, as well as the quantity of group time vs individual time. I'm hanging out near them in order to feel out when they need more, when they need less, and when we should go inside for story time before Clark swings a baseball bat at Frances because she won't stop mimicking him. I believe fully in my investment now and the benefits it will reap later. When Frances was first having quiet time, I committed myself to her for a couple of weeks, teaching her how to play quietly. Now she can do it - and in fact longs to do it - all by herself, and I'm completely free to cook dinner and facebook. I wonder how long I'll have to commit this time?

The kids don't have to be alone for individual time, they just have to be spending the time inward. Today, for example, while Clark was spinning on the driveway with his beanie kitty tied to a long piece of rainbow yarn, Frances was pushing her baby around the yard in the stroller, singing to her and showing her the dead flowers in the flowerbeds. The kids were within 15 feet of each other for ages, but didn't interact. The key with it is figuring out how to keep them in this alone play space for enough time to recharge, rather than turning from their own play to engage the other in who-can-say-the-funniest-poop-phrase, a favorite game around here.

Today as I worked near them, I was really on my game. Frances had moved from the dead flowers to the path through the brush at the back of our yard - we call it the enchanted forest - and found a tree branch where her baby could nap. When Clark was sufficiently dizzy he wandered to the back of the yard where he put his kitty in the now empty stroller. Frances got all bent out of shape about the stroller, so I suggested the baby would probably really like to sit in the sling, be close to her mama. Frances disappeared into the house for a long time; no idea what she was doing in there, but since she was having alone play I didn't care. When she came back she was carrying the baby in the sling and feeding her a bottle. At snack the baby sat in the doll highchair and I brought her own food on a tiny tea set plate. Frances informed me it was the baby's birthday, so we made cake out of graham crackers, peanut butter, and marshmallows, with cream cheese frosting. She had two candles and we lit them and sang. It was lovely.

napless

Clark seems to think it's time to give up his nap. He's 3 and a half, and perhaps it is indeed time. I've looked forward to this on one hand because having to come home for a nap does tie us down; if there were no napping kids we could stay out and run errands or go play, whatever. But there's a snag, I'm finding - besides the general one, which is that the newly-not-napping kid is still tired as hell and hollering in exhausted frustration because his gum is the wrong flavor. The snag is how to do downtime.

Frances needs downtime. She would go and go and go all day if I let her, and then she would fall to pieces. I believe in, as Waldorf philosophy says, letting the day breathe. In breath, out breath. Outward activity, inward quiet. Then again. During Clark's nap she has developed some space for herself which works well; she quietly sings while she draws (the most common) or sets up a carnival in her room or dresses herself for her doll's tea party. It's amazing and wonderful to watch. When Clark wakes up she comes out of her inward time and they run off with hysterical laughter to play.

Clark knows nothing about downtime. Whenever they are both awake they are together, playing. Vigorously. I haven't figured out yet how to enforce some down time for both at once. I could send them each to their rooms to play, but right now there aren't any toys in Clark's room. (An easy thing to rectify.) Yesterday I had them lie with me on the bed and I read a thousand books until Clark actually fell asleep. Today I thought myself quite brilliant and turned on a CD story that is this minute working well while I write this blog post.

I'm feeling at a loss for what kind of activity he could do, as he usually doesn't play by himself. A few minutes ago the story ended and I gave him some lacing cards. Which he seemed interested in for about 40 seconds until he discovered he could hang onto the lace and throw the board and it would kind of glide like a frisbee. "Look Mama it's a surf board!"

Maybe I should get a table for his trains. I'm open to suggestions here! Maybe raw materials for building? Like rope and silks and boxes? Do I just need StarWars legos instead of plain??? Help!

(As I write this I'm realizing: I'm probably going to have to participate in his quiet time for a while. I did that with Frances. I drew with her, or did drawing games with her, until she enjoyed doing it on her own. (My favorite is when Frances and I take turns adding to a picture until it's a full scene.)  Clark doesn't like drawing and crafts, but I could come up with something to build and do it with him to get him going. The problem I was having was trying to come up with an activity that doesn't include me so I can get other things done during that time. But that thinking is backward. For a bit I'm going to have to give up my time in order to teach him how to have quiet time. Yes yes yes. Tomorrow I will begin.)

job description, again

I've been thinking lately about my 'job'. It used to be changing diapers and spooning runny food into mouths and nursing and changing diapers and making sure no one choked on the legos, but now it's different. There are times when it seems amorphous to me, when I can't get a handle on it exactly. And then there are other times. Like a couple of nights ago when Clark didn't want to go to sleep. He'd already been read to and sung to and had someone lie down with him and sung to again by multiple people (including my mom, who was visiting), but still he was not asleep. I met him halfway down the stairs and told him he needed to be in bed, and he asked what we grownups were doing downstairs. We were spending grown up time together, I said. "Are you sitting down?" Yes, we were sitting. "I want to sit with you, Mama. Can I pweeeeeesssseee?" Oh my. We were, in fact, watching Dancing with the Stars, which Clark loves. I told him he could come down for two dances, then it was back to bed.

Of course, when it was time to go back to bed Clark was not ready. By now it was an hour and a half past his bedtime, and I was done with negotiations. It was time. So I carried him upstairs shrieking hysterically and I put him in his bed. He climbed out and stood next to the bed. I picked him up and put him back in. He rolled out and stood. I put him back in. He rolled out. Again and again. Every time he rolled out he screamed NO I WON'T and he kept trying to push my anger button. There was a moment when I thought about getting angry, but decided against it. I thought two things: 1) good thing I didn't go to the gym because I'm now getting a great arm and back workout picking him up over and over, and 2) what else do I have to do? I mean, it would have been nice to go downstairs and hang with my mom, especially since it was her last night. But what struck me is that this is my job. This. Standing patiently, putting him back in his bed over and over, however long it takes. I don't have anywhere else to be, anything else to do. I did need to move the laundry to the dryer in the basement, but that could wait. In fact, it all could wait for this.

I thought the same thing last week when Frances had a screaming fit while I was cooking dinner. The end of it found her standing on the stove sobbing down! down!. I lifted her off the stove and she crumpled in my arms, and I just sat with her on my lap, as long as she needed. We could always eat tuna fish and crackers if I didn't finish cooking.

Over and over I learn this same lesson. I don't know why I forget. I slide into thinking that keeping the house is my job, or having things run on schedule, or organizing unruly and amazing amounts of clothes (a feat all its very own): goodwill, pass to friend, next season, too big. And while those certainly are my responsibilities, they are not primary. Simply being with the kids when they truly need me and my attention: that is my job.

Back to Clark, in case you're wondering how that turned out: after a while I started to count how many times I put him back in his bed. My guess is we'd gone about 15 rounds when I started counting, and I got to 32 (he was rolling out much more slowly each time by then though the screaming was just as lively). I was wondering how it would look when he finally gave up, then Mitch came to relieve me. Glad I've been lifting weights these days. 

non yelling mama

Riddle.
Clark: "I am a person, and I yell a lot."
Me: "Is it Mommy?"
Clark: "Yes! Good job, Mama."

I don't like to yell. It makes me feel like a crappy mom and sometimes a crazy person. And I've noticed lately that they've started to yell at each other. It does not escape me from where they learned this.

So on Monday I decided to go the whole day without yelling. It was great! I didn't yell once, and I found (very interestingly) that, having promised myself this, it was easy. I was actually not even tempted to yell. When those moments came, when I would usually yell, I just took a deep breath, stooped down to look them straight in the face, and talked. Plus, I became acutely aware of my Job - meaning, the time I yell is when we're in a hurry to get out the door and short people are dragging their feet, or still playing with the trains, or ignoring my requests to don rainboots, or simply refusing directly - and I think I believed my Job was to make things run on time, to deliver bodies to school on time, to get to my gym class on time, to go to the playground with enough time to play before dinner. But that's not my job. My job is to be kind and to teach them how to function well in this time-driven world. There's no reason we can't sometimes be late to preschool, or to my gym class, or skip the park all together if there's too much dawdling. Natural consequences.

The things we struggle with are often so simple.

That was Monday. Later in the day, after I saw I was successful, I told Frances the promise I'd made to myself, and told her how proud I was that I hadn't yelled even once. Then I did it again on Tuesday, and again on Wednesday. I'm marking it on the calender, going to see how long I can go. I hope it's long long long. Because yelling is only a habit, and habits can be broken.

I do find that in order to be successful in this, I have to have tissue in my ears at all times. Earplugs block too much, but with tissue I can still hear conversation. It just takes the sharp edge off the shrill, and I'm much more able to be patient.

Now there can be a No Yelling rule in the house. I'm noticing already that it's helping with how they talk to each other. Yay me!

looking for suggestions!!

Serious sleep issues, and I need some help. At two this morning Clark was standing beside my bed saying "downstairs! downstairs!" and this did not work for me. In the end I was only up with him for about 40 minutes, but the night before it was an hour and a half. I'm starting to feel like when he was an infant and I was sleep deprived for legitimate reasons.

Here's what we've got:

First, he sleeps with his light on full, which is a problem because when he wakes up he doesn't know if it's morning and insists that he's ready to get up and go downstairs. I've thought about just taking the bulb out, telling him it's broken, and putting in a small night light. That means we'll have to read books at night somewhere other than in the armchair in his room, but that's okay. Another option is to put in a clock and tell him he can't get up until the first number is a six or seven or whatever, but honestly I don't think he's going to go for that at all. He'll just get up anyway. Or we could try both.

The next issue is that he wants us to stay in the room until he falls asleep. He doesn't do this at nap, by the way. He asks sometimes at nap and I tell him "no, at nap we don't do that," and he accepts it. So we're going to have to have a talk about how mom and dad are not going to stay in the room anymore. I could deal with letting him cry it out (and I think it would only take a day of this....) but he won't just cry it out; he'll climb out of the crib. This all started with his climbing out in the first place: we tried the supernanny thing of putting him back, putting him back, not speaking to him and just putting him back, but he just became more and more hysterical and worked himself up into what seemed an unnecessary panic. When that would happen and I would stop and just put my arms around him, he'd quiet immediately. We figured it was just a stage, some kind of anxiety that would pass, so we started to stay in the room. It isn't so bad to sit with him when we put him to bed, especially as we've taken to watching netflix on our iphones with headphones while we wait, but the problem is that he expects it again when he wakes in the night.

AND I CANNOT KEEP DOING THIS AT 2AM.

Okay. So when he wakes at night and screams, I tell him it's the middle of the night and everyone is sleeping and he needs to sleep too. He shrieks. If I say I'm going back to bed he shrieks and then climbs out of his bed. Here are the options as I see them:

1) Get a crib tent. Zip him in. Ignore the possible hazard were there a fire. Make him feel powerless but dominated. Get some sleep.

2) Get a new toddler bed he loves, a fire truck or pirate boat or something, and tell him he can only have it if he stays in it. In order to enforce that, however, I'd also have to get a crib tent so I can move him to the crib if he won't stay in the bed.

3) Leave the crib the way it is but put latches on the door so he can't get out of the room. This will probably mean he will cry until he passes out on the floor. Again with the powerlessness.

4) Is he old enough (2 1/2) for a sticker chart? I don't know... I don't think he'll get the idea of accumulating stickers toward a goal. But maybe there's something I can bribe him with immediately? I don't know what. He doesn't sleep with any stuffed animals, nothing I can take away if he won't comply...

5) Dose him heavily with narcotics every night before bed. Kidding. Sort of.

6) Gear myself up and do the supernanny sleep training for a couple of nights: simply put him back in bed every time he gets out. The problem with this is that I have to stay nearby to put him back in, and that's just what he wants. He doesn't mind being in the bed as long as I'm there too.

7) Take him into the bed with me in the guest room. (you note the absence of the option to put him in bed with us... both of us are light sleepers and it simply would not work.) I fear this would mean I would forever sleep in the guest room, which just creates another problem rather than solving this one.

8) Is there something I can get for his room that would make him more comfortable, less needy? Suggestions????

He used to be a great sleeper. He used to just wave to us from his bed as we said goodnight. He would wake up and sometimes call out in the night, but then go right back to sleep. All by himself. And I don't feel this is any longer about anxiety and separation and fear; now it seems to be about control, the way he is trying to assert control over his world. Maybe one solution, or part of the solution, is to help him feel in control in other ways, give him choices or let him make other decisions. Thoughts about that?

So, please, if you have any suggestions at all, please please offer them. Helpful or unhelpful, tried or absurd, I'll take em.

By the way, I'm writing this while both kids are at preschool! All on my own here in the world, for a little while. Maybe this space will mean I can keep up with the blog better. That would be nice.

the little things

Who knew how much enjoyment could be provided by a construction paper balloon on a yarn string?

We were unpacking (finally... I know...) the stuff from Frances's school at the end of the year, and in the bag was a construction paper balloon with her name on it that decorated the classroom door. Clark nearly lost his mind with excitement about it and Frances got very upset because she didn't want it torn, so I got out the construction paper and let him pick a color for his own balloon. We taped on some yarn just like the school balloon. Frances wanted another one of her own so I made a second and they ran around with them for something close to an hour. For a while they flew them in the fan wind, and then dragged them around outside behind their trikes. Sometimes I feel like there is a secret book of tricks like this to entertain them when it's late and they're hungry and waiting for dad to come home. Where is that book? It took me all of 30 seconds to make these balloons. (I waved aside their suggestion to help me cut it out, though I suppose that could be a project in itself...)

Summer here is fabulous. Have I said that before? Really really lovely. We can be outside all day, every day, very few bugs, not too hot but hot enough for the sprinkler or kiddie pool. And cicadas. I missed them out west. They make everything sound like summer.

i got rid of the tv

And the upshot of it is that the kids are actually requiring LESS interference from me. The true role of the tv, of course, is to allow you a specified amount of quiet in order to cook dinner w/out having to referee or field questions come play with me play with me why can't put the cat in the dishwasher Clark hit me took my toy stepped on my hair please don't carry the cat by his neck please use your inside voice who is crying for godsake no climbing on the bookshelf. My friend E thought it would take about 2 weeks, then they would settle in. And I was pumped up; I was ready to muck through the requisite hollering to see what was on the other side. We just got back from a very refreshing vacation and it was a good time for me to be feeling optimistic about how much I could take.

We usually watch George when we eat our breakfast. The first morning when I said "Oatmeal's ready!" Clark said, "George! George!" I said, "You know what? We're going to do something new, and we're not going to watch tv anymore. But you know what else? Later today we can have popsicles! Yay!" (Gotta give em something to hang onto you know.) They looked at me for a moment, a sort of kid version of a shrug, and Frances said, "That's why there's a dishcloth covering the tv," as if she knew already. There was no mention of the tv again that day. The next day around lunch, when Clark was very ready for his nap but fighting it and trying to figure out a way to stay awake while being immobile, he asked for tv. Frances piped up, "Clark, we don't watch tv anymore." She knows most things these days. "Do you know what Daddy told me on the phone two seconds ago? That he'll be home early enough for us all to go to the playground!" I ask, and she says, "I know, Mom." She's not even four. 

But today, despite a couple more requests from Clark for the tv (interestingly, he's the one that loves it less. I guess he's also the one who is two and therefore less on board with reasons and rules), they are playing better. And better. It's like the practice of it is making them more interested in it. Hurray! I suppose I shouldn't celebrate yet; it's only been a few days. But seriously--I'm refereeing less. Their play is calmer, fuller, more content. How about that?

Now, I am the first to acknowledge that summer here is amazing and would keep anyone in a good mood despite that their tv had been snatched away without warning. Will see what happens in the winter when we're stuck inside for weeks at a stretch lest the arctic wind freeze the moisture in your eyeballs. The winter could loosen my resolve. As well as the kids' ability to play well without my interference. Cabin fever does strange things to people.

But for now, not hearing the Dora map song is a wonderful thing. 

nightmares and Clark the Menace

Something's up with my girl, and I don't know what it is. Nightmares? Fear of being alone? Simple anxiety about independence? Her terrible hay fever? Here's what she does: goes to sleep just fine, then an hour/ two hours/ the middle of the night later she wakes up whining. I want a drink, or I wanna have a sleepover, or ahlsimfiemthtnelfiibktyy. She seems like a thinking wakeful person, which generally leads me to ask, "What is it you want, honey?" But that is the wrong approach. This much I've learned. Asking her how I can help her only ratchets up the whining until it turns into screaming (4 am screaming is really not pleasant) and then, full tantrumming. Honestly, I don't think she's even awake.

What does work is picking her up and putting her on the toilet (with a guess that having to pee is perhaps what woke her in the first place), then carrying her back to bed. I cannot, as I have learned, tell her to climb on the toilet seat herself, or pull up her own pants, or walk back to her room even though I am right beside her holding her hand. Verbal communication only escalates everything.

Mitch thinks it's her brother. Clark hits her all the time, randomly, not just out of irritation but also out of boredom. I don't know why it doesn't occur to her to turn around and hit him back, but it doesn't. Instead she just gets this pitiful exhausted helpless look on her face and whines, "Mommy, Clarky hit me again."

I try my best to get him to quit this shit but am obviously not being effective. I get down in his face and make him look at me and I tell him that we can't act like that etc etc. (the frown he gives me during this is quite theatrical). Anyway, I do that when I have enough wherewithall not to simply shriek, "Clark, no hitting!" He generally goes into time out which is not such a bad place in the pack-n-play with toys and sometimes even his blanket. Two minutes, until the dinger dings. Then he very willingly (and adorably) says he's sorry, everyone hugs, and five minutes later he's hit her again.

This morning Mitch noticed her tone of voice and facial expressions when she's upset in the night are just the ones she uses when Clark hits her and she feels powerless and frustrated. Hm. What to do?

I've been focusing on trying to get Clark to quit it dammit already, but it occurs to me this minute as I write (a-ha! the intended result of blogging about the stress of being a mom!) that maybe I need to give her some other skills. I've been trying to tell her to tell him how it makes her feel, but maybe I should teach her how to say that if he's going to hit her she's not going to play with him, or going to go into the other room, or whatever. That would be a much more thorny consequence to him (oh he loves playing with her. To him the hitting is just part of that play somehow) than listening to me or going into timeout.

Oh yay! I'm going to talk to her about it tomorrow. I hope it works. Or something works.

we are animals

In searching for insight about my nutty and difficult daughter I had some thoughts about Clark. The gist of The Happiest Toddler on the Block is that toddlers are actually cave people (I'm not kidding) with primitive ways of interacting and expressing themselves. They haven't yet developed the more advanced forms of communication that they will as they get older, and the best way to reach them is to speak their language, which means behaving like a cave person yourself. If a child is throwing a fit, for example, you mirror what you assume are her thoughts and you say, "Frances angry! ANGRY! ANGRY! You WANT another cookie! You WANT!" I've tried this a little bit and not only do I feel like a dope but it seems to make no difference at all. The other thing the book suggests is, when scolding them (and this is for the littlest ones I'm pretty sure), to growl at them. Growl.

So I have.

Clark doesn't respond much to "No, Clark. No hitting. That's not okay." It sort of floats past him. But it turns out that growling is very very effective. I've done it a few times now and each time he immediately dissolved into tears. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. It's not a loud growl, just a baring of my teeth, sort of like I assume a vampire might, and a throaty grrr. I find it very amusing that he responds so immediately, especially when he's been for the previous 30 seconds acting as if I haven't spoken. I switch from "No, no," to "grr" and everything changes. But his response is so distressed that I don't know if it's traumatizing in addition to effective. In any case he understands that I'm upset.

Something I'd been waiting for: Clark has learned to hit Frances when she's in his way or takes a toy or generally bothers him. The funny thing is that he doesn't just hit her; he keeps on hitting her even after she's stopped doing whatever she was doing. He kind of gets on a roll. But the growling stops him. Mitch says he tried growling at him last week and it didn't do anything. But he also said he didn't bare his teeth--I wonder if that has to be a part of it...

what kind of parent am I?

My friend Wendy and her kids came over this morning to play. Her son is about 2 months older than Frances and her daughter is a week older than Clark, which is fabulous for us (though if the genders matched that would be even better!). She and I are both only children and have both struggled with now to navigate having two, how to split our attention, how to deal with the lack of alone time, etc. She's been somewhat of a lifesaver for me.

But today she completely blew my mind. I know she's going to read this and have no idea what I'm talking about... I don't even know how it came up exactly, but we were talking about space in the house and where we hang out and about getting things done (like emptying the dishwasher) and that she doesn't get anything done at all when the kids are awake, which is now all day. Then she said it's hard for her as an only child because her only model is one on one, full attention, and she doesn't really know how to do that with two. And she somehow came around to telling me that all she does is play with the kids, face to face, conversation style. All day. "I don't think all kids need that," she said, "but these do."

Ahem.

Wendy's kids are the calmest kids you've ever seen. And one's a boy. They're agreeable and they listen to her and they are gentle with each other. I asked her today about this, about how much she thought was their temperments and how much was her mothering. She said a little of both. "They're so calm," I said. "Yeah, my mother-in-law says our house is peaceful." I also asked if she had problems with her older being aggressive with her younger and she said she didn't, and hadn't. I watched as her son nearly sat on top of her daughter in a chair and Wendy quietly said, "Ayvin, sit next to her," and he gently shifted over.

It definitely doesn't seem to me that her kids need that kind of attention any more than other children do. What seemed obvious to me when she said it is that all children need it, really. Some are just better at making do with less. So where does that leave me and my kids?

It's never occurred to me that my job might be to play with my kids. It might seem like an obvious thing I'm missing here. I've thought of my job as "taking care" of them. Playing some, yeah, here and there, in between doing dishes and loading the dryer, in tickling moments just after a diaper change or teasing while we eat lunch.

All day?

Maybe I did think this way when F was a baby, but then Clark was born and my time was spent nursing and changing diapers and just trying to get through the day. What do I do with my time now? I feel mostly like I change diapers and help the other on the potty and change clothes when there's an accident and organize snacks for the car and fix food and feed and clean up and pull Frances off Clark and reprimand and admonish and try to work in fixing dinner or paying a bill. Periodically I help set up Little People or push someone in the swing but then there's the arguing and I turn into a referee rather than a teammate. Hm.

Years ago I had a dog I loved. I spent all kinds of time with her, talking to her, petting her, throwing the ball or taking walks or snuggling with her on the bed. She was the best. She was calm and agreeable, and people commented on how pleasant she was to be around. I'd see other dogs at my friends' houses, nutty dogs who were needy and hyper and jumped on you, and my friends would marvel at the difference between our dogs. And I'd think "You don't spend time with your dog; you don't give her your attention. What do you expect?"

I'm having a revelation here and I'm kind of embarrassed how elementary it seems.

Could I DO that? Could I just play with my kids? It makes me think of that book--Playful Parenting--that I talked so much about awhile ago. That book is about specific kinds of play but what's stuck with me mostly from that book is the chapter on roughhousing. And his point is about using play to allow children to work out their anxieties specifically. I get that. But this--this is so much larger, so much more. I don't know.

And what about the skills they learn from playing on their own? It's true that much of their own play time turns onto push-Clark-into-furniture time, which is a problem. This might be the place for me to say, "a-ha. My kids need more face time with me to learn how to interact."

But the truth is that I think of playing with my kids as boring, and is one of the reasons I believe I should go back to work. But maybe I've been thinking of the wrong kind of play; maybe I thought I was required to do the boring kind. Or something. Don't I periodically have these realizations that if I simply sit on the floor with the kids for an hour it does them heaps and heaps of good? Interaction, not play, is what is needed.

I will pause here in what feels like an incoherent ramble to acknowledge that Wendy intends to homeschool, or unschool, or whatever, and perhaps she's just more cut out for this temperamentally than I am. I have all kinds of internal conflict about activities, as you know, and I also have internal conflict about preschool--how many days, is it helpful or hurtful, should we do it at all, etc. Also, Wendy does admit that because of the constant attention and interaction, she is completely burnt by 4pm.

I'd love for this post to open up conversation if anyone wants to weigh in. I could ramble on for much much longer--this clearly sounded the gong on some issues I haven't resolved, or maybe even acknowledged. What percentage of your kids' awake time do you spend interacting with them directly, face to face, conversation style?

perfectionism

Frances is a perfectionist. It's a common first child trait, from what I understand. She throws the duplo blocks if she has a hard time putting them together, freaks out if she falls down (even if she doesn't hurt herself), says "no it NOT all right!" when she spills something and I tell her it's okay. I know that the best way to teach her that mistakes are okay is to model that, but Mitch points out that it's hard to model when one is in fact a perfectionist. Ah.

So I've started falling down. I do it mostly when we're outside, just plop myself down when she's not looking and say "Oh, Mommy fell down!" or do a slapstick slipping on the ice that ends with my butt on the ground. It has seemed to help, actually. Sometimes when she falls in the snow (which she does a lot) I fall at the same time and then she'll laugh a little and say "Mommy and Frances fell! Both!" When I slip and spill of my own accord she says "I help you Mommy. I hold your hand." It seems as if it's taken the edge off her criticism of herself overall, a great accomplishment.