big changes afoot

So. I've realized something. I've realized we have a situation here and that I created it. This was not by accident, not for lack of attention; I willingly created a breeding ground for lunatics in my home. Oops. They're not lunatics elsewhere, and everyone is surprised when I tell them they are here. In fact, I don't generally think of them as lunatics, which is why by role in all this escaped my attention.

On Sunday I went to Wegmans by myself at 3pm. If you have a Wegmans near you, you know what folly this was, though to my credit I at least did it without kids. It was a ZOO in there. As I was walking in, a dad and three kids were coming in at the same time. I had plenty of opportunity to study this family, as we weaved in and out of each other's aisles the rest of my visit. I took a good long look at these kids: the one in the cart probably 3 1/2 - Clark's age - and two on their feet, probably 5 and 7. Everyone was calm. The dad did not once have to rein them in, tell them to be quiet or calm down. They browsed the produce, discussed which color pears to buy, hung out. If I had been there with my kids, they would have been laughing, pulling at each other, making faces, getting wound up until I shushed and reminded about the Great Big Bribe at the end of the trip.

Thing is, Clark and Frances love each other so much, and they love to be together, to play together. I have friends with kids further apart in age (mine are 17 months for those of you who are just joining the regularly scheduled program) and their kids just don't really interact. They're not interested in creating pretend games together in the plastic car attached to the front of the cart. They don't laugh with each other. Generally, what they do is tolerate. But my kids think all time is playtime. Anytime they are together is the opportunity for play. Of course, eventually someone gets hurt, gets offended, whacks the other over the head. This I want to avoid, which is why I shush - before it happens.

But the shushing makes me crabby. Who wants to be the person telling everyone to calm down? Sometimes Frances looks at me with pure hate in her eyes. No wonder she feels that way; I'm constantly grouching at her.

We've allowed them to run wild in the house, did it on purpose. We have this great big rambling house and little furniture, and I've purposely not furnished it so the kids can have the space to tear around. When they were toddlers it made sense to me: it felt like a privilege that I could offer them unlimited exploration of their world. Now, however, they are bigger. They are louder. They are making me insane.

No wonder I always feel like I need a break from them.

So I just decided: no running in the house, no jumping on the furniture, no wrestling or carrying each other around (I don't know why this is a big activity), no climbing over the back of the couch, no no no screaming. I know plenty of people who have these rules in their house, and I have until now thought of those people as uptight and unfair. Ha! A lot I know.

The kids forget, of course, but they really are adapting pretty well to the new rules. Mitch thinks it will take them about 3 weeks to acclimate. Will see. I'm holding the line for sure. We have a bouncy house in the basement and they are willingly and quickly going down there when I tell them it's the only place they can play like that.

The most interesting thing to me are the side effects I didn't see coming. The kids are calmer overall. Usually I have to force them apart to calm them down, which is why we have strict alone play for at least an hour each day. But today they played for ages and didn't get exhausted, found ways to regroup and recharge in each other's space. They would be playing Mama and Baby, for example, and Frances would go to her room to fetch the plastic fruit or whatever, and she'd get distracted in her closet. Meanwhile Clark was distracted with his trains, and they played a little while alone before coming back (calmly!) together. This is radically different from, say, last week, when all their play consisted of shrieking and grabbing and chasing and having an uproariously good time until it wasn't anymore. You know where that story ends. With a grumpy mama.

Not only are they calmer in the house, but - surprise surprise! - I am a more patient parent! I don't watch the clock for Mitch to come home or the sitter to get here! I LIKE being near and with the kids! And here I thought maybe I simply wasn't cut out for this. Holy crow.

I do see the irony that I did this to myself.

That's okay. I'm going to undo this thing.

I'd forgotten how much children love discipline, how much they thrive when they understand the rules and the limits. I've known this before, but I'd forgotten.

Also, I've started using different language. We had a big long discussion about Community, being a part of a community and which ones we participate in - school, neighborhood, family etc - and what the community rules are. And how, since we are part of a community of family, we have to have some rules that take into account everyone in the community. I've also started to talk about Playtime. As in "now it is dinnertime, not playtime. Now it is time to get ready for school, not playtime." The rules make everything so much simpler. I just remind them of the rule (in my calm mom voice), rather than try to impose my own agenda (generally after becoming irritated), which I'm pretty sure is how they see any limitations without specific rules anyway, as the grownups' agendas.

And here I was trying to come up with schedules and routines and approaches and techniques when all I had to do was change the house rules. Funny when the answers are surprisingly simple.

Will keep you updated.

vacation caboose

(So I just found this post I wrote over 2 weeks ago, before we got back to Rochester. Meant to post it before, clearly, but I thought I'd go ahead and post it now because maybe it sheds some light on the Frances-attitude-situation. Plus some parenting thoughts.)

We're in Michigan now, returned from our 2,054 hours in transit to my in-laws house where the kids are. They were (of course) SO excited to see us. But the next morning Frances was in a funk. When we brought out the gifts from India, she was excited to see, then disappointed. She pouted, wouldn't talk to us. Then outside she got in a scuffle with her grandma and not only wouldn't give the big wheel back to Clark though he very nicely asked, but she wouldn't talk to anyone. Just sat heavy on the big wheel with her chin down and her face set. Later on I found her outside by herself on the big wheel, riding in circles on the brick patio, sobbing. When I opened the door she stopped crying and wouldn't talk to me. Hey- sometimes a girl just needs a good cry.

As I've mentioned before, she has a hard time with transitions. And this is a big one in her world. We've been gone 7 weeks from our house; she's been here in Michigan with Clark for 2 weeks without parents; here we've come home and probably we are not the fabulous people she missed so much in her mind, but instead just ourselves. Emotions are hard to handle, especially when they loom so large in a nearly-five-year-old body. AND I forgot some of my new resolve to attend to my children differently, and rather than spending the morning with her sitting on my lap, if that's what she wanted to do, I organized my india photos on the computer while she helped Grandma with the pancakes and periodically tried to get my attention. Bad mommy! I could have done that later, and should have. But it is what it is, and now I remember said resolve, and I'm back in the game.

In fact, I've got a whole new approach to parenting up my sleeve for when we return. Much of its success will depend on my emotional state, which I'm hoping will remain positive and relaxed, and we'll see.

I will:
~ do more planning ahead for activities, as complicated as art projects and as simple as riding our trikes to the big bush down the street.
~ leave the house more. visit friends just to say hi for an hour, or go to Ellison park to roll down the big hill, or seek out a bubble gum machine at the strip mall.

(And there I quit the post, which is why I never posted it in the first place: it needed an ending. I don't have one now, however, and I'm here to offer you these thoughts anyway. Cheers!)

the girl tries me

Seriously new territory. I need a book or something to tell me how to wade through this. Is it true that if the girl child is particularly difficult at age 5 she won't be so bad at 13? Can I only hope? It's like she's hormonal or something. Seriously. Here's what happens: she gets upset about something (like my telling her to please stop wrapping Clark's blankie around his head, though he's screamed "STOP IT SISSY!!" eight times already and shoved her away her twice) and she gets this look on her face. She just stands there, stony, and won't talk to me, won't move. Then she does something with the absolute intent of pissing me off. Yesterday she put both the phone and the oven timer in the trash, then she tossed my Kendle across the room. Ahem.

Conversely, Clark is the sweetest cutest three-year-old on which I have ever laid eyes. "Do you know," he asks at dinner, his eyes big with import, "that frogs are bigger than bugs? Do you know that?" Tonight I was off to the grocery while he ate his snack before bed and four times he said, "Mama, can I have just one more hug?" I put my arms around him and he lays all his weight into me, so warm and sweet.

It's true that Frances has just had a major adjustment. We are home (home boring home) after 7 weeks of travel and entertainment round the clock. She's always been more sensitive than Clark, less able to roll with it. It's like her skin is thinner, more exposed, tender. And everyone I tell about her behavior says, "Frances? She's so polite and sweet and easy to be around." For you, maybe. She saves up the other just for me.

Although it could very well be nothing more than boredom and adjustment, my inclination is that it's about control. After all, kids in general are on the receiving end of lots of directives. Time to go. Put on your shoes. Climb in the car. Buckle up. Eat this. Brush your teeth. Turn off the tv. No cheetos before 10am. Wash your hands. Don't chew the paper. Please take the tutu off the dog. One would indeed feel powerless. So she's figured out how to get a little power for herself. Oh, the myriad of responses I could have... I've been trying them all out. I am seriously at a loss about it. Traditional techniques are being met with sweeping failure and escalating behavior. Lovely.

Is it a stage? Just a stage that will pass like the others? It's always so hard to tell. About all I know for sure is that it's a pain in my ass and I feel like I'm missing some essential piece of information, like the 6-page instruction manual came without pages 3 and 4.

And there are other times when she's perfectly wonderful. Sweet and loving and fun to talk with and laugh with. I'll focus on those in my mind. 

compassion

Thank god, thank earth, and all that is; it is finally, finally, FINALLY spring. Horrible, that's what that was, the six weeks before. Maybe that's why everyone here hates the winter snow so much - they all know what's coming after.

I love the snow up here in the snowbelt. Though, to be fair, I have the ideal set up. I would probably not love it as much if I a) didn't have a garage and was forever brushing and scraping my car so I could b) go to work. That I am a stay-at-home-mom means when it's really painfully cold and deep, I just don't go out in it. It's one of the perks. Perhaps the perk, come to think of it. So I get to enjoy the snow when I want to. (In case anyone cares, I believe there are only two things you must do to enjoy the snow here. 1) get a really good coat (you'd never believe the number of fools walking around here in hoodies), and 2) go out in it. You don't even have to ski or anything; just layer up and go for a walk. The world coated in white is an amazing one.)

But now we're actually done with the snow. Done! I had truly begun to wonder if it was going to get warm again. I thought perhaps it would stay in the 40s all summer until the snow started up again in the fall. You should see the pink blooming trees in my yard.

So. Tuesday when I went to pick up Frances from school, she skipped to me singing, "playdate! playdate!" as she always does. Previously I'd made a policy not to give in to spur of the moment playdate requests, but I apparently forgot. She went home with her friend Maia, and Clark and I went home and ate lunch then took a snuggly nap on the couch.

When we got to Maia's house to pick her up, she and Maia were playing in the back of the backyard. They ignored me as long as they could, and before she'd even said hello to me I heard her say to Maia, "I don't like Clark." Frances was very difficult about leaving, as she often is, and when we got home she was as mean to Clark as I've seen her be. Wouldn't let him touch her things, grabbed things away from him, said how much she doesn't like him and how he's not good at playing, and then shoved him down. I didn't know what on earth was going on, and the end result of all of it was that I broke my no yelling streak. I was eight days in! Oh well.

After much crying and much lap sitting, she told me Maia said something really sharply to her at school and it made her cry, and then one of the boys was boasting about how great he was going to be, how he'd build skyscrapers and she wasn't going to do anything, he was so much better than her blah blah blah. That made her cry too. So she turned and did the same thing to her brother.

I don't know why I don't see this behavior when it's happening as a red flag that she is suffering in some way. If I could pause and address the suffering, rather than the behavior, everything would go a lot more smoothly.

Hopefully next time.

How confusing it must have been for her to have Maia be so mean but then want Frances to come to her house and play. And probably confusing for Maia too! To have these aggressive feelings toward someone you like... Emotions are a bizarre and unwieldy jungle to trek.

I hope I can help her, at least draw her a crude map of the paths I know to the other side.

I also think she was simply overstimulated, overexcited, exhausted. That's her temperament, her tendency, after all. It is spring - so suddenly - and she's probably playing harder (they play outside more than 2 hours at her school) Plus, it was on Tuesday, which is the first day of her school week, plus she stayed longer at Maia's than I would have liked. That's one lesson I had already learned (like the no-spur-of-the-moment-playdates lesson) but let slide: playdates should be two hours max. Any longer and she melts - usually moments after we pull away in the van.

My new rules, in order to avoid the above situation: no playdates on Tuesday, no playdates spur of the moment, no longer than 2 hours, and - the most important one - if she's acting uncharacteristically badly, then she is suffering because of something else. Gently, go gently. Try to wait. Listen.

picky picky picky

My son. My son is a lunatic. An adorable lunatic, but the screaming really undoes me. He'll be three in a week and I know it's typical for this to be an awful age, but - really. Come on.

He won't wear pajamas. Which is fine. He wears to bed whatever he's been wearing all day, which does make bedtime a little sideways because we don't have the ritual of putting on the pjs any more. But whatever.

He agrees to wear a grand total of two pairs of shorts. Shorts. They are long shorts, the longest I could find in the bottom of the box of summer stuff in his closet. When we go outside I require snowboots and socks that he allows me to pull up under the legs of the shorts, and that he pushes down the instant his butt hits the carseat. He does, however, pull them up of his own accord before we get out of the van. As you can imagine, there being only two pairs, the shorts are often dirty. Today I washed one of the pairs out in the sink and dried them on the heater, and then the last bit with the hairdryer (oh what a sweet mama I am), so they'd be ready for bedtime.

And he found a pair of his now-too-small shoes in a stack of things I've been meaning to ebay, and he insists on wearing them all the time. Even to bed. (I've actually finally won that battle. Score one for mom! No shoes in bed anymore, but he does put them right beside the bed so they'll be there in the morning, or, I assume, if he wakes in the night and needs to glance down to reassure himself of the steadiness of the universe.) Although he wears his snowboots outside (spiderman, light up when walking, bought in desperation at Target months ago when he was refusing to wear his perfectly acceptable blue ones), I often have to carry the too small old shoes with me in my bag so he can change into them when he gets where we're going, like our friend Sophia's house or the kid area at the gym. And if dad's home, he can skip the snowboots all together, because he convinces dad to carry him to and from the car. Which his dad agrees to do. Again, whatever.

His puppy eyes are indeed convincing. He's not even three and he's already mastered throwing the sugary bone. Today he hollered "TV! TV!" while shrieking and flailing in my arms on the way to the car from Frances's ballet class. I told him absolutely not; boys who behave like this don't get to watch tv in the car. He stopped immediately and quietly said, "I not screaming any more." A little too late for that, little man. Five minutes later I said that no, boys who hit mom certainly don't get candy. He looked at me so sweetly and said, "I'm sorry I acted like that, Mama," in the most adorable little voice you've ever heard. "Why, thank you, Clark. I appreciate that apology," I said. "Now we can watch TV?" he asked with just as much sugar. Heh. His girlfriends are going to be in trouble.

Have I mentioned how stinkin cute he is?

I can't figure it out, really. I've tried several different approaches. My latest is to pretend he isn't screaming at all. I dig my earplugs out of my jeans pocket, where they are the minute I get up in the morning, and I just go about my dish-doing, my straightening, my sweet potato slicing for Yam Spinach Bacon soup. He follows me around the kitchen screaming, and screaming, and screaming, and after about three full screaming minutes, he swats me on the legs. I say, "You may not hit me, Clark," and I pick him up and carry him to the time out chair in the dining room. He continues to scream, which I ignore, and then he screams for his blankie blankie, which I scoop from under the kitchen table or up off the family room floor and throw to him. When the blankie hits his hands he quiets immediately, and spends the rest of time out lounging sideways in the chair and sucking his thumb.

(The blankie is fascinating, isn't it? Its like a drug, a deep inhale, the world's edges suddenly softer, life not such a strain, one foot at a time into a steaming hot bath. Ah. I could use a blankie, come to think of it.)

I have to keep reminding myself, keep reminding myself that this is a stage. One day he'll stop all this madness. He won't still be throwing fits like this when he's sixteen (they'll be a different variety of fit then...) I'll even be able to keep a crayon within his reach without fearing consequences.

But as a stay at home mom, dealing with this all day long, every day, several times a day, ad nauseum, it's hard to keep it in perspective. I feel like I'm forever going to live in a house with someone who screams for extended periods at a time. I really do think the noise level is what throws me off. I didn't realize I was noise sensitive, but on the extremely rare and random day when he doesn't scream, I'm a much happier and calmer and better parent.  Cheers to that.

brainfizz

I think my brain is deteorating. This is mostly why I haven't been posting... sometimes interesting issues come up, but then I can't think through them or something. This is what too many diapers will do to a person. Or maybe it's the volume of the screaming; maybe it's not just my eardrums it's damaged, but my actual brain cells too. I'll buy that.

Recently I made a new friend, a childless friend who is a PhD and new faculty here. She uses her brain on a regular basis for more than estimating the fullness of a diaper or how many snacks are necessary for a given outing, and while talking with her I felt like I was sprinting to keep up. It was pitiful. I need to take a class or something.

We are in transition. (We are actually all in transition all the time, but some transitions move more earth than others...) For one thing, school just started for Frances. We visited for a bit on Wednesday and then she had regular school days Thursday and Friday, though Thursday afternoon I was rather shocked to realize she was going again the very next day. I felt like it should be once a week or something....

Wednesday morning was going along fine, everyone wearing their own clothes and generally behaving, then Frances started losing her shit. "Is she hungry?" I asked Mitch. She cried about the toy Clark was playing with. She cried because the 6 page paperback book she was reading 'pinched her finger'. "Did she not sleep?" I asked. "Is she nervous about school?" And she was. It took awhile for her to admit it, or discover it, or something. She appears to be blessed with my complete inability to know what it is I'm feeling while I'm feeling it. I'm trying to help her with this, which is hard since I don't know how to do it in the first place.

So I told her about my scary first day of school, embellishing with all kinds of real and possibly real details. I reminded her I was going to be with her at the school--this was just a visit, not the actual first day--and then I realized she might not remember being there before, so told her what the school looked like, about the play kitchen and the dress up clothes and the baskets of rocks and wood and the chickens in the back. She calmed down, and when we were there she had a lovely time.

Thursday morning at the beginning of school they had a ceremony with this rainbow bridge, where the children, holding flowers, stood on one side of the bridge with their parents and the teacher stood on the other. One by one the children kissed their parents and crossed over the bridge where they gave the flower to the teacher who collected them into a bouquet. It symbolized their spirits going from their parents to the care of the teacher while in school, and at the end of the year ceremony they will walk over the bridge in the opposite direction. It was very very sweet. Frances had no issue at all with it and marched right across the bridge. Later in an email, the teacher said Frances had a really good day and was so confident. How funny to me that she is. The school is a Waldorf Kindergarten which is mixed ages, 4-6, and she's the youngest there. I worried a little that this would show and she would feel out of her element somehow, but I guess not. She's already attached to one other girl whose name is Francesca, interestingly.

So there's that. We've been getting along so well the past few days and Mitch suggested it's because she has school, something of her own away from me, something to make her feel independent. Or maybe we're just in the next (and much improved) stage.

But Clark! The stage we're in now is not so fabulous. I know I've said it before but since I think it every third minute of the day, it can bear repeating here: I cannot WAIT until no one in this house is two. Just the noise level alone is enough to put a person over the edge. I've taken to putting tissue in my ears first thing in the morning. (earplugs seem to be a bit too effective.) It does help with my patience.

There's the sitting in his room until he falls asleep thing; I worried we were creating a monster and indeed here it is. Now he's waking up in the night and wanting us to sit with him until he falls back asleep. Actually, that's after all the arguing; last night he was up from 4-5:30, wanting to go downstairs, wanting snacks, wanting different pajamas. Every time I told him no, explained it was the middle of the night, he screamed. A being attacked 5 alarm kind of scream. I think we're going to have to pick a night, a couple of nights, and just let him scream. It's going to suck. But he's old enough now to understand it, old enough that it will probably only take one night of that kind of hell for him to realize what it means.

Oh when there are no more two-year-olds. But he's so charming and sweet when he's not screaming. When he's not out of sorts he is lovely to be around. I remembered this last week when Frances was in school and I had him all to myself. When they're together they kind of rile each other up, but alone with me he was only joy. Except when he was screaming, as I've said before. I swear I think he's louder than most children.

Yet! Tomorrow! Tomorrow is the first day with both of them in school. I drop Frances off at 8:45, then Clark at 9. What will I do with myself? And then! It will happen again on Thursday! Oh blessed day.

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.

on the downswing

My patience is as thin as a cheap shower curtain. I wish I knew why. Everything's been going so well; I've been calm and enjoying myself and generally upbeat. But now. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. These things come in cycles, come and go, my patience as well as their ability to frustrate. Clark is yelling "no" in earnest now, and some days for Frances nothing can go right. This morning, after many mishaps and agony on her part, we were getting in the car and she was still sort of crying. "Why are you crying?" I asked. "I'm having a bad day," she whimpered, which was the perfect thing to say, because there was no real reason for the drama but that. It slowed me, thankfully, and as I climbed in the driver's seat I said (only thinly veiling my exasperation), "What can I do for you, Frances?" She asked me to come over to her side of the car. I walked around and opened the sliding door and put my arms around her and she rested her head on me. "You don't have to go to school," I said. "You can stay and hang out with Clark and me if you want to. If you just don't feel like going, that's okay." It was interesting--she paused. Before that she said something in jealousy about how Clark got to play with me, and when I offered for her to stay too I think it freed her from feeling like she had no choice. She loves school, and after she paused she said she wanted to go to school, and then she seemed happy about the decision, about the situation, ready to start the car and her day. Before that she felt I was pushing her, making her (I was pushing her to get dressed...).

As I write this it occurs to me that perhaps some of the headbutting we do starts from little things I don't even realize, like getting dressed. Hm. I'm going to have to think on this. When I say, "It's time to ___ " I wonder if that alone sets her off a little. I wonder if I can rephrase things, approach it differently, somehow help her be a part of the decision process. I like that.

Already we use a sticker chart which has been very effective. She gets stickers for all kinds of things she does by herself, like getting on her jammies, or her clothes in the morning, or her shoes and coat without dallying when I ask, or cleaning up the toys. When she fills one row of stickers (only 6 in a row... she can do it in a day if she puts her mind to it) she gets a gigantic gumball--her choice of prizes. Then when she fills the whole sheet (7 rows total) she gets to go out for a special ice-cream outing. She isn't interested in picking out her clothes, a thing that many children use to explore their independence, I understand. I wonder if she's looking for it in other more abstract ways.

But I've got to think this through some more. Truth is, though the sticker chart is working, it's still manipulation. I still control the gumballs. Maybe there's a way for neither of us to be in control like that. Is there? She is only 3 after all. Is there a way for her to be in control too?

(this is prompting for your thoughts, by the way)

the next stage

Things have gotten hard again lately. I don't know exactly what's changed; perhaps several things all slammed together. Clark has certainly turned into a toddler full on. He'll be two in March and my goodness. He just screams and screams and screams and wants things and doesn't get his way and screams. It makes me nutso. He also wants to be carried all the time, all 30 pounds of him, and when my back is bothering me and I tell him he has to walk or I have a basket of laundry in my arms he just falls to pieces. Dire. So that's one thing.

The other major thing is Frances. She's really really testing limits now, trying to figure out where she has control and where she doesn't. She'll just say no. NO.

No.

When she throws a toy across the room and I ask her to pick it up. When I try to get her to use the bathroom before nap. When it's time to get on her shoes or coat. When I ask her to give me the screwdriver. When it's time to come to the table for dinner. When it's time to take a nap or go to bed or get in the car or the bath or the bed. Okay, maybe it's not quite as bad as all that, but it's bad. What's different about this from the two-year-old NOs (which I'm experiencing at the exact same time w/ Clark) is that the things he says no to are things he doesn't have a choice about: changing his diaper, getting his hands wiped after he's plunged them in his yogurt, those types of things. The things she says no to are things I can't possibly physically make her do if she really doesn't want to.

Which makes the battle we're having very interesting.

It also means I have to think through what I want to get out of this and how to go about it. I mean, I could break her will. I could lock her in her room when she won't go to bed. But that's no good. That's not the kind of parent I want to be, not the kind of relationship I want to have with her. I don't want her to think of me as the line in the sand, the rule enforcer, the thing against which she has to push in order to be her own self. Sometimes I have the energy or wherewithall and I get creative and step out of the battle. Night before last at bedtime when she wanted to go downstairs with her armful of babies I suggested that we make a bed for them in her closet so they could get some rest for tomorrow too. She actually turned around in the hallway and came back for that one. It was that same night that, when she got out of bed to start in on her list of delay tactics, I just sort of ignored her. I knew a battle would be painful and certain, so I continued putting sheets on the guest bed, folding laundry, cleaning up the kitchen. I refused to fight her, but I also refused to entertain her. She followed me around and wanted to help but I wouldn't let her... told her it was not time for her to help with the laundry because she was supposed to be in bed. The goal was to bore her to bed. At one point when I was doing the laundry and watching tv she said, 'I'm going to go bother Daddy" which I thought was a fine idea. He was going through bills and was certain to not let her slow him as well. I wouldn't let her take out any of her toys (again because she was supposed to be asleep, not playing w/ toys) but she did pull things out of her dress up bin and decorate herself when I wasn't looking. Of course, she didn't actually go to bed until after 9pm. What to do?

This is what parents mean when they say you have to pick your battles. I could fight with her all day long, about nearly everything. One thing I'm wrestling with is time out. She won't stay in time out anymore. So I've been holding her. I don't know how I feel about physically restraining her this way, but I can't see the other option. I just sit with her, calm, and I wait until the time is up.

Right now she thinks that I'm against her. (Which I sometimes am.) It's made me wonder recently if I say no to her too often, if she feels like I say it to her all day long. No, you can't play with that, no don't put barrettes on the dog's ears that hurts him, please put the yowling cat down, no let's not get out the paints right now while Clark is awake, no don't touch the christmas tree ornaments, no standing on the kitchen table, on and on. Also, she still wants me to dress her and help her go to the toilet and sometimes feed her, all of which she can do very well on her own, if a little more slowly. So two things: perhaps I can find ways to stop saying no so often, and rather than respond in the negative as a reflex, I can think up (before hand) things that she can do that she'll find fun and suggest those instead. Or I can just stop being so anal and let her do some of them. And second, I want to encourage her to do more by herself, want her to feel independent. Perhaps then she won't need to fight me so often to prove how independent she is.

Then I wonder, as I always do, how much of this is just a necessary stage that will occur and then pass no matter now I respond?

ALSO! I'm going to start doing more crafts with them. I know I've said this before, but this time I mean it. Crafts can solve all kinds of problems.

applying theory

I have tendinitis in my right elbow (tennis elbow without the tennis) and it makes typing hard. I think I've mentioned that before. It's been bothering me more lately which is why I haven't been posting. That's most of why I haven't been posting as often, anyway. The rest is because sometimes it's easier to just observe my life rather than process it. I think I've been observing, a thing that has its own merits.

The kids have started to play together, something that is satisfying on so many different levels. It's like a little cup of bright sunshine just under my ribs. Recently I took them to the childcare room at the gym and when I came to pick them up they were sitting facing each other with a toy between them, Frances explaining to Clark how to push the buttons. The room was teaming with children and Frances chose to play with her brother. She's started to call him "my brother" rather than by his name. Sometimes she says "my baby," or "MY baby." And he turns into pure lit joy when she talks to him.

Remember the book I was reading that was against timeouts? I found another. I haven't gotten very far into the 2nd so can't comment on it overall yet but the ever so strong railings against timeout got me thinking about it and its purpose. So I pulled back on it. Instead, I've been just talking to F, telling her it's not nice to pull the dog's ears, no you can't push Clark, don't climb on top of him, what's he saying to you when he screams. I also had been creating more of a democracy here in this house, letting her decide sometimes if she'd rather we go to the grocery or the kidtown at the gym, go to the library or stay home and play.

Then a few days ago Mitch and I were commiserating that she'd been pretty needy sort of suddenly, had been whiny and clingy and also acting out, and it wasn't until the next morning that it occurred to me it might be connected to these new changes. I knew already that she needs the limits to be very clearly stated. She feels insecure without them, doesn't know where she stands, and I suspect she feels frightened of her own power, exposed in the big world. A couple of days ago I started putting her in timeout again. It only happens probably once a day. Reading about timeout and considering its purpose has changed the way I approach it, however. I'm much more detached about it: "Welp, you hit Clark so I guess you have to go in timeout... that's the rule." This feels better to me, feels less aggressive, more right for my style and her needs.

Also, yesterday afternoon I decided we needed to get out of the house (Clark was having some serious cabin fever plus teething and was screeching non-stop) plus I needed some exercise so I settled on a walk in the stroller. Frances said she wanted to go on a walk, but when she realized there was a stroller involved she got pretty riled. "I walk on my own feet!" was what she said. Recently I might have thought that just getting out of the house was the point, so if she wanted to walk rather than ride that would be okay. But since I suspected my giving her too much power was a problem, I didn't let her choose. "Sometimes we have to do things we don't want to," I said (oh the triteness, the oversimplification, the pitiful voice of the parent...) and I strapped her into the stroller screaming at the top of her lungs. I did try to help her by letting her bring her blanket and her baby and the baby's blanket. In the end I also allowed a pacifier but insisted that it's only for the stroller and not when she gets out. We had a great time. In fact, she didn't want to come back at the end of the walk. We pointed out the fire hydrants, the flags in people's yards, the small mountains of snow. I told her about evergreens and deciduous trees and daylight savings. Clark sat completely contented, just looked around.

Her insecurity and whinyness have gone. Quite suddenly she's happier again, less needy. I believe these two changes (reinstituting timeout and limiting her power in choice) are the difference. One thing it makes clear is that you can't apply a child-raising theory across the board. Every child is different and some things work for some children and not for others. And for Frances, she needs the limits to be very clearly drawn, at least at this age. Will have to wait and see what she needs later on. It's hard to remember to be so flexible; we adults work so hard to be staid, steady. But the truth is that the kid is always changing and so we should be too.

new world

I feel like I'm in the middle of big changes. A sort of paradigm shift, a change of the lens through which I view my life and my children and the world in general. I've been reading this book--Playful Parenting--and at first I didn't think it was saying anything so radical. Its premise is to help children work out their fears and anxieties and conflicts through play rather than through talking to them (which generally falls on deaf ears), but it's also about discipline. The author makes the case against timeout as a concept, which has got me thinking. He argues that misbehavior is simply the result of a child's feeling a lack of connection and then acting out, and that timeout only further isolates the child, so it actually is harmful. In addition, if you just send the kid to timeout, you give up the chance to really teach, which is ultimately what we want to do anyway. It's not all quite as simple as that...

What has happened is that I've started playing with F differently. We now play games that are connected to our conflicts. For ex, we have one game where I hold the babydoll and she hits her. The doll cries big racking sobs and Frances has to go into timeout until the bell rings (which is about 3 seconds), then she comes over and hugs the baby and kisses her and tells her she's sorry, and then she hits her again. There's another where I crawl around on the floor pretending to be Clark. She pushes me over and I cry, and when I cry I sort of fall on her and grab her in a big hug and roll around on the floor with her while I sob. She thinks both these games are hilarious. At first I didn't know what I thought about them, about whether they would help her work through the problems we have with her hitting or pushing Clark, but the book is rather insistent that you should follow the child's lead in the game and play it however she wants to. (which means let the child overtly direct play by telling you what to do, or do whatever makes the child giggle which is the sign you are at the right place.) He says not to worry about what actually happens in the game, that the child is able to differentiate play from real life and that the play allows her to let off steam about a real situation that gives her anxiety.

The other thing that's changed with her is the way I respond to her "NO!" I used to just say as calmly as I could, "yes, it is time for your nap" or "yes, you've already had your vitamin today and can't have 10 more." Of course, we'd just go back and forth, her will against mine. A few times now, instead, I've sort of mimicked her in an over-exaggerated way. I act like a toddler and stamp my foot and holler as loudly as she does. Sometimes I'll say, "NO!" taking the same side, or sometimes I'll say, "YES!" and sometimes I switch back and forth without reason. She really laughs at this. It must be funny to see Mom acting this way. It breaks the tension and makes our interaction that of play rather than that of Mom against Kid. And we just move on from whatever conflict we had.

The result of these is that Frances is noticeably more agreeable. She's happier. She's less clingy, less needy, more willing to go to bed without bargaining for another story, another kiss from Dad, some water, to be held. Maybe some of this change is just developmental and would have happened anyway, but I don't think so. For awhile she was having tantrums at least once a day, sometimes ten a day. I can't actually tell you the last time she had a tantrum. Not yesterday; not all weekend; I don't think last week even.

And I feel closer to her. That's the best part. I think this approach of play has somehow allowed me to open to her in a very literal way. The book suggests that we as humans want to connect, need to connect, and that play helps us do that with our children because we are meeting them at their level, coming into their world to join them. What's odd about it is that it appears so far to simply be a side effect of changing my actions toward her. If only all our problems took as little emotional energy to solve.

Frances the tantrum tornado

We have entered a new dimension: tantrum world. She's been having tantrums for ages, of course, but this is all together a new level. It's not the intensity so much, though the pitch has changed and the upper register is operatic. (It's so bad that I simply can't hold her when she's screaming like that. My ears can't take it. She also fluctuates the pitch up and down, like a siren--a new sound for us.) Rather, it's the frequency. They are constant--all day long. About everything. Literally. This morning it was changing her diaper, then putting on her clothes, then what kind of juice she wanted, then having to turn the tv off, then wanting her paci, then when we got in her crib where her paci is allowed it was the color of paci. We had a brief reprieve while Clark was napping--we went outside for a lovely walk in the wind. (It's really windy here.) Last night before bed it was wanting some "medicine" (damn the makers of tylenol for making the stuff so yummy), then another book, and on and on until she passed out in her bed.

I'm not talking about crying fits; these are tantrums. She loses complete control and shakes and flings herself and can't stop. I feel bad for her; they've got to scare her. It could be just her age and all, but Mitch and I suspect the problem was that she was sick this weekend and we let up on all kinds of rules like how much tv she can watch, how often she can have the paci, etc. Now she doesn't know where the boundaries are, so she's testing them all. From what I understand (the little bit of toddler psychology I've read) the tantrums come from a lack of feeling in control, from feeling unsafe. Toddlers want boundaries so they can feel safe. And the lack of control she has during the tantrum mimics the lack of control she feels in her life.

So today I'm reinforcing boundaries. That's about all I'm doing. We have enough leftovers in the fridge for dinner so I'm not cooking, not doing laundry, not accomplishing much of anything except boundary reinforcement. It's interesting--although the screaming is tiresome and loud, I actually find this easier than usual. I mean, it's very clear to me how to deal with this. (Not that everyone should operate this way, or that it's effective for every kid, but it seems Mitch and I have figured out how to deal with her in this struggle.) When she's screeching I tell her I'm going to put her on the floor and that once she's calm I'll come back. Then I go and do some dishes or straighten up or whatever, so she can still see me--I haven't completely abandoned her--but I don't give her any attention until she quiets down. I want her to be allowed her feelings, but she needs to learn that this behavior is not okay. She can pitch a fit if she wants, but she can't have my attention while she does it.

Usually when she's in some new place I struggle with whether I'm doing the right thing, how I should respond, and often I feel like a bad parent. Maybe because this time it's so constant I'm more prepared for it, or maybe it's just deciding ahead of time how I'm going to deal with her so I'm not questioning it in the moment, but I just don't have the self-doubt I usually have in these situations. I'm exerting much less emotional energy and the tantrums don't actually seem hard to deal with. I'm actually calm, not riled, and she's not pushing my buttons. I find this quite ironic. It makes me think that when Clark gets to this stage it won't be so hard on me because I'll have more confidence about how to do this parenting thing...

It could also be the prednisone. Yesterday morning I was still in a lot of pain and called the doctor on call out of desperation. He prescribed another round of steroids since I discovered the last round was half the dose that I'm usually prescribed. No wonder they didn't work. So I'm headache free to deal with tantrums (which makes the screaming much more tolerable), and maybe have a kick of energy to boot! Still, I'm going to nap as soon as I finish this post, since both babes are sleeping. Oh, I hear the girl awake in her room. Onward I go.

imperfect parenting

My counselor wants me this week to think about imperfect parenting because, he pointed out, no one is a perfect parent. We all do it wrong, we all screw up. I've never before had a 2-year-old so how can I know how to perfectly parent one? I of course understand this idea, but I'm having trouble applying it. It's hard to have a toddler. Sometimes it's really hard. Frances is--I don't know--something strange is going on with her. At first I thought she was getting sick and wasn't feeling well but now I think it's a stage, and not a fun one. She's very clingy and whiny and needy, and everything upsets her. Tiny things that go wrong are terrible traumas, complete with flinging herself on the floor, shrieking, throwing toys, and sometimes it all just puts me over the edge. On the way home from preschool today I dug out some tissue from the glove compartment and used it as ear plugs to dampen the intensity of the crying. This was after pulling over and climbing into the back seat twice to try to comfort her and get her to tell me if something was wrong past the tiny bump she got on her knee while climbing into the van.

Oh, I remember. She was asking for her juice but I hadn't brought it with me; I'd only brought milk. So maybe she was crying not only because she couldn't have something she wanted, but perhaps because I hadn't provided for her as well as she would have liked. (Or as well as usual, because usually I have her juice with me as well as a peanut butter sandwich when I pick her up from school.) Hm. Going to have to think more on that.

As I type this she is screaming at the top of her lungs in her crib, screaming in her outside voice simply because I told her not to. My approach this minute is to ignore it because I frankly don't know what else to do. At least her brother isn't napping right now and, really, the sound doesn't travel too well through these plaster walls. I know she's testing limits, which is what toddlers do. Sometimes she'll accidentally hit Clark with a toy or something and when I say, "be careful, Honey. Don't hit Clark," she'll look at me out the corner of her eye, pause, clock him very deliberately, then gleefully hold up her arms for me to carry her into time out. What to do? Just the same thing I've been doing? Just repeat myself? Over and over tell her, "no hitting," then put her in time out? When I tell her no and she laughs it makes me completely crazy.

The other thing my counselor and I talked about is the difference between being authoritative and being harsh. I'm not sure I know the difference in practice, frankly. And sometimes when I want to be authoritative I have trouble reigning myself in, keeping down my own anger. When I keep it down well I don't know if I'm authoritative enough. Isn't there someone who can come and tell me how to do this???

A few minutes ago the shrieking upstairs turned to crying so I thought I'd investigate. And when I opened the door Frances was sitting in her crib naked from the waist down, holding out her hands to me, hands that were completely and totally covered in poop. "Mommy, I need a wipe," was what she said. And that was true. So I ran a bath, took the rest of her (poop covered) clothes off, and carried her wrapped in an old towel to the tub. The poop was even in her hair. After washing her I left her to play in the bath while I stripped the bed of its sheets, blankets (security and regular), pillow, babydolls, stuffed animals, books, pacis (multiple), and finger puppets. About the time I came back upstairs from running all that to the laundry room, I heard Frances saying "Mommy this is hot." I thought maybe she'd turned the water on but when I went in I found she wasn't saying it was "hot" but "hard", meaning it was hard to squeeze the bottle of baby wash into the water. The reason it was hard was because she had already squeezed it ALL out. At least she was clean. *sigh* While this was happening, by the way, Clark was happily entertaining himself in her bedroom by chewing on the cord (unplugged) to the fan. It's comical this is my life. I do prefer the comedy to the drama of earlier.

rambling

When F hits C and he starts in surprise and then scrunches up his face in panting little sobs, I just lose my mind. This morning I was nursing him on the couch and she was lounging beside me, all smiles and talking, when she suddenly kicked him (very on purpose) in the head. Inside I went ballistic. My internal reaction was so intense that I couldn't even respond to her--I just got up off the couch and walked away with the crying baby. I stayed mad at her a long time, which isn't helpful. She had, I'm sure, forgotten what she'd done, and wouldn't know why I was being short with her. I know it's not nearly the only time she'll be rough with him, and someday he'll be big enough to turn around and whop her back...

We're leaving for NC on Thursday, driving down with everyone in the car--Mitch, me, both babes, and the dog. 11 or more hours says mapquest, and that's obviously not including stopping to nurse the baby. It could take us days. I'm optimistic about it all; not about how quickly we'll get there, but about enjoying ourselves on the way, even if we don't arrive until Sunday. Today I tried to organize the house and pack; tomorrow I have to get the car completely loaded up so we can leave early early Thurs morning. All this and Mitch at school the whole time. I seriously don't know how single parents do this. Even with my two babysitters I'm completely exhausted, emotionally drained. I can't even wash a dish before both kids are in bed. By that time the kitchen is a war zone and I'm all out of juice.

F has started to bargain. When I say "only one song before bed," she says "two songs." And if I say, "okay, two songs and then it's time for bed," she says, "three songs." I keep my wits about me and stick to two. Her favorite phrase right now is "Cece play little bit," which means, "I want to play some more instead of do whatever it is you want me to." Night before last she woke at 3am crying hard, a bad dream, and when I went in she said, "Cece play little bit." Cece is what she calls herself. Used to be that's the best she could do with the name Frances, but now she can say it fine and chooses to still call herself Cece. If you say, "Is your name Cece?" she says, "no. Frances." Her other favorite phrase is "more talking mommy?" which means she wants me to tell her things--about the upcoming trip, about what we're going to do tomorrow, about things that have already happened. She loves to hear these stories. "More!" she says. "More talking mommy?" (which sounds like "ma-taki-mommy")

Oh my goodness I'm tired. It's 10pm and M just called to say he's on his way home. Poor guy is so stressed trying to finish his dissertation. Sometimes I think, "I'm not cut out for this," then I remember that I'm doing it alone and it won't be like this after this push to the end. It won't be like this after August. It won't be like this forever. It's my current mantra. Eye on the ball.