not much

I know I've been posting infrequently these days. I think it's because things are going well. Ha! The trap of good times. I mean, when everything's skipping right along there's not so much to wrestle with here in writing, you know? I'm feeling good, I seem to have an extra parcel of patience, I find the kids interesting rather than exasperating.

There was an interesting incident yesterday morning. I was on the phone trying to place an order of cupcakes to take to Frances's school on Friday for her birthday, and at the same time was slapping together grilled cheese for the little people. Clark was having a general meltdown in the background because he was hungry and tired. And Frances wanted me to find her a balloon to try to blow up. I asked her to wait until I was off the phone. She cried. I explained that I didn't know where one was but I could help her after I was done on the phone. She wailed. She whined. I finally told the bakery I'd have to call them back. Clark was still melting down and I was hurrying with the grilled cheese and Frances was still whining. And I snapped. I turned and hollered, "Frances, I am trying to get lunch together and I can't help you find a balloon right now! I told you I would help you later. If you want to cry about it you'll have to go upstairs." And she said, "You're yelling at me." Which was the most perfect response. I sighed. "Yes, you're right. I was yelling. I shouldn't yell," I said. As I was putting grilled cheese on plates she brought it up again. "Why did you yell?" she asked. "I was frustrated," I said. "I was trying to order cupcakes for your birthday, and you were yelling at me, which made me upset." She nodded. "I'm sorry, Mommy," she said. "I shouldn't have yelled." The look on her face said she'd had some sort of realization, but who knows.

She's been hollering at Clark a lot these days. She yells in his face, "Give me that back!" and he puts his hands over his face and sobs. Poor guy. Mitch thinks she's learning it at school (she can't possibly be learning it around here...) and maybe she is. In any case, I need to point it out to her, need to help her hear herself. There have been a couple of times when I've asked her not to yell at him and she's said, "I didn't." And she really didn't hear that she did. Habits, habits.

free to be three

Well, the birthday was a success. We had the party early because her grandparents were in town, and organizing the party left me a little torn. Last year we invited everyone--neighbors, friends, Mitch's collegues with kids her age--and it was a big fun cookout with hotdogs and baked beans and watermelon and beer and cake. This year I was considering the same thing, but when I asked her if she wanted lots of people here or only a small group, she said small. Then she said the same thing when I asked her again the next day. And the next. She gave me a list of four friends of hers that she wanted here and she stuck to it. I suggested the kids of some of our favorite people, people I would want for my own sake to have at the party, and she said no. So asked again (children are fickle, right?), and again no. She really knew her mind. I considered ignoring her and planning the party I wanted for her--I mean, she is only three, but then it was her birthday. So little it was.



I try to let her be herself. I try to let her have her own opinions. Mitch lets her be herself so much that whenever he dresses her he insists she pick out her own clothes. I can't let go of control that much yet. She has some mighty cute outfits that I don't want to go unworn, for one thing, and I do have to look at what she's wearing all day.

So in the spirit of letting her be herself: night before last she asked to have her hair cut. Her hair that's never even been trimmed, her baby hair hanging now long down her back. She'd asked a few days before and I said that we'd see how she felt in a day or two to be sure it was what she wanted. In the morning it was still what she wanted. And the next day. So Monday night when she asked again I said, "You sure?" and she said, "Yup! I want it too look like Sophia's." Sophia is her favorite friend and has a little bob and bangs. I said, "You want me to cut it right now?" She brightened up and said, "Yes I do!" I felt a pang. "Your long hair is so pretty!" I said. "You might not be able to wear it in braids anymore, and I love your braids." From the next room Mitch called out, "You can do whatever you want, Frances." Sigh.

But I do want her to be herself. Theoretically. She wants to be someone else, like Sophia or one of the girls on Barney. "Just like Sophia's," she said. So I sat her up on a stool, got the sissors and a comb, and I cut her hair. Short little 1950s bangs, the rest up to her shoulders, which is still pretty long. "Does it look like Sophia's?" she asked. "It looks a little like Sophia's," I said. "The bangs are shorter, but they will grow." I saw a stray hair I'd missed and asked her to sit still again and she said, "Does it look like Sophia's now?" She insisted we call her Sophia for the rest of the night. Later she asked again if it looked like Sophia's and I said, "It will never look just like Sophia's, honey, because Sophia has wavy hair." "I have wavy hair," she said. "No, your hair is straight," I told her. "I have wavy hair and curly hair," she said. "No, it really is straight, Frances," I said. "Sophia!" she said. I said, "Right. I forgot. Sophia. You have straight hair, Sophia."

my time

Okay, I'm doing it. I'm sitting beside the pool at the gym eating a tuna sandwich, the kids in Kidtown. I did not work out. I came in, dropped the kids off, showered (!), then stretched out on a lounge chair and opened my laptop. They even have music out here, something I've never noticed before, what with the shrieking and splashing that usually accompanies my time here with kids.

I am not without guilt, but now that I'm sitting here--sunshine, light breeze, blue water, crisp pickle on the side--my guilt is thinning. This is just lovely. We took a 40 minute walk in the stroller this morning so I'm alleviated the specific guilt of not exercising. Any other guilt I have is born solely of not being with my kids, not doing more, playing more, being more.

Sometimes I think that the guilt that mothers feel is just part of the job description. Sometimes I think that rather than fight it, try to free myself from it, I should just accept that it's going to be there and then ignore it. Which is what I'm going to do this minute as I close my eyes and listen to the cicadas behind the music.

monetary cost of sanity

We took a babysitter with us to a 5-year-old's b-day party a couple weekends ago. The issue was that we had two parties that night... the 5-year-old's at 5:30 and then the second at 7, an adults only party on a boat so we couldn't be late (lest me miss the debarquement). Which meant we didn't have time to take the kids home in order to leave them with a sitter, so we had the sitter come to the first party and then she took them home from there while we went on to the 2nd party. Following?

Anyhoo, afterwards I swore that I'm never going anywhere without a sitter again. Oh my it was fabulous. I got to talk to people. And eat food. Seriously. There were crafts at the party and Frances requested that the sitter come do them with her instead of us, and later when Clark was crazy crazy crazy I was able to just ask the sitter to fetch him or make sure he wasn't flinging himself from the porch railing while I continued my conversation with a friend.

Then last weekend we went to a big picnic and I forgot about my previous assertion and I spent the entire time either entertaining one child or chasing the other. Every conversation I had was no more than 3 sentences long. I only ate half my piece of cake. I told Mitch we should have brought a sitter and he just shook his head at me.

The issue is -- what kind of people does it make us if we bring a sitter to a social gathering? Honestly, I think I would look a little sideways my friends if they did it. I would think of it as excessive, as luxurious, and maybe ridiculous. On the other hand, maybe I don't care. Maybe it's worth $20 to be able to enjoy myself socially.

It won't be like this forever. One day, probably sooner than I realize, the kids will be old enough to entertain themselves running around the field with the other kids while I chat with a friend about the chickens she's keeping in her urban backyard.

Does the fact that it won't be like this forever mean I should bring a sitter with me or that I shouldn't? Hm.

why?

Frances: Why is Milo barking?

me: He's barking at those other dogs.

Frances: Why is he barking at those other dogs?

me: Because he wants to play with them.

Frances: Why does he want to play with them?

me: Because he likes playing with other dogs.

Frances: Why does he like playing with other dogs?

me: I'm going to stop answering questions now, Frances.

Frances: Why you going to stop answering questions?

a good day

Took the kids BY MYSELF this morning to the pool. And I was successful! Which basically means no one, including me, vomited or turned into a screaming lunatic. I've discovered that things in general go so much more smoothly when I prep Frances--tell her how long (or how little) we're going to stay, explain why we won't have more time, and ask if she'll be a big helper and come when I ask and help us get into the shower when I ask and help us all get dressed. Sometimes I have to promise big rewards like yesterday when we went to Michaels and I told her on the way that we weren't going to buy any toys or any candy but if she was a helper and minded well she could have some bubble gum at the end. Which I was more than happy to provide considering that things had gone surprisingly well. So I have a new tactic. Yay me!

I just a few minutes ago waved to the kids as they rode off in their sitter's car. She's great--our sitter. She's been with us nearly a year now, two afternoons or so a week. She works a regular full time job until 4pm so gets here around 4:15. Some days she plays with the kids at home while I run errands or whatever, but more often she takes them to her folks' house. They play and sometimes swim in the pool and she feeds them dinner and gives them baths and then brings them home in their pjs. She's got two sisters also, one still in high school, so the kids get to be a part of another family, have their world grow a little, see the dynamics of how a different family works. Her parents have apparently gotten really attached to the kids and see them as a regular part of their lives. All of which is fabulous fabulous fabulous. I don't have any plans today for what I'm going to do with my sitter time (past this blog post, anyway) and as they were driving off I thought about that. Usually I would have a lot of anxiety around wasting my sitter time--I would feel pressure to accomplish things, errands, stuff--but when they go to her parents' house I don't. I think it's because I don't feel like this time is for me (though of course it is...), but is for them. I feel it's so important to them--they just love it--especially since we don't have any family around here. So even if I accomplish nothing it's worth the money.

Now off to accomplish something.

baby life

Mitch's brother and family came to visit and we all went up to Niagara. We did the Maid of the Mist boat ride which gets you right up to the falls and is supposed to be wonderful, but I wouldn't know because it turns out that big loud waterfalls are not spectacular but frightening to little kids. Frances was crying before we even got on the boat and Clark didn't start until the spray hit us. They furnish you with lovely blue ponchos that are the weight and texture of saran wrap and that was the first thing Clark felt strongly against. And he wouldn't even go to Mitch so I could take a look at the waterfalls--just clung to me screaming mommymommymommy! Ah well. And it turns out the rest of Niagara is Las Vegas and Myrtle Beach all crammed into two blocks. I wasn't expecting that.

And! Clark is a crazy man. Crazy. Nearly 18 months and knows what he wants. I think he's on some developmental cusp right now; he wants to screw the top on his sippy cup or pour milk from his bowl into a plastic jug but he CAN'T--doesn't have the manual dexterity. Then he gets frustrated, puckers his lips, snorts out his nose, and hits something with a big wide swat. If there's nothing nearby to hit, he walks across the room and hits me. And the screaming! Oh my he screams in frustration.

Clark's also trying to talk. He has a few words reliably in his vocabulary and the rest are whole paragraphs of babble. Very cute. The top words are Elmo, Mommy, Daddy, Down, and No, and Mine. The way he says my name melts me into a puddle (Mom-MEE) but interestingly does not always refer to me alone. Sometimes he calls his dad this, or recently his Uncle Kent. It think for him it's not a name so much as a feeling--of comfort, safety, love. Furthermore, he doesn't want me to leave the room. Yes, we've gotten to that stage. He climbs up me, hugs my head, presses his lips against my cheek. It's sweet, but it's also a little overwhelming, though not as overwhelming as it was when Frances did it. (did Frances ever really do it??)

back to timeout

Again with the lull in posting... Been busy over here, family in town, Mitch's brother and wife and daughters, which was great big amounts of fun and energy and no time for posting. They're gone now, back to our routine.

I've reinstituted timeout. I'd been having so many problems with responding to Frances when she shoves Clark--I become a screaming lunatic. I was really struggling, hating the way I was so enraged but unable to control it. So we've gone back to timeout. I've done it not for Frances--I don't really think it helps her or teaches her not to do whatever she's doing--but for me. And so far it works! Rather than having to come up with a response to each situation, I have something I can turn to; I can send her to timeout. I don't have to question myself because the consequence of her action is already built in.

When I decided to try this route I told her about it and how it would work. She agreed to this, but the first 2 times she did have a bit of a fit. I allow her to have her blanket and paci in timeout (after all, it's supposed to be a time to calm down for her, and what better way?) but no toys. Now that she understands the rules it runs pretty smoothly. Thank goodness.

In other news, Clark is down to one nap a day! He made the transition practically over night--it's amazing how flexible he is--and can go down for his nap anywhere within a 2 hour window. If I pushed F's nap back that much at his age she would fall into a hundred pieces, bless her heart. But not Clark! I'm so relieved to have an easy one. If I knew the 3rd might be as relaxed I think I'd consider it more seriously. But I'm not considering it.

Now and then I come up with yet another reason we should not have another baby and I announce it to Mitch, which he finds funny because he's already decided we're done. I guess somewhere inside I still wonder, or long, or something, but I do have quite a long list of reasons it would be better for us to stop with two. I'm sticking to it.

solo

Mitch has been gone--did I parade this before? Tonight is my 3rd full day and night on my own with the kids. Finally they're in bed omigod and now time is all mine for a couple of hours. Mitch gets home at midnight so by morning we will back to tolerable amounts of exhaustion and exasperation.

How do single parents do this? I've asked this question before, if I remember, while trying to catch 2-year-old puke in a bowl and simultaniously strip the bed as Mitch dealt with the screeching baby. Maybe they've all lost their minds. A whole segment of the population walking around without any marbles.

not that kind

I've been thinking about all this (see prev post) pretty much constantly the last few days and trying it all out with my kids. Here's where I've landed:

1) I think my friend Erynn is right (ebp from the comments section) that this kind of constant play and attention gives children a deep sense of security.

2) What I want to be able to do (and what I think Wendy does) is incorporate my children into all my activities rather than compartmentalize and see playing with them as one thing and my housework as another, etc.

3) It's possible that temperamentally I will not be able to do this.

The only thing I've ever aspired to be (when I'm honest with myself) is a mom. The only thing I deeply want for my children is a sense of security. I've been taught to believe that if you want something badly enough you can work for it and get it. But this--maybe not. Parenting pushes me sometimes to my edges, and then I'm not the parent I want to be. It's possible I'm not acknowledging my limitations, not looking realistically at who I am and of what I'm capable. My husband is convinced that I would be happier if I were working part time, and maybe he's right. It makes me sad, frankly, because I so badly want to be successful at this. But perhaps being successful at mothering, for me, means being with them only part time.

Acknowledging my limitations.

Today is the third day I've been alone with them, Mitch in Chicago for a conference. I'm stretched, I'm tired, I'm frazzled. I have a feeling that the post nap activities might involve a good bit of the idiot box. And right now I feel great about that decision, certain that it's the healthiest thing for me and for the group in general.