Last week I tried to get the same five items off my "to do" list; I tried for five days straight. My son napped well for one of those days, during which time my baby girl napped for 20 minutes. In response to my nearly-in-tears recital of one day's events wherein I explain to my husband, "he didn't nap", he says, "uh-huh. okay." No, I'm sorry, but it is most certainly not "okay".
It took me a while to figure out what was happening in this situation to leave me on the brink of sobbing, while my husband stood there with a rational "so-what-would-you-like-me-to-do-about-it" look on his face. It's the promise of a nap that is so overwhelmingly disappointing when lost. It's the shattering of that back-of-your-mind-not-quite-on-your-consciousness thought that if you just make it to through to mid-afternoon you will have at least an hour, if not more, of mind-numbing quiet. An hour, if not more, of time to do WHATEVER: the laundry that needs folding; the laundry that needs doing; the dishes in the sink; the dishes in the dishwasher; the floor that's dirty; the bills stacked up; the mail stacked up; your email unopened; the phone calls to make; a quick shower; a brief nap; an uninterrupted trip to the bathroom; put away groceries; put away laundry; cook something; clean up after cooking something; put away the folded laundry; listen to YOUR music (even if it is with headphones); or just sit quietly and regroup. Sometimes it's hard to settle on what to do first, but when you lose that longed for time, all you can see before you and all you can hear in your head is what you are NOT getting done. And if you're exhausted, as we nearly all are, and you longed for your own little nap time, well now you're a little cranky too.
Last week I sent this text to several friends of mine:
"Naptime" today: I pull up at the house at 1:30pm, both kids are asleep. I bring the baby (and all the random STUFF) from the car. I bring my sleeping toddler inside. He wakes slightly, wants to know the exact location of his new digger truck. Seems to fall back to sleep. I'm about to sit down when the baby wakes screaming. I coax her back to sleep w/paci, rocking of carseat, and eventual backup assistance of "swing converter for car seat thingy". I go to the bathroom. My toddler wakes up. Needs the bathroom.
(Yaddayaddayadda), back in his bed for continued nap...oh no he needs the bathroom again (repeat yadda).
The baby wakes screaming. I take her to nurse on the sofa. My son wanders in "all done seep"; riiiiight. I take him back. The baby, left sitting in the living room, gets hysterical (the kind with the silence before the scream, where her mouth is open to cry and nothing is coming out). Now my son is gated in (more hysterics) and she's nursing...
My husband wonders why I can't get done A, B, or C "while THEY are sleeping".
I think my husband needs surveillance video to comprehend my days...
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Mommy Dearest...
Lately I seem to be having the same conversation over and again, except with different friends of mine. Everyone with a child between the ages of 2 and 4 seems to be on edge these days, especially those with an additional younger child (or more) in the household. Our conversations circle around the same issues and the stress and exhaustion and barely-hanging-on strain in our voices echo each other. The way we live in our society today, there is a solitude that comes with at-home parenting, a solitude for which I was not entirely prepared. Even if we make for ourselves a community of friends to fill in for out-of-town family, most are still a car ride away, and rarely do we get time to have a decent, uninterrupted phone conversation. Every at-home parent I know, most especially those with more than one child, races out of the house in the morning, panic at their backs lest they wind up in the house all day with no one and nothing but the children and the four walls.
But there are times, inevitably, when we are most definitely alone. Times when we are home and it's just us and the kids...and nothing seems to go right, and everything seems to push to the limit our tolerance for stress:
You're giving the baby a bath, in her infant tub that is sliding around within the larger tub. She's hysterical because she only slept 20 minutes all day, and her sudsy little body is so slippery that as she twists and turns and fights your every attempt to wash her (and stands up screaming...at 6 months!) you think any second she's going to smack her little head on something. Your toddler runs into the bathroom, slamming his truck against the back of your leg as you're crouched on the floor next to the tub, drenched at this point. He pokes the baby's eyes and, as she's screaming, turns around and slams shut the bathroom door, effectively locking himself in with you and the hysterical baby in the 3x3 bathroom, and begins to scream himself. Your head feels like it's going to explode and you snatch the soaking wet baby against yourself, open the door and toss your toddler on the other side, screaming "GET OUT" before you lock it shut against him. The baby's still screaming and covered in soap and you now have to kneel back down and fight her through the rest of her bath before you can dry her, nurse her, and hope to the heavens that she pass out with exhaustion. As you sit down to nurse her, your toddler comes angelically into the room with the baby's pacifier, sweetly explaining that he brought it for you. Your last response to him still rings in your ears and you feel horrible for losing yourself in the moment. "I love you," you say as you kiss him. "I love you," he says and wanders off. "I don't want to be THAT kind of mom", you think to yourself.
But if you're already worried about the kind of parent you are, chances are slim that you'll morph into some Joan Crawford nightmare-of-a-mother. I try to assess my reactions to situations and make an effort to apologize when I've over reacted. At the end of the day, parenthood is an evolving role; all one can do is learn daily and move on. Besides, if you want to see just how far you really are from "THAT" kind of parent, pick up a copy of PUSH by Sapphire, or rent the film version, "Precious", and reassess your "bad" day.
But there are times, inevitably, when we are most definitely alone. Times when we are home and it's just us and the kids...and nothing seems to go right, and everything seems to push to the limit our tolerance for stress:
You're giving the baby a bath, in her infant tub that is sliding around within the larger tub. She's hysterical because she only slept 20 minutes all day, and her sudsy little body is so slippery that as she twists and turns and fights your every attempt to wash her (and stands up screaming...at 6 months!) you think any second she's going to smack her little head on something. Your toddler runs into the bathroom, slamming his truck against the back of your leg as you're crouched on the floor next to the tub, drenched at this point. He pokes the baby's eyes and, as she's screaming, turns around and slams shut the bathroom door, effectively locking himself in with you and the hysterical baby in the 3x3 bathroom, and begins to scream himself. Your head feels like it's going to explode and you snatch the soaking wet baby against yourself, open the door and toss your toddler on the other side, screaming "GET OUT" before you lock it shut against him. The baby's still screaming and covered in soap and you now have to kneel back down and fight her through the rest of her bath before you can dry her, nurse her, and hope to the heavens that she pass out with exhaustion. As you sit down to nurse her, your toddler comes angelically into the room with the baby's pacifier, sweetly explaining that he brought it for you. Your last response to him still rings in your ears and you feel horrible for losing yourself in the moment. "I love you," you say as you kiss him. "I love you," he says and wanders off. "I don't want to be THAT kind of mom", you think to yourself.
But if you're already worried about the kind of parent you are, chances are slim that you'll morph into some Joan Crawford nightmare-of-a-mother. I try to assess my reactions to situations and make an effort to apologize when I've over reacted. At the end of the day, parenthood is an evolving role; all one can do is learn daily and move on. Besides, if you want to see just how far you really are from "THAT" kind of parent, pick up a copy of PUSH by Sapphire, or rent the film version, "Precious", and reassess your "bad" day.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Toddler Toilet Learning
This past week my son and I embarked on a new adventure together: toilet learning. For me it was a real lesson in letting go, for I would have no control over the situation. For him it was a lesson in paying attention to his body in a way he had NEVER taken the time to do before. Needless to say, I had NO idea how things would unfold.
Now, I'll be honest. This being my first time through a toilet learning experience, I really felt at a loss. I had no idea how to embark. I took a friend's advice and didn't leave the house for a few days (it was raining anyway). Tuesday, day one, was an accelerated learning experience: my son peed through four pairs of underpants in less than 90 minutes...but he learned to hold it after THAT :) Thursday was our first venture out...to the playground around the corner. He was doing great. Suddenly, from across the playground, standing in a dirt patch in the corner of the gated space, my son calls out to me, "PEEPEE! Pee pee in the toilet!!", as he literally held himself, knees locked. It was his first out-of-house bathroom moment. I tossed my six month old to my friend (yes, thankfully I had company) and ran to him, yanking down his pants and training underpants and directing him to the nearest bush. Nothing. Not a drop. False alarm, or so I thought. Then I realized what was about to happen and it was NOT urination. "The potty!!", I screamed to my friend, "the potty is under the stroller!" She ran to help me, the baby flopping and spitting up everywhere because of course she was nursing when I tossed her into new hands in the first place: but it was too late. My son had graced the little dirt patch with an offering to make proud any local pooch. "I MAKE IT!", my son gushed, beaming from ear to ear. "Wow", he sighed, still gazing down at his achievement, "that was hard". I almost cried from suppressed laughter (my friend had to walk away...her laughter was not suppressed). "I am SO PROUD of you", I managed with a straight face, "so PROUD". He puffed out his chest and went back to playing; I scooped the poop and found my mini hand sanitizer.
Since then we have had general success and I'm not sure who's enthusiasm is greater. I know it's different for every child and every family, but so far things have been great and I say just take the plunge and go for it. What's the worst that could happen? :)
Now, I'll be honest. This being my first time through a toilet learning experience, I really felt at a loss. I had no idea how to embark. I took a friend's advice and didn't leave the house for a few days (it was raining anyway). Tuesday, day one, was an accelerated learning experience: my son peed through four pairs of underpants in less than 90 minutes...but he learned to hold it after THAT :) Thursday was our first venture out...to the playground around the corner. He was doing great. Suddenly, from across the playground, standing in a dirt patch in the corner of the gated space, my son calls out to me, "PEEPEE! Pee pee in the toilet!!", as he literally held himself, knees locked. It was his first out-of-house bathroom moment. I tossed my six month old to my friend (yes, thankfully I had company) and ran to him, yanking down his pants and training underpants and directing him to the nearest bush. Nothing. Not a drop. False alarm, or so I thought. Then I realized what was about to happen and it was NOT urination. "The potty!!", I screamed to my friend, "the potty is under the stroller!" She ran to help me, the baby flopping and spitting up everywhere because of course she was nursing when I tossed her into new hands in the first place: but it was too late. My son had graced the little dirt patch with an offering to make proud any local pooch. "I MAKE IT!", my son gushed, beaming from ear to ear. "Wow", he sighed, still gazing down at his achievement, "that was hard". I almost cried from suppressed laughter (my friend had to walk away...her laughter was not suppressed). "I am SO PROUD of you", I managed with a straight face, "so PROUD". He puffed out his chest and went back to playing; I scooped the poop and found my mini hand sanitizer.
Since then we have had general success and I'm not sure who's enthusiasm is greater. I know it's different for every child and every family, but so far things have been great and I say just take the plunge and go for it. What's the worst that could happen? :)
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Mother's Day...
Today was my third "Mother's Day" as a mother, but my first as a mother of more than one child. There were no gifts or cards exchanged, but we spent the day out as a family and now at the end of the day I feel a sense of contentment. As I think back over our day, searching for this source of peace, I realize there were no tantrums or screaming fits; no bruises or cuts; no arguments or yelling; no throwing; no throwing up; no spitting up; no throwing food; no peeing or pooing beyond the confines of one's diaper; no blatant disregard for parental authority; no spousal impatience; no public embarrassment; no lost toys; no lost shoes; no lost pacifiers; no lost "special" sippy cups; no coveting of toys; no television; no destroyed house; no destroyed clothes; no dirty dishes; no laundry; no cleaning; no bills; no cooking; no errands; no doctor's appointments; no wishing to be anywhere but here...
...not much to speak of, anyway.
...not much to speak of, anyway.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Great Expectations
Recently I've been witness to the results of expecting more from your children. When my son was less than two years old, maybe 18 months, my husband came home one day with a little tykes basketball hoop for him. But it wasn't the age-appropriate miniature one, it was the one for older children, the one that at its lowest height was still two feet above his head. "I don't understand", I said shaking my head, "why couldn't you just get him the one for his age. It's frustrating and discouraging to fail with toys too advanced for his age." My Israeli husband gave me one of his "you-crazy-uptight-overeducated-American-mother" looks and set up the basket. Over the next few months he showed ("coached", "trained") our son how to throw the ball into the hoop and, still to my disapproval, every time he showed signs of mastering the basket, my husband would raise it a notch. A few weeks ago, with our son only two and a half, my husband popped that basket up to the highest possible notch, leaving it standing a good ten feet off the ground. And I, much to my secret delight, watched as our son played shots with my husband making not all but most of his baskets.
About a month ago my husband insisted, with the forecast of the season's first beautiful weekend, that we go out and buy our son a real bicycle, albeit with training wheels, but none of this tricycle "nonsense", as he would call it.** For a week he barely touched the bicycle. He'd sit on it and want us to push him, and then every time we'd break our backs bending over he'd accidentally hit the breaks...over and over and over again. "The pedals go around and around," I'd keep telling him. "Look," as I pointed out all the cyclists by the river, "look how they push the pedals round and round." He got that part in his mind fairly quickly; the next time we took him to ride by the river he just stood next to the bike coaching on all the grownup cyclists whizzing by: "C'mon! Push! Push the pedals round, round an' round!" he'd say to them.
Then, like magic, one day he just got it; he just sat on that bicycle and started pushing his legs around and around and he was off. Today we took him to ride by the river and I watched my husband shake his head as he ran after our boy who was whizzing away from us so quickly we could barely keep up.
Now to teach him how to stop...
(**note: the story about how we drove 30 minutes at 10 o'clock at night with a 2 year old and a 5 month old to go GET the bicycle will be saved for another post)
About a month ago my husband insisted, with the forecast of the season's first beautiful weekend, that we go out and buy our son a real bicycle, albeit with training wheels, but none of this tricycle "nonsense", as he would call it.** For a week he barely touched the bicycle. He'd sit on it and want us to push him, and then every time we'd break our backs bending over he'd accidentally hit the breaks...over and over and over again. "The pedals go around and around," I'd keep telling him. "Look," as I pointed out all the cyclists by the river, "look how they push the pedals round and round." He got that part in his mind fairly quickly; the next time we took him to ride by the river he just stood next to the bike coaching on all the grownup cyclists whizzing by: "C'mon! Push! Push the pedals round, round an' round!" he'd say to them.
Then, like magic, one day he just got it; he just sat on that bicycle and started pushing his legs around and around and he was off. Today we took him to ride by the river and I watched my husband shake his head as he ran after our boy who was whizzing away from us so quickly we could barely keep up.
Now to teach him how to stop...
(**note: the story about how we drove 30 minutes at 10 o'clock at night with a 2 year old and a 5 month old to go GET the bicycle will be saved for another post)
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Toddler Request...and Repeat...
No one prepared me for this new phase in my son's development. Maybe it's in one of those "stages" books I have that now lies with a thin layer of dust settled across the paperback cover. Maybe my friend's kids went through it (or they will soon) but no one brought it up to me in conversation before it slapped me in the face. My son was watching his DVD of Disney's CARS (which, thank goodness, was the first time in quite a while after an obsessive initial run): his copy that is so badly scratched that it hiccups every 5 minutes. Now, it sticks and refuses to recover:
him: "I want the tractor."
me (with the baby hanging off my left breast, her feet kicking the air scrambling for a better latch): "I know, just a minute, let me try to fix it."
him: "I want the tractor."
me (the baby is now dangling between breast and one arm and starting to scream out of frustration): "I know, it's just not working right now, I need to fix it."
him: "I want the tractor."
me (with the baby hanging off my left breast, her feet kicking the air scrambling for a better latch): "I know, just a minute, let me try to fix it."
him: "I want the tractor."
me (the baby is now dangling between breast and one arm and starting to scream out of frustration): "I know, it's just not working right now, I need to fix it."
him: "I want the tractor."
me (silently cursing the remote...as it slips through the fingers of my right hand and crashes to the floor as my left hand dandles the flailing, crying baby): "I KNOW, it's not working right now..."
him: "I want the tractor."
me: "Do you want to drive me CRAZY?!"
him: "no."
me: "Listen, when you say something and someone answers you, that means they heard what you said and you do not need to repeat it, okay?!"
him: "I want the tractor."
me: "OH HOLY !@#$%^&*! What did I just say?"
him: "I want the tractor."
me: "Stop it."
him: "I want the tractor."
me: "Do not say that again."
him: "I want the tractor."
me (walking away because if I stay in the same room for one more second I'm going to burst into flames), muttering to myself: "It's like talking to a psychotic!"
him: "I want the tractor."
Monday, April 19, 2010
When kids regress...
I thought I was past the point of bouncing her in the sling, dancing like I have to pee. I thought I was past the point of not being able to console her or know what's wrong; when she's dry, fed, and rested all should be well. Alas, this has not been the case with my five month old as of late. Seemingly random bursts of "high needs" attention have abounded lately, reminding me of the stress of holding her at 2 weeks with her screaming for no reason I could decipher.
This would all be minor enough if my son hadn't decided to "regress" with her. Suddenly whining has become his torture of choice for my ears (and patience). There's something about that "put-on" cry that throws a switch in my brain and steals away my compassion for little tears. My son's short staccato bursts of forced hysterics--timed perfectly with my daughter's unexplained screaming ringing in my ears--has made for several days of "psycho mommy" moments, moments where I hiss, "STOP IT, just STOP IT".
The other night my daughter screamed every ten minutes or so, every time I thought I had willed her to fall asleep for the night. And every time I coaxed her back to sleep, and just as I was laying her down again in silence, my son would scream from his room-not-ten-feet-away, "IMAAA, AAAHHH, WAAAH, COME HERE!!!!" reminding me that, he too, was not yet asleep even though I had shut the light over thirty minutes earlier. (side note: his door cannot shut all the way, it sticks...)
Back and forth I went between the two rooms, one screaming, then the other screaming, until I threw all in and joined the fray, shutting my son's door as best I could to block out his noise from the baby (only to make him more hysterical because he hates his door shut). My husband came home and, as I was nursing the baby in our room, I heard him go to our son. "No screamin", my two and half year old said to my husband. I started to cry. My husband said, "Ima was screaming?" "No," he answered. "Natan screamin". "Oh," my husband replied, "Well, that's right, no screaming. Now lie down and go to sleep". Silence indicated he complied. I managed to put the baby down without incident. I went into my son's room and sat down next to him at the edge of his bed. "When I'm putting the baby to sleep", I explained, "I need you to be quiet, okay?" He nodded. "I need you to be quiet so I can come to you more quickly, okay?" He nodded. "Every time you scream you wake the baby up and I can't come to you fast, okay?" He nodded. "You sit in chair?" he asked. "Sure", I said, feeling my shoulders relax as I realized I hadn't completely damaged my child. I turned to rise and head toward the rocking chair near his bed...and the baby woke up screaming.
This would all be minor enough if my son hadn't decided to "regress" with her. Suddenly whining has become his torture of choice for my ears (and patience). There's something about that "put-on" cry that throws a switch in my brain and steals away my compassion for little tears. My son's short staccato bursts of forced hysterics--timed perfectly with my daughter's unexplained screaming ringing in my ears--has made for several days of "psycho mommy" moments, moments where I hiss, "STOP IT, just STOP IT".
The other night my daughter screamed every ten minutes or so, every time I thought I had willed her to fall asleep for the night. And every time I coaxed her back to sleep, and just as I was laying her down again in silence, my son would scream from his room-not-ten-feet-away, "IMAAA, AAAHHH, WAAAH, COME HERE!!!!" reminding me that, he too, was not yet asleep even though I had shut the light over thirty minutes earlier. (side note: his door cannot shut all the way, it sticks...)
Back and forth I went between the two rooms, one screaming, then the other screaming, until I threw all in and joined the fray, shutting my son's door as best I could to block out his noise from the baby (only to make him more hysterical because he hates his door shut). My husband came home and, as I was nursing the baby in our room, I heard him go to our son. "No screamin", my two and half year old said to my husband. I started to cry. My husband said, "Ima was screaming?" "No," he answered. "Natan screamin". "Oh," my husband replied, "Well, that's right, no screaming. Now lie down and go to sleep". Silence indicated he complied. I managed to put the baby down without incident. I went into my son's room and sat down next to him at the edge of his bed. "When I'm putting the baby to sleep", I explained, "I need you to be quiet, okay?" He nodded. "I need you to be quiet so I can come to you more quickly, okay?" He nodded. "Every time you scream you wake the baby up and I can't come to you fast, okay?" He nodded. "You sit in chair?" he asked. "Sure", I said, feeling my shoulders relax as I realized I hadn't completely damaged my child. I turned to rise and head toward the rocking chair near his bed...and the baby woke up screaming.
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