Saturday, February 21, 2009

Mommy Speak

When you become a mother, you suddenly are introduced to a whole new language. A new vocabulary enters into your conversation that you never before would have dreamed of being interested in, much less discuss in public at great length. You thought pregnancy was a weird club, with dialation, umbilical cord, cervix, colostrum, etc. Motherhood brings on an entirely new class of code words to mask what you really think in the interests of riot control.

"I don't think they are a very good influence on each other" translation: your kid is a bad influence on my kid.

“Someone needs a nap” Translation: your kid is being such an unbelievable brat that you say this in a vain effort to reassure surrounding adults that your little angel doesn’t normally behave like this. Give it up. You’re not fooling anyone.

"I wanted to help them work this out, but he won't stop for me" Translation: stop your kid from doing whatever it is that he's doing to annoy my kid.

"My, they have a lot of energy, don't they?" This was said to me when I took all three boys to get a haircut. The wait was interminable, so in order to stop them from tearing the shampoo bottles off the shelves, I took them outside and had them run laps to pass the time. Translation: can't you just make your kids sit down and be quiet?



Teachers have their own code as well, but I'll have to get back to you. I haven't cracked that one yet.

Friday, February 20, 2009

The Temper Tantrum

C'mon, admit it. Before you reproduced and became responsible for the behavior of another human being for 24 hours, 7 days a week for 18 years or more, you would look at screaming children in public and think, "when I have kids . . ." It's o.k., you can come clean. We've all done it. My personal favorite is, "if that was my kid, I'd . . . "


Then you became a parent. I have three children. In the 9 years that I've been a parent, I have witnessed tantrums caused by everything from a sleepy, cranky kid to a request to get into the car. I've discovered something about tantrums these past years. There are categories of temper tantrums, you see. It's kind of like hurricane classifications, with a surprising number of similarities. Hurricanes are classified into five categories, based on their wind speeds and potential to cause damage. Tantrums can also be similarly classified, based on volume, duration and potential to cause damage.

Category 1: Whimpering

Child starts to cry, saddened at your inability to purchase say, some cereal, in the grocery aisle. Volume of whimper is confined to the immediate area around your grocery cart, eliciting sympathetic looks from surrounding shoppers. Thanks to the 3 second attention span and the lollipop in your purse, by the time you turn the corner to the next aisle, child is consoled. Embarassment level is minimal. Parental response is frequently distraction.

Category 2: No!
The day comes when your child does not want to do something. I know, it sounds impossible, but your darling little child does not want to please their beloved mommy. You want them to sit down and be quiet, and they want to stand up and shout. Church is a great time for this to occur. Restaurants and movie theaters are also famous for these battles of will. Child is told to sit down and listen. Kid decides this is the time they have to go potty, wash hands, read a story, etc. When informed that this is not the time to do those things, the kid errupts into a miniature volcano, getting up, walking around, and asking you all those questions you wish they'd ask later . . . like in 10 years after you've had a chance to look up the answer. Volume level is loud enough to be heard by those in a 10 foot radius. You're embarassed and frantically try to hush the kid, who responds with a loud "no!" and dashes off. You catch the offender and leave the area, possibly to return when the kid has had a chance to calm down. Parental response might include a swat on the butt and/or time out.

My oldest son was terrified of the church nursery until he was 3. As a consequence, the only way we could attend was armed with a bag full of coloring books, toys, and other items of interest to hold his attention. These things lasted 10 minutes before the little explorer just had to start moving around. I've collected him from the center aisle, the pew in front of us, the pew in back of us, and the altar (he didn't want to leave without blowing out the candles.) One of my most vivid memories is when he called out "all done" at the end of a service. Our pastor was highly amused, and responded with "depart in peace".

Category 3: The full blown temper tantrum

You tell your child in a firm, reasonable tone that no matter how much they whine, you are NOT buying them the toy. Child falls to the ground, kicking and screaming, informing all the world what a bad mommy you are. (This never happens to my husband, incidentally.) The volume of your child's screaming can be heard at the opposite end of the store (big box, not boutique) and the looks coming your way by your fellow shoppers are filled with venom.

You realize that you don't need milk that badly, and decide to leave the store. The kid instantly becomes a dead weight, actually pulling away from you in an attempt to make his feelings known. In your journey to the car, you are kicked in the shins, knock over a display, and have sustained permanent injury to your eardrums. You could appreciate the kid's fabulous uppercut, but wish he'd restrict it to the boxing ring. Maybe karate lessons weren't such a good idea. You march through the parking lot, attempting to fish your keys out without losing your grip on the kid. (Personally I always threw them over my shoulder in order to leave one arm free. The kid, not the keys.) Upon reaching the car, you toss the child in (none too gently) and attempt to buckle the buckling, kicking, squirming mass of humanity into the car seat and get the heck out of there.

The screaming (now in an enclosed space) continues up until the kid falls asleep or you reach home, at which point you are the one screaming. You will never return to the store unless it's without the kid and you are wearing a wig and sunglasses. Parental response to this type of tantrum frequently includes a wooden spoon.


Important terms to know:
Tantrum Watch: Like hurricane watch, you are alert to the possiblity of a tantrum coming to your area within the next 36 minutes. You tune your mommy antenna to track where and when it will reach you.
Tantrum Warning: A tantrum is imminent. Leave the area immediately. I don't care if you have a cart full of groceries, leave.

The official hurricane season is from June 1 to November 30, but hurricanes can happen any time of the year. According to most child rearing experts, it's perfectly normal for toddlers to throw tantrums. Preschoolers are less likely to throw tantrums, but by the time they reach school age, children theoretically have better coping mechanisms. Well, that's all fine and dandy, but just how was I supposed to know that a request to follow me in Wal Mart would make my 6 year old fall to the ground, kicking and screaming? I mean, how was I supposed to know that he wasn't done looking at the lobsters yet?





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Saturday, February 14, 2009

Where is that little...?

In lieu of "good morning", my husband's first words to me this morning were, "Where is that little bastard?" Now, this might mislead a casual observer that my beloved husband and I are on less than civil terms. Nothing could be further from the truth, as any intimate observer would quickly realize. No, he was referring to our three year old, who woke us up at 6:09 on a Saturday morning in summer when we'd let him stay up until 9:30 p.m. the night before. Let's see if you can guess my response to this tender greeting. Was it:

a) in the garage

b) in the backyard

c) playing in traffic, or

d) playing in his room


A far cry from those vaguely recalled romantic greetings of the dawn that existed prior to our child rearing years. Now the only sighing heard is from the reluctant parent who decides to actually get up with the kid.

The kid in question had been up for most of the night. Not sick, injured, or any other acceptable excuse for being awake when it is time to sleep. No, he just decided to be awake. And, just to make things a little more interesting, he desired his beloved parents' presence during his nocturnal activities. They were fascinating, to be sure. The activities, that is. He suddenly decided NOW was the time to brush his teeth, play charades, and practice tying his shoes. Activities we had to tackle him to do in daylight hours were suddenly infinitely more interesting when the moon was up.

Our attempts to convince him of his folly were met with howls of indignation. That normally wouldn't faze us (hey- we Ferberized two previous kids before this one), but one son had karate the next morning and the other....let's just say Andy doesn't do cranky well. In desperation, we tag teamed him, figuring between the two of us we could bore him to sleep.

Daddy had the first shift, and I must say he did a fine job laying down with his boy, humming our alma mater, and patting the offender'ss back. But then Daddy fell asleep, and the kid decided to see what Mommy was up to.

I was rudely awakened by the overhead lights and my hair being yanked out by the roots. No, our son is not a candidate for future intervention with law enforcement officers, but rather somewhat uncoordinated. You see, he reached up and grabbed a handful of blanket to hoist himself up onto our bed, and didn't realize strands of my hair were intertwined in the blanket. My yelp could have alerted the neighborhood of an air raid.

This woke Daddy up, and after nodding off in a toddler sized bed in an awkward position, he had his own aches and pains to worry about. In his leap out of bed to come to my aid, he tripped on the toys on the floor, reached out to catch himself, and inadverdently grabbed hold of the Winnie the Pooh latch hook rug on the wall. The rug came down, along with a few pieces of the drywall. Suffice it to say, it was Mommy's shift after that.

After clearing a path from the bed to the door, I sat in the kid's bed, patting his back and singing lullabies in an effort to lull him to sleep. My arm was numb, my memory depleted, when deep breathing assured me he was asleep. I gently disentangled myself from the bed, remembered where the path to door was, and slipped out. I got back into our bed, where I managed not to disturb my sleeping husband.

45 minutes later, just as I must have been hitting REM sleep, our beloved son climbed into the middle of our bed with a book in his hands, declaring it to be "stowy time". Unable to think clearly, I suggested a DVD instead. The kid accepted my offer with alacrity, displaying an uncanny ability to change direction mid stream.

And that's how Daddy found us, 3 hours later. I was bleary eyed, whether from lack of sleep or the overexposure to shows designed for a 3 year old audience. Oh, and the kid? He was choice b), playing happily with a jar of bubbles.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Love my Valentine

I hate Valentine's Day. Now, I know, as a woman, I'm supposed to be thrilled with Valentine's day... the flowers, cards, chocolate, etc. I don't have any trouble with the day in principle, you understand. It's the parties. This year I have three boys in two different schools. And each child desperately wants mommy at his class party. My presence is requested at three different events tomorrow, beginning at 9 a.m., 10:30 a.m. and 11 a.m. At a glance this doesn't look too bad, except that the 10:30 one is at a different school, 20 minutes away.

Do you have any idea of the amount of cookies, cupcakes, and chocolate that I am responsible for? I made the fatal error early in the school year of presenting one of my children's teachers with some chocolate chip cookies for her birthday. The mistake was in letting the school know that I can apparently bake good food.

Cupcakes to preschool, three dozen heart shaped sugar cookies to 3d grade, and an enormous bag of chocolate to Kindergarten. Now, before anyone tells me to just go out and buy the stuff, there is a reason for making it all from scratch. The third grade class has a child with an allergy to nuts, and the boys in preschool refuse to eat any cupcakes with pink or any girlie colored frosting. Fortunately, I lucked out in Kindergarten - everybody loves chocolate.

And the Valentines cards. Not only do the kids get completely overloaded with sugar at Halloween and Easter, but Valentine's Day as well. Candy makers have come up with the brilliant, but sadistic, idea of combining cards with candy. The candy comes prepacked with a spot to write the names of the various people involved. Don't get those, you might think. But then you have to deal with your kid having the only mom in class who concerns herself with nutrition. It's worse than being the dentist's kid on Halloween. Social downfall is practically guaranteed.

So, tomorrow, when you are happily imagining what your significant other has cooked up for you, think of me, dashing from party to party, cupcake trays in hand.

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