I have discovered a new blog that makes me very, very happy. Every time I'm feeling a little low or sad, I read a few posts. There's nothing like uncontrolled giggling, tears running down my face, and near pants-wetting experiences to make me feel better.
STFU, Parents.
*Warning - if you are one of those no-sense-of-humor parents, please ignore. You won't get it anyway.
Showing posts with label Mommyhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mommyhood. Show all posts
Friday, July 17, 2009
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Priceless
Drive from Peoria to Normal Train Station.
Train to Chicago.
Taxi cab to downtown Chicago hotel.
Brunch at the American Girl Store in Water Tower Place.
Shopping to break the bank at the American Girl Store.
Taxi cab to Shedd Aquarium to see new Oceanarium.
Beluga whale show, dolphin show, Sponge Bob 4D movie, holding a starfish as big as your head.
Picnic on the lakefront with a view of the marina, Lake Michigan, Grant Park, and the Chicago Skyline.
Taxi cab to Michigan Avenue,
Playing on park playground next to Water Tower Place.
Having nails "buffed" by (probably very bored) make-up counter girl.
Dinner at famous pizza place.
Taxi cab to Union Station.
Train back to Normal.
Drive back to Peoria, arrive at 11:20 pm.
Me: What was your favorite part of Chicago?
Daughter: The PARK!!!!
Train to Chicago.
Taxi cab to downtown Chicago hotel.
Brunch at the American Girl Store in Water Tower Place.
Shopping to break the bank at the American Girl Store.
Taxi cab to Shedd Aquarium to see new Oceanarium.
Beluga whale show, dolphin show, Sponge Bob 4D movie, holding a starfish as big as your head.
Picnic on the lakefront with a view of the marina, Lake Michigan, Grant Park, and the Chicago Skyline.
Taxi cab to Michigan Avenue,
Playing on park playground next to Water Tower Place.
Having nails "buffed" by (probably very bored) make-up counter girl.
Dinner at famous pizza place.
Taxi cab to Union Station.
Train back to Normal.
Drive back to Peoria, arrive at 11:20 pm.
Me: What was your favorite part of Chicago?
Daughter: The PARK!!!!
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Pardon?
I took my daughter to have her hearing tested yesterday. She has a history of ear infections and we wanted to be sure she doesn’t have any hearing damage. (I can guarantee she can hear just fine . . . selective hearing, but fine.) Of course, the first thing she said to me yesterday morning was, "My ear hurts, Mommy." Great. We are going to get your hearing tested and you have an ear infection. Fabulous.
On our way to the audiologist, I called the doctor’s office to schedule an appointment. Naturally, the first available appointment that didn’t cut into lunchtime, naptime, or my previously scheduled and re-scheduled dentist appointment was 4:15 pm. I gave her some Motrin and walked into the audiologist’s office.
While I was filling out paperwork, the audiologist called my daughter’s name. She went back with the woman and I could hear her talking. The woman said, "What’s your baby’s name?" My daughter answered, "Bella." I could hear a few more exchanges before I entered the room. I was glad she was talking to the woman.
You see, my daughter talks CONSTANTLY if she is awake. The mouth never stops - she has a constant commentary on life and everything around her. However, she is shy in certain situations, particularly when meeting new people in a strange environment. Then she clams up until she feels comfortable. I consider this a fairly normal three-year-old behavior. Apparently, the audiologist does not agree with me.
She asked my daughter and I to have a seat in the "box," which contains a chair and two speakers on each side. It is kind of weird looking and is about the size of a really small closet. I wasn’t comfortable at all and neither was my daughter. And it didn’t help when the audiologist got in my daughter’s face and said, "You need to say these words after I say them. Say AIRPLANE."
Silence.
The woman repeated herself, but closer, "Say AIRPLANE!" My daughter made a face and turned away from her. This woman has probably been told to "get down to their level" when dealing with kids. However, someone needs to explain to her that getting down to their level is different than getting in their face. Because NO three-year-old I know responds well to a stranger making commands at them nose-to-nose.
The woman tried a different (and dumbed down, I must say) tactic, but in the same military style. "Can you point to your nose?" More dirty looks and turning away. "How about your hair?" Nothing.
The woman let out an exasperated sigh. "Well, I guess we are just going to have to try a different way. The way we use with newborns who aren’t verbal." I tried to explain my daughter’s behavior to this clueless woman by saying, "I’m sorry. She can be a little shy when she is in unfamiliar situations with new people. She can talk and hear just fine. She just a little shy at the beginning." The woman was not persuaded and replied, "It’s fine if she is shy . . . but she must actually TALK for me to test her appropriately."
I gave up. Clearly this woman was not going to change her way of dealing with children. I can’t imagine my daughter was the only child who has been in her office who is non-compliant. I just wanted her to hurry up so we could get the hell out of there.
Well, the woman messed around with a couple of other machines and couldn’t get a reading. Finally, she pulled out her ear-scope-thingy and looked into my daughter’s ear - the one I told her I thought was infected.
"Well! Here’s your problem! Her ear is COMPLETELY blocked with wax build up. I can’t even see the eardrum. There is no way I’m going to get a decent reading from THIS ear." Thanks lady. My daughter has always had ear wax issues and we use drops frequently to flush her ears. I thought I had it under control. Now I feel like a terrible parent because she can’t hear anything because her ears are so dirty.
The woman takes readings from both ears anyway. One is normal, the infected one has no activity whatsoever. The woman explains that this could be because of the wax, the infection, or because she is deaf in that ear. WTF? Now I’m completely flipped out.
I spend the rest of the day being depressed about my lack of parenting skills and ear cleaning abilities. At the end of the day, at the doctor’s office, I tell her doctor the whole sordid tale of the audiologist. The doctor rolls her eyes and takes a look in my daughter’s ears. She says, "There’s not much wax build-up . . . I can see both ear drums clearly. Sure, one is infected, but there is no way this child is deaf."
Ugh. Professionalism and good bed-side manners must be dying art forms.
On our way to the audiologist, I called the doctor’s office to schedule an appointment. Naturally, the first available appointment that didn’t cut into lunchtime, naptime, or my previously scheduled and re-scheduled dentist appointment was 4:15 pm. I gave her some Motrin and walked into the audiologist’s office.
While I was filling out paperwork, the audiologist called my daughter’s name. She went back with the woman and I could hear her talking. The woman said, "What’s your baby’s name?" My daughter answered, "Bella." I could hear a few more exchanges before I entered the room. I was glad she was talking to the woman.
You see, my daughter talks CONSTANTLY if she is awake. The mouth never stops - she has a constant commentary on life and everything around her. However, she is shy in certain situations, particularly when meeting new people in a strange environment. Then she clams up until she feels comfortable. I consider this a fairly normal three-year-old behavior. Apparently, the audiologist does not agree with me.
She asked my daughter and I to have a seat in the "box," which contains a chair and two speakers on each side. It is kind of weird looking and is about the size of a really small closet. I wasn’t comfortable at all and neither was my daughter. And it didn’t help when the audiologist got in my daughter’s face and said, "You need to say these words after I say them. Say AIRPLANE."
Silence.
The woman repeated herself, but closer, "Say AIRPLANE!" My daughter made a face and turned away from her. This woman has probably been told to "get down to their level" when dealing with kids. However, someone needs to explain to her that getting down to their level is different than getting in their face. Because NO three-year-old I know responds well to a stranger making commands at them nose-to-nose.
The woman tried a different (and dumbed down, I must say) tactic, but in the same military style. "Can you point to your nose?" More dirty looks and turning away. "How about your hair?" Nothing.
The woman let out an exasperated sigh. "Well, I guess we are just going to have to try a different way. The way we use with newborns who aren’t verbal." I tried to explain my daughter’s behavior to this clueless woman by saying, "I’m sorry. She can be a little shy when she is in unfamiliar situations with new people. She can talk and hear just fine. She just a little shy at the beginning." The woman was not persuaded and replied, "It’s fine if she is shy . . . but she must actually TALK for me to test her appropriately."
I gave up. Clearly this woman was not going to change her way of dealing with children. I can’t imagine my daughter was the only child who has been in her office who is non-compliant. I just wanted her to hurry up so we could get the hell out of there.
Well, the woman messed around with a couple of other machines and couldn’t get a reading. Finally, she pulled out her ear-scope-thingy and looked into my daughter’s ear - the one I told her I thought was infected.
"Well! Here’s your problem! Her ear is COMPLETELY blocked with wax build up. I can’t even see the eardrum. There is no way I’m going to get a decent reading from THIS ear." Thanks lady. My daughter has always had ear wax issues and we use drops frequently to flush her ears. I thought I had it under control. Now I feel like a terrible parent because she can’t hear anything because her ears are so dirty.
The woman takes readings from both ears anyway. One is normal, the infected one has no activity whatsoever. The woman explains that this could be because of the wax, the infection, or because she is deaf in that ear. WTF? Now I’m completely flipped out.
I spend the rest of the day being depressed about my lack of parenting skills and ear cleaning abilities. At the end of the day, at the doctor’s office, I tell her doctor the whole sordid tale of the audiologist. The doctor rolls her eyes and takes a look in my daughter’s ears. She says, "There’s not much wax build-up . . . I can see both ear drums clearly. Sure, one is infected, but there is no way this child is deaf."
Ugh. Professionalism and good bed-side manners must be dying art forms.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Well, You Better Get Used to It
There is a myth in parenting that no one ever talks about. The myth that potty-training is a short term process and that, after a few weeks or a month, your child is wearing underwear, you no longer have to buy diapers, and life can return to before-child normal. You know, the time when you didn't have a daily conversation about poop.
Not so much. My three and a half year old has been wearing underwear for a year. But relieving herself in the toilet was only one step of potty-training. There are about 40 other steps that are conveniently skipped over in parenting books. The "transition from little potty chair to big potty" step. The "yes, you must flush every time you go potty" step. The "weening from potty-rewards step (otherwise known as, "no, grown-ups don't get M&Ms for pooping" step.) The "privacy without locking yourself in the bathroom" step. The "not everyone wants to see your new Hello Kitty underwear" step. The "not discussing what mommy is doing in the toilet in public bathrooms" step.
And then there is the "I wipe my own ass" step. We are currently working on this step right now. Yesterday, we had this conversation:
Daughter: Mama! I need help! (from the bathroom)
Me: With what?
Daughter: Wiping my bottom! I pooped!
Me: You can do it.
Daughter: No, I can't! I need help!
Me: I want you to try to do it. If you can't, I will help you.
Daughter: I CAN'T . . . you need to HELP me.
Me: You need to try and then I will help you.
Daughter: (Long, dramatic sigh) Allllllright, I'll try. I'm getting really tired of this though.
Not so much. My three and a half year old has been wearing underwear for a year. But relieving herself in the toilet was only one step of potty-training. There are about 40 other steps that are conveniently skipped over in parenting books. The "transition from little potty chair to big potty" step. The "yes, you must flush every time you go potty" step. The "weening from potty-rewards step (otherwise known as, "no, grown-ups don't get M&Ms for pooping" step.) The "privacy without locking yourself in the bathroom" step. The "not everyone wants to see your new Hello Kitty underwear" step. The "not discussing what mommy is doing in the toilet in public bathrooms" step.
And then there is the "I wipe my own ass" step. We are currently working on this step right now. Yesterday, we had this conversation:
Daughter: Mama! I need help! (from the bathroom)
Me: With what?
Daughter: Wiping my bottom! I pooped!
Me: You can do it.
Daughter: No, I can't! I need help!
Me: I want you to try to do it. If you can't, I will help you.
Daughter: I CAN'T . . . you need to HELP me.
Me: You need to try and then I will help you.
Daughter: (Long, dramatic sigh) Allllllright, I'll try. I'm getting really tired of this though.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Folsum Daycare Blues
One of the added benefits of XM radio is the station for "younger" children. (As an aside, the Ms. PH of five years ago would have shot herself if she knew she was going to be making a statement like that one. On her behalf, I would like to say . . . barf.) We listen on the way to day care every morning and it gives us a break from our regular kids’ CD playlist.
I have to admit, I find a lot of the programming amusing. It is a little above my three year old’s head, but she laughs if I laugh. But what sold it for me this morning was Ralph’s World singing "Folsum Daycare Blues." Yes, it is exactly what you think it is. And it is fabulous.
Folsum Daycare Blues
Well, I hear the teacher comin’, walking across the room
I ain’t seen the sun shine, and now it’s nearly noon
I’m stuck in Folsom Day Care, time keeps draggin’ by
I hear the teacher comin’, I hang my head and cry
When I was a baby, my Mama told me, son
Be nice to other children, share your toys with everyone
Well I pushed a toddler over, just to watch him fall
I’m here in Folsom Day Care, and it’s no fun at all
If I was a little taller, if the minivan was mine
I’d take it for a drive a little further down the line
Far from Folsom Day Care, that’s where I long to be
I hear the teacher comin’, and that’s what tortures me
Hey
I don’t like their naptime, and I won’t eat their snacks
There’s so many runny noses I don’t know what I’m gonna catch
But my Mom and Dad have left me, and I just don’t why
I’m stuck in Folsom Day Care, I hang my head and cry
I think my favorite part is "Well, I pushed a toddler over, just to watch him fall." That was exactly what I needed on a dreary Monday morning.
I have to admit, I find a lot of the programming amusing. It is a little above my three year old’s head, but she laughs if I laugh. But what sold it for me this morning was Ralph’s World singing "Folsum Daycare Blues." Yes, it is exactly what you think it is. And it is fabulous.
Folsum Daycare Blues
Well, I hear the teacher comin’, walking across the room
I ain’t seen the sun shine, and now it’s nearly noon
I’m stuck in Folsom Day Care, time keeps draggin’ by
I hear the teacher comin’, I hang my head and cry
When I was a baby, my Mama told me, son
Be nice to other children, share your toys with everyone
Well I pushed a toddler over, just to watch him fall
I’m here in Folsom Day Care, and it’s no fun at all
If I was a little taller, if the minivan was mine
I’d take it for a drive a little further down the line
Far from Folsom Day Care, that’s where I long to be
I hear the teacher comin’, and that’s what tortures me
Hey
I don’t like their naptime, and I won’t eat their snacks
There’s so many runny noses I don’t know what I’m gonna catch
But my Mom and Dad have left me, and I just don’t why
I’m stuck in Folsom Day Care, I hang my head and cry
I think my favorite part is "Well, I pushed a toddler over, just to watch him fall." That was exactly what I needed on a dreary Monday morning.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Mommy Fail, Tattletale
Okay, so . . . I have not been reaching my goal of being the perfect mother lately. I've been hanging by a thread in the perfect mommy competition. Which is fine by me, really, because I don't really want to be the perfect mommy. However, I think I need to step up my game a little bit because my daughter called me out this morning.
It all started last night. The daycare had a "Parents Night Out" thing where you could bring your kids from 6:30 to 10:30 and they would entertain them, give them a snack, and watch a movie. This was the first time I have taken my daughter because this is really the first time I have felt that she is old enough to handle an occasional later bedtime. And when they said it was from 6:30 to 10:30, I thought, cool - I can pick her up at 10:30 like all the other normal parents. In fact, I heard one parent say to his kid as we were leaving, "I'll see you are 10:15 or so!" I felt completely justified going out and staying out until 10:15 or so, assuming I would not be the last parent there.
Well, I was wrong. Not only was I the last parent there and they were standing in the front hall holding my very tired daughter, I showed up smelling like cigarettes and beer. (Now in case any of you perfect parents are reading this, I suggest first, go to someone else's blog and second, yes, I was at a bar and had a drink or two and people around me were smoking. Get over it. Damn perfect parent police.) Anyway, I am sure the teachers had a little laugh at the bad mommy and I felt really bad that she was the last one there, but . . . everyone needs a night out. And it's not like I showed up at one in the morning drunk off my ass with someone else's clothes on. Jeez.
Anyway, this morning I was still feeling a little guilty and spending some real quality time with the kid. As is her usual line of questioning in the morning, she asked, "Are we going to school today?" Nope, it's Saturday. "Are we going to dance class today?" Yep, we are going to dan . . . SHIT.
Bad mommy forgot to wash her dance clothes. I looked at the clock. One hour before we had to leave for class. I rushed to her room and began throwing clothes out of her hamper. Now, ordinarily, I would have evaluated the clothing in question and determined whether we could squeak by with wearing a dirty leotard and tights. (Come on now . . . everyone has done it.) As I got down to the dance clothes in the hamper, it all came back to me.
Milk. Milk down the front of her leotard and tights. Not only was there a faint stain, it didn't smell that good either. No problem - I can wash and dry a load of laundry in an hour. I ran downstairs and started the laundry.
As I came back into the living room, I heard her open up her fake princess cell phone. She said, "I'm calling my teachers, Mama." OK, whatever . . . . Then I hear, "Hello? Yeah, hi . . . my mommy forgot to wash my dance clothes . . . um-hum . . . they really dirty . . . um-hum . . . we be little late. Bye-bye."
Tattletale.
I said to her, "Did you just call your dance teachers and rat me out?"
"Yep."
"Gee, thanks."
"That's OK Mama, you try harder next time."
It all started last night. The daycare had a "Parents Night Out" thing where you could bring your kids from 6:30 to 10:30 and they would entertain them, give them a snack, and watch a movie. This was the first time I have taken my daughter because this is really the first time I have felt that she is old enough to handle an occasional later bedtime. And when they said it was from 6:30 to 10:30, I thought, cool - I can pick her up at 10:30 like all the other normal parents. In fact, I heard one parent say to his kid as we were leaving, "I'll see you are 10:15 or so!" I felt completely justified going out and staying out until 10:15 or so, assuming I would not be the last parent there.
Well, I was wrong. Not only was I the last parent there and they were standing in the front hall holding my very tired daughter, I showed up smelling like cigarettes and beer. (Now in case any of you perfect parents are reading this, I suggest first, go to someone else's blog and second, yes, I was at a bar and had a drink or two and people around me were smoking. Get over it. Damn perfect parent police.) Anyway, I am sure the teachers had a little laugh at the bad mommy and I felt really bad that she was the last one there, but . . . everyone needs a night out. And it's not like I showed up at one in the morning drunk off my ass with someone else's clothes on. Jeez.
Anyway, this morning I was still feeling a little guilty and spending some real quality time with the kid. As is her usual line of questioning in the morning, she asked, "Are we going to school today?" Nope, it's Saturday. "Are we going to dance class today?" Yep, we are going to dan . . . SHIT.
Bad mommy forgot to wash her dance clothes. I looked at the clock. One hour before we had to leave for class. I rushed to her room and began throwing clothes out of her hamper. Now, ordinarily, I would have evaluated the clothing in question and determined whether we could squeak by with wearing a dirty leotard and tights. (Come on now . . . everyone has done it.) As I got down to the dance clothes in the hamper, it all came back to me.
Milk. Milk down the front of her leotard and tights. Not only was there a faint stain, it didn't smell that good either. No problem - I can wash and dry a load of laundry in an hour. I ran downstairs and started the laundry.
As I came back into the living room, I heard her open up her fake princess cell phone. She said, "I'm calling my teachers, Mama." OK, whatever . . . . Then I hear, "Hello? Yeah, hi . . . my mommy forgot to wash my dance clothes . . . um-hum . . . they really dirty . . . um-hum . . . we be little late. Bye-bye."
Tattletale.
I said to her, "Did you just call your dance teachers and rat me out?"
"Yep."
"Gee, thanks."
"That's OK Mama, you try harder next time."
Friday, September 19, 2008
Dance of the Helicopter Mommies
Last Saturday, my daughter attended her first "class" in her short three year old life. Up until this point, we have not had the opportunity to attend "classes," mostly because classes for preschoolers are usually scheduled during the work day, clearly geared toward stay at home mothers. However, one dance studio in town has a three year old dance class on Saturdays and I signed my daughter up.The hour long class is 20 minutes of ballet, 20 minutes of tumbling, and 20 minutes of tap. I knew she would love the tumbling and I thought she could use the ballet and tap because she is not the most coordinated child in the world. Plus, she is a true girly-girl and loves anything girly. And, man . . . is this G-I-R-L-Y. The entire place is painted pink. My daughter was one of the few girls not wearing a pink leotard and tights (her leotard is lavender). The tap shoes are shiny black with big black ribbon bow ties. It is so cute . . . it brought back all of the girly tendencies from my childhood.
Anyway, this being my first experience of a child class as a parent, I was curious to see how the other parents behaved. I was excited for my daughter and found myself a little anxious as well. What if she didn’t listen to the teachers? What if she wouldn’t participate? What if she got scared? Was I pushing too hard by taking her to a class at three years old? Would the other girls be mean? Would the teachers be mean?
I brought the camera, knowing I should document this like a good parent would. As we sat in the waiting room with the other mini-ballerinas and their parents, my daughter got very quiet. She sat on my lap and just looked at the other kids. But when the teachers came to get her class, she went willingly with them and sat nicely with all the other girls.
Parents are supposed to stay in the waiting room, which is separate from the dance room. I was disappointed because I wanted to watch her a little bit to see how she would do in the beginning. I soon learned why the school wants parents to be separated from their children.
Helicopter Mommies.
But first, about me and my kid. I stood in the doorway at the beginning of class and snapped a few pictures. I admit, a got a little tear in my eye watching her do this on her own. She was so sweet and cute and a pretty good listener. The ballet part was first, which involved learning first position and some steps from that position. What struck me was how weird it is to see your children exhibit behavior that you recognize as your own. Flash! There I was - watching myself 34 years ago.
During the ballet portion, she was semi-compliant, but mostly just looked around and watched the other girls. She looked at them like, "Seriously? You want me to do what?" She didn’t resist when the teachers moved her feet to the right position, but she wasn’t willingly doing the steps either. She glanced at me a few times and gave me a half-smile, as if to say, "What have you done to me, woman?" It was like mini-me from gymnastics at the YWCA in 1975.
After a few moments, I sat down in the waiting room. I checked on her two other times - once during tumbling and once during tap. She really came alive during tumbling and loved it, as well as tap. She was even able to march in step with the music with her tap shoes on. I was so proud (although I will hide the tap shoes at home - that's the last thing we need.)
OK - now back to the Helicopter Mommies.
As I was standing in the doorway snapping my pictures, I became aware of a presence behind me. Close up behind me stood three or four other mothers trying to press their way into the room. I took my pictures and stepped back, figuring they wanted pictures of this occasion as well. As I left, the other mothers took their positions. Their permanent positions in the doorway. One mother sat on the floor in the doorway and watched her child the entire class. Another mother kneeled next to the doorway and also watched. The third leaned against the doorway and watched as well.
What shocked me was the look on their faces. They didn’t look proud or nostalgic or happy or anything like I thought I had looked. They looked analytical and stressed. They looked like they were taking mental notes on every move their daughters made. They looked like they would make their daughters practice at home if they screwed up at class. They looked like this was the freaking Olympics of dance. And they all manned their positions for the entire hour-long class. (Except one kept talking on her cell phone . . . what the hell is that about?)
I feel sorry for those little girls whose mothers are so concerned with their performance in a three year old’s dance class. Sure, I want my kids to be good at things and want to excel at whatever they are doing. But at three years old? This is supposed to be fun, right?
Monday, September 15, 2008
"You're Just Working Part Time Now, Right?"
This is a quote from my lovely sister-in-law during our past family weekend.
I'm not kidding.
For those of you who know me, you know why that is funny and how freaking clueless she is. For those of you who don't know me, I'll explain how bat-shit crazy that statement is and then you will laugh . . . and perhaps want to slap her silly. (Seriously . . . would somebody please slap her silly? It violates family code for me to slap her, but if a perfect stranger did it, that would be just fine.)
Anyway, to know why this is funny, you have to know a little bit about me. First . . . yes, I am a lawyer and a mother, as are many other people. However, sometimes I have a really hard time truthfully saying I put my children before my job. I think I usually put my children before my job, but my priorities may be a bit skewed at times. I love my job. I am good at my job. When someone asks me, "Who are you?" I will say "lawyer" before "mother" in most circumstances.
Don't get me wrong, I love being a mother and I love my kids. But motherhood does not subsume my individual persona and delete all that I was before being a mother. I did not give up being an individual just because I had a family.
Second, I'm a very progressive person. I was raised by two working parents, both of whom loved their jobs very much . . . as much as they loved their children. We were not the traditional family where dad worked and mom stayed at home cleaning and caring for children. Truthfully, if my mom had stayed home with us, one or both of us would not have made it past the age of 11. In short, I was raised to value myself as an individual, as a woman, as part of a couple, and as a mother equally.
My sister-in-law is very similar in those respects. I know she loves her job as much if not more as her children. (She's not a lawyer, but some sort of wicked-smart statistician.) She never wanted to take maternity leave (until she actually realized it might be hard to recover from giving birth and take care of a newborn and work at the same time.) She gets pissed when my brother works too much and leaves her at home with the kids. I know nothing about her family (because she doesn't speak to them), so I can't compare on that front. But my point is that she should understand the working mother thing, but . . . as usual, she sees nothing of the world outside her own steel box of a brain.
The other thing about me that makes this statement funny is I'm a single mother. That means . . . . (shocker) . . . I parent alone. That means, there is only one income in my house. So, how exactly would I be able to survive with two kids on half my income and still be able to afford things like . . . my car, my house, my student loans, and family trips to Galena?
Clueless.
CLUELESS, I tell you.
C-L-U-E-L-E-S-S.
When she asked this question, I must of looked stunned or confused or dumb-founded because she added, "Well, I mean . . . you know, because having the two kids and all. I thought you wouldn't be able to still work full time."
I responded, "Oh, of course I am!"
What I wanted to say, "And the alternative is . . . welfare?"
She responded, "I still don't know how you do it."
I responded, "Oh, thanks."
What I wanted to say, "Because I'm a better person then you are. That's how I do it."
I'm not kidding.
For those of you who know me, you know why that is funny and how freaking clueless she is. For those of you who don't know me, I'll explain how bat-shit crazy that statement is and then you will laugh . . . and perhaps want to slap her silly. (Seriously . . . would somebody please slap her silly? It violates family code for me to slap her, but if a perfect stranger did it, that would be just fine.)
Anyway, to know why this is funny, you have to know a little bit about me. First . . . yes, I am a lawyer and a mother, as are many other people. However, sometimes I have a really hard time truthfully saying I put my children before my job. I think I usually put my children before my job, but my priorities may be a bit skewed at times. I love my job. I am good at my job. When someone asks me, "Who are you?" I will say "lawyer" before "mother" in most circumstances.
Don't get me wrong, I love being a mother and I love my kids. But motherhood does not subsume my individual persona and delete all that I was before being a mother. I did not give up being an individual just because I had a family.
Second, I'm a very progressive person. I was raised by two working parents, both of whom loved their jobs very much . . . as much as they loved their children. We were not the traditional family where dad worked and mom stayed at home cleaning and caring for children. Truthfully, if my mom had stayed home with us, one or both of us would not have made it past the age of 11. In short, I was raised to value myself as an individual, as a woman, as part of a couple, and as a mother equally.
My sister-in-law is very similar in those respects. I know she loves her job as much if not more as her children. (She's not a lawyer, but some sort of wicked-smart statistician.) She never wanted to take maternity leave (until she actually realized it might be hard to recover from giving birth and take care of a newborn and work at the same time.) She gets pissed when my brother works too much and leaves her at home with the kids. I know nothing about her family (because she doesn't speak to them), so I can't compare on that front. But my point is that she should understand the working mother thing, but . . . as usual, she sees nothing of the world outside her own steel box of a brain.
The other thing about me that makes this statement funny is I'm a single mother. That means . . . . (shocker) . . . I parent alone. That means, there is only one income in my house. So, how exactly would I be able to survive with two kids on half my income and still be able to afford things like . . . my car, my house, my student loans, and family trips to Galena?
Clueless.
CLUELESS, I tell you.
C-L-U-E-L-E-S-S.
When she asked this question, I must of looked stunned or confused or dumb-founded because she added, "Well, I mean . . . you know, because having the two kids and all. I thought you wouldn't be able to still work full time."
I responded, "Oh, of course I am!"
What I wanted to say, "And the alternative is . . . welfare?"
She responded, "I still don't know how you do it."
I responded, "Oh, thanks."
What I wanted to say, "Because I'm a better person then you are. That's how I do it."
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Come ON, WTVP!
Why does WTVP find it necessary to change the time of Sesame Street every now and again? Just when we got a nice little schedule going on weekday mornings that was really beneficial for me getting ready for work in the morning . . . WTVP moved Sesame Street from 7 am to 9 am. Not helpful.
Our nice little schedule hinged on Elmo's World coming on Sesame Street every morning at 7:40 am. I get up at 6:45, take a shower, and feed the dog. The kids get out of bed at 7 am, I get them dressed, comb their hair, and we all have breakfast by 7:30. This is perfect timing for them to have faces washed, teeth brushed, shoes on, and go to the living room for Elmo at 7:40. From 7:40 to 8:15 was my personal time. That was just enough time to iron my clothes, get dressed, do my hair, put on make-up, accessorize, and get my stuff ready for the day.
Elmo's World, followed by 15 minutes of Curious George, was my savior. Sure, after Elmo's World was over, my son would lose interest and find something else to play with, usually standing with me in the bathroom while I put make-up on. But my daughter would continue to watch Curious George, thereby eliminating the potential for disagreements between the two of them which take time out of my schedule to resolve.
But now, WTVP has decided to put Curious George on at 7 am, Sid the Science Kid at 7:30 am, Super WHY! at 8 am, Clifford the Big Red Dog at 8:30 am, and Sesame Street at 9 am. Why, I ask you . . . WHY? (And that's not Super WHY - just WHY?!?!) My kids have absolutely no interest in Sid the Science Kid and Super WHY - they just don't. They are 21 months and 3 years old. Sesame Street is their thing!
This 15-30 minutes of TV is the only TV my children watch on a regular basis. I realize there are other children's shows on cable at this time, but none that I feel like letting my kids watch. Or that they will actually watch. Or that don't have commericals.
In the middle of me having a fit about this today, it took me some time to remember I can get Sesame Street on On Demand. Unfortunately, to get to Elmo's World, I have to fast forward for 40 minutes of the show, which takes about 5 minutes out of my morning, so . . . just damn!
Damn . . . Damn . . . Damn!
I am sure that there are plenty of parents out there who love the 9 am Sesame Street time. Stay-at-home parents, parents with different work schedules, home day cares, etc. Well, good for them. It doesn't work for me, thank you very much, and I would like to know who they consulted before making this change. Probably no one who has children who actually watch these shows. So much for "public" television. This member of the "public" is pissed.
Our nice little schedule hinged on Elmo's World coming on Sesame Street every morning at 7:40 am. I get up at 6:45, take a shower, and feed the dog. The kids get out of bed at 7 am, I get them dressed, comb their hair, and we all have breakfast by 7:30. This is perfect timing for them to have faces washed, teeth brushed, shoes on, and go to the living room for Elmo at 7:40. From 7:40 to 8:15 was my personal time. That was just enough time to iron my clothes, get dressed, do my hair, put on make-up, accessorize, and get my stuff ready for the day.
Elmo's World, followed by 15 minutes of Curious George, was my savior. Sure, after Elmo's World was over, my son would lose interest and find something else to play with, usually standing with me in the bathroom while I put make-up on. But my daughter would continue to watch Curious George, thereby eliminating the potential for disagreements between the two of them which take time out of my schedule to resolve.
But now, WTVP has decided to put Curious George on at 7 am, Sid the Science Kid at 7:30 am, Super WHY! at 8 am, Clifford the Big Red Dog at 8:30 am, and Sesame Street at 9 am. Why, I ask you . . . WHY? (And that's not Super WHY - just WHY?!?!) My kids have absolutely no interest in Sid the Science Kid and Super WHY - they just don't. They are 21 months and 3 years old. Sesame Street is their thing!
This 15-30 minutes of TV is the only TV my children watch on a regular basis. I realize there are other children's shows on cable at this time, but none that I feel like letting my kids watch. Or that they will actually watch. Or that don't have commericals.
In the middle of me having a fit about this today, it took me some time to remember I can get Sesame Street on On Demand. Unfortunately, to get to Elmo's World, I have to fast forward for 40 minutes of the show, which takes about 5 minutes out of my morning, so . . . just damn!
Damn . . . Damn . . . Damn!
I am sure that there are plenty of parents out there who love the 9 am Sesame Street time. Stay-at-home parents, parents with different work schedules, home day cares, etc. Well, good for them. It doesn't work for me, thank you very much, and I would like to know who they consulted before making this change. Probably no one who has children who actually watch these shows. So much for "public" television. This member of the "public" is pissed.
Monday, August 11, 2008
You Say That?
I make a concerted effort not to swear around my children. Well, actually I have made a concerted effort not to swear around my children since they were old enough to repeat what I say. It’s been difficult, however, to curtail when there is a fair amount of swearing done in my office and sometimes swear words are just the perfect expression you need in a situation.
I often slip when I am tired or distracted. My daughter excels at catching my slips and whenever she does, I explain, "I know . . . Mama said a not nice word. Sometimes mamas need to say those words. But those words are not for you to say, okay?" She agrees and, so far, I haven’t heard her say any of my not nice words. Now, when she catches me, she says, "You say that?" meaning, "You can say that and I can’t, Mama?" Pretty soon, however, she is going to forget that I have told her not to say certain words and say something really inappropriate in front of someone. So, I have been trying extra hard not to swear.
Well, last night didn’t help things much. At 2:30 this morning, she started screaming, "MAMA! MAMA!!" The scream was so sudden and high pitched that I thought she had lost a limb or was bleeding from the head or something. When I arrived in her room, she was in her bed, apparently fine and all in one piece . . . still screaming. I said, not so nicely, "WHAT?!? What is your problem?" (I’m not the most nurturing person at 2:30 in the morning.)
"I got boogers."
"Jesus Christ! Can’t you wipe them on your sheets like every other normal child?"
She responded with, "No . . . you say that?"
I groaned and went and got her a box of Kleenex. I tucked her in and kissed her good night again. Then I went to my room and went back to sleep. I was exhausted. I hadn’t gone to sleep until past midnight and I thought I would be able to get at least another four hours of sleep.
Wrong.
At 6 am, I become barely conscious of a thumping noise and a weight on the end of the bed. Glancing at the clock, I assumed it is the dog wagging her tail while sleeping on my bed. I whispered, "Knock it off, dog," and closed my eyes. After a short silence, the thumping started again. I mean-whispered, "STOP it, dog." Another silence and then . . . thump, thump, thump, thump, thump. In my regular mean-mommy voice, I said "STOP. IT. RIGHT. NOW."
A longer silence followed, which allowed me to close my eyes and almost get back to sleep. But then it started again . . . thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump. Before I turned over and sat up in bed, I said:
"GOD DAMN IT, dog, KNOCK THAT SHIT OFF!!"
Then I turned over and sat up. There, sitting on the end of my bed was my daughter. Predictably, she said, "You say that?" Groan. My head hit the pillow again and I asked her, "What are you doing?"
"Patting my baby and reading my book."
I looked up at her again and saw she had her baby doll face down on the bed and covered with a blanket. She was patting that baby’s back within an inch of its life. On her lap, she was holding a book open with her other hand. I noticed she did not have a picture book, rather she was holding a medium sized adult paperback. "What are you reading?" I asked her.
"This book," she said, holding it up.
She was "reading" A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf.
It’s really hard to be mad at her for that.
I often slip when I am tired or distracted. My daughter excels at catching my slips and whenever she does, I explain, "I know . . . Mama said a not nice word. Sometimes mamas need to say those words. But those words are not for you to say, okay?" She agrees and, so far, I haven’t heard her say any of my not nice words. Now, when she catches me, she says, "You say that?" meaning, "You can say that and I can’t, Mama?" Pretty soon, however, she is going to forget that I have told her not to say certain words and say something really inappropriate in front of someone. So, I have been trying extra hard not to swear.
Well, last night didn’t help things much. At 2:30 this morning, she started screaming, "MAMA! MAMA!!" The scream was so sudden and high pitched that I thought she had lost a limb or was bleeding from the head or something. When I arrived in her room, she was in her bed, apparently fine and all in one piece . . . still screaming. I said, not so nicely, "WHAT?!? What is your problem?" (I’m not the most nurturing person at 2:30 in the morning.)
"I got boogers."
"Jesus Christ! Can’t you wipe them on your sheets like every other normal child?"
She responded with, "No . . . you say that?"
I groaned and went and got her a box of Kleenex. I tucked her in and kissed her good night again. Then I went to my room and went back to sleep. I was exhausted. I hadn’t gone to sleep until past midnight and I thought I would be able to get at least another four hours of sleep.
Wrong.
At 6 am, I become barely conscious of a thumping noise and a weight on the end of the bed. Glancing at the clock, I assumed it is the dog wagging her tail while sleeping on my bed. I whispered, "Knock it off, dog," and closed my eyes. After a short silence, the thumping started again. I mean-whispered, "STOP it, dog." Another silence and then . . . thump, thump, thump, thump, thump. In my regular mean-mommy voice, I said "STOP. IT. RIGHT. NOW."
A longer silence followed, which allowed me to close my eyes and almost get back to sleep. But then it started again . . . thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump. Before I turned over and sat up in bed, I said:
"GOD DAMN IT, dog, KNOCK THAT SHIT OFF!!"
Then I turned over and sat up. There, sitting on the end of my bed was my daughter. Predictably, she said, "You say that?" Groan. My head hit the pillow again and I asked her, "What are you doing?"
"Patting my baby and reading my book."
I looked up at her again and saw she had her baby doll face down on the bed and covered with a blanket. She was patting that baby’s back within an inch of its life. On her lap, she was holding a book open with her other hand. I noticed she did not have a picture book, rather she was holding a medium sized adult paperback. "What are you reading?" I asked her.
"This book," she said, holding it up.
She was "reading" A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf.
It’s really hard to be mad at her for that.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Reward or Punish - Punish or Reward?
In my opinion, this is one of the most difficult basic questions of parenting: when dealing with prospective behavior of your child, which is more effective: promising to reward for good behavior or threatening to punish for bad behavior?
I’ve got the system down for dealing with immediate past behavior: smacking your brother on the head - punish. Helping your brother reach a toy - reward. Spitting and then screaming "I DON’T WANT TO" at your mother when she asks you to go potty - punish. Going potty when asked - reward. Repeatedly kicking the car when your mother won’t sing the ABCs for a 40th time on the way home from work - punish. Entertaining your brother in the car during a long trip - reward.
In my house, we don’t really use the word punishment. I prefer the word "consequences." My daughter (and to some extent, my son) understands the concept of consequences for actions. If you throw a toy, you immediately lose that toy (it goes on top of the refrigerator until the next day - we have a lot of begging at the fridge in my house because the dog’s treats are also up there.) If you hit, kick, spit, bite, or push another living thing in the house, you go to time out (sit on the step, we call it.) If you scream, you go outside and stand by yourself on the back deck until you are done screaming. (As an aside, this has been one of the most effective punishments in my house for my daughter, a/k/a The Screamer. She doesn’t realize I can still see her from inside the house and almost immediately stops screaming when she thinks no one can see or hear her. I highly recommend it for age-appropriate punishment.)
I often talk about making choices with my kids - if you choose a certain behavior, you must deal with the consequences of your choice. I believe this is a good lesson for life in general. If you choose not to do well in school, there are consequences. If you choose to leave your job and not get another one, there are consequences. If you choose to spend your money on frivolous things, there are consequences. If you choose bad men, there are consequences. Anyway, I digress . . . .
The reward v. punishment for prospective behavior issue has come up recently because my daughter has made the choice to be a complete sassy-brat during naptime at day care. She has always been hard to get to sleep at day care, probably because of the other people in the room. At home, she has no problems going to sleep - not once has she gotten out of her bed before being told to get up. But school is different. Her teachers tell me she is often the last child asleep, but she always eventually goes to sleep.
A couple of weeks ago, however, she refused to take a nap and turned into Princess Bratty-Pants during naptime. I actually don’t mind if she doesn’t nap during the day, she just goes to bed earlier in the evening. And I would be fine if she simply rested quietly on her cot at school and allowed the other children to nap. But, not my Princess Bratty-Pants. If she’s not sleeping, she makes it near impossible for other children to sleep. She does gymnastics on her cot. She knocks things off nearby shelves. She sings Baby Bumblebee and ABCs and Five Little Ducks at the top of her lungs. She talks non-stop. She screams at her teachers "I DON"T HAVE TO LISTEN TO YOU!"
Lovely.
All this behavior from a girl who is mostly well-behaved at all other times. Her teachers were not amused the first day she did this and stopped me in the hallway before I got to her room. I also was not amused and, before giving her a hug when I picked her, took her into the hallway to have a serious discussion about her behavior. Her hello smile quickly faded when she knew I knew what she had done.
"What happened during naptime today?" Smile fades and lower lip comes out.
"Did you take a nap?" tiny little "no."
"Did you use your mean words with Ms. Brenda?" tinier little "yes" and attempts to hug me.
"That makes me very sad. It makes Ms. Brenda very sad." attempts to change the subject to the new song she learned.
"No. What you did during naptime is not OK." Now, she’s planting little kisses on my hands and forearms.
"Now, there are consequences for your behavior. You will lose dessert tonight after dinner. And you must say you are sorry to Ms. Brenda."
After she went to bed, I pondered what direction to take to stop this behavior in the future. As I saw it, I had two options. The first was to tell her she would be rewarded when she did sleep. The second was to tell her she would be punished when she didn’t sleep. In general, I believe that rewarding good behavior is ultimately more effective. So, we worked out a treat system - if she takes a nap, she gets a small treat on the way home (I happened to have mini-tootsie rolls available). And that worked . . . for about two and a half weeks.
And then there was yesterday.
At naptime, her behavior was much worse and the teachers were not happy at all. This time, however, my daughter showed absolutely no remorse for her actions. When I said that I was very sad she had not taken a nap and used her mean words with Ms. Brenda, she replied, "I DON’T WANT TO TAKE A NAP!!!!!" and burst into tears and screaming and threw herself on the floor. (Exhibit A in support of the case for napping.) All attempts to discuss the issue were pointless, as she had clearly fallen off the ledge of the no-nap tantrum zone. She wailed her way out of the day care, into the car, and all the way home.
Once she was calmed down at home, we had the punishment talk. As a consequence for her actions, she lost her after-dinner dessert, her playtime before bed, and the storytime before bed. This realization caused her to wail again, but when she had calmed down I explained that the consequences of not taking a nap meant she was extra tired at night and had to go to sleep right after dinner. She was not happy, but after about 30 seconds of whining in her bed, she fell asleep at 6 pm.
We will see what happened today at day care. Hopefully, she took a nap and we can go back to rewarding. It has occurred to me while writing this post that the question can be answered without using "or," that the two options are not mutually exclusive. It may be that rewarding and punishing is the appropriate response to this situation. Well, that just shows me that the next time I have a problem, I should just write out the issue and it will resolve itself. Of course, resolving my daughter’s behavior may be much more difficult.
I’ve got the system down for dealing with immediate past behavior: smacking your brother on the head - punish. Helping your brother reach a toy - reward. Spitting and then screaming "I DON’T WANT TO" at your mother when she asks you to go potty - punish. Going potty when asked - reward. Repeatedly kicking the car when your mother won’t sing the ABCs for a 40th time on the way home from work - punish. Entertaining your brother in the car during a long trip - reward.
In my house, we don’t really use the word punishment. I prefer the word "consequences." My daughter (and to some extent, my son) understands the concept of consequences for actions. If you throw a toy, you immediately lose that toy (it goes on top of the refrigerator until the next day - we have a lot of begging at the fridge in my house because the dog’s treats are also up there.) If you hit, kick, spit, bite, or push another living thing in the house, you go to time out (sit on the step, we call it.) If you scream, you go outside and stand by yourself on the back deck until you are done screaming. (As an aside, this has been one of the most effective punishments in my house for my daughter, a/k/a The Screamer. She doesn’t realize I can still see her from inside the house and almost immediately stops screaming when she thinks no one can see or hear her. I highly recommend it for age-appropriate punishment.)
I often talk about making choices with my kids - if you choose a certain behavior, you must deal with the consequences of your choice. I believe this is a good lesson for life in general. If you choose not to do well in school, there are consequences. If you choose to leave your job and not get another one, there are consequences. If you choose to spend your money on frivolous things, there are consequences. If you choose bad men, there are consequences. Anyway, I digress . . . .
The reward v. punishment for prospective behavior issue has come up recently because my daughter has made the choice to be a complete sassy-brat during naptime at day care. She has always been hard to get to sleep at day care, probably because of the other people in the room. At home, she has no problems going to sleep - not once has she gotten out of her bed before being told to get up. But school is different. Her teachers tell me she is often the last child asleep, but she always eventually goes to sleep.
A couple of weeks ago, however, she refused to take a nap and turned into Princess Bratty-Pants during naptime. I actually don’t mind if she doesn’t nap during the day, she just goes to bed earlier in the evening. And I would be fine if she simply rested quietly on her cot at school and allowed the other children to nap. But, not my Princess Bratty-Pants. If she’s not sleeping, she makes it near impossible for other children to sleep. She does gymnastics on her cot. She knocks things off nearby shelves. She sings Baby Bumblebee and ABCs and Five Little Ducks at the top of her lungs. She talks non-stop. She screams at her teachers "I DON"T HAVE TO LISTEN TO YOU!"
Lovely.
All this behavior from a girl who is mostly well-behaved at all other times. Her teachers were not amused the first day she did this and stopped me in the hallway before I got to her room. I also was not amused and, before giving her a hug when I picked her, took her into the hallway to have a serious discussion about her behavior. Her hello smile quickly faded when she knew I knew what she had done.
"What happened during naptime today?" Smile fades and lower lip comes out.
"Did you take a nap?" tiny little "no."
"Did you use your mean words with Ms. Brenda?" tinier little "yes" and attempts to hug me.
"That makes me very sad. It makes Ms. Brenda very sad." attempts to change the subject to the new song she learned.
"No. What you did during naptime is not OK." Now, she’s planting little kisses on my hands and forearms.
"Now, there are consequences for your behavior. You will lose dessert tonight after dinner. And you must say you are sorry to Ms. Brenda."
After she went to bed, I pondered what direction to take to stop this behavior in the future. As I saw it, I had two options. The first was to tell her she would be rewarded when she did sleep. The second was to tell her she would be punished when she didn’t sleep. In general, I believe that rewarding good behavior is ultimately more effective. So, we worked out a treat system - if she takes a nap, she gets a small treat on the way home (I happened to have mini-tootsie rolls available). And that worked . . . for about two and a half weeks.
And then there was yesterday.
At naptime, her behavior was much worse and the teachers were not happy at all. This time, however, my daughter showed absolutely no remorse for her actions. When I said that I was very sad she had not taken a nap and used her mean words with Ms. Brenda, she replied, "I DON’T WANT TO TAKE A NAP!!!!!" and burst into tears and screaming and threw herself on the floor. (Exhibit A in support of the case for napping.) All attempts to discuss the issue were pointless, as she had clearly fallen off the ledge of the no-nap tantrum zone. She wailed her way out of the day care, into the car, and all the way home.
Once she was calmed down at home, we had the punishment talk. As a consequence for her actions, she lost her after-dinner dessert, her playtime before bed, and the storytime before bed. This realization caused her to wail again, but when she had calmed down I explained that the consequences of not taking a nap meant she was extra tired at night and had to go to sleep right after dinner. She was not happy, but after about 30 seconds of whining in her bed, she fell asleep at 6 pm.
We will see what happened today at day care. Hopefully, she took a nap and we can go back to rewarding. It has occurred to me while writing this post that the question can be answered without using "or," that the two options are not mutually exclusive. It may be that rewarding and punishing is the appropriate response to this situation. Well, that just shows me that the next time I have a problem, I should just write out the issue and it will resolve itself. Of course, resolving my daughter’s behavior may be much more difficult.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
My First “You’re FIRED!”
For the first time in my life, I fired someone. I fired my house cleaning service and it was hard. In fact, it took me about a year to lower the axe.
I hired a cleaning service two years ago when it became abundantly clear that I wouldn’t be able to keep up with the cleaning, my job, my social life, and add a child to the mix. Out of those things, I decided to give the cleaning job to someone else. The first year went well - the house was clean, they were reliable, and I was happy. Then the "team" of cleaners cleaning my house changed. And the house wasn’t exactly clean when I came home.
I made several attempts to correct the problems, notifying the company and asking for it to be fixed. And it would be fixed, for the next visit or two. Then it would go downhill again, and I would have to call and complain again. Over and over again.
Cleaning my house is not that difficult, if you like cleaning or if you are paid to clean. I really have just four requirements for a clean house:
(1) All dog and cat hair must be removed from all surfaces, including the rugs. This is the hardest part, really, because the amount of pet hair in my house is insane. But, this is why I pay someone else to do it.
(2) All floors must be clean. I know this sounds easy, but apparently it is not. Every time the service cleaned, I would come home and wipe a wet paper towel in various places on the floor. If it was still dirty (and it often was), I would call and complain. Seriously, people. I have babies - they spend a good portion of their time on the floor.
(3) Bathrooms must be clean, but especially toilets. To me, there is nothing grosser than a dirty toilet. And, again, we spend a lot of time on the floor, even in the bathroom. Although a toilet might look clean from above, it is not clean if you can see the black gunk around the rim when you are eye to eye with it. Shudder.
(4) All cobwebs must be removed from ceiling and light fixtures. I can’t stand cobwebs, probably because they remind me of spiders. How hard is it to clean cobwebs? Hard, apparently, as the same cobwebs would be present the morning before the clean, and the evening after the "clean." I have the proof. I took pictures.
That’s all I ask, aside from a general cleaning of the remainder of the house. I don’t expect them to make our beds (hell, I never make our beds) but they did it every time. I don’t expect them to take out the trash, although they always did. But then they would replace my trash bags with flimsy trash bags and, believe me, we are a family that needs HEFTY HEFTY HEFTY trash bags. I never asked them to clean my windows or the basement or the refrigerator or the oven. I never asked them to wash dishes or laundry (although my brother’s house cleaner does their laundry.) And it's a small house, relatively.
So, two weeks ago, I finally worked up the courage to fire them. What I really wanted to do was write a burning letter detailing all of their faults and failures to correct them and personally hand it over with a Donald Trump-esque "YOU’RE FIRED!" I wrote that letter over and over again in my head.
But, as it turns out, I’m a firing wimp.
Who knew? Anyone who knows me knows that I don’t shy away from confrontation, I thrive on confrontation. It’s what I get paid to do. I’ll tell anybody and their dog what I think of them if the mood strikes me and there is a good reason for it. I once had a two hour bitch-fest at the DMV because they were trying to charge me late fees for not paying my registration on time. (Admittedly, I lost that one. I mean, I had failed to pay my registration for a year. Oops. I was busy, what can I say?)
But firing a personal service company for poor service? I guess I’m just a timid little barn mouse. I couldn’t write the letter. Instead, I wrote a note that said, "Dear _______, Your services are no longer required. Please slide the key through the mail slot when you are done today." How embarrassing.
However, it didn’t really occur to me until after I fired them that . . . holy shit . . . if they aren’t going to do the cleaning . . . who is? Damn. I haven’t cleaned my house for two years. I’m not even sure I know how to anymore and I’m damn sure I still don’t have the time to clean.
Finding a new service was not easy. I don’t like strangers in my home and I really wanted to be able to trust a new house cleaner. So, after about 30 phone calls and emails, I finally found one. She is a friend of a friend and hopefully reliable. I informed her of my four criteria for a clean home. She seemed to agree. I told her some of the special rules of my house - toilet seats always down because the dog drinks the water and then pees all over; toilet paper hidden because the cat eats it; and leave the books in my bed alone - I’m reading them. Yes, all of them. Yes, all of them at the same time.
Gawd, I hope I don’t have to fire anyone else for a long time. It’s exhausting.
I hired a cleaning service two years ago when it became abundantly clear that I wouldn’t be able to keep up with the cleaning, my job, my social life, and add a child to the mix. Out of those things, I decided to give the cleaning job to someone else. The first year went well - the house was clean, they were reliable, and I was happy. Then the "team" of cleaners cleaning my house changed. And the house wasn’t exactly clean when I came home.
I made several attempts to correct the problems, notifying the company and asking for it to be fixed. And it would be fixed, for the next visit or two. Then it would go downhill again, and I would have to call and complain again. Over and over again.
Cleaning my house is not that difficult, if you like cleaning or if you are paid to clean. I really have just four requirements for a clean house:
(1) All dog and cat hair must be removed from all surfaces, including the rugs. This is the hardest part, really, because the amount of pet hair in my house is insane. But, this is why I pay someone else to do it.
(2) All floors must be clean. I know this sounds easy, but apparently it is not. Every time the service cleaned, I would come home and wipe a wet paper towel in various places on the floor. If it was still dirty (and it often was), I would call and complain. Seriously, people. I have babies - they spend a good portion of their time on the floor.
(3) Bathrooms must be clean, but especially toilets. To me, there is nothing grosser than a dirty toilet. And, again, we spend a lot of time on the floor, even in the bathroom. Although a toilet might look clean from above, it is not clean if you can see the black gunk around the rim when you are eye to eye with it. Shudder.
(4) All cobwebs must be removed from ceiling and light fixtures. I can’t stand cobwebs, probably because they remind me of spiders. How hard is it to clean cobwebs? Hard, apparently, as the same cobwebs would be present the morning before the clean, and the evening after the "clean." I have the proof. I took pictures.
That’s all I ask, aside from a general cleaning of the remainder of the house. I don’t expect them to make our beds (hell, I never make our beds) but they did it every time. I don’t expect them to take out the trash, although they always did. But then they would replace my trash bags with flimsy trash bags and, believe me, we are a family that needs HEFTY HEFTY HEFTY trash bags. I never asked them to clean my windows or the basement or the refrigerator or the oven. I never asked them to wash dishes or laundry (although my brother’s house cleaner does their laundry.) And it's a small house, relatively.
So, two weeks ago, I finally worked up the courage to fire them. What I really wanted to do was write a burning letter detailing all of their faults and failures to correct them and personally hand it over with a Donald Trump-esque "YOU’RE FIRED!" I wrote that letter over and over again in my head.
But, as it turns out, I’m a firing wimp.
Who knew? Anyone who knows me knows that I don’t shy away from confrontation, I thrive on confrontation. It’s what I get paid to do. I’ll tell anybody and their dog what I think of them if the mood strikes me and there is a good reason for it. I once had a two hour bitch-fest at the DMV because they were trying to charge me late fees for not paying my registration on time. (Admittedly, I lost that one. I mean, I had failed to pay my registration for a year. Oops. I was busy, what can I say?)
But firing a personal service company for poor service? I guess I’m just a timid little barn mouse. I couldn’t write the letter. Instead, I wrote a note that said, "Dear _______, Your services are no longer required. Please slide the key through the mail slot when you are done today." How embarrassing.
However, it didn’t really occur to me until after I fired them that . . . holy shit . . . if they aren’t going to do the cleaning . . . who is? Damn. I haven’t cleaned my house for two years. I’m not even sure I know how to anymore and I’m damn sure I still don’t have the time to clean.
Finding a new service was not easy. I don’t like strangers in my home and I really wanted to be able to trust a new house cleaner. So, after about 30 phone calls and emails, I finally found one. She is a friend of a friend and hopefully reliable. I informed her of my four criteria for a clean home. She seemed to agree. I told her some of the special rules of my house - toilet seats always down because the dog drinks the water and then pees all over; toilet paper hidden because the cat eats it; and leave the books in my bed alone - I’m reading them. Yes, all of them. Yes, all of them at the same time.
Gawd, I hope I don’t have to fire anyone else for a long time. It’s exhausting.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Expanding Their Palates
Recently I realized that I had fallen into a food routine with my kids. We have pretty much the same foods week to week and I find it pretty boring. Most of these foods were everyday kid-friendly dinner foods like pasta, roast chicken, mac & cheese, ravioli, pizza, and pot roast. Even our fruits and vegetables were always the same: green beans, peas, carrots, bananas, pears, apples, grapes, and oranges. I think it was winter that was bringing me down . . . that and having two kids under three who weren't far from the baby food scene.So, I decided to start expanding their palates. Every couple of days or so, I replace one of our ho-hum foods with something more exciting. Since the opening of the Riverfront Market, I have picked whatever is local and looks good. Admittedly, I have had limited success. But I am determined NOT to raise picky eaters. I believe that if you are open to trying new foods (no one says you have to like new foods, just try them), then you are much more likely to be open to new ideas, people, or experiences in general.
This being said, my kids do have some odd food preferences. My son hates bananas. He has never liked them, even as a baby food. He also isn't really fond of grapes, even if I cut them in half. My daughter doesn't like oranges and acts as if her life is ending if I put them on her plate. They are both good vegetable eaters, if you only count green beans, peas, and carrots as vegetables. They are both extremely fond of meat.
But here's the weird part. Neither one of them will eat cheese, with the exception of Kraft Mac & Cheese and McDonald's Cheeseburgers (which I don't think really count as cheese.) No cheese, ever. Not string cheese, not American cheese, not cheddar cheese, not colby. I thought maybe the problem was they didn't like cheap cheese. (This is not so weird, both of them prefer the soy chicken nuggets to real chicken nuggets.) So, I bought havarti, gouda, swiss, and fresh mozzarella. Nope. They just don't like cheese. Weird.
Anyway, in the last few months, we have tried kiwi, grape tomatoes, mango, fresh pineapple, cucumber, honeydew, real strawberries (farmer's market, not store-bought), necatrines, avocado, fresh corn-on-the-cob, lima beans, radishes, bell peppers, asparagus, kohlrabi, jicama, and yams. Some were successful - we are big fans of most fruits, bell peppers, grilled asparagus, jicama, and corn-on-the-cob. Some were not so great - no one would touch lima beans (my personal favorite vegetable) or radishes (that was a little too much, I admit).
I think I was a little over-zealous last night, though. Along with our favorite ravioli, I served Asian pears and swiss chard. The Asian pears were a little too woody, so I don't blame them for not finishing them. The swiss chard was very yummy but too much for an 18 month old and an almost-three-year old.
My daughter did actually eat some of it, however, mostly because the rule is that, if you want dessert, you must eat some of everything on your plate. Her facial expressions were priceless, but . . . she swallowed it and got her marshmallows for dessert. I think I won't punish them further tonight . . . just green beans and pears and mac & cheese.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Bubble Got Back
One of the rules in my house is that bubbles can only be blown in the bathtub or outside. If you think that makes me a kill-joy, please consider how slippery and sticky bubble soap makes hardwood and ceramic tile floors. I haven't got time for that kind of mess. I have enough mess made through allowed activities in my house.
Anyway, every time the kids take a bath, I sit next to the tub and blow bubbles. Bubbles entertain children for hours and they love getting and popping them in the bathtub. And, no one gets messy because you can just wash it off! (Believe me, I have considered letting them eat in the bathtub but there isn't enough room. Plus, it's probably not that sanitary.)
Last night during their bath, I blew a really big bubble. The kids were astounded and amazed. They gasped in delight. My daughter said, "I like BIG bubbles!!" She said it in such a way, it came out like Sir Mix-a-Lot's "Baby Got Back" when he says, "I like big butts and I cannot lie . . . ." So, I started singing "Baby Got Back" but stopped when I realized the words were really inappropriate on so many levels. But they giggled (probably from watching this very white mommy try to rap . . . I admit, it was kinda sad.) But they enjoyed it, so I changed the words to the song to make it more kid-friendly. Here it is:
I like big bubbles and I cannot lie
You other brothers can't deny
That when a bubble blows in with no itty bitty waist
And a round thing in your face
You get fun, wanna pop out your tongue
'Cause you notice that bubble was stuffed
High in the air it’s flying
I'm hooked and I can't stop staring
Oh baby, I wanna get it with you
And take its picture
My homeboys tried to warn me
But that bubble I see makes me so happy
I think there is some merit to the idea that something happens to your brain when you become a parent. If this wasn't so funny, I might be embarrassed for myself. But, I've had a shitty week and I needed the laugh and . . . there it is.
Anyway, every time the kids take a bath, I sit next to the tub and blow bubbles. Bubbles entertain children for hours and they love getting and popping them in the bathtub. And, no one gets messy because you can just wash it off! (Believe me, I have considered letting them eat in the bathtub but there isn't enough room. Plus, it's probably not that sanitary.)
Last night during their bath, I blew a really big bubble. The kids were astounded and amazed. They gasped in delight. My daughter said, "I like BIG bubbles!!" She said it in such a way, it came out like Sir Mix-a-Lot's "Baby Got Back" when he says, "I like big butts and I cannot lie . . . ." So, I started singing "Baby Got Back" but stopped when I realized the words were really inappropriate on so many levels. But they giggled (probably from watching this very white mommy try to rap . . . I admit, it was kinda sad.) But they enjoyed it, so I changed the words to the song to make it more kid-friendly. Here it is:
I like big bubbles and I cannot lie
You other brothers can't deny
That when a bubble blows in with no itty bitty waist
And a round thing in your face
You get fun, wanna pop out your tongue
'Cause you notice that bubble was stuffed
High in the air it’s flying
I'm hooked and I can't stop staring
Oh baby, I wanna get it with you
And take its picture
My homeboys tried to warn me
But that bubble I see makes me so happy
I think there is some merit to the idea that something happens to your brain when you become a parent. If this wasn't so funny, I might be embarrassed for myself. But, I've had a shitty week and I needed the laugh and . . . there it is.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Unfortunately, It Wasn't the First Time
Anyone who has had a son knows that it is very typical to get peed on many times before they are potty-trained. My son has only peed on me a handful of times, but the one yesterday was his greatest pee-accomplishment to date.
We spent most of the afternoon outside in the warm but not ungodly humid weather. I filled a couple of storage bins with water and let the kids have at it. (Yes, I suppose I could buy a wading pool but I just haven't gotten around to it. And really, for preschoolers, playing in any kind of water is fun. Who needs a wading pool? At some point, my daughter is going to notice that our neighbors all have wading pools and wonder why she only has a plastic storage bin full of water.)
Since they got to do just about anything they wanted, including making mud puddles and splashing in them, I made them strip naked before going into the house. We dropped the wet clothes and shoes in the front hallway and went straight upstairs to the bathroom for a bath. I turned the water on in the tub and got my son's dry clothes and a diaper. Then I realized I had forgotten to get my daughter's dry clothes and underwear from her room downstairs.
As I started down the steps, I looked back at the kids. They were both standing naked in the bathroom watching the tub fill up with water. I stopped and engaged myself in a risk analysis of the situation. It would literally take me less than 10 seconds to go down the rest of the stairs and get her clothes. What could happen in 10 seconds, really? After a split second, I thought, "What, are you crazy? What couldn't happen in 10 seconds with these kids??" So, I went back upstairs and stopped the water in the tub and let it drain out. Look at me . . . Ms. Safety Conscious Mom. No drowning today, kids!
I looked at both of them and said, "Mama's going downstairs to get some dry clothes. I will be right back. Don't go anywhere. Okay?" They both said, "Okay, Mama." And I ran down the stairs. I ran to my daughter's room, grabbed some clothes and underwear, and ran back to the stairs. Then I ran halfway up the stairs . . . .
Which was when I felt it.
A warm stream of liquid spraying across the right side of my forehead.
"AHHHHHH!" I shouted as the warm liquid continued down the side of my face, onto my neck and then down my arm. "What the hell?" I put my hand up to shield myself and looked to the source.
There was my 18 month old son standing against the railing above the stairs, pushing his penis between the rails and giggling at my reaction. I'm sure he was just standing there to see where I was going when I ran down the stairs, but it was a perfect position for him to just . . . let go. I don't think he has the capacity to plan to pee on his mother's head, but his delight in doing so has me a little worried.
In retrospect, I should have let the naked potty-trained child, who knows where her clothes and underwear are and has the capacity to get them, make the trip downstairs while I put the pee-monster in the bathtub.
We spent most of the afternoon outside in the warm but not ungodly humid weather. I filled a couple of storage bins with water and let the kids have at it. (Yes, I suppose I could buy a wading pool but I just haven't gotten around to it. And really, for preschoolers, playing in any kind of water is fun. Who needs a wading pool? At some point, my daughter is going to notice that our neighbors all have wading pools and wonder why she only has a plastic storage bin full of water.)
Since they got to do just about anything they wanted, including making mud puddles and splashing in them, I made them strip naked before going into the house. We dropped the wet clothes and shoes in the front hallway and went straight upstairs to the bathroom for a bath. I turned the water on in the tub and got my son's dry clothes and a diaper. Then I realized I had forgotten to get my daughter's dry clothes and underwear from her room downstairs.
As I started down the steps, I looked back at the kids. They were both standing naked in the bathroom watching the tub fill up with water. I stopped and engaged myself in a risk analysis of the situation. It would literally take me less than 10 seconds to go down the rest of the stairs and get her clothes. What could happen in 10 seconds, really? After a split second, I thought, "What, are you crazy? What couldn't happen in 10 seconds with these kids??" So, I went back upstairs and stopped the water in the tub and let it drain out. Look at me . . . Ms. Safety Conscious Mom. No drowning today, kids!
I looked at both of them and said, "Mama's going downstairs to get some dry clothes. I will be right back. Don't go anywhere. Okay?" They both said, "Okay, Mama." And I ran down the stairs. I ran to my daughter's room, grabbed some clothes and underwear, and ran back to the stairs. Then I ran halfway up the stairs . . . .
Which was when I felt it.
A warm stream of liquid spraying across the right side of my forehead.
"AHHHHHH!" I shouted as the warm liquid continued down the side of my face, onto my neck and then down my arm. "What the hell?" I put my hand up to shield myself and looked to the source.
There was my 18 month old son standing against the railing above the stairs, pushing his penis between the rails and giggling at my reaction. I'm sure he was just standing there to see where I was going when I ran down the stairs, but it was a perfect position for him to just . . . let go. I don't think he has the capacity to plan to pee on his mother's head, but his delight in doing so has me a little worried.
In retrospect, I should have let the naked potty-trained child, who knows where her clothes and underwear are and has the capacity to get them, make the trip downstairs while I put the pee-monster in the bathtub.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
My Daughter Has Been Possessed by Miss Manners
Not even three days after I thought I was going to have to send my two toddlers to military school, my daughter decided to change the name of the game. Now she's trying to kill me with kindness. In the two hours we were together this morning, she managed to be the nicest toddler this side of the Mississippi.
6:49 am (coming upstairs from her room) - "Good morning, Mama!" This struck me as odd, as her usual first statement of the day is either "I just wet" meaning she has peed in her bed or "Find my ________ (toy) right now!"
6:55 am (after I have told her to go potty and get her clothes) - "Okay, Mama!" And she actually did it! Without stalling with playing she must do before completing any other task or screaming "NO!!" at the top of her lungs.
7:10 - 7:30 am - Actually using Please and Thank You at breakfast. The norm is saying, "Milk, milk, milk, milk, milk, milk" with increasing volume while I am clearly doing something else for someone else.
7:40 am - Putting her shoes on without being asked. She did this without arguing with me about which shoes she was going to wear and without five minutes of insisting she couldn't put her shoes on by herself when she has been putting her shoes on by herself for the last six months. And they're Crocs, for christsake. A monkey could put those on by himself.
7:55 am - Trying to appease my son while he is throwing a temper tantrum. Usually, when he is throwing a fit, she stands next to him and screams, "That hurt my ears!! Too loud! Mama, he hurt my ears!"
8:17 am - Offering to carry both her bag and his bag out to the car. I expect her to carry her own bag to school and mostly, she dramatically flops her arms down when I give it to her and says, "Too heavy! Can't carry it!" Yeah, right . . . because one pair of underwear, a pair of shorts, and a lip smacker are too heavy for your petite 35-pound frame.
8:26 am - while driving to school in the car and the boy is throwing a different fit, she says, "I sorry for [the boy] Mama." That one really got me - now I am sure the child was abducted by aliens and replaced with some sort of robot-toddler who only uses her nice words, is fully potty trained (even through the night), and never deliberately pisses off her brother.
OR . . . .
She has discovered the age-old trick of older sisters . . . if the brother is acting like a complete shit, turn on the charm and become the perfect child. The rewards will be endless!!
OR . . . .
They are in this together . . . the old bait-and-switch. In a few days, the boy will be the perfect child and the girl will become possessed by the devil! That's the perfect way to keep Mama on her toes (and walking the fine line between psychosis and neurosis).
Tricky, very tricky! But, what you don't know my pretties, is that your Mama has been around the block a few times. You will never win . . . resistance is futile!
6:49 am (coming upstairs from her room) - "Good morning, Mama!" This struck me as odd, as her usual first statement of the day is either "I just wet" meaning she has peed in her bed or "Find my ________ (toy) right now!"
6:55 am (after I have told her to go potty and get her clothes) - "Okay, Mama!" And she actually did it! Without stalling with playing she must do before completing any other task or screaming "NO!!" at the top of her lungs.
7:10 - 7:30 am - Actually using Please and Thank You at breakfast. The norm is saying, "Milk, milk, milk, milk, milk, milk" with increasing volume while I am clearly doing something else for someone else.
7:40 am - Putting her shoes on without being asked. She did this without arguing with me about which shoes she was going to wear and without five minutes of insisting she couldn't put her shoes on by herself when she has been putting her shoes on by herself for the last six months. And they're Crocs, for christsake. A monkey could put those on by himself.
7:55 am - Trying to appease my son while he is throwing a temper tantrum. Usually, when he is throwing a fit, she stands next to him and screams, "That hurt my ears!! Too loud! Mama, he hurt my ears!"
8:17 am - Offering to carry both her bag and his bag out to the car. I expect her to carry her own bag to school and mostly, she dramatically flops her arms down when I give it to her and says, "Too heavy! Can't carry it!" Yeah, right . . . because one pair of underwear, a pair of shorts, and a lip smacker are too heavy for your petite 35-pound frame.
8:26 am - while driving to school in the car and the boy is throwing a different fit, she says, "I sorry for [the boy] Mama." That one really got me - now I am sure the child was abducted by aliens and replaced with some sort of robot-toddler who only uses her nice words, is fully potty trained (even through the night), and never deliberately pisses off her brother.
OR . . . .
She has discovered the age-old trick of older sisters . . . if the brother is acting like a complete shit, turn on the charm and become the perfect child. The rewards will be endless!!
OR . . . .
They are in this together . . . the old bait-and-switch. In a few days, the boy will be the perfect child and the girl will become possessed by the devil! That's the perfect way to keep Mama on her toes (and walking the fine line between psychosis and neurosis).
Tricky, very tricky! But, what you don't know my pretties, is that your Mama has been around the block a few times. You will never win . . . resistance is futile!
Monday, May 12, 2008
Pointlessly Hypertechnical is One Year Old!
Today is my first anniversary as Ms. PH. While blogging has not turned me into the amazing superhero I thought it would, it has been a great year.
Incidentally, May 12th last year was one day before Mother's Day. My Mother's Day post the next day was almost shocking to read because it was so serene and calm. I long for the baby days . . . .
This year's Mother's Day was not a celebration at all. I really had one of the worst days as a mother . . . ever. The screaming and fit-throwing started as soon as they woke up and continued all day. After their naps and another fight about whose toys were whose, I had finally lost it and said, "The next time either one of you screams or cries, you are BOTH going back in your beds and I'm going in my bed for the REST OF THE DAY!!!!"
For reasons no one knows, that actually worked and they were pretty good for the rest of the day. What didn't work was telling them it was Mother's Day and they needed to be nice to me. Surprise, surprise.
Incidentally, May 12th last year was one day before Mother's Day. My Mother's Day post the next day was almost shocking to read because it was so serene and calm. I long for the baby days . . . .
This year's Mother's Day was not a celebration at all. I really had one of the worst days as a mother . . . ever. The screaming and fit-throwing started as soon as they woke up and continued all day. After their naps and another fight about whose toys were whose, I had finally lost it and said, "The next time either one of you screams or cries, you are BOTH going back in your beds and I'm going in my bed for the REST OF THE DAY!!!!"
For reasons no one knows, that actually worked and they were pretty good for the rest of the day. What didn't work was telling them it was Mother's Day and they needed to be nice to me. Surprise, surprise.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Who Am I?
Awhile ago, Jennifer posted a challenge on her blog to write my biography in six words or less. I have been slacking on blogging (otherwise known as working at my real job) but I have been thinking about this challenge. It is very difficult for someone, like me, who is so verbal to describe myself in six words. But I tried and here it is. And I sprinkled in a few of my favorite quotes, just for fun.
The first four words came easily . . . .
Attorney
I know I should probably have put mother or woman first, but I really think that the word "attorney" describes a great portion of my personality. I love being an advocate. I love studying and conversing about the law. And I have been an attorney longer than I have been a mother. Becoming an attorney was the first thing I did that fundamentally changed my entire life, my entire sense of being, my entire psyche. I changed from a shy but witty girl to sharp-tongued (but still witty) woman who is not afraid to take on the best legal minds in the country, mano-a-mano. And I am damn proud of it.
"You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing you think you cannot do." Eleanor Roosevelt
Mother
Of course, this was a close second, if not a tie. This was probably the second thing I did that fundamentally changed my identity. While there might be some point in the future when I stop being a lawyer, I will never stop being a mother. In some ways, the two roles are very similar. They were both incredibly difficult to achieve. On a regular basis, both roles continue to bring me happiness, frustration, pain, laughter, messes to clean up, friends, sleep deprivation, fulfillment, and pride. And I wouldn't give up either for the world.
"Courage, sacrifice, determination, commitment, toughness, heart, talent, guts. That’s what little girls are made of - to hell with sugar and spice." Anonymous
Singleton
When I looked this word up on Wikipedia, I got the following definition (among others): "A self-description of individuals without romantic partners, particularly applied to women in their thirties introduced in the novel and film Bridget Jones's Diary." Yep, that's me. I hope there is some point in my life when my biography does not contain this word. However, I must be honest - the greatest percentage of my life has been spent as a Singleton. And becoming comfortable with that fact and liking the person I am anyway, has been one of my biggest struggles.
Welcome to your life. There’s no turning back. Tears for Fears, "Everybody Wants to Rule the World"
Writer
I debated whether this word was simply repetitive of "attorney." But, as I was writing this, I realized that it isn't. I love to write, whether it is legal writing or not. I hope the contents of this blog demonstrate that fact.
"Sometimes you know the story. Sometimes you make it up as you go along and have no idea how it will come out." Ernest Hemingway
Member of a Family
Now, this is where the one word at a time thing got a little blurry. I couldn't think of one word to describe all of my roles as a member of my family. Is there one word that describes daughter, sister, granddaughter, niece, and cousin? And what about my other family - all of my good friends? So, I cheated a little here, for those who are counting. But, my biography would not be complete without listing my membership in my family. Crazy and unique, bad or good, my family members have helped make me who I am.
"No matter what accomplishments you make, somebody helps you." Wilma Rudolph
One Who Makes a Difference
Again, another one I couldn't describe with one word. In the end, I mean, the real end . . . my death . . . I want people to remember me for all of the above-listed things and, hopefully, remember that I made a difference in the world.
"The sense of obligation is present in all of us. A duty to strive is the duty of us all. I felt a call to that duty." Abraham Lincoln
The first four words came easily . . . .
Attorney
I know I should probably have put mother or woman first, but I really think that the word "attorney" describes a great portion of my personality. I love being an advocate. I love studying and conversing about the law. And I have been an attorney longer than I have been a mother. Becoming an attorney was the first thing I did that fundamentally changed my entire life, my entire sense of being, my entire psyche. I changed from a shy but witty girl to sharp-tongued (but still witty) woman who is not afraid to take on the best legal minds in the country, mano-a-mano. And I am damn proud of it.
"You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You must do the thing you think you cannot do." Eleanor Roosevelt
Mother
Of course, this was a close second, if not a tie. This was probably the second thing I did that fundamentally changed my identity. While there might be some point in the future when I stop being a lawyer, I will never stop being a mother. In some ways, the two roles are very similar. They were both incredibly difficult to achieve. On a regular basis, both roles continue to bring me happiness, frustration, pain, laughter, messes to clean up, friends, sleep deprivation, fulfillment, and pride. And I wouldn't give up either for the world.
"Courage, sacrifice, determination, commitment, toughness, heart, talent, guts. That’s what little girls are made of - to hell with sugar and spice." Anonymous
Singleton
When I looked this word up on Wikipedia, I got the following definition (among others): "A self-description of individuals without romantic partners, particularly applied to women in their thirties introduced in the novel and film Bridget Jones's Diary." Yep, that's me. I hope there is some point in my life when my biography does not contain this word. However, I must be honest - the greatest percentage of my life has been spent as a Singleton. And becoming comfortable with that fact and liking the person I am anyway, has been one of my biggest struggles.
Welcome to your life. There’s no turning back. Tears for Fears, "Everybody Wants to Rule the World"
Writer
I debated whether this word was simply repetitive of "attorney." But, as I was writing this, I realized that it isn't. I love to write, whether it is legal writing or not. I hope the contents of this blog demonstrate that fact.
"Sometimes you know the story. Sometimes you make it up as you go along and have no idea how it will come out." Ernest Hemingway
Member of a Family
Now, this is where the one word at a time thing got a little blurry. I couldn't think of one word to describe all of my roles as a member of my family. Is there one word that describes daughter, sister, granddaughter, niece, and cousin? And what about my other family - all of my good friends? So, I cheated a little here, for those who are counting. But, my biography would not be complete without listing my membership in my family. Crazy and unique, bad or good, my family members have helped make me who I am.
"No matter what accomplishments you make, somebody helps you." Wilma Rudolph
One Who Makes a Difference
Again, another one I couldn't describe with one word. In the end, I mean, the real end . . . my death . . . I want people to remember me for all of the above-listed things and, hopefully, remember that I made a difference in the world.
"The sense of obligation is present in all of us. A duty to strive is the duty of us all. I felt a call to that duty." Abraham Lincoln
Monday, March 17, 2008
Welcome to My World, Babe.
A study was recently published that found first born children are smarter than their latter born siblings. Since I am a firstborn, I wholeheartedly embrace the study’s conclusions. The study also concluded that the increased IQ might be related to the amount of time the older child spends teaching the younger child new skills. Using that same analysis, here’s my addition to the theory: oldest siblings are better able to appropriately deal with frustration because they spend more time trying to teach younger siblings who have no interest in learning the crap they are teaching.
Here is how this theory has developed in my house. My two and a half year old girl is in her full-on mimicking stage currently. She wants to cook like mama, take care of babies, pretend she is a nurse giving babies medicine, take babies for walks, etc. But most of all, she likes to play school. Of course, most of her playtime is trying to herd dolls, toys, animals, and people to her "circle time" so they can listen to her read a story. So, she walks around the house yelling, "CIRCLE TIME! Come sit for CIRCLE TIME!"
And pity the fools who fail to sit in her circle.
She does pretty well with the dolls and toys. She arranges them in a circle and only reprimands them if they don’t sit still. (Some baby dolls just do not sit on their bottoms like they should, you know, and falling forward on your face is apparently not a good reason for missing circle time.) She has little trouble with our dog, who will do just about anything you ask her to do if it involves the chance of love and attention. Of course, the 120 pound dog takes up a large portion of the circle, particularly when she wants to put her head in your lap while you read the story.
She does have some trouble with the cat. When she yells CIRCLE TIME in his general direction, he puts his ears back and take off like his tail is on fire. When he gets far enough away from her, he turns back and gives her that "HELL NO" look that cats are so good at.
However, she has the most trouble with my 15 month old son. Being human and all, she expects him to sit attentively in her circle and listen to the story without talking, moving, gesturing, averting his eyes, or touching anything else in the circle. She gently walks him over to the circle and says, "Sit here. On your bottom. Sit HERE!" He just walks away. She brings him back, "Sit here. HERE! IT’S CIRCLE TIME. SIT ON YOUR BOTTOM!" Now he thinks it’s funny and he runs away.
This could go on for hours. She has a burning desire to have him behave, sit in circle time, and do exactly what she tells him to do and he has a burning desire to screw with her because he loves to see her mad. Yesterday, this "game" ended in tears for my little girl. "MAMA - he won’t sit on his bottom! He won’t sit in circle time! It’s CIRCLE time. He won’t use his listening ears! MAMA - he’s running away! He took my book! MAMA! He won't sing ABCs! MAMA! I want him to sit and he not sit!"
I explained to her that he is still a baby and babies sometimes don’t listen and you have to remind them and sometimes they still don’t listen. I said that we are teaching him to be a better listener but it is going to take practice. She responded, "NOOOOO! It’s CIRCLE TIME!" I told her, "This is how I feel when I say, It’s time to put your coat on and you run to the other side of the room." She responded, "But he won’t listen to ME! It’s CIRCLE TIME!"
I found myself at a loss as to how to explain this further to her. All I could say was, "Welcome to my world, babe."
Here is how this theory has developed in my house. My two and a half year old girl is in her full-on mimicking stage currently. She wants to cook like mama, take care of babies, pretend she is a nurse giving babies medicine, take babies for walks, etc. But most of all, she likes to play school. Of course, most of her playtime is trying to herd dolls, toys, animals, and people to her "circle time" so they can listen to her read a story. So, she walks around the house yelling, "CIRCLE TIME! Come sit for CIRCLE TIME!"
And pity the fools who fail to sit in her circle.
She does pretty well with the dolls and toys. She arranges them in a circle and only reprimands them if they don’t sit still. (Some baby dolls just do not sit on their bottoms like they should, you know, and falling forward on your face is apparently not a good reason for missing circle time.) She has little trouble with our dog, who will do just about anything you ask her to do if it involves the chance of love and attention. Of course, the 120 pound dog takes up a large portion of the circle, particularly when she wants to put her head in your lap while you read the story.
She does have some trouble with the cat. When she yells CIRCLE TIME in his general direction, he puts his ears back and take off like his tail is on fire. When he gets far enough away from her, he turns back and gives her that "HELL NO" look that cats are so good at.
However, she has the most trouble with my 15 month old son. Being human and all, she expects him to sit attentively in her circle and listen to the story without talking, moving, gesturing, averting his eyes, or touching anything else in the circle. She gently walks him over to the circle and says, "Sit here. On your bottom. Sit HERE!" He just walks away. She brings him back, "Sit here. HERE! IT’S CIRCLE TIME. SIT ON YOUR BOTTOM!" Now he thinks it’s funny and he runs away.
This could go on for hours. She has a burning desire to have him behave, sit in circle time, and do exactly what she tells him to do and he has a burning desire to screw with her because he loves to see her mad. Yesterday, this "game" ended in tears for my little girl. "MAMA - he won’t sit on his bottom! He won’t sit in circle time! It’s CIRCLE time. He won’t use his listening ears! MAMA - he’s running away! He took my book! MAMA! He won't sing ABCs! MAMA! I want him to sit and he not sit!"
I explained to her that he is still a baby and babies sometimes don’t listen and you have to remind them and sometimes they still don’t listen. I said that we are teaching him to be a better listener but it is going to take practice. She responded, "NOOOOO! It’s CIRCLE TIME!" I told her, "This is how I feel when I say, It’s time to put your coat on and you run to the other side of the room." She responded, "But he won’t listen to ME! It’s CIRCLE TIME!"
I found myself at a loss as to how to explain this further to her. All I could say was, "Welcome to my world, babe."
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
What Not To Do When You Can’t Sleep
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