Kids Say the Meanest Things (to their Moms)

Sometimes I think I've got it together. Perhaps I’ve just survived five days with 4 kids while my husband is halfway across the world on business. Maybe I’ve taken a shower two, or better yet three, days in a row. It could be that I’ve cleaned more than one room in my house in a month. Or I’ve been able to get the baby to sleep in his crib for more than twenty minutes at night. Possibly I’ve dedicated a good thirty minutes to playing with my little girl. Or I have managed not to make it through a school morning without losing my temper with my oldest two children, whom both seem hell bent on destroying me emotionally.  So on occasion, yes, I feel like I’m a pretty damn good parent. On occasion I think; Sweet Jesus I’ve got this whole motherhood thing figured out. Parenting is No. Big. Deal.

And then sometimes, while sitting at dinner, my 8 year old son will say something like “mom when I think of you, I think of three things: friendly, funny and swearing.” And that is when I can physically feel myself shrinking to a child-sized being; I feel myself being put in place by my kid. In front of my mother no less, who is quite obviously smirking, and quietly vowing to tell my father all about THIS. To be fair to myself, my son’s outburst of honesty came amidst husband’s said international business trip, and a seemingly endless snowy and bone chilling winter. I have had extra swears to say these past few days, cause there have been extra reasons to say them.

Regardless, it was in that moment that I finally felt as though I need to make a concerted effort to tone down my profanity. Clean my language up, and keep it classy for the sake of my kids. This of course will be a tremendous challenge for me because swearing is what I do. In fact, I used to do it just to drive my father crazy. He would tell me I was too creative to swear, whatever the farting dog that means, and I would tell him swears were just words and storm off swearing under my breath.  

Until now I’ve not worried about my kids picking up on my bad habit, and unlike my father I’m not sure it would irritate me. Thankfully my oldest daughter would never dream of swearing, out loud or under her breath. My son is a little more brazen, but for the most part keeps his swearing to “crap” and “fricking” and for times when he’s really, really mad. Like when his little sister tries to talk to him while he plays Minecraft. And my three year old; she is far more likely to test the waters. And holy shit…she’s actually four. Anyhow, my FOUR year old could hold her own in a bar, at a football game, or with the commercial fishermen at the pier if she needed to. But she’s just a little sprite…you know, around three or four, and it is still endearing when she drops a swear or two. And the baby, who knows? I suppose his first word could very well be shit. Or damn. Or stop driving like an asshole!

 

Yes, I will surrender and admit that swearing is not one of my more endearing qualities. I will make a deal with my son, and promise him that I will try to stop ruining his childhood with my vulgarity. But being the parenting guru that I am; a mom who has her shit together, I will also remind my kid that of late, it is he and his siblings who 99.9% of the time have driven me to cuss and curse and say bad words. Really, it’s his own effing fault.

Sleepless--Week Four/Fifty-Two

Sleepless--Week Four/Fifty-Two

"A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2014" 

I can become so frustrated with this little guy, and this week has been no exception. Some days my baby refuses to sleep for more than 30 minutes at nap time. This same little guy can also scream and cry and thrash around like no one’s business, when I try to get him to sleep. True sleep-training failed miserably for my first two children, and thankfully my third was a lovely little sleeper. After her, I was lulled into thinking that with my fourth, the business of baby sleep, and getting the baby to sleep, would be a walk in the park.

Unfortunately, it has turned into a walk into the Seventh Circle of Hell. Pacing the floors. Rocking so much that every nut, bolt and washer in the recliner squeaks plaintively. The other night in a fit of desperation I surrendered and drove the baby around town, in the snow. While he screamed and choked and gagged on his own vomit.

Sometimes I feel as though the days and nights will never end. That they will never get better. But of course ultimately I know they will. I have three other children who took essentially the same sleep path as this little guy. And we survived. We will survive.



But in my desperation; in those moments when I choose to walk away, or text my best friend to vent, or call my mom, or turn the monitors off to soften the sounds of crying, or pour myself a glass of wine…or better yet stick a straw into the bottle of wine…I also think of those moms and dads and caregivers who cannot cope. And those babies and their crying. Perhaps their diapers are full or their bellies empty. Maybe there is diaper rash or an allergy. Or perhaps they are terrible sleepers. Or terrible eaters. Or they need to be cuddled all the time.

Perhaps they are children of first time parents who do not know it will get better. Or perhaps they are children of seasoned parents who are overwhelmed by the needs of their older children. Or work, or staying at home, or life in general. Perhaps they were born to parents who did not want children at all. I think of those little babies, helpless and for whatever reason unable to settle. To stop crying. To be soothed. And my heart hurts for them. Because in those situations, with desperate babies and  desperate parents, lies danger.  I have been mired in my own parenting doldrums lately, exacerbated by a sense of helplessness for the little ones in my community, and communities all over the world, who are crying.

Looking at the beautiful face of my baby, I wonder: Is it as simple as holding a diaper drive and providing diapers to local families who can otherwise not afford them for their babies? Babies who could be suffering from severe diaper rash, and thus cry. Is it as simple as setting up a network of local families, of parents who can text or call each other at any time, just to talk about how much parenting can suck at times? Is it as simple as donating instead of selling unwanted baby gear to families, so babies can swing, or bounce, or play? I don’t know. I wish I had the answer.

I feel compelled to try to help these babies, these parents. Ultimately I have to believe that every parent loves their child. Every parent tries to do their best, but in crisis parents can lose sight of what is important. For now I will dedicate myself to being brave enough to keep thinking of these babies and their parents. I will keep researching organizations to support. I will hold space in my heart, and hope that these parents remember to love their babies. The way that I love mine.

I am joining Jodi and her 52 Project at Practising Simplicity

 http://www.practisingsimplicity.com



Here We Go

I don’t make resolutions, even ones that I’d desperately love to keep, because I know ultimately they will fall by the wayside. Resolutions feel too much like a long term commitment I’m afraid to make. I’m also not always good at seeing projects I start through to completion. And while I have the best of intentions and leave my camera on the kitchen counter all year long, I hardly ever take pictures of the kids anymore.

Given those faulty personality traits, I have been toying with participating in the 52 Project since learning about it in early January, 2014. Ordinarily I don’t like to join something unless I get in on the ground floor…in this case the ground floor being Week One (and it will drive me insane that I am joining on Week Three!). Additionally I oftentimes vacillate between fretting and not worrying about tossing my children’s faces out into the great unknown of the Internet. I can’t protect them once they’re out there, and this makes me jittery.

However, after careful consideration I’ve decided to go for it this year. I figure that participating will drive me to take pictures of the kids. Participating will drive me to completing more frequent blog posts. And the best part is that at the end of the year, I will have an incredible record of the kids’ growth over the course of fifty two weeks.

I tend to do a really great job of photographing the big moments. First smiles. First steps. First days of school. Every Daddy Daughter Dance. But it’s the tiny moments in between those bigger ones that I crave remembering. This year is a potentially big one for our family. We are looking forward to a new home and a new job. There will be new schools and family vacations.

Hopefully through the guidance of this project I will capture not only the important big moments, but the equally as important little moments for our family and for my kids. Hopefully this project will allow me to consistently see the beauty through the chaos of everyday life. My ultimate goal through the 52 Project is to end up with beautiful everyday photos accompanying everyday moments that we will all enjoy reflecting on at this time next year.  

Always Fancy--Week Three/Fifty-Two

"A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2014"

My middle girl. Four years old and full of…everything. She is both needy and independent. She adores her baby brother, but is still having a hard time, in very subtle ways, adjusting to not being my baby anymore. She loves to dress up. She loves to wear nail polish and lip gloss and drink her milk out of fine china. She thinks tiaras are everyday attire. She loves princesses and sparkles and beautiful dresses. She could run a mile in a pair of heels, and idolizes her big brother and sister, keeping up with them in so many, in fact almost all, ways. But don’t be fooled by those big, dark chocolate eyes, and her outward daintiness. She is tough. She’s a fighter and a leader. She speaks her mind and does not ever fade into the background. She’s funny and smart and loving and bold. She is my everything; I just hope that is something she always remembers.

I am joining in with Jodi and her 52 Project at Practising Simplicity

 http://www.practisingsimplicity.com

One Little Word For You. And You. And You. And You.

The other day I wrote a little bit about the idea of One Little Word for 2014. While I have decided that I will forego choosing OLW for myself, I have elected to go ahead and chose one for my kids. Who better to determine their focus for this New Year than their mother, right?

 

Some will see the following words as harsh. Please. Don’t get me wrong, I love my children with a fierceness only a mother knows. And if we weren’t in the midst of a hellish school cancellation scenario, I would have inserted more warm and fuzzy accolades with a side of mush throughout this post. But I’m not feeling it today. And honestly…if a kid can’t take a little constructive criticism and focus…well then, they’re screwed for life. So really, by giving these OLWs to my kids, I’m doing them a favor.

 

My first born. Her word is FORGET. I want her to FORGET she ever heard that frigging "Cups" song by the lovely Anna Kendrick. I swear to all that is good and holy if I see or hear my daughter try to drum it out on her chest, head, thighs or stomach One. More. Time. I am going to lose my fractured marbles and will saw her hands off myself. Granted, removing an appendage may sound a bit harsh, but honestly. This "Cups" thing? IT. HAS. TO. STOP.

My middle: His word is FLEXIBILITY. Good land boy. It is okay if you don’t sit in the green chair every single time your scrawny ass needs a place to settle. It is okay if you do not hold your baby brother first every single morning, or chose the first cartoon before school. You will survive if I show you a different way to complete your math homework. You will survive if you are not third to brush your teeth at night. You will survive if we deviate off schedule by just a little bit. I promise. Please do not clutch your head, jump up and down in sheer frustration, and scream a slew of nastiness when something, anything, does not go as you think it should.  You are exhausting yourself and you are exhausting the rest of us. Seriously. Flexibility. Look into it.

 

My other middle: I’m actually breaking the rules and giving her one little acronym: CTFD. Calm the F*ck Down child. Just calm down. I know you have been displaced by your baby brother. I know that you were the baby, my baby, for almost four years. But honey, it’s time to let it go. Get over it. You are not the baby anymore, your brother is nearly eight months old and you have had enough time to adjust. The drama. The crying. The (mostly negative) attention getting. The trying to crawl up into my shirt. The not getting the frig out of my business for just a few minutes. It’s old. I’m done. I know you know I still love you as much as ever…but get this…I may even love you a teensy bit more if you just, you know, CTFD.

My baby: His word is PACIFIER. Baby. Dear, sweet, adorable, squishy little baby. A pacifier is a tiny little silicone gift from the heavens. They come in beautiful colors, and some even come with witticisms! In general they can up the cuteness factor for the average baby. And get this, you can bite it and it won’t bleed! You can clamp your teeth around it and shake your head all over hell and it won’t scream. You can suck it in and spit it out of your mouth a million times over (even in the MIDDLE of the night) and it won’t ever become chaffed or exhausted. You can pinch it, scratch it, and stick it in your eye or your ear. It could be your new breast best friend. I’ll even let you keep it as long as you want! I’ll lie to the dentist about you having one. I’ll scoff at the dirty looks we get when you’re happily sucking away on one at the age of 12. (People are so judgmental). And, I know you love the real thing. I get that. But for the love of Christmas give me a break. You don’t know what you’re missing. Let 2014 be the Year of the Pacifier. Please.