I've said "no" to Caia several times. I had to use that word when she started pushing buttons on the dishwasher and when she started dropping food on the floor. I said it to her today when she let her apple juice dribble out of her mouth and down the front of her shirt. Typically she just smiles at me and finds something else to do.
Last week though, I learned that she reacts a little differently when her Daddy says no to her. Sam and I were sitting on the couch while Caia and Tru played on the floor. We both watched as Caia walked over to Truett and hit him on the back with a toy and we both immediately sat up and said, "No Caia!", in stern voices. And Caia turned and looked at Sam with shock and her lower lip started to quiver. Before I could even blink, she burst into tears, put her head onto the ottoman, and started to wail. I just looked at Sam and started laughing. Apparently, Daddy hasn't said no very often, if ever, and she did not like it. She lifted her head and, still crying, walked over to him and reached for him. She then needed to be comforted for several seconds before she pulled herself together. It was comical.
Who knew that the same word coming from two different people could have such a different impact? It's just another sign of Sam stealing her from me.
Some days, this job of being a parent is impossible to get right. There is no job description and just when I feel like I've got a handle on things, I realize that I am completely neglecting another facet of the job. And there is nothing like a trip to the Dr.'s office to make me feel like I've been sitting around eating bon-bons and watching tv for the last five years while my kids turn into complete disasters because I didn't do something that I was supposed to when I was supposed to.
-You haven't taken your kids to the dentist yet? Oh. You should do that. But they are taking fluoride vitamins right? Oh.
-So she really isn't saying anything at all? Mama? Up? Anything?
-How is she doing with using a spoon and a fork? You don't give those to her because it's messy? You should probably start doing that.
-How is he at spreading things with a knife?
-Can he skip? Can she walk backwards?
So apparently, I'm supposed to let my kid make his own pb&j and I should be taking mental notes every time he skips down the block. And I should also let my 17-month old throw yogurt all over the room because she needs practice with her spoon. Ugh.
I would stop taking my kids in for check-ups to avoid this but then that would have to go on the list of "things I didn't do" and I'm pretty sure I don't want to add more things to that list. As it stands right now, Caia will apparently still be eating with her hands and grunting at me when she is 15, and Jem will be toothless and the other kids will tease him because he can't spread peanut butter with a butter knife.
photo from:
www.parentsavers.com
It seems as though we've regressed over the last week or so. Tru has reverted back to old habits; screaming and threatening and refusing to listen. Jem has been full of excuses for his bad behavior; claiming that he didn't see the book he was kicking around the room or that he didn't know they shouldn't secretly eat half a bag of chocolate chips. And I have resurrected angry Mommy. There has been yelling and exasperated huffing and frustration oozing out of me. And of course, there have also been many apologies and hugs and pardons, both given and received.
I don't like where we are heading. I don't like how easy it is to slip back into old patterns. Here I was, thinking that I've been doing so much better, when really it was just that my kids were behaving. The good behavior stops and I'm no longer calm and controlled. This isn't who I want it to be.
Today I came across a blog site called www.theorangerhino.com. A few friends had liked one of her posts so I decided to check it out. She set a challenge for herself to not yell at her kids (4 boys) for 365 days. She talked about the benefits she has seen from this challenge, besides simply not yelling at her kids, and it was enough for me to want to try it.
I can remember back to the first two or three years of my journey as a Mom. The idea that I would ever need to challenge myself to not yell at my kids would have seemed ridiculous. Yelling? Who does that? And then that day came when my composure snapped and I found myself with my nose inches away from my child's nose, screaming at him. I had yelled before, but never at my child. And then it happened again, and again until it became something that I now want to challenge myself to stop doing. So I am going to start with 30 days. I find I do better with that sort of thing if I set smaller goals for myself and work them into a bigger goal. If I can make it 30 days, then the next time I can make it 60 days. Eventually, it will add up to 365 days. An entire year without yelling. Today I feel like I have a better shot at growing a pair of wings but I'll never know unless I try. And this is something worth trying.
photo by gd427driver
http://www.flickr.com/photos/gd427driver/3156345314/
The other night I was sitting on the couch reading a book with Truett, while Caia stood in front of us peeking over the edge, when Sam walked in from work. He walked over to us and Caia looked up at him and said, "Dada" with a squeal of excitement and toddled around the couch to reach him. And my heart broke in to a million pieces. Oh, the betrayal! How could she do this to me? I was so sure that she loved me the most. But this seemed to be incontrovertible evidence that I might not be first and foremost in her affection.
How did Sam manage to steal her from me? Has he been practicing with her, teaching her to say "Dada" whenever I'm not around? Is he feeding her cookies on the sly? What happened!!! Maybe she is upset with me for piercing her ears or maybe she resents her nap time. At least she still smiles at me and reaches for me. I guess I still have that. But Sam and I will both know that her first word was his name and I fully intend to hold that over both of them until I die. That's how I roll.
So...I've been doing this blog for over a year now. It has definitely been fun and enlightening and challenging. I began with the intention of writing about things that I was experiencing as a mom in an open, honest, straight-forward way and I think I've done a fairly good job at sticking with that. But I have been feeling lately that the strain of trying to blog every weekday has been taking a toll on the quality of my blog. I do not want it to be a place for me to simply tell cute stories about my children, not because I have an issue with that but simply because it isn't the purpose. If the stories help to illuminate my own struggles and joys with parenting, then that is okay.
Basically, what I am saying is that I am going to take a break from blogging every day. At the risk of losing readers, I would rather write stuff that I feel good about, that I feel has quality to it, than to simply write something every day because I have to. My plan is not to drop off completely but to pare it down to a few times a week. So...enjoy the snow! (no idea how to end this one - sorry!)
Before having kids, I was one of those people who vowed that my children wouldn't watch tv before they were two-years old. And then one day I discovered, quite by accident, that by pressing a button on the magic box, I was quickly left with a transfixed, enraptured child. Suddenly I could do things that had previously been impossible, like sitting down during the day.
To make myself feel better I set up strict rules about how often they could watch and the types of shows. One hour during the day and one hour in the evening. And for better or worse, I've stuck with that schedule. The temptation is always there; to let the tv replace me for a few hours but that isn't what I really want.
However today I broke my rule and pressed the button early. My excuse is that I woke up feeling sick; tired and achy. I struggled through the morning and when 10:30 hit, I was done. I was alternating between taking my turn in the Sneaky Snacky Squirrel game and lying on the floor. So I turned on the tv despite the raging guilt and the voice insisting that I was turning my child's brain into mush.
I can hear my mom clapping right now. She thinks I'm way too strict on the tv rule and often tells me it is okay to cut myself a break once in a while. But my fear is that one break will turn into two and that it will continue on in this downward spiral. At the end, I will be spending my day in bed while my kids sit and watch show after show, leaving permanent imprints of their tiny behinds in our couch. So today was an exception to the rule and tomorrow I will be back to ignoring the seductive lure of the magic box.
photo from:
medheadlines.com
Me: What did you learn about today?
Jem: About a blind man. He was blind. He couldn't see.
Me: Okay. And what else?
Jem: Jesus came and helped him. There was dirt and Jesus spit in it. How gross is that! He put it on his face and the guy washed it off in a pond.
Truett: You mean a creek.
Jem: No. It was a pond. Or it could have been a creek or something. And then he could see!
I guess I should be glad that he thinks spitting is gross. I just wish he felt the same way about playing in mud, touching worms and chewing with his mouth open. Beggars can't be choosers.
Last night I discovered the Achilles heal of my mothering abilities and it's name is emesis. (That's just a medical term for puke. I looked it up and I'm using it because it just sounds better.) Anywho...
Truett started to call for us around 3 am. Sam got up and went to his room and, shortly after that, called for me saying he needed some help. I assumed that Tru had wet through his pull-ups and that Sam wanted me to change him while he changed the sheets. If only I had been so lucky.
Instead, Truett had thrown-up and it was everywhere. We had to strip the bed and him. I had to wash out blankets and sheets and pajamas before I could put them into the washing machine. I had to wipe down the carpet and the wall and the plastic bouncy horse that was unfortunate enough to be standing next the crib. Sam had to wipe down Truett and the bed.
It was awful! I'm fine with rubbing someone's back or putting a wet washcloth on their neck while they kneel over the toilet. I can deal with the noises. But cleaning it up was rough. Not quite cleaning-out-the-drain-in-the-shower-rough, but still fairly bad.
This was my first experience with this. Besides the typical baby spit-up and one incident with bananas, we haven't had any vomiting. And I always knew it was a blessing but never realized how much of one until last night. If I can go the rest of my life without ever having to do that again, I will consider myself lucky. Let me put it this way. I would rather come up with my own craft project for my kids, one that included glitter, than to do that again. Well, maybe.
photo from: sarah-aubrey.blogspot.com -
