tea for two

Today, I was invited to a Mother's Day Tea at Truett's preschool. We are coming down to the end of the school year and the kids in the older classes have spring programs. Trying to get a bunch of two and three-year olds to sing songs and stand on stage seems a little daunting so they do the tea time instead.
We met in a little lobby area right outside of the classroom. Tru ran out to me and asked me to sit next to him. Then the teachers served us cookies and iced tea. Each child had decorated two cookies, one for them and one for their parent. It was a generic sugar cookie, the kind with giant sugar granules on top that someone decided should be dyed yellow. And to that the kids added white frosting and rainbow sprinkles.
I am a fan of sweets. You will always find a bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips in my house and I believe there is a special place in my stomach just for ice cream. But this cookie was over the top. I took my first bite and wanted to gag. It was like dumping a sugar packet into my mouth and finishing it off with a hefty drizzle of honey. Blech! But my baby made that cookie for me so I was determined to eat the entire thing and smile while doing it. So I took bite after bite of my sugared-up sugar cookie that seemed to never get any smaller. And I smiled, and talked to Tru about his day, and read a book to him, and stole a pretzel off his plate because oh my gosh I needed something salty to cut all of that sweet. And I finished that awful cookie and had a fabulous time hanging out with my baby boy.  


photo by leuwam  http://www.flickr.com/photos/hotbikes/3724077212/

Yesterday, a friend stopped by with her kids. Both of our husbands were out for the morning so I invited her to come over and let her boys run around in the back yard. It can make such a difference in the day just to spend one to two hours with another adult, even if most of that time is spent refereeing arguments.
At one point yesterday, she had her oldest son,who just turned five a few months ago, come and sit on the porch with us. He was having a rough morning, as all kids do once in a while, and needed to take some time to cool down.  As he was sitting there, mumbling about not needing a time-out, he suddenly belted out, "Damn it!"
I looked at her and she just shook her head and said, "Yep, that's the latest." She thinks that he picked it up from watching A Bug's Life which they watched the previous week. She didn't know that there was any swearing in the movie and why would she? It's supposed to be a kids' movie. She shrugged and ignored him and he didn't say it again.
Watching her, I started thinking about what I will do when my boys say their first swear word. So far, I haven't had to deal with any swear words. But as the boys get older and start hanging out more with other kids, I'm sure they will pick up some less-than-ideal phrases and words. The worst thing I've heard from them so far is calling each other stupid heads or saying that they are going to hit me in the face. I can't imagine having one of them yell out a swear word. It will just seem so strange and wrong coming from their tiny mouths. And I know that I'm not supposed to make a big deal about it because otherwise they will realize that it gets Mommy upset and will use it more often. But it might be really hard to be calm about it. That seems to be a theme of my journey into motherhood; trying to be calm when really I just want to freak out most of the time. And the truth is that I have no idea what I will do when it happens. I'm sure that will be a whole new post where I again confess my utter failing as a human being. Can't wait for that one. :) 

photo by bill barber  http://www.flickr.com/photos/wdwbarber/2516333685/

content with scraps

Today, while at my parents' house, the boys were begging Sam to go downstairs to the basement with them. My parents recently purchased a new townhouse with a really nice finished basement. It is a great place for the boys to play and their favorite thing is to have Daddy throw pillows at them while they run around in circles. It gets them moving and tires them out, so I'm all for it.
Sam decided that the boys needed to give me a kiss and a hug before he would go downstairs with them. Yes, we sometimes stoop to bribing our kids for hugs and kisses. Tru ran right over and gave me a huge hug and nice, wet, sloppy kiss. Jem, however, decided that playing in the basement with Dad wasn't worth hugging and kissing Mommy. So while Sam took Tru downstairs, Jem stood by the basement door and cried. We asked him what was wrong and his response was, "Mommy only gets one kiss. I can't kiss and hug her."
As a mom, it is sometimes hard not to take things personally. Like when my kid would rather cry than give me a hug. That definitely feels personal. But I also have to remember that he is learning how to be his own person. He is trying to figure out where the boundaries are and he doesn't always do a good job of choosing his battles. Plus, I am the easiest target for his anger and frustration. He knows (I hope) that I will always love him and that I will always be there for him.
For today, I just let it go and decided instead to be thankful that Truett wanted to hug and kiss me. It can be either feast or famine and I take whatever scraps I can get during the famine periods.

good day

I was a little worried when I woke up this morning and saw that it was raining. Rainy days are the worst. Little boys have an amazing amount of energy trapped inside and it must come out. And expelling all of that energy indoors can be tricky. But today was a good day. I called my mom and she came along with us to a local park with a great indoor learning area. I carried Caia around in the front pack and we let Tru explore and lead us around. (Jem was in preschool)
Truett watched snakes slither in their cages, dressed up like a spider, crawled through a salamander tunnel and looked for salmon in the river. He was a good listener, he was eager to share things with us, and he was continually asking us to look at something or come with him.
This morning was just a good reminder of who my little boy is apart from all of the discipline issues. He is loving and curious and eager. He is a goofball with a fantastic smile. And sometimes it is easy for me to just brush a day like today aside, saying, "Thank goodness, I made it through today and it wasn't too terrible." I forget sometimes to look at it as a gift, a small reminder that being a mom is the best job in the world.

photo by: pmgnilre  http://www.flickr.com/photos/72758567@N06/6564024403/

seduced

I am a big believer in breastfeeding but, oh my goodness, I am in love with bottles! Let me first say that if I had a chance to do it all over again, I would do it exactly the same way. For me, personally, breastfeeding was the best option and I truly thought that it was the best thing that I could do for my kids. But it really sucked, no pun intended.
All three of my kids were barracudas, which is an actual classification for a breastfed infant. Just like it sounds, barracudas are aggressive eaters which translates into pain for the mom. Toe-curling, swear-inducing pain. It passed eventually, but the first two weeks were awful. I would dread the moment when my sweet babies would wake up and demand to have another crack at my pain-ridden decolletage.
I was also a huge spaz. For some reason, I could not get the knack of just letting my baby latch without some sort of guidance from me. I was not one of those moms who could just pop the baby under her shirt and let him root around and figure it out. I needed to be able to see what was going on at all times which was nearly impossible to do unless I didn't have a shirt on. The need to be semi-unclothed limited my feeding locations. So at family gatherings, I would have to take myself off to some room by myself while everyone else sat around and enjoyed each other's company. Or I would have to be home by feeding time because feeding in a restaurant or store wasn't possible. Like I said, huge spaz.
And while a bottle has some inconveniences, like needing to be heated, having to remember to pack one just in case, and the ridiculous cost of formula, it has still been fabulous. Before it was all up to me. Now I can hand her off to whoever is closest and they can feed her. I can be out of her presence for more than four hours at a time and I don't have to worry about pumping when I come back. There is no pain involved, no worry about what will happen when that first tooth comes in.
I'm glad I didn't know about all of this with my first child because it would have made going back to breastfeeding super difficult. I would have done it, no doubt, but I would have been daydreaming about powder in a can the whole time.


photo by fragglerawker_03  http://www.flickr.com/photos/fragglerawker/2527508557/

glimmer of hope

Last weekend, I read an article on MSN and watched the accompanying video. In it, Dan Savage, who started "It Gets Better", was speaking at a high school journalism convention. Dan is an activist for gay rights and during his talk he began to disparage the bible and anyone who believes in it and uses it to defend their actions. There is a whole bunch of things that I could say about his comments but that's not what this blog is about. As Dan was ranting about the bible and the audience was cheering and clapping, a group of students quietly stood up and walked out. It was obvious that they did not agree with what he was saying and chose to leave. That is what this blog is about.
When I have a moment to envision what life will be like out of this stage, I often find myself worrying about my kids. Who will they become? Will they succumb to the pressures of trying to fit in and going along with the crowd? Will they be the ones who bully others, the ones who stand by and watch, or the ones who befriend those who are friendless? Will I be able to impart strength to them? Will they have courage and the ability to love themselves for who they are? These are things I think about and I usually come away from it feeling a little despondent. The only stories I hear about teenagers anymore are horror stories. Bullying, suicide, murder, sex scandals, hazing rituals, drugs, the list goes on and on.
But watching that video, I saw strength and courage. I saw kids who walked out knowing full well that they would probably be the butt of jokes. I saw a group of kids who knew what they believed in and weren't ashamed of it. Watching that video, oddly enough, gave me hope.



photo by segolily  http://www.flickr.com/photos/59339563@N00/3424135463/

sorry

Lately I've been noticing a disturbing pattern in my day. More and more often I find myself needing to apologize to Truett. Because more and more often I am reacting to him out of frustration or anger. So I have to go back and tell him that I'm sorry for the way I acted or the way that I spoke to him. He always tells me it's okay and then apologizes for his part in the altercation.
It's no secret that I struggle with this child. I love him fiercely and yet I struggle. He is strong-willed and the non-stop battles are exhausting the thought of one more outburst of moment of defiance becomes overwhelming. So I start to power-up, to try and shift his behavior through aggression and dominance rather than with firmness and love. I'm teaching him that the stronger, bigger, louder person wins instead of teaching him that respect is a mutual thing.
I hate being this person. I hate that I allow a three-year old to push my button and that I stoop to his level. But I do, which means apologizing. We will continue to battle and I will continue to make mistakes with him but the day that I stop apologizing is the day when I've lost the war. That apology is humbling but it is a reminder to me that I, too, am a work in progress.

photo by KidEvil  http://www.flickr.com/photos/kidevil8988/3837187913/