Filed under: boyd, brothers, fighting, Life, parenthood, parenting, Uncategorized | Tags: brothers, fighting, parenting, velcro
Velcro ~ it holds the dust ruffle onto our four poster bed, and sticks the nametags to the desks in my fifth grade classroom, and the bodies of one four year old to another eight year old as they watch television, sit in the pew at church, or pass each other in the hall. The force is strong and immediate, as if when in each other’s company there is simply no other course of action but to throw one’s body wildly onto the other while peering over the shoulder ready to throw up hands in utter exasperation and proclaim “_____ stepped, slapped, scratched me” ~ accompanied by a look of outraged suffered from this complete and unsolicited indignity. And so I send them both to their separate rooms ~ a consequence whose effectiveness resides within the margin of error ~ but accomplishes an air of peace and allows me to reconsider the benefits of getting my own apartment down the street (which I am still thinking is an excellent idea!).
Filed under: academia, Aging, Children, Family, Life, old houses, parenthood, parenting | Tags: children, gusto, parenting, sword fighting, television
There are those among us who proclaim the perils of the sedative existence of a T.V. watching kiddo. These people are of course the folks who reside outside of the house of a boy who each day rolls up a legal size piece of paper and pops in Narnia in preparation for an all out epic battle of wills – likely concluding in an older boy grabbing his head and shrieking “Mom, Charlie is a sword fighting again.” And as I peak around the corner ~ the battle commences with jabs, and jolts, and leaps that could only make our one hundred and fifteen year old house feel like it just might not make it to the next century. Thus one not worry that these altercations are reserved for the T.V., I assure you that they rage at nap time as Charlie leaps upon his bed and peers into the mirrored wardrobe impressed by his dexterity, and in the grocery store as I ponder the advantages of fettuccine over rigatoni, and as one waits for our free Subaru oil change in the company of those who really just want to know the latest on the Casey Anthony trial.There are even little twinges of it as Charlie walks back down the aisle after attending children’s chapel, and though there are parts of me that are reluctant to claim the weapon wheeling bandit stalking the sanctuary ~ the one who corrected me yesterday when I said “Charlie, don’t you think it is a beautiful day?” To which he responded, “Mom that is something only princesses say ” ~but truth be known, I sure do love the gusto of boy who is willing to take on his world.
Filed under: parenthood, parenting | Tags: behavior. control, literacy, parents, reading
“If you can get your PJs on and brush your teeth, then you can go play video games.” “If you read for twenty-five minutes, then you can watch T.V.” I have found myself on more than one occasion uttering these PARENT MAGAZINE statements in an effort to offer pretend choice, elicit compliance, and get me some buy-in. BUT, as I peer into that reflective mirror called hindsight and enter the room where my gut tells me the underlying plot line, I know this really comes down to a message of win/lose – extrinsic reward – and covert control. AND – I absolutely hate it. It doesn’t fit with my being. Why do we need conditions, why do we need the IF?? I don’t want someone to say to me, “Doro – if you do the dishes, then you can watch TV” or “If you take the trash out you can have dessert.” These conditional relationships miss the point, and they make me feel as if the relationship itself has criteria ~ like just maybe my husband is going to walk out if I don’t fold the damn laundry correctly (believe me there are far better reasons). Is this the message we want to sell to our children?
So my experiment begins (This is what happens when you have a writer/researcher mom. At least I am not investigating the benefits of shock treatments). My older son Mac is 7. He likes to play soccer. He likes to play video games. He likes to turn any miscellaneous object into a gun. He does NOT like to read. I have tried the IF – the condition, “Mac –if you read for 20 minutes, you can shoot up the living room.” And it half way works – bad ideas often work. That’s how publishers make money. But – the question here really isn’t if it works, it is if it fits with the person you hope someday to become and the philosophies that are tightly packed into her camper.
And so last night I thought first and spoke second. Profound. My internal dialogue and twitching began with the facts: I love to read. I teach reading. I would prefer to read a book than be with most people I have met along the way (I need to hang out with new people). Books are a central part of my existence. To borrow from NPR, “This I believe” = Reading is more than words, it is power. So – this is what I say: “Mac – I am going into the living room to read. I would like for you to join me.” “But I want to play video games.” “And, I want a Hawaii vacation – but reading is about power and options and who the hell knows – if you keep going at it you might just dig up a tad of enjoyment.” And ~ together we walked into the living room and read, and when he turns 16 and still prefers to play video games, I will love him the BIGGEST anyway – no conditions or IF attached.
Today is Sunday ~ Our new associate rector has just arrived. If I was to thin slice our hour together, I would say we got ourselves a home run. She was casual, thoughtful, and had something to say ~ an unusual combination in today’s culture of altered “reality” TV shows and shock jocks. Her message today was the wait and the rub. She talked about this is the context of prayer and positioning. There are times when we position ourselves in authority and ask God to lead us to and through that promotion or book deal, assuming that which we know, see, and want are reflective of our purpose. Then there are times when we cease prayer, exit the relationship, and assume full responsibility for what is and might be. And then she talked about the wait ~ equated to chess playing ~ as we are staring across the table waiting for our opponent to make the next move, as if she forgot and needs a nudged reminder. And it is in that silence and wanting that we lose faith in our ability and His ability to see us through. But perhaps, it is in that very silence that God is saying ~ “hey – I got this but you are not ready for it yet and this silence and suffering and waiting and uncomfortable hum is necessary to take you to what you will later see as your proper place and home. So perhaps, the universal prayer is not one of asking or expecting but a request for a partner who will sit with us in the silence and help us wait for that calling who is coming around the distant corner, an unexpected arrival that would never have made Sunday’s prayer list.
I unlock the back gate. Peer in. Certain of a crime scene. A glance to the left, right, behind the fountain, and a peer into the monkey grass. Clear? Could it be? I stroll up the stairs with a mild, smug smirk of victory creeping out of the left side of a grin and crap. No literally – I mean CRAP. There it is. Right past the door towards the back of our upper patio. We have a basset hound. Her name is Sydney. She likes to crap on hard surfaces – like the sidewalk in front of the neighbor who just admired her supreme longitude or in the alley – next to the sign that says “no dogs allowed” but most often – strategically upon my patio in distinct places that make unbeknownst guest swear we have acquired modern art due to it perfected placement. I have hosed water, sprayed chemicals, and sprinkled pepper as blogger 227 suggested, but still she stands her ground and soils mine.
Filed under: Uncategorized
“I am going to Florida. We are staying at the Breakers.” “Excellent, I am staying in Richmond where I will watch your children break things (preferably your things).” It is like we are living this parallel life, except I am hosing crap off of our patio and you are having drinks by the pool. Comparisons aside, tonight was peaceful. Mac went to bed at 6:58. I of course told him it was way past his 7:30 bedtime – feeling perfectly content in this fallacy – as I quietly whispered to myself – this is your way of encouraging him to actually apply the knowledge he learns in school to his everyday environment. You see, the fib is actually a lesson in academic transfer. And – I know this is in fact possible, because in Mac’s short two year tenure in school, he has learned a variety of peppy renditions of the Barney song (all including references to automatic weapons) and is convinced that fruit snacks are a legitimate fruit that grows on the fruit snack tree – growing just left of the new Martin’s grocery store (don’t get me started). In the meantime, I am able to eat a veggie burger in peace and watch my taped episodes of The Hills and The City, which is vital to my fashion sense (obviously I don’t tune in often enough) and my understanding of how to base your self-worth on how blond your hair is and the expense of your shoes. So you see – Mac and I both learned important lessons today as our father figure sipped martinis by the outside bar. Ain’t life a beach.
Filed under: Family, parenthood, parenting, potty training | Tags: sponge bob square pants
Today was Charlie’s first day in big boy underpants. Well perhaps second or third – FIRST – day if you count the other times we started and stopped to potty train Charlie because his dad ran out of hard liquor. We got off to a dry start thanks to the reminder from his preschool teacher that those absorbent training underwear really do beat the pants off of the Sponge Bob Leaky Pants designer ones we bought first go round. They provide the boy with a little coverage, a little “I got your backside Charlie” when the Backyardigans is on and there is no time for a station break. All in all the day was a big success. Success one – we are both still talking to each other. Success two – he put on the underwear without a single curse word (he knows several). Success three – he has mastered his stance (step on stool, stare backwards at the potty, brace you hands on the upper lid). Success four – we have all demonstrated our own canning ability to “pee the potty” and have rejoiced by wallowing down potty treats as we celebrate our own victories. Now as not to continue to parade our own accomplishment – we have had some minor technical difficulties. For one, though Charlie’s stance is good and his attitude solid – no complete sentence speaking human has yet to see any pee actually come out – which leaves a girl to wonder. But for now the boy is asleep and perhaps reminiscing about his earlier day’s visit to Victoria Secret to help his mom make some Christmas returns – when he shrieked – “look mom everyone here loves underwear” as he picked up a perfume bottle, turn it into a machine gun, and lit up the store. Updates to follow in 2010.
Filed under: birthday party, Children, parenthood, parenting, Uncategorized, vacation | Tags: birthday party, Great Wolf Lodge, toenails
![GreatWolfLodge[1]](http://playgrounduprising.files.wordpress.com/2009/10/greatwolflodge1.jpg?w=420 "GreatWolfLodge[1]")
I have not written on my blog for a while and though I have made lofty, yet sporadic attempts to rectify the situation – life just seems to get in the way. But – as all writers know there are experiences that run you over and just yell WRITE ME! I had one of those this weekend.
It began something like this:
“Mom I want to go to the Great Wolf Lodge for my birthday.” To which I responded, “Their closed.” “For how long?” “Until 2021 -which is around the year you turn 18 and can take yourself.” “Mom, – that is impossible- I just saw an advertisement on TV.” Curse all forms of technology. Think, Think, Think. “Well if we go to Hell and Swaller, I mean the Great Wolf Lodge, than that will have to count as your birthday party and you won’t get the opportunity to have lots of friends over to give you expensive plastic things that break.” “I’m in.” “Call your grandparents.” “No!” “How about the new neighbors that just moved in – perhaps they will take you.” “No – mom you and dad have to take me.” “Damn!”
And so we did – and as we headed down 64 East I tried to convince myself that Hell and Swaller could not possibly be as awful as I remember – but this fleeting crash with optimism was quickly averted as we got off the “well marked” exit in attempt to follow “the signs” – that led us 5 miles down the road to an old gas station and an exasperated husband yelling “where the hell is this place” to an unassuming gas attendant that appeared to be counting his blessings that he did not have to accompany us into the darkness.
And as we arrived – we found that check-in time was at 4pm, but you can kindly come at 1pm and rent a locker in which to store your stuff. The locker only costs a week’s salary or an unborn child. We tried to offer Charlie, our second child, – but the temper tantrums dampened the sale. Fortunately for us – we were able to sweet talk the nice lady into letting us move into our “nonsmoking” – smoked fill room a bit early so that the boys could throw their clothes around the room, wrestle, and get their bathing suits on in anticipation of the water park.
Yes water park – because if you are going to spend 24 hours in hell what better way to capstone the experience than being wet and in a bathing suit with 300 other people that missed the memo that there is a certain age and a certain size in which bikini’s are no longer an inalienable right.
And after the germ infested water drained parents’ energy and good humor (ok we never had any of that) – we were off to dinner. A steal to be had at $18 a person – allowing you to feed the fam a nutritionally void meal for around $100. And don’t forget the plastic –no not utensils – I mean the plastic wand, and plastic toy, and plastic tasting pastry that are all yours for the remaining part of your retirement.
And as the evening waned and we hopped on beds and big brothers practiced karate moves on little brothers – Mac comes out of a small body slam holding an unidentified, sasquatch like white thing and exclaiming – “look dad I found your toenail.”
Only that one wasn’t ours.
Next year I am sure the Great Wolf Lodge will be closed in October and we will no longer have access to any form of technology that connects us to the outside world.
Filed under: Children, potty training, teaching, Uncategorized | Tags: Potty train
He’s two and a half. The economy’s downward spiral is not helped by our weekly purchase of diapers. AMVETS is now the proud owner of a pack and play. Our crib has gone down the road to a young woman who just had triplets (God bless her). We are moving into Big Boy territory and that terrain calls for underwear. It’s true. Ask anyone.
So – two weeks ago on an obligatory Target run I found myself spouting, “Charlie – how about we look at underwear. How cool would that be?” “NO” And so the story should have ended there. But in my mind I am thinking “GAME ON.”
Think….. think … “Charlie – I bet if you went potty I could spot you a M&M.” Never mind that just last night I shared with my graduate students the perils of extrinsic rewards.
The red head is not impressed. “NO.” Hmmmm, Hmmmmm – “Well the economy is slowly coming around – I bet I could score you a whole bag.” “NO.”
He looks at me with a “this woman is obviously not riding my wave so let me break it down for her” kinda look.
“Mom, I wear diapers. I am not wearing underwear. No. No. No. No” (Now close your eyes and imagine the red head stomping with hands on his hips and a noncompliance eye). All children have gifts. Mine is extremely verbal and he never loses an occasion to use it against me.
“Greg – he is not ready. We cannot rush these things.” I say over dinner using my calm educator’s voice, but inside I know that I am a “my schedule kinda girl” and whooooo hooooo we are jumping on the underwear train.
Later that night Charlie and I pick out several books and climb into bed. We have the terrible trio – Wheels on the Bus, Machines at Work, and Big & Little. He has meticulously picked each book out with an anticipatory grin that says “yes I know I pick these same books out every night, and yes I will continue to have you read them to me though the year 2011 – which by my calculations is the precise year I will entertain wearing underwear and at a minimum it is going to cost you a crate of M&Ms.”
Well Little Mama had some trick of her own – and as we closed the cover to the last book – I pulled one last treasure from under the bed. POTTY TIME. “No, no, no, mama I DO NOT LIKE POTTYS THEY GO IN THE GARBAGE TRUCK.” “Oh silly boy, this book is not for you – I am just itching for a read and you can listen to if you want.” Score one for mom. Sure enough the little man snuggles up with me and as I victoriously read the last page in which Michael pees on the potty, Charlie gleefully says – “Look mommy it is our family, there is you, daddy, and look there – Mac (aka big brother) is on the potty peeing. Good for Mac.
Game over!
Filed under: Uncategorized
My husband has been in Honduras for the last week. In short – we are a proud but mournful family unit – who misses their third ill behaved kid. So –today I broke down and actually paid the gym daycare $10 so that I could have an hour on the treadmill and elliptical machine in an effort to get my groove back. Sometimes a girls got to break bad in order to retain her Saturday sanity– a feat I usually accomplish on my neighborhood runs. But despite the chaos – I understand that leaving one’s young children unattended in the house may result in an unexpected visit from our friends down at Social Services. Not to mention – that besides soccer and matchbox cars – Mac’s favorite pastime is setting up the redhead for an inevitable fall which he is the first to plea – not involved. It goes something like this. I say, “Mac, please do not stick that very strange suction cup toy – plucked from the overpriced, nutritiously void, environmentally hazardous Happy Meal –on our freshly painted walls.” This request is promptly translated to “Oh mom does not want ME to stick this thing THERE but – the red head over HERE lacks forwarded thinking and craves catastrophe – so I think we have ourselves a winner – CHARLIE ………” Screech – laugh – paint chip falls to the floor – “MOM look at what Charlie is doing, bad Charlie.” This scene has repeated itself approximately 11 times over the last twenty four hours – and has only ceased because strange toy mysteriously found its way to the trashcan and then a landfill – where it will sit for the next quadrillion years to torture future generations. So imagine the apocalypse that could ensue with an hour of no parental guidance? Come to think of it – a quiet night in the slammer isn’t looking so bad about now. I am going for a run.
