My son is getting to that age. You know, *that* age. I was reading the other day that the so-called Terrible Twos can start months earlier than 2. Really? I hadn't noticed. ;) Not that I'm going to call them that. We've already made a deal in this house that they are going to be the Terrific Twos! Right? Right?!?!
I think that rather than this phase of toddlerhood being marked by any specific common behaviors among kids this age, it is more of a common stance, a universal test, a 'tude (although tantruming and the word "no" are common across the board I think).
This evening at dinner, he was shouting "no no no" to all the things I was trying to offer him that were dinner appropriate. Instead of eating, he wanted to just suck down juice for 20 minutes. At one point, I decided it was enough juice and that he needed food. So I told him this much, moving to take the cup from his hands (which he's always been cool with before) and he yanked it back from me, yelling "no" and batting at my arm. It was not crazy behavior for a child his age, but I was taken a little aback. I started out okay, telling him that it wasn't nice to talk to his Mama that way and reminding him that I told him no more juice and he continued to be rude about it. What's more, he wouldn't look at me when I was trying to deliver my message.
Luckily, my Mom was sitting there at the table. She always reminds my son, when he tries to get away with stuff with her, that "this is not Nana's first rodeo." And tonight I was really in need of a seasoned cowgirl.
Today's New Activity: Watch and Learn, the Mama Edition
I know that it is really easy to let stuff like this go. It wasn't SUCH a big deal, and the ordeal would be over as soon as I let him have his juice back. But as a Mom you just *recognize* when a moment seems crucial and when letting it go seems like exactly the wrong thing to do. Still, having recognized that, I was at a loss. I said to my Mama, "what do I do now?"
She looked directly at my son and said in make-no-bones-about-it voice I remember from my own childhood: "____________, that is not a nice way to treat your Mama. You say you're sorry to your Mama." Monkey paused and looked thoughtfully for a moment, then repeated "no." It seemed we were at an impasse.
Here's the thing: I know that every interaction like tonight's will color the way my son responds to discipline in the coming years. Every time I warn him and don't follow through, every time I let things go without correcting him, and every time I am tested and give in, I send the message that I don't mean what I say and that he is actually the one in charge. Jeeze, this parenting business is tough. I have always said that my worst parenting nightmare would be to raise a brat, and we are right here in the thick of when whether or not I will come to live that nightmare is being determined on a daily basis. It's not time to get lazy.
Still, it is very hard to discipline. Though as an adult I have had dozens of experiences (especially working in retail) when I witnessed parents going too easy on their bratty kids and wished they'd Mom-up a bit, I now understand all the reasons why it's one of the hardest things to do. It is most unpleasant to do anything that makes your children feel unhappy. It REALLY IS harder on the parents than on the children to see them in any kind of distress, especially distress caused my the parents themselves.
But I had to go with my Mom on this. As children my brother and I were always praised for our polite behavior, and I know that came as a result of my Mom never giving up in moments like these. How she managed to know the right thing to do when in her early 20's herself back then, I will never know. But I can learn from it.
I was almost ready to let the whole hitting-Mama-and-yelling-"no" thing go and hand over the juice at that moment, but my Mom was right. What if it weren't me but some other person he was treating like that? I why should it be okay with me either?!
"________," I reinforced, "you do not talk to your Mama that way. You say you're sorry to Mama."
Silence. "________, look at me."
Refusal.
I took his head in my hands and turned him toward me, looking him in the eyes with my best Mama Means Business look. "________, that was not nice to hit your Mama. You say you're sorry to Mama."
Biggest, cutest doe eyes ever in the history of the planet.
"Sorry Mama," followed by a ridiculously sweet smile.
I swear I want to weep just writing that. It is the biggest, most amazing sense of relief to have your child do the right thing, especially when a standoff is involved. Every moment like this, when he cleans up his toys as requested or has a food-throwing do-over and skips the throwing the second time around (for example), feels like a tiny "meets standards" in the performance review of 18+ year job.
I have a huge sense of gratitude for the parental role models I find in my parents--especially my Mom, since she takes care of my son while I'm working. Although my parents are both full of grandparental love and have super squishy soft spots in their hearts for my boy, they are not push-overs and they never undermine my parenting wishes. And more than that, they can see ahead to how the disciplining decisions made now will affect my son's future, so they are willing to do the hard stuff even when I'm feeling lazy or overwhelmed. I think it would be such a gift if all children could have this extra set of love and also tough love around in their young lives.
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
6.15.2011
The GGA Project -- Day #186 "Proud Mama"
Summer is in the air. Complaints about the heat from customers (who were complaining just last week about the rain and the cold) abound. What else to do but
Today's New Activity: Visiting the Local Swimmin' Hole
A qualification: I've actually been to Ryland Park Pool in downtown San Jose once before. I've even been there with Monkey. But that was a whole year ago, in the days before he could speak or even crawl, so he didn't appear to care much at all about what it was we did. He was just along for the ride.
In recent days my boy has begun to show exuberance about things he didn't much notice before (say the word "ball" and he goes nuts. I'm pretty sure he could play at hitting and throwing the dozen or so variously sized balls he owns for the better part of a full day), while he shows caution doing things he didn't used to think twice about (my Dad told me that when he and Bro took Monkey to the playground on Monday, he didn't want to go down the slide).
So while I wasn't sure how he would take to the water, I was eager to find out. My best gal Nicole found a summer to-do list she's eager to start crossing off with the kiddies, and we were so happy to join her and the girls, along with Kelsi and the boys, for the first of many sun and fun activities.
The only bummer about this pool is that the kids aren't allowed to have any inflatable floaty things. The lifeguard said they don't want the devices popping when the kids are unsupervised. My thought on that is that the kids shouldn't be unsupervised at all. This is a giant, circular pool that's about 2 feet deep all the way around and 3 feet at its deepest, in the middle. I'm pretty sure only the smallest of kids really go there, whose parents are hovering like all good parents should be. But anyway, that meant no arm floaties.
At first I put one of the life jackets they had at the pool on my boy, but he didn't seem to like the giant orange puff surrounding his face or the feeling of floating without support. So for the first half hour at least I held him while he clung on like a frightened kitty. Any time I held him up away from my body he would get nervous and want to be tucked in at my side again. I was starting to feel sad, thinking his love of the bath and all other type of water play was not translating to this actual body of water. Having wanted to spend a good amount of time at the pool near my own house this summer, this thought had me bummed for sure.
But then I reasoned that it's pretty natural to be freaked out by this new experience, and I decided to stick it out with him rather than giving up and going to play at the playground.
And with time, he got comfortable and started having fun. Once he was distracted by a ball (big surprise) that Nicole had brought, he started walking along in the shallow parts on his own, chasing after it. Soon he was playing a throw and fetch game with Maya, Nicole's 8-year-old daughter (he threw, she fetched) and splashing around like nobody's business.
I have to say I was nothing short of thrilled about this outcome. It was a reminder to me that it is sometimes a very good thing to be pushed outside of one's comfort zone. Of course if my son had been absolutely terrified and in tears I would have proceeded more cautiously, taking him out of the pool and trying to reintroduce him later. But there was a moment when I was thinking of doing this anyway, when I saw he was scared and not enjoying himself. And the thought of our big fun afternoon plans being dashed was a major bummer. So when I saw that I could keep him in the water, gradually giving him a little more freedom while staying nearby to make sure he was comfortable and safe--and that he would actually start to have fun....well that was a proud and happy moment for me.
I was talking with Kelsi about this, because it was the same feeling I experienced when we went to the movies a couple of weeks ago and he started squirming about an hour in. While we could have left at that moment, I--as a paying customer and having already a vested interest in the movie's conclusion--didn't want to. In fact, I felt like I was the child in these scenarios, saying, "no no no, I don't wanna go! Don't ruin my fun!" But I think that in the end it was good. Monkey ended up relaxing and having fun in both instances, and I didn't end up with the resentful feeling of having given in to a toddler's whims.
Now, I know there are times when, as parents, we have no choice but to act as the situation dictates; sometimes that absolutely means giving in to the whims of the child. And if my son were truly having a terrible time I would never want to torture him. Similarly when a child is due for a nap and cranky as a result, it's only right to get his or her needs met, even if it conflicts with original plans. But I also think there is something to be said (for the sanity it affords us alone--long-term if not immediately experienced) for letting the kids know through our actions that we are the ones with the plans and they are joining us for the time being. Maybe this is somewhat fear-based: I'm afraid that if I change plans every time he's mildly displeased I'll never feel confident in my role as the one calling the proverbial shots. But the other option would also be fear-based: I'd be afraid my child did not have the strength of spirit to weather discomfort and trust in my plans for us. In short, I'd be afraid he'd throw a tantrum and really kill our buzz. And I think I'll take the former any day. I think it'll serve us both better in the long run.
Monkey is still very young, our experience very limited, and this theory yet to be challenged by the legendarily terrible twos, but I'm keeping the faith.
And...I'm so happy to have spent the day with my gals and their munchkins. It's wonderful to see how they're all growing and developing together. Max, the youngest among them, was sitting up on his own today (!), the brave and spunky Sureya and the Monkey have started communicating with each other (see below), Mo is the talkingest, most observant little guy you've ever met, and Maya is the ever-patient honorary big sis to them all--they all love her. We are so lucky to have these chosen families to share the learning with :)
I had to post this sequence, as a sidenote:
Here Sureya is trying to help Monkey up (grunting sounds to prove it! Awww, and she was even saying "come on, Chupi" (his nickname)). She is such an adept little climber. He's a little bulkier and clumsier at this point, but she's always game to help him along. So sweet!
Today's New Activity: Visiting the Local Swimmin' Hole
A qualification: I've actually been to Ryland Park Pool in downtown San Jose once before. I've even been there with Monkey. But that was a whole year ago, in the days before he could speak or even crawl, so he didn't appear to care much at all about what it was we did. He was just along for the ride.
In recent days my boy has begun to show exuberance about things he didn't much notice before (say the word "ball" and he goes nuts. I'm pretty sure he could play at hitting and throwing the dozen or so variously sized balls he owns for the better part of a full day), while he shows caution doing things he didn't used to think twice about (my Dad told me that when he and Bro took Monkey to the playground on Monday, he didn't want to go down the slide).
So while I wasn't sure how he would take to the water, I was eager to find out. My best gal Nicole found a summer to-do list she's eager to start crossing off with the kiddies, and we were so happy to join her and the girls, along with Kelsi and the boys, for the first of many sun and fun activities.
The only bummer about this pool is that the kids aren't allowed to have any inflatable floaty things. The lifeguard said they don't want the devices popping when the kids are unsupervised. My thought on that is that the kids shouldn't be unsupervised at all. This is a giant, circular pool that's about 2 feet deep all the way around and 3 feet at its deepest, in the middle. I'm pretty sure only the smallest of kids really go there, whose parents are hovering like all good parents should be. But anyway, that meant no arm floaties.
At first I put one of the life jackets they had at the pool on my boy, but he didn't seem to like the giant orange puff surrounding his face or the feeling of floating without support. So for the first half hour at least I held him while he clung on like a frightened kitty. Any time I held him up away from my body he would get nervous and want to be tucked in at my side again. I was starting to feel sad, thinking his love of the bath and all other type of water play was not translating to this actual body of water. Having wanted to spend a good amount of time at the pool near my own house this summer, this thought had me bummed for sure.
But then I reasoned that it's pretty natural to be freaked out by this new experience, and I decided to stick it out with him rather than giving up and going to play at the playground.
And with time, he got comfortable and started having fun. Once he was distracted by a ball (big surprise) that Nicole had brought, he started walking along in the shallow parts on his own, chasing after it. Soon he was playing a throw and fetch game with Maya, Nicole's 8-year-old daughter (he threw, she fetched) and splashing around like nobody's business.
I have to say I was nothing short of thrilled about this outcome. It was a reminder to me that it is sometimes a very good thing to be pushed outside of one's comfort zone. Of course if my son had been absolutely terrified and in tears I would have proceeded more cautiously, taking him out of the pool and trying to reintroduce him later. But there was a moment when I was thinking of doing this anyway, when I saw he was scared and not enjoying himself. And the thought of our big fun afternoon plans being dashed was a major bummer. So when I saw that I could keep him in the water, gradually giving him a little more freedom while staying nearby to make sure he was comfortable and safe--and that he would actually start to have fun....well that was a proud and happy moment for me.
I was talking with Kelsi about this, because it was the same feeling I experienced when we went to the movies a couple of weeks ago and he started squirming about an hour in. While we could have left at that moment, I--as a paying customer and having already a vested interest in the movie's conclusion--didn't want to. In fact, I felt like I was the child in these scenarios, saying, "no no no, I don't wanna go! Don't ruin my fun!" But I think that in the end it was good. Monkey ended up relaxing and having fun in both instances, and I didn't end up with the resentful feeling of having given in to a toddler's whims.
Now, I know there are times when, as parents, we have no choice but to act as the situation dictates; sometimes that absolutely means giving in to the whims of the child. And if my son were truly having a terrible time I would never want to torture him. Similarly when a child is due for a nap and cranky as a result, it's only right to get his or her needs met, even if it conflicts with original plans. But I also think there is something to be said (for the sanity it affords us alone--long-term if not immediately experienced) for letting the kids know through our actions that we are the ones with the plans and they are joining us for the time being. Maybe this is somewhat fear-based: I'm afraid that if I change plans every time he's mildly displeased I'll never feel confident in my role as the one calling the proverbial shots. But the other option would also be fear-based: I'd be afraid my child did not have the strength of spirit to weather discomfort and trust in my plans for us. In short, I'd be afraid he'd throw a tantrum and really kill our buzz. And I think I'll take the former any day. I think it'll serve us both better in the long run.
Monkey is still very young, our experience very limited, and this theory yet to be challenged by the legendarily terrible twos, but I'm keeping the faith.
And...I'm so happy to have spent the day with my gals and their munchkins. It's wonderful to see how they're all growing and developing together. Max, the youngest among them, was sitting up on his own today (!), the brave and spunky Sureya and the Monkey have started communicating with each other (see below), Mo is the talkingest, most observant little guy you've ever met, and Maya is the ever-patient honorary big sis to them all--they all love her. We are so lucky to have these chosen families to share the learning with :)
I had to post this sequence, as a sidenote:
Here Sureya is trying to help Monkey up (grunting sounds to prove it! Awww, and she was even saying "come on, Chupi" (his nickname)). She is such an adept little climber. He's a little bulkier and clumsier at this point, but she's always game to help him along. So sweet!
6.02.2011
The GGA Project -- Day #173 "Happy Errands"
Well, what could be more dull than the sharing of lunchtime errand-running activities? I'm not sure there's anything, but hey! Every day can't be a circus okay!
People are always coming into the bank during their lunch hour. I'd say the period from 12:30-1:30 is the busiest all day, and people tend to be very curt and impatient during that period. Seeing this phenomenon every day makes me loathe to go run errands on my lunch as I really dislike the idea of being in that kind of rush. I feel like lunchtime is for relaxing, renewing...I safeguard that time pretty devotedly.
But today I weighed the options of getting up extra early before work, or staying in the area later than necessary after work, and decided that the lunch hour was definitely the best time to take care of a little business.
Today's New Activity: Leisurely Lunch Hour at Costco
Turns out 2:30 in the afternoon is the absolute best possible time to go to Costco! There weren't any of the ridiculous hoards of people and yet they were still handing out samples. Perfect. I just needed laundry detergent, coffee and tortillas (no home of mine is on track unless there is a giant stack of tortillas nearby), so the actual shopping part was quick and left plenty of time for me to sit and enjoy a slice of pizza (which is really good as long as you finish it within 15 minutes, before the cheese has time to congeal into a hunk of nastiness that could choke a person). That's the other thing: there was actually space at the eatin' benches at that hour.
What I feared would be a stressful and thoroughly unpleasant way to pass my lunch ended up being pretty mellow and refreshing. It was also much nicer to be out among people than in the woefully fluorescent-lit break room. At least that's how I felt today.
And one more thing: while I was sitting in the little eatery area, a girl about 4 years old at the next table over took a terrible dive and landed right on her head. She was crying so hard at first that no sound was coming out, and her Mama scooped her up in one graceful movement, kissing her over and over and hugging her tight. I felt so strongly for this Mama/daughter duo that I could have cried myself. I know that feeling of wanting so badly for your baby's pain to cease immediately and feeling helpless to make that happen. Logic dictates, when you see another child get hurt, that the child will be fine. It isn't until I became a parent myself that I understood how logic can kind of fly out the window when it's your own child who's hurt. The idea that "this hurts me more than it hurts you" finally makes sense to me.
And there's more there...I feel like becoming a Mama to your own child just sort of makes you Mama to the world's children. Seeing a child in pain automatically hits a parental protective nerve that makes me wanna reach out and throw my own hugs and kisses into the mix in the futile hope to somehow speed up the healing process. And while I was, of course, always horrified to hear news of a child being kidnapped or harmed before, I feel such news on a whole new level now. Learning of any child's mistreatment affects me to the point of physical near-sickness now. I find it very difficult to imagine how anybody could hurt a child, and the thought of a parent having to live through the aching knowledge of their child's pain truly makes me want to vomit. It is remarkable to me: the power of that parent/child bond and the inherent need it instills in us to protect children...all the children. It's a wonderful, beautiful thing, but it is also sometimes a very heavy weight to bear.
Parents...ALL you parents out there. I salute you. Your job is truly among the most challenging out there.
People are always coming into the bank during their lunch hour. I'd say the period from 12:30-1:30 is the busiest all day, and people tend to be very curt and impatient during that period. Seeing this phenomenon every day makes me loathe to go run errands on my lunch as I really dislike the idea of being in that kind of rush. I feel like lunchtime is for relaxing, renewing...I safeguard that time pretty devotedly.
But today I weighed the options of getting up extra early before work, or staying in the area later than necessary after work, and decided that the lunch hour was definitely the best time to take care of a little business.
Today's New Activity: Leisurely Lunch Hour at Costco
Turns out 2:30 in the afternoon is the absolute best possible time to go to Costco! There weren't any of the ridiculous hoards of people and yet they were still handing out samples. Perfect. I just needed laundry detergent, coffee and tortillas (no home of mine is on track unless there is a giant stack of tortillas nearby), so the actual shopping part was quick and left plenty of time for me to sit and enjoy a slice of pizza (which is really good as long as you finish it within 15 minutes, before the cheese has time to congeal into a hunk of nastiness that could choke a person). That's the other thing: there was actually space at the eatin' benches at that hour.
What I feared would be a stressful and thoroughly unpleasant way to pass my lunch ended up being pretty mellow and refreshing. It was also much nicer to be out among people than in the woefully fluorescent-lit break room. At least that's how I felt today.
And one more thing: while I was sitting in the little eatery area, a girl about 4 years old at the next table over took a terrible dive and landed right on her head. She was crying so hard at first that no sound was coming out, and her Mama scooped her up in one graceful movement, kissing her over and over and hugging her tight. I felt so strongly for this Mama/daughter duo that I could have cried myself. I know that feeling of wanting so badly for your baby's pain to cease immediately and feeling helpless to make that happen. Logic dictates, when you see another child get hurt, that the child will be fine. It isn't until I became a parent myself that I understood how logic can kind of fly out the window when it's your own child who's hurt. The idea that "this hurts me more than it hurts you" finally makes sense to me.
And there's more there...I feel like becoming a Mama to your own child just sort of makes you Mama to the world's children. Seeing a child in pain automatically hits a parental protective nerve that makes me wanna reach out and throw my own hugs and kisses into the mix in the futile hope to somehow speed up the healing process. And while I was, of course, always horrified to hear news of a child being kidnapped or harmed before, I feel such news on a whole new level now. Learning of any child's mistreatment affects me to the point of physical near-sickness now. I find it very difficult to imagine how anybody could hurt a child, and the thought of a parent having to live through the aching knowledge of their child's pain truly makes me want to vomit. It is remarkable to me: the power of that parent/child bond and the inherent need it instills in us to protect children...all the children. It's a wonderful, beautiful thing, but it is also sometimes a very heavy weight to bear.
Parents...ALL you parents out there. I salute you. Your job is truly among the most challenging out there.
5.08.2011
The GGA Project -- Day #148 "On Mama's Day"
Today was my (technically speaking) third Mother's Day. Last year--the first in which Monkey had actually emerged from the womb--was nice, but like every holiday, this one was more exciting than last year because my son can now understand the idea of something special taking place. At the very least, he can understand that somebody unwrapping a present is in good spirits and for good reason, even if he has no idea that he's supposedly given these presents.
The morning already started out great because Monkey has just begun parroting things in a clear voice, so when my parents had him repeat, one word at a time, the words "Happy" "Mama's" "Day" I thought my heart was going to explode in pride and cuteness overload.
Then my Dad made brunch for my Mom and me, and then we opened gifts before Monkey--who'd woken up at 6:15 this morning--pooped out and took his nap. I was waiting around all afternoon for him to wake up so we could head down to San Jose to visit with Nicole and daughters. Monkey is always so happy when he visits with them that these days I want to make that happen as much as possible. Seeing him so sweet and smiley with his little "girlfriend" Sureya makes me unbelievably happy.
On the drive down I called and talked to my friend Kelsi to wish her a Happy Mother's Day. During the drive I mentioned that I wanted to go out to dinner tonight--to a sit-down restaurant, just Monkey and me, but that I was a little nervous about the idea. Normally if I'm out at a sit-down restaurant with him there is some kind of family occasion happening, which means a minimum of two extra sets of hands to help and step in if and when the munchkin gets squirrelly. I was a little intimidated by the idea of being the only one there in a setting where it's not as easy to escape quickly if it seems time to go as it is in a cafe-type setting.
When I shared this with her, Kelsi reminded me of my own advice to her when she shared similar fears with me last year, when her son was about Monkey's age. She said that I told her she should just expect that it will go easily and smoothly, don't put any energy toward the idea that what we were going to do would be difficult, and to kind of communicate that expectation with him through my actions. 'Gee,' I have to admit I thought, 'that was pretty good advice.' And because I'd given it to another Mom I felt obligated at that point to follow it, if only because if it turns out the advice was actually horrible, at least I'd tortured myself with it as well. Any guilt would be relieved.
Today's New Activity: Mama/Son Sit-Down Dinner Date
When we got to the restaurant the waiting area was absolutely packed with large parties of people and their Mamas, waiting to be sat. I didn't figure that a table for just me and a high chair would take too long on a day when large tables were the object of desire, but the hostess still promised a 40-minute wait. Incidentally, I never ever take hosts and hostesses word for it on the wait time. I guess they don't want to get in trouble with people by promising shorter than actual wait times, but to avoid that they seem to literally double the time people can really expect to wait. Still, a small part of me wondered what kind of madness could ensue if I really were to subject Monkey to 40 minutes doing nothing in his stroller BEFORE asking him to sit still and have a sit-down dinner at a packed restaurant where the food wait time would likely be long as well.
Good thing I didn't have to find out. We spent 10-15 minutes waiting, Monkey entertained quite contently with a lollipop (I'm all for keeping a positive attitude and holding high expectations, but a wee bit of bribe material to grease the wheels doesn't hurt now and then either).
I have to say I had to take a deep breath and kind of psyche myself up for this outing. It wasn't only my nervousness about how Monkey (at the tender and fidgety age of 19 months) would fair during the dinner. It was the thought of the absolute in-your-faceness of my single motherhood. Here we were, just Monkey and me and my wedding ringless finger. It somehow seemed like it shouldn't be allowed. Like outings like this are reserved for people who've done it right and properly, and that people who've screwed it up like I have should be hiding in their single mom caves, eating Wal-Mart frozen dinners and watching monster truck rallies on pay-per-view.
On one hand, I worried that people would be judging me disapprovingly. On the other, I worried they'd feel sorry for me. I've matured enough (especially as a result of becoming a mother) that I can handle the former; the latter, on the other hand, seemed unbearable.
The solution to that was to just put both ideas out of my mind and enjoy my date for the blessing that it was.
And it was wonderful.
Monkey was a little squirmy at first. I had him sitting on my lap because I knew he'd likely get tired of the high chair before the food came. He look a little while to settle in and stop grabbing for everything, but when he did he was super mellow, just hanging out on my lap and drinking the water our server had brought.
He only cried once, when I transfered him from my lap to the highchair. And for a second my heart panicked a bit, wondering if I'd have to jump ship on this idea before the fun even began. But I just refused to go down that road. I looked into my son's eyes and calmly reminded him that we were civilized people who didn't behave that way in restaurants. After about 20 seconds he calmed down and I pulled up a song video on my phone to distract him (more greasing the wheels, but the temporary distraction went a long way).
From that point on he was sweet and happy and even ate a robust dinner of deep-dish pizza. After a while I decided he could have some of my lemonade, though I knew this would lead to his wanting ALL of my lemonade, and when he whined for more I sang him the appropriate-for-the-occasion Rolling Stones lyrics (aren't there some for ALL occasions?): "You can't always get what you want..." This made him smile and then try to win more lemonade on pure cuteness, cocking his head and smiling and batting his big black eyes at me (where do they learn this stuff?), which I resisted until the very end of the meal, by which point I was happy to reward him for the very special, very enjoyable time together. By the way I'm not anti-lemonade for the kiddo (though I do limit his juice intake and let him drink mostly water, but I just know that if I let him get started drinking something sweet, he'll fill up and lose interest in food. Just so you don't think I'm a meanie!
I was so, so proud of him. And I felt infused with much-needed confidence in my own parenting ability. I feel like you never really know how well you're doing until your progress is tested, and I felt we both passed this test pretty well. And I also felt good about overcoming my instinct to want to hide myself under a cloak and apologize for not having walked the straight line of marriage and motherhood. As I've mentioned before, I want my son to grow up with acceptance of who he is and accountability in his choices, and showing him by example is the best way I can think to start him on that path.
Thank you to my dear, sweet son for a wonderful Mother's Day :)
The morning already started out great because Monkey has just begun parroting things in a clear voice, so when my parents had him repeat, one word at a time, the words "Happy" "Mama's" "Day" I thought my heart was going to explode in pride and cuteness overload.
Then my Dad made brunch for my Mom and me, and then we opened gifts before Monkey--who'd woken up at 6:15 this morning--pooped out and took his nap. I was waiting around all afternoon for him to wake up so we could head down to San Jose to visit with Nicole and daughters. Monkey is always so happy when he visits with them that these days I want to make that happen as much as possible. Seeing him so sweet and smiley with his little "girlfriend" Sureya makes me unbelievably happy.
On the drive down I called and talked to my friend Kelsi to wish her a Happy Mother's Day. During the drive I mentioned that I wanted to go out to dinner tonight--to a sit-down restaurant, just Monkey and me, but that I was a little nervous about the idea. Normally if I'm out at a sit-down restaurant with him there is some kind of family occasion happening, which means a minimum of two extra sets of hands to help and step in if and when the munchkin gets squirrelly. I was a little intimidated by the idea of being the only one there in a setting where it's not as easy to escape quickly if it seems time to go as it is in a cafe-type setting.
When I shared this with her, Kelsi reminded me of my own advice to her when she shared similar fears with me last year, when her son was about Monkey's age. She said that I told her she should just expect that it will go easily and smoothly, don't put any energy toward the idea that what we were going to do would be difficult, and to kind of communicate that expectation with him through my actions. 'Gee,' I have to admit I thought, 'that was pretty good advice.' And because I'd given it to another Mom I felt obligated at that point to follow it, if only because if it turns out the advice was actually horrible, at least I'd tortured myself with it as well. Any guilt would be relieved.
Today's New Activity: Mama/Son Sit-Down Dinner Date
When we got to the restaurant the waiting area was absolutely packed with large parties of people and their Mamas, waiting to be sat. I didn't figure that a table for just me and a high chair would take too long on a day when large tables were the object of desire, but the hostess still promised a 40-minute wait. Incidentally, I never ever take hosts and hostesses word for it on the wait time. I guess they don't want to get in trouble with people by promising shorter than actual wait times, but to avoid that they seem to literally double the time people can really expect to wait. Still, a small part of me wondered what kind of madness could ensue if I really were to subject Monkey to 40 minutes doing nothing in his stroller BEFORE asking him to sit still and have a sit-down dinner at a packed restaurant where the food wait time would likely be long as well.
Good thing I didn't have to find out. We spent 10-15 minutes waiting, Monkey entertained quite contently with a lollipop (I'm all for keeping a positive attitude and holding high expectations, but a wee bit of bribe material to grease the wheels doesn't hurt now and then either).
I have to say I had to take a deep breath and kind of psyche myself up for this outing. It wasn't only my nervousness about how Monkey (at the tender and fidgety age of 19 months) would fair during the dinner. It was the thought of the absolute in-your-faceness of my single motherhood. Here we were, just Monkey and me and my wedding ringless finger. It somehow seemed like it shouldn't be allowed. Like outings like this are reserved for people who've done it right and properly, and that people who've screwed it up like I have should be hiding in their single mom caves, eating Wal-Mart frozen dinners and watching monster truck rallies on pay-per-view.
On one hand, I worried that people would be judging me disapprovingly. On the other, I worried they'd feel sorry for me. I've matured enough (especially as a result of becoming a mother) that I can handle the former; the latter, on the other hand, seemed unbearable.
The solution to that was to just put both ideas out of my mind and enjoy my date for the blessing that it was.
And it was wonderful.
Monkey was a little squirmy at first. I had him sitting on my lap because I knew he'd likely get tired of the high chair before the food came. He look a little while to settle in and stop grabbing for everything, but when he did he was super mellow, just hanging out on my lap and drinking the water our server had brought.
He only cried once, when I transfered him from my lap to the highchair. And for a second my heart panicked a bit, wondering if I'd have to jump ship on this idea before the fun even began. But I just refused to go down that road. I looked into my son's eyes and calmly reminded him that we were civilized people who didn't behave that way in restaurants. After about 20 seconds he calmed down and I pulled up a song video on my phone to distract him (more greasing the wheels, but the temporary distraction went a long way).
From that point on he was sweet and happy and even ate a robust dinner of deep-dish pizza. After a while I decided he could have some of my lemonade, though I knew this would lead to his wanting ALL of my lemonade, and when he whined for more I sang him the appropriate-for-the-occasion Rolling Stones lyrics (aren't there some for ALL occasions?): "You can't always get what you want..." This made him smile and then try to win more lemonade on pure cuteness, cocking his head and smiling and batting his big black eyes at me (where do they learn this stuff?), which I resisted until the very end of the meal, by which point I was happy to reward him for the very special, very enjoyable time together. By the way I'm not anti-lemonade for the kiddo (though I do limit his juice intake and let him drink mostly water, but I just know that if I let him get started drinking something sweet, he'll fill up and lose interest in food. Just so you don't think I'm a meanie!
I was so, so proud of him. And I felt infused with much-needed confidence in my own parenting ability. I feel like you never really know how well you're doing until your progress is tested, and I felt we both passed this test pretty well. And I also felt good about overcoming my instinct to want to hide myself under a cloak and apologize for not having walked the straight line of marriage and motherhood. As I've mentioned before, I want my son to grow up with acceptance of who he is and accountability in his choices, and showing him by example is the best way I can think to start him on that path.
Thank you to my dear, sweet son for a wonderful Mother's Day :)
7.26.2010
Your Tiny Creatures are Making Fools of You
The other day I was driving to work when a little puff of a Chow dog bounded across the street in front of my car. I slowed to watch him head toward a house, in front of which stood a chubby man in a dirty old t-shirt and boxer shorts, bending down and shouting something to the dog with a panicked and consternated look on his face. I was cracking up at this sight, realizing the man was too beside himself with worry over the dog’s return to care about going outside in his underwear, to be seen by me and any other neighbors up at that hour.
I had this thought: Nobody ever looks as ridiculous as they do when trying to recapture escaped pets. Especially small pets. Especially big men trying to recapture small pets.
There is a video from when I was in high school wherein my Dad is seen across the street from our house in Phoenix, in the middle of the neighbor’s rock front yard, trying to nab our tiny little Shih Tzu dog, Scootchie. She is fast and reluctant—a mere puppy full of energy and curiosity. And she gives him quite a run around the neighborhood in the 100+ heat of Phoenix. When he finally has her in his arms, the sight is hilarious, because he’s this 6’4,” 220-pound man with a 6-pound dog in his arms and an angry look on his face as he’s headed back. It’s almost a wonder that such a tiny creature could get to him like that.
And it wasn’t so much about the Scootchie’s (insert any dog’s name here) bad behavior in experimenting with freedom. It was the feeling that this dog had made him look like a FOOL! Because there is a sense of panic that grows increasing strong the longer the pet is out of one’s possession, the farther away from the house an owner gets during the quest to reclaim it, and the more witnesses there are to this mini-drama. The panic turns to relief once the animal is safe in one’s arms.
Yesterday one of my coworkers called to say he wouldn’t be in that day because he was pet sitting his parents’ cat while they were on vacation and the cat got out. He’d be spending the day looking for it. Everybody at work called bullshit, but I (while admitting the timing was choice—his last day at work before a 2-week vacation) declared the scenario entirely plausible. This has happened to me twice!
The first time I accidentally let Fattie, my roommate’s unfriendly, gluttonous, peeing-in-my-room-all-the-time Siamese escape while the roommate was out of town (whoops?). I was worried when I realized she was gone, but not enough to stay home from the first day of my second to last semester of college classes. I came home from school that afternoon to find her sitting like a superior little Sphinx on the roof of the house, just daring me to come up after her. I left that to our neighbor, a mutual friend of my roommate and me, who was much better in the feline department than I am.
A number of months ago, my parents left town for a few days. They asked if I would come over and take care of Juju, their tiny Yorkie. This would be an exceptionally easy task to complete in exchange for spending a few days in my parents’ roomy home, where the fridge and snack cupboards are always stocked and there was carpet for my little baby to roll around on. Deal.
I was sitting outside on the back deck one morning, drinking coffee and enjoying the view with the baby on my lap and Juju frolicking on the grass nearby. Well, that was the case anyway until suddenly it occurred to me that I hadn’t heard a peep out of Juju for some time and she wasn’t, in fact, anywhere nearby. Whoops for real this time. On investigation I noticed that the side gate did not reach all the way to the cement of the pathway on the side of the house, and Juju had taken advantage of this design flaw in a moment of spontaneous and wild abandon.
I wasn’t sure how long she’d been gone, but it could not have been longer than 5 minutes. Still, 5 minutes for a dog who’s experiencing her first taste of freedom is likely to be more than enough to cause the launch of a long and highly unpleasant search. I headed out first on foot, going about 5 houses down the hill, peering into the neighbors’ yards for a glimpse of the tiny puff of brown fur that is Juju. No luck. I then got into the car, driving oh so slowly down the hill a good mile, then oh so slowly back up, straining my neck in both directions as I went. She could be anywhere by now! And all the yards had so much vegetation I had no idea how I’d be able to spot her. What if the neighbors’ own side fences were similarly shy on length and Juju was currently lounging it up in someone else’s backyard? How much of my time and energy was I about to devote to this tiny creature?
I was imagining wolves, or just bigger dogs tearing Juju’s tiny body to shreds for the hawks who circle above the canyon behind my parents’ house to finish off. I was imagining spending the day at Kinko’s making one of those pathetic flyers you see taped to telephone poles, screaming desperate separation anxiety and promising rewards. And I was imagining the inevitable conversation I’d have to have with the folks, wherein I’d tell them that everything had gone well during my dog-sitting stint, except (oh!) the dog-sitting part.
And that’s when Juju appeared, trotting quickly down the sidewalk with an air of actual purpose, as if someone or something, somewhere, was expecting her arrival. Panic turned to annoyance as I wondered how much of a run for my money Juju was likely to give me. Thankfully, she is far, far more complacent (or is it lazy?) than Scootchie ever was, and what I feared would be a wild goose chase past the picture windows the length of my parents’ quiet, suburban avenue turned out to be a swift, dignity-sparing scoop-up.
I’m sorry the man I saw the other morning was not similarly spared by his fast-moving Chow puff, but then again if he had been I wouldn’t have experienced the joy of laughing at another’s expense as a powerful antidote to the thought of impending work and being away from my son for the day.
I realize fully, however, that as the mother of a quick-reflexed boy about 1 month shy of walking, my days of dignity-sparing chases involving tiny creatures are likely numbered. In the course of the past year, I’ve watched with an anthropologist’s curiosity as my two best friends transitioned from normal, calm women who make eye contact during conversations as their babies sit mellow on their laps, to shifty eyed wardens, never quite able to relax and always seated precariously on the edges of seats, ready to finger-sweep small change out of a mouth or dive in front of stove burner-bound toddlers with one split second’s notice. Just yesterday my friend Kelsi’s husband Jeff sat down on a chair across from me only to bound up a moment later with the words “oh my god, lookatim’ go” as he dashed out the door after his 20-month-old son, already two doors down the street and movin’.
My relief comes in knowing that anybody with kids has been there and knows the perils of the toddler chase, and anybody without kids is ignoring me anyway (because, Moms out there, doesn’t motherhood sort of feel that way? Invisible to the outside world and strangely okay with that for the time being?). I am trying to relax and enjoy the final days of the only semi-mobile child, but it’s tough, knowing what awaits. I can say, though, that whatever avenues and side yards the boy leads me down, they are sure to be at times messy and overgrown, at times all new and fascinating, and will, at times, make a fool of me, of both of us perhaps. But how much fun, that we’ll be traveling those roads together.
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