Category: Parenting

I Concede

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Sometimes I get frustrated when my husband doesn’t do things the way I’d do them.

OK, I always get frustrated when my husband doesn’t do things the way I’d do them.

Controlling much?

(I spent half my time on jury duty last week rethinking their systems and figuring out how to eliminate potential jurors more quickly.  Yeah–I’d say I’m controlling.)

It’s a good thing my husband puts up with me.

I’m the nuts and bolts around here; he’s the dreams.  I worry about the practical stuff like what’s for dinner and who has to be where and who’s driving them there and how long has Little Brother been playing on that Game Boy, anyway?  He wishes for exciting vacations and gives in to Little Brother’s “five more minutes” requests and lets the kids have sleepovers.  He says “yes” when I want to say “no.”

And when Little Brother and Adventure Boy have a sleepover that involves making “forts” out of all the cushions in the family room, he lets them.  And when they’re too scared to sleep in the family room when everyone else is upstairs, he sleeps down there too, on the couch.  On Father’s Day.  And then when we go out to a restaurant for Father’s Day, he invites Adventure Boy to come along.

It’s a good thing that we have him in our lives.  He might make me crazy sometimes, but we really do need that balance, that other side, that he brings to things.

Happy Father’s Day to my husband, TheDad!

Dead Giveaway

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I was all over this article on home organization at BHG.com (Better Homes & Gardens) until I got to page 7: the Living Room Art Station.

So what’s wrong with this picture?

Parents will see the problem immediately.

White carpet. Paint on a low, accessible-to-toddlers shelf. Presumably there is a playroom or family room somewhere else in the house. I’m sure there must be a kitchen somewhere–one that doesn’t have a white carpet.

Clearly the people who came up with this brilliant idea have never spent any time with small children. (To her credit, Middle Sister saw the trouble with this room instantly.)

Image credit: BHG.com

Long summer ahead!

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With a swimming pool comes great responsibility. As I type this, there are 6 kids in the pool. Only one of them lives here. The more time they spend in the pool, the more time I need to be outside on the porch. I am a terrible swimmer and have gone two years without even putting on a bathing suit, but I have to be the combination lifeguard, peacekeeper, referee, towel police, and monitor of four-letter-words.

The Street Urchins and Little Brother were surprised today when I informed them that baseballs are not pool toys.

It’s going to take something stronger than a caramel latte to get me through these summer days.

The Kool-Aid Mom Lays Down the Law

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Over the weekend, TheDad and the Big Kids opened the backyard pool for the summer. It’s not warm enough to swim, but the Street Urchins who hang around with Little Brother have already been showing up at the door in their swimsuits, towels in hand. (I’m guessing they remember my ironclad rule from last summer: no towel, no swim.)

That’s not the only rule I’m going to have to enforce, however. This mom is really tired of people leaving stuff around for me to pick up. They’re all old enough to clean up after themselves. And if they won’t bother to get their friends to clean up, then they can clean up after their friends as well.

And then there’s the whole “availability” issue. When people are in the pool, I have to supervise. Even if they know how to swim. Even though I really don’t swim well at all. Having a pool brings a huge amount of responsibility with it. I’m not a fan of the Street Urchins’ tactic of “arrive home from school, change into swimsuit, and show up at my house.” So…my red light/green light sign has gone back on the front door.

This sign has been around since Little Brother and Adventure Boy were preschoolers. I took one of those foam door hanger things and drew 3 circles on each side. On one side, I colored in the top circle red. In the other 2 circles I wrote “Play Later.” Then on the flip side, I colored the bottom circle green and wrote “Friends Welcome.” Even pre-readers get the idea. (Little Brother is not authorized to change the sign without my permission.)

I don’t want to be unwelcoming, but neither do I want to be the entire neighborhood’s maid, lifeguard, and free babysitter. A few limits are a good thing.

Tween Track Trends

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At Little Brother’s track meet today, I was doing the “recording” (writing down everyone’s times for each race) when the other teams’ recorders and I noticed a couple of girls wearing two different running shoes.

It seems that they’d traded ONE of their shoes with another runner, so they each had two different shoes.

No big deal, they told us. The shoes were the same brand and the same size.

After another mom explained that runners’ feet are each different and the shoes conform to the feet, she mumbled to me that she really doesn’t like parenting other people’s children.

Clearly I have no such qualms; at that very moment I was asking the girls if they were running in any more races today and instructing them to change their shoes back before racing again.

I Wish I Could Have Been There

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Out of the corner of my eye, I saw them walk into church yesterday before Mass. There was a mom and four young children, probably between the ages of 8 and 2 1/2 or 3. The two little ones were boys and appeared to be quite close in age. Everyone was nicely dressed, neatly combed, and extremely cute.

I’ve only seen this family once or twice before. They sat in just about the same spot. After I set my guitar down and turned the page of my music, I turned to sit down myself and saw the little boys snuggling up against their mom in the pew as Father started the homily.

How can you see that and not smile?

Father had a good homily, but it wasn’t a short one. There was a little whispering and wiggling from the young family sitting near me. Of course there was! They’re little kids. Then I saw the mom get up and lead everyone out. Jackets and all.

I was so, so tempted to run out after her. I wanted to let her know that it was OK. Maybe next week they’ll last 5 more minutes. And really, her kids were not that bad. They weren’t eating or playing with Matchbox cars or Game Boys or crayons. They weren’t screaming or running up the aisle.

I hope and pray that this mom will not get discouraged, that she will continue the very tough task of bringing four young children to Mass on Sundays. For the rest of the Mass, I prayed for that mom. I was hoping that she had not gone home all upset and angry and embarrassed. Been there, done that.

But I still wish I’d slipped out after her and offered a little encouragement. And if I see them again, I just might do that.

A Bit of Wisdom

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When I was growing up, we began every Saturday morning with a trip to my sister’s allergist so she could get an allergy shot. That’s a lot of time spent hanging out in waiting rooms reading Highlights for Children and waiting for my lollipop (Dr. Goldstein always let my sister take 3 lollipops after her shot–one for each of us.)

A framed poster with this poem hung in that waiting room. I guess it was there so the parents would have something to read. I remember reading it too. This morning, a friend of mine on Facebook posted it.

If I were Queen, I would decree that all parents receive a poster of this poem and be required to place it where they could read it regularly. There’s a longer version, but this is the one I remember from my childhood.

Children Learn What They Live
By Dorothy Law Nolte

If children live with criticism,
They learn to condemn.
If children live with hostility,
They learn to fight.
If children live with ridicule,
They learn to be shy.
If children live with shame,
They learn to feel guilty.
If children live with encouragement,
They learn confidence.
If children live with tolerance,
They learn to be patient.
If children live with praise,
They learn to appreciate.
If children live with acceptance,
They learn to love.
If children live with approval,
They learn to like themselves.
If children live with honesty,
They learn truthfulness.
If children live with security,
They learn to have faith in themselves and others.
If children live with friendliness,
They learn the world is a nice place in which to live.

Copyright © 1972/1975 by Dorothy Law Nolte

Teach Your Children Well

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I try to teach my children to do the right thing.

Little Brother is doing pretty well. He’ll hold the door for lines of people–sometimes it seems we may never get inside where we’re going because he’s too busy holding the door for the people behind us.

So today he and I were at the store, and there were two cash registers right next to each other. While I was paying, I happened to look down and saw that the customer who had just been beside me had dropped some money on the floor. She was almost out the door with her purchases at that point.

“Wait!” I called after her. Then I instructed my son, “Little Brother, please pick up that money and give it to the lady who dropped it. She’s by the door.”

The lady made some joke to the cashier who had helped her about being so rich that she could afford to leave her money on the floor in the store. But she didn’t even bother to thank Little Brother for helping her out.

But the man with an empty shopping cart who was on his way to return the cart to the store, who stopped to hold the door for me and Little Brother, was more than polite when Little Brother took the door handle and told him to go in first with his cart. I think Little Brother was thanked five times.

Oh well. Part of teaching your children to do the right thing is teaching them to do the right thing without expecting a thank-you in return. After all, in the Gospel story, only one came back.

Sigh

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It’s Prom night for Big Brother.

Due to a multiple-schedule conflict, I am unable to attend “Promenade,” the two-hour-plus pre-prom event at his school. I was not invited to stop at the house where the bus that his group of friends rented would be picking them all up.

So I have no pictures. I wasn’t even here to see him leave.

I hope he remembered the flowers–the ones I had to order yesterday because he hadn’t remembered the flowers.

I was hoping to be able to show up at his school around the time that the prom bus did, so I could at least see him and his friends as they headed in the door.

For that, I have to depend on a text message from my son regarding the timing of said arrival. I haven’t gotten that text yet. And I have to go get Little Brother at his friend’s house in 15 minutes, get him and Middle Sister fed, and then take Little Brother to the cemetery where the Cub Scouts will be placing flags to honor veterans, in advance of Memorial Day.

Big Brother doesn’t seem to care that I’ll be missing this. He seems to prefer it. And I can understand that, because I’m like him, playing many things close to the vest–especially big rites of passage.

However, now that I’m on the other side of the fence, I know just how hurt my parents were when I excluded them, in whatever way, from my own rites of passage.

Growing up is tough. Even when you’re 44.

The Enforcer

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Middle Sister decided today that she is giving up her hair straightener for the rest of Lent.

Good for her hair, although not for her mood. She hates that she has wavy hair that doesn’t always behave as she wants it to.

But she handed me her straightener just now with the instructions that I am to hide it from her and not tell her where it is no matter how much she begs.

In other words, I have to be The Enforcer for her Lenten penance. I’m less than thrilled over this, because it’s not teaching her much self-control if I have to be the one to keep saying she can’t have what she wants. Plus, I have to be the Bad Guy, which I do enough of already, enforcing my own rules–never mind the ones she inflicts upon herself.