Tag Archives: children

Self Analysis: I Come Here for Free Therapy

Posted on by
10

I want to break a few destructive cycles I’ve got going on:

  1. The Yell/Guilt cycle
  2. The Self-Pity/Guilt cycle
  3. The Checked-Out Parent/Guilt cycle

Namely, I need to get rid of guilt. But I’m Jewish. It’s part of our genetic and cultural make-up. Then again, if I abolish guilt, I’m just left with yelling, self-pity, and checked-out parenting. Hmm. That doesn’t sound right.

I want to have a no-yelling, happy, active parenting life. I could totally accomplish this if it weren’t for the kids! Huh. That doesn’t seem right either.

Conclusions:

  1. My destructive cycles are actually good because the guilt is a break from yelling, self-pity and checking out;
  2. My children are actually the obstacle to me being a great parent. I’d be excellent were it not for them;
  3. Turns out, I don’t have to change a thing. Just wait another 16 years until S graduates from high school and moves out.

Thanks for the free therapy. I’m feeling better now.

Motherhood: A Horrible Carnival Ride

Posted on by
29

The absolute worst and hardest part of parenting is the emotional toll it takes. For me, it’s a constant roller coaster and I just want to get off; I don’t like roller coasters. I’m tired of all of the negative feelings – frustration, anger, embarrassment, self-pity, guilt, recrimination. These all center around L and I’m certain that not everyone has to go to such extremes.

If I had two kids like S, life would be good. I’d have it so easy. I’d deal with “normal” child issues like crankiness, hunger, frustration, boredom. But they’d all be low on the Richter scale. L is a huge earthquake. He is more than I bargained for. It feels unfair. Why am I the mom who constantly has to physically drag her 40 pound child up the stairs for a time-out? Why do I have to break a sweat just to get through the process of putting him to bed? I made the same choices as another mom who only has easy kids. Why did I get such a hard one? <——-This paragraph is all about self-pity.

Next comes guilt. So many people have real problems to deal with. Sick children. Children who can’t feed themselves, will never walk, will not live to see adulthood. Those parents would give anything to trade their problems with mine. I have a perfectly healthy little boy.  <——I’m very good at guilt.

Next up, recrimination: I shouldn’t feel this way. L clearly is struggling with controlling his larger-than-life emotions coupled with his ridiculously high energy. My job is to help him not resent him. If I were a softer landing-place for him, he’d probably thrive. I am not a good enough mother for him.

The truth is, L is exactly the child I deserve. I was not an easy kid. I was outspoken and hated how little control I had over my life. I longed to be an adult. Anyone who has known me for any length of time knows that I have had a huge problem dealing with authority. I do did not like being told what to do, where to be, how to act. And, unfortunately, I felt it was perfectly within my rights to say so. This got me into more than my share of trouble.

I should be able to understand L and know what he needs because I went through such similar feelings as a kid, right? Somehow, it’s not working out that way. What thing did I need to hear from my parents or teachers to help me accept their authority and my place as a subordinate? I think the answer is probably “nothing.” Childhood was just something I had to wait out. I wouldn’t go back for anything. I do like being an adult and in control of my life. Now that I am the authority figure, I don’t think authority is so bad.

So we know where L gets his audacity and stubbornness from. But that energy? That’s not mine. That’s beyond what I can even tolerate. It’s like being on a racquetball court with balls bouncing all around everywhere. All I can do is duck, cover, and wait for it to be over while I’m pummeled all day. The energy is from T. But he didn’t have the defiance to go along with it. It’s the combo that’s a killer.

So I guess this means that I just need to duck and cover for another 20 years or so and then L will come into his own. I see right where this revelation is leading me. Straight back to self-pity as my roller coaster begins its slow ascent again.

Please let me off. I’m feeling a bit sick and dizzy.

There Ain’t No Flies on Me

Posted on by
14

If knowing silly songs was a marketable skill, I’d be rich. Years as a camper followed by years as a camp counselor means that I know more chants, songs, skits, and team war cries than your average person. Songs with actions. Songs with ridiculous faces. Songs for quiet times.

These are not always on the tip of my tongue. They hide in the recesses of my mind. I could tell you that I don’t know any songs about beavers. And then Bam! I know a rousing song about Eager Beaver little girls. (That sounds worse than it is.)

My kids love this about me. I know that there will come a day when they won’t appreciate my breaking out into a song tangentially related to what we’re doing. But for now, they’re amazed by it. ”Can you sing me another song from camp?” 

In all my years at camp, I never imagined how it would affect my life as an adult, a parent. I was living in the moment – my nose sun-burnt, my voice hoarse, my friends all around me. And now I get to relive a bit of that during some of my more mundane tasks. S on the potty? I sing about 5 little ducks, or the frog who says “mmmm, ahhhh.” L having a hard time falling asleep? I sing about trying to get back to Pooh Corner. Rainy day with bored kids? I get them moving and laughing singing about Joe who works in a button factory.

It’s these small things that I hope my kids remember about their childhoods. When they look back, I hope they see me as The Mom Who Sang Loudly In The Car and not The Mom Who Shouted Loudly At Me. Probably they won’t though. They’ll remember all my faults and focus on them. Until they have kids of their own. Then one day they may find themselves singing to a child on the potty. Perhaps they’ll pick up the phone to call me, thank me even? When that time comes I will either: a) laugh at them because they are now the suckers stuck in the bathroom with a toddler, or b) not be home because I am finally free to travel the world.

Take THAT, Team Kids! Team Parents rule!

There ain’t no flies on us! There ain’t no flies on us! There may be flies on all of you guys, but there ain’t no flies on us!

Parental Party Time

Posted on by
17

I have always liked to kick back with friends and have a few several drinks. I’m not talking about jello shots standing on some bar somewhere; but a few bottles of wine over an evening with friends? Now that’s my idea of a good time.

If you’re like me but have struggled to find a way to be both a functional parent and a your partying self, then read on. I’ve figured it out.

It’s all about Parental Party Time. It’s simply a change from night-time debauchery to afternoon, and occasionally morning, debauchery*. This is a whole paradigm shift. You can have your big “night” and still get to bed at a reasonable hour. Moreover, drinking makes parenting bearable fun!

I had a particularly big day Saturday. This is not typical, but it was excellent:

10:30 AM: Arrive with my family to a friend’s brunch, where a mimosa is immediately placed in my hand. Refills abound.

12:30 PM: Leave brunch. T drives. Come home, put S to bed. L goes to neighbor’s house to watch a movie. T naps. I straighten up and prep dinner.

4:00 PM: Friends arrive. All children play outside. Adults enjoy a glass of wine and some fresh guacamole on the porch.

4:30 PM: Margaritas.

5:30 PM: We sit down to an easy, previously prepared, family friendly meal. (Taco night!) We move from margaritas back to wine. (Know your limits. You may not want to try this at home.)

7:00 PM: Friends leave. Kids to bed.

It’s now only 7:15 PM! We have officially already partied. A bit of clean up and then we’re relaxing and happy in a clean house and it’s only 7:30. At this point there’s enough time for a whole evening of relaxation, and re-hydration, while still getting to bed by 10! I was up with the kids Sunday morning as my usual cheerful self. (OK, OK, I was not cheerful, but I was also not hungover.)

Moral of the story? It’s best to start drinking around 3 or 4 in the afternoon.            (And Motherhood, WTF? may not be your best resource for morality tales.)

*Disclaimer: I am not an alcoholic. I do not have a drinking problem. Nobody got frat-party-style drunk. We are all responsible adults and no drunk driving happened whatsoever. (My friends walked home.) I’m saying all of this to hopefully avoid comments lecturing me about alcohol. 

Kids Say the Darnedest Things

Posted on by
19

We all know that kids parrot what they hear. So if you swear, be prepared for embarrassing situations with your toddler. If you say mean things about relatives, your spouse, or your boss, be ready for those things to come right out of your child’s mouth at the most inopportune times.

When you have more than one child, the younger one doesn’t just have you to learn bad things from. This is a problem. Sometimes S says things in public that I’m certain people assume I say in private. But I don’t. She’s learned them from L.

For example:

One of S’s favorite things to say to me when she’s mad is, “When we get home, I’m going to hit you!”

This totally sounds like something a parent might say to a child in a moment of teeth-clenched public rage. But I never said it! I do plenty of bad things as a mom, but I don’t hit my kids. Or threaten to hit them. (I have pinched though.)

This is something she’s learned from L. He says things like this to her all the time. Because he’s a menacing jerk. But he doesn’t usually follow through. He just likes to make her scared and cry. (See previous menacing jerk comment.)

How can I make it known that I did not say this to her? I feel like I need a t-shirt that says, “Please excuse my daughter. She has a bad big brother.”

 

An Existential Freakout

Posted on by
48

I was up late last night, having a bit of a freakout over, well, everything. I wrote this to help me clear my thoughts. This is a raw insight into my middle-of-the-night parental anguish. 

I spend so much of my time wishing my life away – wishing it was bedtime all day; wishing it was Friday all week; wishing it was Monday all weekend. (How freaking awesome is school?)

One day I’ll wish I was 36 again with two little kids. How can I find away to relish this part of my life?

I genuinely do love so much about them while they’re so little:

I love the way they learn something new all the time. I love the way they lavish me with affection. I love their un-self-consciousnesses. I love witnessing them develop their sibling relationship, independent of their parents. (Maybe I just love that they’re finally big enough that I can send them outside together unsupervised?)

But they’re just so HARD. I forget to stop being annoyed and just enjoy it. I can’t be alone in this, right? (This is where you tell me that I’m not an asshole.)

My first reaction is stop, no, don’t.

My kids spend more of their waking hours as the object of my aggravation than they do the object of my undivided attention.

I want to love them better. But I find them terribly annoying so much of the time.

Are my daily kisses, cuddles, and I love you’s enough to balance the daily grind?

Am I fucking this all up? Surely this isn’t the way it’s supposed to be.

WTF Tapas

Posted on by
9

S rolled off of a chair to the floor and started crying.

me: Did you hurt yourself?

S: (sobs and nods)

me: Where did you get hurt?

S: (through tears, pointing) Over there on the floor.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………….

In the car:

S: I don’t feel good.

me: What feels bad?

S: My eyes feel very cold.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

I think my son is a burgeoning psychopath. He’s disturbingly interested in violence. Actual conversation between my children in the car:

L: When I get home later I’m going to hit you.

S: No!

L: Would you rather I pinch you?

S: No!

L: It’s your choice. I can pinch you or hit you. Which do you want?

S: Hit me.

L: OK. With my hand or with this water bottle?

S: With your hand.

WTF? The entire time I was saying “L, stop it!” and “S, don’t answer that!” to no avail. What is wrong with him? And worse, why would she make the choice?

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Conversation I’ve had with S, more than once:

me: I love you.

S: I love you too.

me: (heart melts)

S: You are my mommy.

me: You are my daughter.

S: You are my daughter too.

…………………………………………………………………………………….

My Public Service Announcements

Posted on by
12

In case you don’t have an internet IV running through your veins 24/7 like some people I know, ahem, you may not have heard of Blinkbooks. These are short, visual brain candies covering a variety of topics from fashion to children’s stories to humor. I’ve been lucky enough to write several of these and I thought I’d share a couple I’m particularly fond of.

First up is a warning for parents of girls:

Naturally, I needed to warn parents of boys as well:

Next I was inspired by Honest Mom‘s admission that she sees cute babies and her ovaries start stabbing her better sense and judgement. I know this feeling and think it’s important to remind people everywhere what it’s really like to have a baby:

So these are what public service announcements look like when they come from Motherhood, WTF? You’re welcome.

Classified Ad

Posted on by
34

Free to good home: One 5-year-old boy

  • House trained (with regards to potty, but might destroy your furniture);
  • Needs space to run daily;
  • Not recommended for apartment living as your neighbors will complain about the noise;
  • You will save on a lifetime’s worth of alarm clocks!
  • Eats everything (just not when you want him to);
  • Plays well with others (some of the time);
  • Excellent with the elderly and with babies;
  • Provides endless blog fodder.

Act NOW and we’ll include, as a limited time offer:

  • A life-time supply of Advil to help with any headaches you may encounter;
  • A prescription for Xanax;
  • A case of wine;
  • His pockets will come stuffed full of $20′s!

It’s 11:40 AM and I’m tempted to keep L up in his room until T comes home tonight at 5:30. The last couple of days he’s been astonishingly rude and obnoxious, culminating in a playdate (with a little girl he loves) where he told her he wished she would die, that he never wants to play with her, etc. I drove 25 minutes to a park that we spent 10 minutes in before I had to drag him out. Poor S was so happy at the park. Poor me was looking forward to having actual conversation with another mom.

He told me I’m the meanest mother. He told me I’m the worst mother in the world. Truth is, maybe I am? I must be to have raised this child.

He’s been doing so well lately. I thought we turned a corner. Is he never going to get easier?

I don’t know how to just move on and face the rest of the day with him. I feel so angry and disappointed and frustrated. I don’t think I have it in me to play with him any time soon. How long is too long to punish a kid for being a colossal jerk? Me disliking him seems like the only natural consequence, but that can’t be what I’m supposed to do.

Somehow I’m meant to compartmentalize things. I’m meant to not take things personally. I’m meant to not feel emotional responses to his outbursts. Who can do any of that? Are we supposed to magically become automatons when we have children? I’m a person and when I’m not treated well, when I’m embarrassed, or ashamed, or frustrated I feel it. I don’t know how to turn that off.

WTF Tapas

Posted on by
12

S on the potty:

L has a peanut. Do you have a peanut? I don’t have a peanut. I have a china.

…………………………………………………………………………….

L is sweet, disarming, and persuasive, and I fear that he’s going to get some girl “in trouble” one day. I don’t know what to do about this. Conversation from the other morning:

L: Mommy, I just love you so much!

me: I love you so much too.

L: I love you more. I love you so much I can’t even sleep at night. I love you so much I can’t sleep because you’re not in my bed with me.

Oh dear.

……………………………………………………………………………

S’s speech has come along way. Bad news for my S-isms, but generally good news as now she’s mostly understood. However, she has been saying some surprising things lately. Recently I was talking to another mom about babies and she said, with perfect articulation:

We don’t have a baby because our baby died.

WTF? Not only have we never had a baby die, but she also has never known any babies who have died. I have no idea where this came from. A few days earlier she said:

When me get bigger, me be a mommy. Then me die.

(No, honey, you’ll only wish you would…)*

*kidding, please don’t lecture me.

…………………………………………………………………………….

S never ever ever stops talking. If she’s awake, she’s chatting away. She has nothing to say most of the time so she simply narrates. Nothing is too mundane to escape her squeaky narration. 90% of my waking life is spent having a conversation like this one:

S: Imma gonna pick my nose now to see what stuff is in there. Now my finger is in my nose. I can’t get the stuff out. Mommy? Mommy? Mommy? Mommy?

me: Yes?

S: Imma picking my nose to see what stuff is in there. That OK, Mommy? Mommy? Mommy? That OK that Imma picking my nose to see what stuff is in there? With my finger? That OK, Mommy?

me: It’s not great, S. It’s kind of gross.

S: I have my finger in my nose but I can’t get the stuff out. Mommy? Mommy? Mommy? The stuff is in my nose. It stuck. Mommy?

……………………………………………………………….