If somebody would've told me beforehand - I never would have believed them. The yo-yo is sometimes too intense to actually be, well, believable. I'd have thought they were being melodramatic or exaggerating. I'd have thought they didn't appreciate, you know, the miracle of parenthood and blah blah blah, etc. etc.
So, what the heck am I talking about? I'm talking about the ups & downs and highs & lows of parenting. I'm talking about how bloody quick that high can become a low, and vice versa. (It's entirely possible that I've blogged about this before. If so, clearly I'm still amazed by it).
(As a sidenote here: I will be the first to admit that my kids tend towards the, um, intense. They come by it honestly. Like their Mama, they do not believe in doing anything, or any mood, half-assed. Moderate just isn't our way. So I get that other folks may think I'm wingeing when I talk about my kids' moods or tantrums or reactions or activity levels and the like. But you'll just have to trust me when I say, my tots are an intense little lot.)
Anyhoo - back to the ups and down business. There are days when the mood pendulum is so great that I can cry happy, sad and frustrated tears all in one day (or one outing, for that matter!). Who would believe that before becoming a parent?
There is nothing that can prepare you for the rush of sheer bliss that comes from spontaneous hugs, declarations of affection, or impromptu kitchen dance parties with a coupla smalls? There is also nothing that can prepare you (and I mean nothing!) for the intensity of helplessness and anger when you are dealing with an intense hour long (and that's not even close to our household record either peeps) in which you get slapped, kicked and have to dodge miscellaneous projectiles, in which the raging tantrum-ee is so worked up, he gouges a huge welt in their own stomach, while you are attempting (and usually failing) to maintain a zen-like calm. But then, as quickly as it roared in, the tantrum stops. And you are overcome with an overwhelming need to comfort and shelter this child that seconds ago was as big as a hurricane, and now seems so vulnerable and tiny. Or how 'bout the extreme frustration from dealing with a toddler so steadfastly against the concept of sleep that she will poke her own eyeballs in an attempt to avoid getting those zzzz's. And unexpectedly, the toddler collapses in a heap of sleep. And you are overcome with relief, and an enormous flooding of gooey love for this gorgeous, sweetly sleeping babe in front of you.
The yo-yo is nuts. Sheer nuttery. Especially when you add to the yo-yo your own feelings of ineptitude, the nagging suspician that you could've, should've handled it (whatever it is) better, that you are really not cut out for this business. And top that with the moments that just go right, those fleeting moments when you get to think: 'Wow, we're doing an awesome job with these amazing kids." Yo. Yo.
There is this fantastic old movie about parenting, called (wait for it!): Parenthood. It's an 80's flick with Steve Martin and Mary Steenburgen and if you haven't seen it, you are totally missing out. (Really. Rent it or Netflix it or something). Anyhow - there's this scene where a wise little grandma is trying to explain to her grandson (Martin) that parenthood is like a rollercoaster...
Grandma: You know, when I was nineteen, Grandpa took me on a roller coaster.
Gil: (not really paying attention) Oh?
Grandma: Up, down, up, down. Oh, what a ride!
Gil: (totally sarcastic) What a great story.
Grandma: I always wanted to go again. You know, it was just so interesting to me that a ride could make me so frightened, so scared, so sick, so excited, and so thrilled all together! Some didn't like it. They went on the merry-go-round. That just goes around. Nothing. I like the roller coaster. You get more out of it.
Grandma is right of course. It's a roller coaster. One minute your heart is breaking and the next second it's swelling with all kinds of warm fuzzies. It's an awesome, wonderful, terrifying, angry-making, holy-crap-I'm-tired-and-scared-and-I-don't-know-if-I-can-do-this, exciting, sickening, exhilarating, roller coaster.
Or, you know, a yo-yo.
Either way, what a ride.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Sunday, January 30, 2011
the art of stall tactics
Bedtime has become one of the longest, drawn out rituals we have in our home of late. Like, long long. Our boy has t-e-n-a-c-i-t-y, that's for sure. And he is largely non-agreeable to any sleep-type activity that does not involve one or both of his parents in bed with him. (Well, mostly he's non-agreeable to sleep period, but he is slightly more amenable to it if we're there too.)
Anyhoo - lately bedtime has become a roughly 1 1/2 - 2 hour process, which goes something like this:
Bath - 7 p.m.
Tooth brushing - 7:30 p.m.
Stories - 7:40 p.m
I have to pee! - 7:50 p.m.
Snuggles and a myriad of "I love yous" - 7:51 p.m.
I need some water. - 7:55 p.m.
You closed the door too far. - 7:59 p.m.
(We closed the door the same as every other night, honey)
Wahhhhhhh!!!! - 8:01 p.m.
I have to pee again. - 8:08 p.m.
Can I sleep in your bed? Your bed is much bigger. And comfier! - 8:15 p.m.
I'm not tired.... - 8:17 p.m.
Mama? Mama? Are you there? I love you Mama! I really, really, love you. All the way to the moon and the stars and back again. - 8:21 p.m.
Mommy! Diego is real. He's NOT just in cartoon land. When I grow up, I'm going to be an animal rescuer. . . . and an astronaut . . . and a firefighter. . . . and a pilot. - 8:30 p.m.
Mama? Mommy? - 8:34 p.m.
(GOTOSLEEPBOY-O!)
I love you! Have a good sleep Mama! - 8:40 p.m.
*chatting away to himself* - 8:45 p.m.
Will someone come and check on me? - 8:50 p.m.
And finally, eventually, sleep. Upon which time, all of our frustrations magically melt away by looking at his ridiculously cute, angelic sleeping face. This little trick is child-voodoo at its finest.
And by the time he finally falls asleep - both of his parents are not far behind. We clearly lack his tenacity for sleep resistance.
Anyhoo - lately bedtime has become a roughly 1 1/2 - 2 hour process, which goes something like this:
Bath - 7 p.m.
Tooth brushing - 7:30 p.m.
Stories - 7:40 p.m
I have to pee! - 7:50 p.m.
Snuggles and a myriad of "I love yous" - 7:51 p.m.
I need some water. - 7:55 p.m.
You closed the door too far. - 7:59 p.m.
(We closed the door the same as every other night, honey)
Wahhhhhhh!!!! - 8:01 p.m.
I have to pee again. - 8:08 p.m.
Can I sleep in your bed? Your bed is much bigger. And comfier! - 8:15 p.m.
I'm not tired.... - 8:17 p.m.
Mama? Mama? Are you there? I love you Mama! I really, really, love you. All the way to the moon and the stars and back again. - 8:21 p.m.
Mommy! Diego is real. He's NOT just in cartoon land. When I grow up, I'm going to be an animal rescuer. . . . and an astronaut . . . and a firefighter. . . . and a pilot. - 8:30 p.m.
Mama? Mommy? - 8:34 p.m.
(GOTOSLEEPBOY-O!)
I love you! Have a good sleep Mama! - 8:40 p.m.
*chatting away to himself* - 8:45 p.m.
Will someone come and check on me? - 8:50 p.m.
And finally, eventually, sleep. Upon which time, all of our frustrations magically melt away by looking at his ridiculously cute, angelic sleeping face. This little trick is child-voodoo at its finest.
And by the time he finally falls asleep - both of his parents are not far behind. We clearly lack his tenacity for sleep resistance.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Check out Jennifer Carr's awesome blog http://todayyouareyou.com/ about her journey as mama to a young transgender child. Jennifer has written a long-overdue kids book about gender and trans issues, called "Be Who You Are," which I personally will be ordering for my tots asap.
You can read a review of Jennifer's book at Offbeat Mama: http://offbeatmama.com/2011/01/transgender-child-book.
You can read a review of Jennifer's book at Offbeat Mama: http://offbeatmama.com/2011/01/transgender-child-book.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Nada
I have absolutely nothing to say. Not a sentence to string together. I've been sitting here for the past half hour, trying to think of something reasonably witty to say, but really wishing I was in bed watching T.V. I find it funny (funny-frustrating, not funny ha ha!) that when I do think of something to say, I can't seem to find time to actually blog it, nor am I able to find a pen or a scrap of paper to write the thoughts down for when I do have time to blog, like, say, right now. (And on a related note, how is it fair that I get all my great blogging ideas while driving?)
So sadly neglected blog - what can I say? It's not that I don't love you. But the business of full-time parenting (badly-organized, harried, running-around-the-city-without-a-pen-and-a-scrap-of-paper-parent at that) seems to be rendering me more tired and braindead than usual these days. Thems the breaks, I guess.
So sadly neglected blog - what can I say? It's not that I don't love you. But the business of full-time parenting (badly-organized, harried, running-around-the-city-without-a-pen-and-a-scrap-of-paper-parent at that) seems to be rendering me more tired and braindead than usual these days. Thems the breaks, I guess.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
the family unit
I'm bracing myself. I know it's part of the deal. But I'm still all full of anxiety about it.
Boy-o's class is starting their unit on the family. "The family." Words that strike terror into this mama's old heart. I know right now that this is my baggage and not his. But I wonder how long I'll be able to say this?
The fear isn't that his school and teacher will deal with the unit poorly. On the contrary - I have every confidence that the discussion will be very inclusive of different family forms, and especially so of Boy-o's.
But my kid is the only kid in his class who doesn't have a dad. The only one. The one and only. And being the lone 'different' kid is not an easy road.
Thankfully, we have friends whose families look just like ours. Boy-o knows he isn't the only kid in the world with two moms or two dads. He knows that families come in all different shapes and sizes and forms. His classmates just (somewhat bizarrely, given our exceedingly high divorce rates) happen to have a fairly homogenous (and very traditional) family formations.
Already he is coming home and acting out families full of moms and dads. Calling L. his dad. Experimenting and playing with how he perceives his outer world and the very different world in our home. Don't get me wrong, I am fully aware that these actions are normal and inevitable. But it still touches a nerve.
Because the world is what it is - and we will always be 'different'. (And perhaps especially so in a town like Redneckville).
We will (and do) tell him over and over and over that difference is what makes this world, and the people in it, beautiful. If we teach him nothing else, this is the most essential. But it's a difficult thing to impart when the outside world, more often than not, does not reflect this message back.
So - I'll hold my breathe for the next little while. Try like hell not to let my anxiety filter down to Boy-o. Do lots of affirming difference kinds of things. And hope for the best.
That's all anyone can do, when it comes right down to it.
Boy-o's class is starting their unit on the family. "The family." Words that strike terror into this mama's old heart. I know right now that this is my baggage and not his. But I wonder how long I'll be able to say this?
The fear isn't that his school and teacher will deal with the unit poorly. On the contrary - I have every confidence that the discussion will be very inclusive of different family forms, and especially so of Boy-o's.
But my kid is the only kid in his class who doesn't have a dad. The only one. The one and only. And being the lone 'different' kid is not an easy road.
Thankfully, we have friends whose families look just like ours. Boy-o knows he isn't the only kid in the world with two moms or two dads. He knows that families come in all different shapes and sizes and forms. His classmates just (somewhat bizarrely, given our exceedingly high divorce rates) happen to have a fairly homogenous (and very traditional) family formations.
Already he is coming home and acting out families full of moms and dads. Calling L. his dad. Experimenting and playing with how he perceives his outer world and the very different world in our home. Don't get me wrong, I am fully aware that these actions are normal and inevitable. But it still touches a nerve.
Because the world is what it is - and we will always be 'different'. (And perhaps especially so in a town like Redneckville).
We will (and do) tell him over and over and over that difference is what makes this world, and the people in it, beautiful. If we teach him nothing else, this is the most essential. But it's a difficult thing to impart when the outside world, more often than not, does not reflect this message back.
So - I'll hold my breathe for the next little while. Try like hell not to let my anxiety filter down to Boy-o. Do lots of affirming difference kinds of things. And hope for the best.
That's all anyone can do, when it comes right down to it.
Friday, January 21, 2011
the days that just work...
On Wednesday, I had one of those days. One of those covetted, pleasantly surprising, everything-just-goes-right, the universe-loves-you, kinda days.
While Girlio woke far too early, she didn't wake at all through the previous night (say whhhatttt?!). Our morning routine was quick and painless - even with the extra kiddo, we left on time, we got to school on time, and we grooved to bad radio music in the car all the way. Boy-o had very little telltale signs of separation anxiety (our newest parenting adventure, likely to be blogged about at another time) at school and then, later on, chattered away animateedly about his school adventures the whole ride home. I had a great coffee with a friend and felt light and rejuvinated.
And I spent the afternoon just marvelling at these wonders who are my children, who are these passionate, devil-may-care, bright, creative souls - and amazed that despite (and maybe just a teensy bit because) of their parentage, they are, like, the coolest kids ever. Boy-o spent hours making up games about space travel and fire fighting (and space-travelling-fire-fighters) and then deciding that he will be an astronomer (who fights fires, natch). Girlio ran around naming everything she saw (where did she get all these words?!), laughing, getting into trouble (as per usual) and trailing her brother with a look of what can only be described as complete and total adoration. (Which Boy-o tolerated reasonably well).
I love these days. I live for these days. These days remind you that you're better at life than you think you are. They remind you that the slogging-it-out, dealing-with-self-doubt-around-every-corner, kids-throwing-you-a-new-curveball-everytime-you-figure-the-old-one-out days seem so so worth it.
(And of course they are. It's just nice to have that little dose of perspective every now and again).
While Girlio woke far too early, she didn't wake at all through the previous night (say whhhatttt?!). Our morning routine was quick and painless - even with the extra kiddo, we left on time, we got to school on time, and we grooved to bad radio music in the car all the way. Boy-o had very little telltale signs of separation anxiety (our newest parenting adventure, likely to be blogged about at another time) at school and then, later on, chattered away animateedly about his school adventures the whole ride home. I had a great coffee with a friend and felt light and rejuvinated.
And I spent the afternoon just marvelling at these wonders who are my children, who are these passionate, devil-may-care, bright, creative souls - and amazed that despite (and maybe just a teensy bit because) of their parentage, they are, like, the coolest kids ever. Boy-o spent hours making up games about space travel and fire fighting (and space-travelling-fire-fighters) and then deciding that he will be an astronomer (who fights fires, natch). Girlio ran around naming everything she saw (where did she get all these words?!), laughing, getting into trouble (as per usual) and trailing her brother with a look of what can only be described as complete and total adoration. (Which Boy-o tolerated reasonably well).
I love these days. I live for these days. These days remind you that you're better at life than you think you are. They remind you that the slogging-it-out, dealing-with-self-doubt-around-every-corner, kids-throwing-you-a-new-curveball-everytime-you-figure-the-old-one-out days seem so so worth it.
(And of course they are. It's just nice to have that little dose of perspective every now and again).
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Not an easy watch - but a very (sadly) effective ad on domestic violence
**This social experiment was carried out using hidden cameras in a townhouse complex in Johannesburg. Don't condone violence by doing nothing.**
If you hear stuff like this - call someone.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
I almost peed my pants... literally
For a ridiculously funny examination of the butchering of the word 'literally'. And for a good laugh at the expense of the late, and yet still an asshole after his death, Rev. Jerry Falwell. Win/win, my friends :)
http://theoatmeal.com/comics/literally
http://theoatmeal.com/comics/literally
On Katy Perry and the like...
My Boy-o loves Katy Perry. Loves her. LOVES her. I do not love Katy Perry. Um, emphatically. (I have a rant, which I will mostly leave out, which involves the line "I kissed a girl and I liked it... because my boyfriend liked it more" etc., which mainly involves my general disgust at her exploiting queer culture for shock value in order to make mucho money. Anyhoo - I digress).
This morning, when one of her songs came on the radio, he announced dreamily: "Ohhhh Katy Perry is my favourite." And then added beseechingly "Maybe someday YOU will love Katy Perry too, Mama." Fat chance. And it's not just Katy Perry. Boy-o loves all pop music, some good stuff, some really, really bad stuff. And it is all my fault. Well - mostly, anyways.
I used to be one of those good parents whose kids only listened to age-appropriate children's music (much of which made me want to stab my eyeballs out as much as Katy Perry, so there ya go). But then, my dear Boy-o was allowed to play around in the front seat one day whilst his mommy was cleaning out the garage. And at the end of said exciting adventure, there were many coins in our cars cd player. No more cd player in the car. No problem! We still have the trusty old IPOD, right? Except then, then, Girlio broke the IPOD dock. And then the IPOD itself died. And said circumstances ushered in the era of only being able to listen to the radio while in the car (which we spend an almost alarming amount of time in, I'm sorry to say).
And then there's Glee. L. and I are total Glee lovers. True story. And because Boy-o is such a music lover, such a theatrical dude, and general performer, one day we got the bright idea of letting him watch some Glee performances on Youtube. And he was instantaneously hooked. It's like crack for him. Singing and dancing four year old crack. He knows most of the characters names (and is, at the moment, particularly in love with Artie). Anyways - Glee introduced Katy Perry's "Teenage Dream" and is the entire reason my four year old might spontaneously burst into song lyrics such as "I'll let you put your hands on me in my skintight jeans, be your teenage dream tonight..." Mmmmhmmmm. Super innappropriate, a little disturbing, and yet,somehow arrestingly cute at the same time.
And though I'm a total nerd and a CBC diehard - I don't listen to CBC when the smalls are in the car because I don't think they need to listen to the news of death and general world destruction. So L. and I found the least obnoxious radio station we could, and Boy-o became a pop-listenin' machine. And we continued on in our apparent quest to become bad, bad parents.
There have been some notably fun (pride filled) moments to our radio listening sojourns, such as when Boy-o heard the openning bars to "I Love Rock 'n Roll" and shouted: "That's Joan Jett. She's a real rocker!!!" How can you not love that?! We've also discovered during this journey that Boy-o's ability to recognize music phrasing and sounds is pretty amazing.
And still - there's a large part of me that squirms every morning when my sweet four year old shouts out lyrics that are 1. often just plain bad, and 2. really not at all age-appropriate.
"Mama, mama!! Is that Bon Jovi?"
"Mama - it's Michael Buble!"
"We can't get out of the car until Wady Gaga is finished! She is my favourite and my best!"
"Maroon 5 is so good!"
Once again, it seems that I'm the parent I used to judge. Oh yes I am.
This morning, when one of her songs came on the radio, he announced dreamily: "Ohhhh Katy Perry is my favourite." And then added beseechingly "Maybe someday YOU will love Katy Perry too, Mama." Fat chance. And it's not just Katy Perry. Boy-o loves all pop music, some good stuff, some really, really bad stuff. And it is all my fault. Well - mostly, anyways.
I used to be one of those good parents whose kids only listened to age-appropriate children's music (much of which made me want to stab my eyeballs out as much as Katy Perry, so there ya go). But then, my dear Boy-o was allowed to play around in the front seat one day whilst his mommy was cleaning out the garage. And at the end of said exciting adventure, there were many coins in our cars cd player. No more cd player in the car. No problem! We still have the trusty old IPOD, right? Except then, then, Girlio broke the IPOD dock. And then the IPOD itself died. And said circumstances ushered in the era of only being able to listen to the radio while in the car (which we spend an almost alarming amount of time in, I'm sorry to say).
And then there's Glee. L. and I are total Glee lovers. True story. And because Boy-o is such a music lover, such a theatrical dude, and general performer, one day we got the bright idea of letting him watch some Glee performances on Youtube. And he was instantaneously hooked. It's like crack for him. Singing and dancing four year old crack. He knows most of the characters names (and is, at the moment, particularly in love with Artie). Anyways - Glee introduced Katy Perry's "Teenage Dream" and is the entire reason my four year old might spontaneously burst into song lyrics such as "I'll let you put your hands on me in my skintight jeans, be your teenage dream tonight..." Mmmmhmmmm. Super innappropriate, a little disturbing, and yet,somehow arrestingly cute at the same time.
And though I'm a total nerd and a CBC diehard - I don't listen to CBC when the smalls are in the car because I don't think they need to listen to the news of death and general world destruction. So L. and I found the least obnoxious radio station we could, and Boy-o became a pop-listenin' machine. And we continued on in our apparent quest to become bad, bad parents.
There have been some notably fun (pride filled) moments to our radio listening sojourns, such as when Boy-o heard the openning bars to "I Love Rock 'n Roll" and shouted: "That's Joan Jett. She's a real rocker!!!" How can you not love that?! We've also discovered during this journey that Boy-o's ability to recognize music phrasing and sounds is pretty amazing.
And still - there's a large part of me that squirms every morning when my sweet four year old shouts out lyrics that are 1. often just plain bad, and 2. really not at all age-appropriate.
"Mama, mama!! Is that Bon Jovi?"
"Mama - it's Michael Buble!"
"We can't get out of the car until Wady Gaga is finished! She is my favourite and my best!"
"Maroon 5 is so good!"
Once again, it seems that I'm the parent I used to judge. Oh yes I am.
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