We are the Family that Breaks the Christmas Candles

Lighting candles, singing carols, attending a service, going out as a family on Christmas eve--this all sounded like a good idea at the time, not the kind of thing you imagine ending in tears. Anyway, it did.

As a parent, do you ever get the feeling that you don’t know what the hell you’re doing? Or maybe that what you’re doing certainly isn’t the right thing? I feel like that Every. Day. But my kids are fine. Fine enough, I think. I like them most of the time...But it turned out on this particular festive occasion, that they are the kids—we are that family—that breaks all the damn candles at the Christmas Eve service.

 Honestly, I knew, I KNEW, the second that lady in her school marmy dress and put-on Christmas smile handed us those candles that they would either be returned significantly worse for wear or we would set someone on fire. And I was right about the lesser of those two evils. Even though my prediction should have mentally prepared me for this little eventuality, there I was head in my hands, tears streaming, holding three flaccid candles simultaneously in utter disbelief and total defeated acceptance that, yes, we were indeed that family that could not keep candles in tact for twenty minutes in church. My husband put his arm around me--he’s a kind man--believing that it was the moving rendition of Silent Night that pushed me over the edge, made me wistful about my dear old deceased mother. Maybe there was a bit of that, but mostly, it was those damn candles.

‘Why? Why? What grave error in judgement? What offense against the universe led us down this path of destruction? How did our kids lack such basic respect for property? They were probably going to be vandals one day, paying fines or worse for their participation in the defacing of some historic relic.’ I lamented all of this to my husband as we were driving away. He laughed and said they were really brittle and probably lots of them were broken. But I knew the truth...

Not a single one of those angelic boys or sweet little girls in their velveteen Christmas dresses with bows in their hair (with their skinny, successful, put-together mommies who never raised their voice) had so much as harmed a wick on any other candle at that service that night. They were doing it right, you see. Those parents would be attending university convocations and professional speed-skating meets while I bore the humiliation I deserved for being a total crap parent at my son’s parole hearing. We were that family, and my screw-ups made us that way.

We all have those days, but, today is a better day and though I still have no idea what I’m doing, I hold onto hope—hope that every family is that family for some reason or other. Maybe they are not the family that trashes the candles at the Christmas eve service, I think we own the honour for that one—but maybe they are the family that arrives 5 minutes too late for their daughter’s dance recital, or maybe they are the family that can’t exit any social situation without MAJOR meltdown. Maybe they are the family that drags their daughter kicking and screaming into daycare wearing only a diaper on the coldest day of winter. Or maybe they are the family who’s son, on his tester Kindergarten day, decides it’s a good idea to have a quick pee outside in a corner near a window in plain site of an active classroom—no, wait, that’s us again--but I digress, I AM hopeful.

I am hopeful that regardless of how badly I screw up, my kids will know I love them something fierce and that has to count for something. This evening as I was leaving to go out with a friend, my 8 year-old son somewhat uncharacteristically called out, ‘BEST MOM EVER!’ and, though my knee jerk internal dialogue was What evidence would lead you to such an erroneous conclusion, poor child? I know with every fiber of my being that he believed it. We are his family, the best he will ever know... the best I have ever known. And, even though we break candles at Christmas eve services, I wouldn’t trade us for the world. 

They Don't Make Them Like They Used To...

I was born to a farming family in small town Saskatchewan. I grew up in a 'traditional' home...My mom stayed at home, my Dad was happily married to her and his farming business, but probably the farm got more of his time. Us kids had a good life, there was everything we needed, enough of the basics to go around and bit more, there was love, and a gigantic ice rink every winter.

For better or worse, this was the life I left behind when I moved to the city to attend university. As one does, I met people, I traveled the world for a few years, and eventually married a good man. During this time, I often thought fondly of my parents—of how hard they worked, how generous they were, and of what an amazing family they built. More often than not, I came to the conclusion that 'they just didn't make people like that anymore.' Now, you should know that my parents not only had 16 children and a farm but they also worked tirelessly to better the community we lived in. To this day, what they accomplished in their lives seems impossible to me. 

My mom passed away when I was twelve, and I have never thought of her more often than I do now that I have my own children. I remember her to be calm, wise, and unfailingly kind. Perhaps those are memories tinted with rose-coloured glasses and god knows she's not here to set the record straight, but I'm sure I'm not entirely wrong. Recently, I was describing her to a friend who'd never had the chance to meet her and in my description I chose the word 'tireless' and again used the phrase, 'they just don't make people like that anymore.' Time and again, especially as a mom, I find myself wondering what Mom would have to say about this or that, but if she'd heard me utter those words—tireless, they don't make people like that anymore—I have a pretty good idea what she would say...

She would probably call me a 'Dummkopf,' and say something like... Of course they make em like they used to! Do you think you're any different than me? You think I was 'tireless' raising 16 kids? There's a better word for that....Tiresome. Bleeding tiresome. (except she wouldn't swear, because she never swore, But maybe she did when we were out of earshot). She'd probably tell me she got frustrated with needy kids at her legs during the supper hour, insurmountable laundry, people in the community that were difficult to work with, a marriage that required energy she lacked, and exhausted of working a thankless job.

Except of course, she wouldn't have said any of that because she knew I would figure it out.

After all, when she was a young lady, she probably thought fondly of her own parents who raised their own brood before there were even hospitals or electricity. Perhaps she counted herself lucky for the modern world in which she lived that offered her opportunities and luxuries not afforded to her own mother, and marveled that they just didn't make people like that anymore. But they did—they made her—and maybe they still do.

Perhaps after years of seeing a world my mother never got to see, getting an education that she could only have dreamed of, of working jobs that wouldn't have been available to her, knowing comforts beyond her wildest dreams, its been easy to write her off as a woman of a different time, a legend, a dying breed, the likes of which they don't make anymore. But I can see that for the cop out that it is. I'm sure if I could ask her the question that I have always wanted to ask—How did you do it, Mom?—she would just say she did her best with what time and fate dealt her. And of course, no less should be expected me. After all, when I take a step back from my own life of managing our busy family schedule, sharing my wonderful husband and marriage with a business he created, and even as I look out onto my backyard ice rink, I know we are not that different.

We will never be our parents, for better or worse, but surely they have all taught us something--whether that be lessons of unfailing patience and love or that we want to be nothing like them or anything in between. Whatever those lessons, it seems as you age, you realize just how much you share in the same humanity.    

Christmas--Are Too Many Good Ideas Getting in the Way of the Main Idea?

A bake sale for charity is a good idea. Parents being more involved at school is a good idea. Sponsoring a child through World Vision is a great idea. Christmas parties are good—the work party, the kids party, the work-kids party, the neighbor’s party—they are all great fun. Attending a steak night to raise money for Sally’s volunteer visit to an orphanage is a Peru, well, who can say no to that? Buying poinsettia’s from a school fundraiser only makes sense. Putting up Christmas decorations is a must. Getting a gift card for that helpful neighbor is the least you can do. Volunteering to help with the church Christmas concert seemed like a good idea at the time. A Tim Horton’s gift certificate for hard-working teachers, bus drivers, dance instructors, and sitters is a simple way to show your appreciation for the work they do all year. Setting a puzzle with your kids is a good idea. Reading EVERYDAY with them is a sure way to ensure their lifelong success--so is getting outdoors, remembering to take Vitamin D, and getting enough exercise. Hitting up an AWESOME Christmas sale is a smart way to save a bit of dough at a spendy time of year. Attending work everyday is a good idea, and while you’re there, why not organize a secret Santa exchange?! Not missing the kids’ dance classes, gymnastics, or piano recitals is a good idea. Attending my yoga class is a lifeline. Organizing the house makes everything else run a little smoother. Cooking a healthy meal is a good idea. So is sitting down and eating it while finding out about your kids’ day. A Christmas baking exchange is a good idea. Little O’s special school holiday charity event is so thoughtful! Delivering presents as a family to the local food bank is good idea. Cuddling up with a Christmas movie is a great idea. Writing Christmas cards is a great idea…

But you know what? Doing all of these things in one month? That is a BAD idea.

You know what the problem is with this world sometimes? TOO MANY GOOD IDEAS. With so many things to do that are helpful, philanthropic, fun, progressive, practical, healthy, kind, you name it—it is SO hard to say ‘No!’ Am I mistaken or is the whole point of the Christmas season not to spend some time connecting with dearest of loved ones? Because all these damn ‘good ideas’ are starting to get in the way of that.

The other day my 8 year old son and toddler daughter were crafting together at the kitchen table while I made supper. I was happy for the welcome time to zone out and get some work done while they entertained each other. After about 15 minutes, my son comes running into the room saying, “Mom, Mom, look what I made for Melea!” and he showed me his creation…

10 pages of paper stapled together each with a picture of a different mermaid/princess character of my toddler daughter’s request (ahem, demand) drawn on them in marker. Now this seems like a good enough idea, sweet of him to draw for her, but, honestly, he couldn’t have spent more than a minute on any of those drawings--a book full of half-assed ‘good ideas’ that would hit the recycling bin within a week. I kept this to myself, but I couldn’t help but wish he’d saved the paper and condensed his efforts into a more meaningful, singular creation into which he’d put more time and care! Something worth treasuring.

Poor kid, he comes by it honestly. His quantity over quality efforts are so reflective of my own, especially those I find myself making during the busy lead up to Christmas. Perhaps a singular charitable effort made as a family or community is just as effective (and perhaps more meaningful) than spreading ourselves thin over the 20 charitable opportunities that might present themselves in December. Maybe we need to let someone else have a turn running the Christmas concert or consider the worst case scenario if there is a hiatus with the office secret Santa exchange. Maybe we all need to just spare ourselves the efforts that inevitably end up in our energetic recycle bin, find a place to draw a line and say 'No' to rest of the ‘good ideas’ that come our way. Because it seems to me that if we cram too much into the season, we miss the chance to create much worth treasuring—namely time with the ones we love. Perhaps, all of these good ideas are getting in the way of the main idea?!

There's No Such Thing as a 'Dance-Mom' (Or a 'Trump-Voter')

I’ve recently become a ‘dance-mom’. Whatever that means. In the past, this expression for me drummed up visions of a frantic, well-kept, uber-competitive woman wrapped up in living (or reliving) her dreams of being a prima ballerina through her daughter who grew up to have a corporate job, an eating disorder and OCD. Nonetheless, last September when I was preparing my daughter for her first dance class, I made sure to do an extra mid-day hairbrush (for BOTH of us), I bought every last item on the suggested rehearsal gear list, and I may even have run back into the house to exchange my sneakers for my spankiest pair of boots before we headed out. We arrived early (a feat in itself), and I’m embarrassed to say that I’m sure my daughter could sense my nerves even through her own excitement. I hustled her into the class, gave her my winning go-get-em smile and sat down to wait. I sat next to woman (who I noted was wearing sluppy, athletic pants and a pony tail) and we exchanged pleasantries and eventually got to talking about our mutual interest in the Bachelor series. She was nice enough, certainly not the embodiment of the stereotypical 'dance mom' I'd had in mind, but I remained convinced that, come recital day, her finely honed hair and makeup skills would make an appearance and her daughter would look just the part while my poor daughter would resemble a street performing clown.

Fast forward a few months, I'd made a few connections with other women outside the dance studio. One woman was a professor, another worked in retail. Several women stayed at home with their children, and others seemed to be making the mad dash every week to dance class from somewhere requiring a suit. Some wore make-up, others, like me, didn't. Some arrived at class looking like they'd rolled out of bed, others seemed pretty 'put-together'. It varied week-to-week. On several occasions, several of us commiserated about our fears about the dreaded 'recital makeup.' Some of us got along better than others, and, come recital day, I fudged my way through the hair and makeup component like everyone else and watched for two of the most heavenly minutes of my life while my daughter danced her first dance on stage in a ridiculous bee costume. I noted that I was not the only crying.

I learned something that day--a valuable secret that shouldn't be kept...

There's no such thing as a 'dance mom.' At least not the one I'd imagined. As far as I can tell, the only thing we really had in common was that we really loved our kids and wanted to see them do well. That's it. What a wonderful relief!

Perhaps you buy my premise... So what if I told you, there was no such thing as a 'Trump-voter'? At least not the image of the racist, bigoted, xenophobic jerk you hold in your head. Would you believe me? Because a few things have come to my attention recently. One is that a lot people are not shy to call conservative voters of America all manners of strong adjectives—racist, sexist, haters—I'm sure you could add a few to that list. Another is that people I would never in my wildest dreams have thought to back a man like that have come out in favour of him in one way or another. To say hearing these people come out in support of Donald Trump was a surprise to me is the understatement of the century. These people were compassionate, kind, and forward-thinking. They were people I believed to share the same values as me. How could they be 'Trump supporters'? This bothered me. Very much actually.

Now, I am very glad that I will not be casting a vote in the American election come November, not the least of which is that I can't stand the polarization of a two-party system. But I have realized something...if I did have to vote in that election, I would have to put a check mark beside Hillary Clinton's name. Would making that check mark make me a 'Hilliary-voter'? I suppose it would. But would it mean that mean I supported her position on partial-birth abortion? No, it would not. Would it mean I consider her political position and actions to be entirely cohesive? Nope. Would it mean I thought she was the best person to lead one of the most powerful countries in the western world? Again no. Being a 'Hilliary-voter' would tell you next to nothing about me or anything I stand for. It would not tell you anything about my values, my person-hood, or my ability to be compassionate. So, how wrong I have been to make these assumptions about 'Trump-supporters'!? What do I know about them and their values?

I think we would be fooling ourselves to think we are any different here in the great white north. Now this is going back a year or so, but it could be said that those who came out in support of Stephen Harper's government during the run up to 2015 election were on the receiving end of many of same nasty adjectives and assumptions as Trump's supporters. There were plenty hell-bent on demonizing the person-hood and values of those who dared to vote differently from them. It bothered me at the time and it bothers me now because I was of the belief that we were somehow immune to such extreme political polarization here in Canada, but we are not. Sadly we are not.

I remain passionately against polarization—whether it be political, ideological, social, or otherwise-- particularly when it is used as tool demonize one's opposition, and I have often wondered why we as a society gravitate so easily towards it. I was discussing this issue with a friend recently, and she put it this way, 'People like someone to blame, someone 'bad', so they feel like the problem is not with them.' I thought that was quite profound, and I have to say that I agree with her. Some people want to people want to blame ISIS. Others want to blame greedy corporations. People will call out 'Trump-supporters' for this, that, or the other thing. They will blame the government. They will blame the political left for their idealism or tarnish the political right with accusations of profit-over-people. People like someone to name, blame, and polarize as their opposition.

But I would like to put forth the challenge that whatever your notion of the opposition, whoever you like to blame—the evil corporations, the Big Bad Middle East, the Idealistic Left, the bigoted Trump supporter—these notions are not real. Or at least they are no more real than my ridiculous, narrow vision of a 'dance-mom.' And more than not being real, these notions are actually harmful. Just as I (ridiculously) pulled on my spanky boots to drop off my daughter for dance class, so others actually play up to these stereotypes which tend to be narrow, extremist, and baseless—not desirable qualities in the least. The problem is absolutely within ourselves and these notions we hold of our 'opponents.' If we could all just sit down outside a dance studio once a week for a year, we'd probably find we weren't in opposition at all--that we all valued family, health, security, and compassion much the same. What a wonderful relief that would be!

For Charlotte--A true moderate. Just one of your many amazing qualities. Love you.

Grounders--I don't get it!

Parents, do your kids come home talking about 'Grounders'? Mine do. Wtf? I first heard the term 'Grounders' about 8 years ago when I was working in a daycare. I had come to pick up some kids at an elementary school and, when I asked what they were playing, they gave me the rundown... According to them, 'Grounders' was a tag game played on playground equipment, and the person who was 'It' had to close their eyes while trying to tag other people also on the playground equipment. Anyone on the ground was 'T' (formerly 'time-out,' apparently this phrase has negative connotations for the wuss- generation) and couldn't be tagged. My first thought was 'Awww! Kids are so stupid!' and my second thought, naïve as I was, was that Grounders was just a flavour week and they would move onto something else next week. Well, stupid me, they did persist in playing it quite regularly until the end of that school year at which point I went on mat leave and largely forgot all about it.

Grounders continued to pop into my awareness over the years--I'd overhear it on the playground or a neighbor kid would mention it--and eventually I accepted it was actually a 'thing.' I went on the assumption that the kids on the playground had relayed the rules incorrectly or that I'd remembered incorrectly until one day a few months ago...

Me: Hey Bud! What did you do at recess today?

Him: Played Grounders.

Me: Hmmm. Grounders? How do you play that?

Him: Well, it's like tag and the person who is 'It' has to close their eyes and try to tag people on the playground equipment. But if you're touching the ground, you're T.

Me: Huh.

Part of me is a big fan of logic. And that part of me, just really wants to say...

Kids, I take issue with your stupid Grounders game. You've heard the phrase, “The blind leading the blind...” No? Whatever. Surely this is a case of 'the blind chasing the way-fucking-faster,' because, seriously, I just had a go with this whole running-around-with-my-eyes-closed thing and, I'm not going to lie, I've had more graceful walks home from the bar at 2AM. Respectfully I ask, how (the fuck) is someone with their eyes closed supposed to chase a seeing target down on a play structure? Seriously, you guys have had some stupid-ass ideas over the years, but running with your eyes closed on a play structure makes the top-five. As far as I can tell, kids, this game leaves you only two choices...Cheat or endanger yourself by actually running around with your eyes closed. Can you spell STUPID? Actually there is a third choice, and let me tell you, if adults played this game this is totally what they would do...You can sit your ass down on the grass, declare yourself 'T,' drink a glass of something fruity, and watch sir-it-alot stumble around blindly on the equipment. Score! …

...but, I'm a classy mom and, as such, I have kept those words to myself for the time being. However, I did decide to pay a little extra attention the next time I was on the playground. Sure enough, the kids were playing Grounders, and, as predicted, the sad little kid who was 'It' squinted shamelessly through her half-closed eyes while chasing the other kids around. Stupid.

So here I sit, blogging angrily about my pointless little gripe, and remembering how when I was kid I used to look at adults sitting (literally and metaphorically) at the sides of some AWESOME game I was playing and vow that I would never be so STUPID and grumpy as them.

The One 'Must-do' Summer Activity for 2016

School's out for summer! If you're anything like me, those words fill you with one part 'Sa-weet!' and three parts 'OMG! What am going to do with them for all that time?' Well, I'm sure you've already come across your fair share of lists of must-do summer activities, you've enrolled your kids in swimming lessons, and concocted grand plans for day trips and week-long holidays at the lake. You're mentally compiling a list of craft ideas and outdoor activities for play-dates with friends and you've spent a small fortune on gadgets, water guns, and slip and slides, all to ensure that neither their boundless energy nor a day of the precious summer season is wasted. But, you're forgetting something... In fact, you're forgetting the best thing about the season--something we just don't get enough of the rest of year--an activity that is both timeless and revolutionary at the same. And that is this...

Nothing.

Sweet nothing.

If you're anything like me, the thought of doing or planning nothing makes you uneasy. It conjures up visions of your household positively erupting in mess with bored kids fighting and screaming while you pull your hair out until such a time that you become adequately defeated enough to enlist the services of Captain TV and Nanny Smartphone to rescue you from imminent disaster. Now, I'm not guaranteeing that won't happen, but I will guarantee that it wouldn't be the end of the world. I guess I'm just suggesting that kids, like us, need a little more of, well, nothing—time and space to be creative, relax, and to just let things happen (or not happen).

Occasionally the shift that occurs from one generation and the next is quite surprising to me, and this is one of those times.  Do you know what my mom planned for me every summer? Nothing.

Do you remember what your Auntie Martha used to do when you came over to play with your cousins? Well, if she was like mine, she watched All My Children and brought out some orange Kool-Aid around 3 o'clock. Your grandma? Mine made me pull weeds and pick raspberries and paid us in lemon drops and rosebuds. From memory, NO ONE in my neighborhood really planned anything for their kids, and, do you know what? IT WAS THE BEST TIME OF THE YEAR!

In my neighborhood, we used to get up to all sorts of things...tree houses, swimming (no one drowned in my memory), we played in the sprinklers, we let our imaginations run wild, we camped in tents made out of nets and blankets, we collected sticks and rocks and bugs and bottle caps, we got dirty, we ran in the rain, we jumped, we climbed, we ran, we hid, we had so much fun we forgot to hydrate or put on sunscreen. We even found other kids to play with and we adventured in pastures and groves of trees, we kicked balls and played 500 (does anyone else call it that?), we learned to catch and shoot hoops without drills or instruction, and unless our parents commandeered us into some house or yard work, WE JUST PLAYED, and I'll say it again, it was the BEST!

When my mind runs away with thoughts like these, of childhood summers that were easy and carefree, I worry that I just might be doing a disservice to my kids with all of this planning and structure. My guess is that there might be a hiccup or two and maybe an adjustment period while we learn to slow down, but my pledge this summer for my family is to do a little less of something and a LOT more nothing! Join me if you dare!

Parenting--the Decline of Good Intentions

7 years ago when we had my son, my husband and I, with the best of intentions, vowed we would never let our kids play with guns, so at the tender age of two when we bought him a pressurized water-spewing instrument, we were careful never to call it a water gun or a water pistol. Rather, “Oliver, you got me with your blaster,” or “I'm going to squirt you. Better run.” And for this I gave myself a little pat on the back until...

One day a year later late in the fall, I look up and my not-yet-4 year-old has his very own finger-gun pointed right in my shocked face. “Bang! I shoot you Mom!” As I collected myself from the mental GSW, my thoughts scrambled, 'Where? Who? Why?' and then it hits me. Preschool. PRESCHOOL. The little psychos in his preschool are to blame. They have exposed my son to gun violence. Well, I wasn't having that. First, we sat down and had a serious talk with our son about the meaning of his obscene little finger gesture, and how guns can hurt people and how we never point them at anyone even as a game, and on and on. Then we diligently informed the preschool teacher of the incident so she would be able to prevent further carnage. Things improved for awhile and in my head, I'm all like, “Phew. Crisis averted.” Until...

One day a number of months later, I took my son and few of his buddies to a park where they were running around happily while I ignored them, happy to be in conversation with another adult on the park bench. Then I saw it. My son and their friends had their finger-guns blazing! They were deeply engrossed in a game of Bang-Bang-I-got-you with the older children of this woman I was talking to, all laughing and having a whale of a time. Now this was one of those awkward parenting moments where you find you are in complete disagreement with the person sitting next to you (who you've only just met) about the appropriateness of a certain behavior, and you have to decide if or to what extent you will intervene. Well, what did I do? I took my posse aside, asked them not to use the words 'kill' or 'die,' and settled on the use of finger guns if they agreed not to point them at each other. Just this once. The boys went on playing while I silently judged the mom and politely excused myself to sit elsewhere.

Well, 'just-this-once' became 'just-this-twice' and so on until they tired of finger-guns a few months later. I wasn't thrilled about this turn of events, and during this time, I occasionally made futile attempts to keep the gun-play on the up and up...whatever that means. Much to my relief, the gun powder settled for some time until my son's 5^th birthday when his uncle gifted a him his very first shiny, multiple-rounds nerf gun. His face lit up while my husband and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows. We put off opening it for awhile and tried to distract him with his other presents which we did successfully for a few days. We finally relented and let him take it out the package, but not before yet another big speech on the seriousness of guns and the threat that we would put the gun away if he ever shot it at anyone which of course he did...less than half an hour later.

Fast forward a year or so, I take my son and his two little sisters to a park. At this point and at this particular park, my son is a little bored, finding everything a bit too-baby for his liking, so he occupies himself collecting rocks while I alternate between pushing the baby on the swing and catching his other little sister on the slide. Then I notice my son enviously watching a family on the periphery of the park. They have slightly older kids, nerf-guns blazing, and they are heavily engaged in an enthusiastic gun battle. The dad is really into it--falling over, sound effects, and a running commentary—when he notices my son and asks, “Mind if he joins in? We have an extra gun.” Sigh. “Not at all. Go for it, Oli.” And they really did have a good time.

Well, over the next year gun-play made its way into our son's play repertoire quite regularly, whittling away the last of my 'good intentions.' His friends started getting similar toys, he watched movies with all manners of weapons, and came out with random new gun vocabulary that I can only blame on the schoolyard. So if you ask me how we got from the best of intentions seven years ago to where we are today...

Him: Mom, wanna see me gun collection?

Me: Sure. (all Lego, I assure you)

Him: This one is called a Turbo Pistol and it has two triggers and a scope that lets you see bad guys from far away.

Me: Oh!

Him: And this one has shields on it and it can throw bombs. Oh yeah, and this part holds the ammo so you can shoot for like 2 hours.

Me: 2 hours!

Him: And Mom! Do you want to see my biggest one?

Me: Yea! (Who am I to argue with a 7 year-old wielding multiple weapons?)

Him: This. (proudly displaying his creation. You should see it sometime. Really impressive.) THIS is the SUPER DEATH GUN, and it can...

…well I have no idea, but I can tell you this…I’m more than willing to take my turn on the receiving end of other parents’ scathing judgement on this or any other matter. It’s the circle of parenting life really—to judge and then have to eat your words later, to start with the best of intentions, and then find that your children have better ones. As a seasoned parent, you realize a few things… One is that all things come and go in phases, so where he might be into guns this week, next week it will be skateboards, and then Star Wars the week after that. Two is that all of these phases come with their own mishaps and lessons, all of which shape our children into the amazing people they are and shape us into the parents we need to be.  Three is that it’s not about the ‘decline of good intentions’ at all, rather the slow burn of a realization that it is not actually you who is in charge on this journey you call parenting. 

The Pissed-Off Matriarch

We've all seen her around from time to time. She makes a few appearances in family homes every year, often-but-not-limited-to special occasions. You know the Pissed-Off Matriarch (POM) has arrived from the subtle sound of dishes clattering a little too noisily, the tone of her clipped 'Fine' when you ask her if everything is ok, or from her uncharacteristic bark when the second cup of milk spills all over the lunch table. She isn't talking as much as usual, and her dark mood oozes out of her like venom. You have no idea who or what peed in her Cornflakes, but you know better than to ask. If it was you, and probably it was, it's best to just keep your head down. You find it uncomfortable, and you wonder why she has picked today of all days--your son's 4^th birthday--to act this way. She has the whole household walking on eggshells, and you wonder why she can't put on a smile and just suck it up (whatever 'it' is).

What you fail to realize is that she is doing just that!  The fact that the POM in your life is accomplishing the sheer volume of tasks that she is, on three hours of sleep, with a baby on her hip, with a headache she hasn't told you about, all in the company of your less-than-quiet extended family whilst not resorting to screaming, tranquilizers, or retreat is a testament to her formidable ability to 'suck things up.'

What you also don't realize when your well-intentioned parents arrive with an abundance of garden fresh produce is that it takes time—time she doesn't have—to wash, peel, slice and present said vegetables and to make a dip so that people actually consume them.

And in your heroic efforts to get the groceries, sweep the floor, and peel the potatoes in the span of just two hours you forget that this woman—this beautiful, angry woman—has spent days, weeks organizing this birthday in her head so it will be just right for your son who she loves more than life itself. She has spent time arranging and rearranging a time that works for everyone, attended to thousands of little details—everything from cousin Sally's nut allergy to the sleeping arrangements for out of town guests (clean sheets and towels for everyone) to the creation of a Pinterest-worthy monster truck cake.

You wonder why she can't just scale back a little (a lot!). No one would ever notice. Do NOT say this to her. She tortures herself wondering why she fusses this way, but she knows it has something to do with love.

Though the little tiff she told you about with her bestie is long gone from your mind, she is still stewing, and the only way she can get her mind off it is to make monster truck confetti—lots of it. Yes she knows there's more than enough, and, no, that is no reason to stop.

She realizes that your family is unlikely to be impressed by her new kale and stilton dip, but, quite frankly, she is sick of obliging their desires for all things kraft and cheez with a 'z'. Besides, she likes stilton.

Yes, she knows your Auntie Elizabeth pulls off this type of classy affair every second Sunday, sans pissy mood, all smiles and chatty pleasantries, and seemingly effortless, but what you don't realize is that your dear Auntie Elizabeth's famous cinnamon bun are store-bought, and that underneath her fucking flower-print dress, big boobs, and Betty Crocker apron, Auntie Elizabeth is actually a ROBOT. And your dear POM makes it a habit to not compare herself to robots.

She hates herself when she snaps at the kids or you over little things. She knows she is not being entirely fair, that she just got herself in over her head, and that you're all paying a price. No one is kicking herself more than she is for overdoing it AGAIN and for forgetting to save some energy to enjoy the day as she'd planned.

Having said that, your Pissed-Off Matriarch loves doing this stuff only slightly less than the people she does it for. She really does hope you will never-mind her mood, give her a hug, some encouragement, at least try the stilton dip, and just get on enjoy the party. That's what she wants most of all actually. Just enjoy the damn party.  

The Best Advice I ever got about my Daughter's Anxiety Condition..

Just enjoy her more...

Anxiety is a funny thing. Well, not haha-funny, but as an illness it walks that fine line between a condition one may deal with forever and one that can conceivably be ‘fixed’--or at least that is what was stuck in my mind after we learned my daughter had an anxiety condition known as Selective Mutism.

For those of you who are not familiar with it, here's the lowdown…Selective Mutism is a childhood anxiety disorder that manifests in certain social settings where a child is completely unable to speak or communicate. Children with this condition generally speak comfortably in familiar settings and with familiar people, but then completely 'freeze' and experience intense anxiety in settings outside their comfort zone. In the case of my daughter, she is able to speak (and act) freely in our home and in the homes of several friends and family members, but she has not spoken in school in over a year. Of course this presents all sorts of challenges for her including not being able to ask to go to the bathroom (this has led to bladder issues), not being able to participate in any activity

requiring speech, and subsequent social struggles. She has made small improvements in this time, but her biggest hurdle continues to be talking to adults, particularly in the school environment. This is fairly typical of her condition, but every case will present slightly differently.

My daughter’s condition first came to our attention when she started preschool, and my notion was that she was just ‘shy’ and would speak ‘normally’ once she had had a few weeks to warm up to the school thing. I’ll spare you the details, but we tried all sorts of things to coax her into speaking at school, particularly to her teachers. However, everything we did just seemed to make it worse. As a parent, I grew more and more desperate for her to just speak so she could just get on and enjoy school as I had envisioned she would. I became quietly obsessed with ‘fixing’ the situation, drawing her out of her shyness, thinking that if I just bribed or encouraged or coaxed her in just the right way, I would draw her out of her funk. This time was not a highlight in our relationship, and that is why I am exceedingly thankful for a phone call I got from a school counselor that would forever change how I approached this issue with my daughter…She called from school one Monday afternoon to discuss Selective Mutism and the best strategies to deal with it (FYI: specifically not bribing, coaxing, or pressuring). The conversation strayed from being entirely professional, and this woman ended up tearfully telling me about her own daughter who had struggled with anxiety. “I wish we had just enjoyed her more,” she said. Those words stuck with me.

I remember one time going to a birthday party with my daughter, one of those ad nauseum princess-theme parties with princess cupcakes, princess decorations, princess music, princess costumes—in short, her five year-old version of paradise! At one point, the real live Princesses Anna and Elsa showed up for a photo op that I would never forget.  Seeing them the group of girls swooned while my daughter completely physically froze, turned beet red, and tears welled up in her wide eyes and I all but dragged her into the group shot with the princesses. Later I tearfully relayed this story to my husband as I showed him the picture I had dutifully taken, “It was like she was watching her dream come true, but she couldn’t participate,” I said. To me, her face was the very picture of her anxiety condition.

Later at bedtime, as is our family custom, I was asking my kids what the highlight of their day was. “Meeting the princesses!!” she said without a moment’s hesitation and with every ounce of enthusiasm you’d expect from a little girl who’d just met their childhood idol. Just enjoy her more, I had to remind myself.

Later that week, my daughter ran into the house after school, pulled a princess-envelope out of her backpack, and ripped it open in excited haste. “Look mommy! Me and the princesses!” she said. In her hands she proudly holds a picture, the same picture actually, that I’d shed tears over just a few days earlier—to her, just a picture of that awesome moment when she’d met some real-live princesses!

 “How cool is that Genevieve!” I said as I proudly stuck it front and center on our fridge. Just enjoy her more, the words came back to me. As is often the case, my daughter was way ahead of me on that one.

I’m thankful to be past the point on this journey where I’m waiting some fix so that I can start enjoying my daughter--to that end, one might always be waiting on something or other. There is joy every single day in that little girl’s life, and no one knows that better than her.  It seems ridiculous to me now that I was missing out that and sobering to consider that my attitude may have been influencing her otherwise. Don’t get me wrong, not a day goes by that I don’t wish her struggle would just vaporize, but in the meantime, there is no shortage of things to celebrate. So, wherever this finds you on your parenting journey, let this be your reminder to just enjoy your little people more…

Three Things your Parents said that You Need to Start Saying More

We parents live in a complicated world. If the trending parenting experts are to be believed, we may all  be but one linguistic error away from a lifetime's worth of therapy bills for our children. For example, you wouldn't want your words to imply in any way that your son was disrespectful when he stomped on his sister's mother's day craft, so you are sure to specify that, though his behavior was disrespectful, he, as a person, is still wonderful, worthy, and entirely lovable.  Just in case all events leading up to this had made that unclear. Or you must remember to preface every item of constructive feedback (formerly criticism) with at least two praise phrases in order to thwart any propensity toward under-achievement. And heaven forbid, you call his private parts by the wrong name—lifetime of gender identity issues, for sure! Tsk tsk.

In short, if the trending parenting experts are anything to be believed, our parents had it all wrong. Their reckless use of language coupled with the sheer abandon with which they doled out all manners of punishment (oh, that nasty, nasty word) have indeed left their ugly scar on our entire generation—one that we will spend the next 40 years healing and that we will surely not pass on to our children. Well, maybe I'm exaggerating just a tad. Or maybe, just maybe, we have a thing or two to learn from our parents’ simplistic and lackadaisical use of the English language as it applies to everyday parenting. Consider the three following short but sweet phrases that you probably heard from your parents a time of two. I’m going to take the position that maybe they have their place in parenting after all and, who knows, might even serve to make your life a little easier.

1. Because I said so—Remember that one? 'We're going to church, kids.' 'But why, dad?' 'Because I said so.' (Cue whining) I can’t wait to try this one on! I'm going to consider this my permission to not feel obliged to engage in 10 minute unpleasant and largely pointless arguments every time one of my kids asks a 'why' question. Like...

'Toys stay out of the kitchen.' 'But, why, mom?' 'Because I said so.' Or

'No lego in mommy and daddy's room.' 'Why not? Because I said so.' Or, how about?

'Don’t bother packing any devices to take to the cabin.' 'Why?’ ‘Hmm. Lemme think. Oh, because I said so.'

Give your kids some credit! 99% of the time, when they ask a ‘why’ question of this variety, they already know the answer. They just don’t like it, so unless you’re open to negotiation, invest your breath on something else. Why not try this? ‘…because I said so. Hey, how did your presentation go today?’ If you think about it, you’ll be doing them a favor. Asserting that you do not always need to justify your agenda to others will encourage them to do the same.

2. No.  What a great word. NO! Oops, did I already say that? And as a f*ck you to all the modern parenting expert voices in my head that have never really allowed me to enjoy its power...NO, no, no no, no, no, no, and NOOOOOO! Aaaah, that feels good! NOOOOOOOOO!!

In all seriousness though, I think that the taboo around the word 'no' in our generation of parents is of serious disservice to our children. I've said it before, but I'll say it again. 'No'...our children need to say it, mean it, hear it, and heed it. It is beautifully powerful and certain.

'Hey mom, can we get a playstation?' 'No. It's expensive and bad for you.'

'Hey mom, can we watch a movie when JJ gets here?' 'No, it's a beautiful day.'

'Hey mom, can I go to the Bieber concert?' 'Nope.'

If reasoning fails you when the inevitable 'whys' start flying back at you, refer to point 1, and with any luck, they will have the courage to answer in kind when...

Hey, Oliver, do you want a puff? or

Genevieve, if you sneak out, I'll pick you around the corner at 11...

3.  You're fine.  Remember when you scraped your back on that barbed-wire fence, and your mom had a quick look and replied quite plainly, 'You're fine.'?

Well, there is a trend in modern parenting that, for lack of a better term, I will coin watering trauma. The way I see it, when parents over-react in whatever way to a situation--and this can be anything from long counselling sessions about today’s disagreement over toy-sharing, to extended explanations for regular daily occurrences to extensively coddling screaming and crying, you are watering what may well be just an ordinary childhood hurt and growing it into a trauma. Now, don't misunderstand me, I'm not talking ignoring abuse or implying that one should NEVER coddle or reassure their child...I'm talking about things like this…

'Oh, you didn't get your hot lunch money in on time, and you won't get pizza next Thursday? You're fine.'

'You didn't get to sit in your favorite chair beside daddy today at breakfast? I’ll check your pulse, but I’m pretty sure you're fine. Maybe tomorrow.' or

'Your sister got two turns in a row in the pink booster seat? You're fine. Go play'

I could go on and on, but, in my opinion, the longer you engage in these types of interactions, the more you are reinforcing to your child that these things really are a big deal and worthy of getting upset over. And, let’s face it, this world leaves no shortage of things to get upset about, so, if the going situation doesn’t matter so much, let your words and engagement reinforce that.

As a rule, I would say that as parent I am acting on one of two things:

1. The best interests of my kids, and
2. My own sanity, which, let’s face it, is also in the best interest of my kids.

So with that in mind, I’m just going to swallow my guilt, stuff down that feeling that I’m messing up my kids with every minor semantic error, and I’m going to simplify. Yeah, that’s right, I’m going try on the careless language of my parents’ generation. Maybe it will go down something like this…

O: Hey Mom, can I pack the Ipad to take to the cabin?

Me: No. (note: not in my best interest)

O: Why not?

Me: Because I said so.

O: But I'll get bored.

Me: You'll be fine.

O: But, last time we...

Me: (breaking into spontaneous song) This is a song that never ends♪♪

O: …but you said…

Me: It goes on and on my friends! Some people started singing it...♫

What’s the worst that can happen?

JJ throw sand, JJ go home--Parenting with limits

I'm at a park one day with the kids, and the lunch hour is nearing.  There's another mom and (my best guess) her 3 year-old son playing on the swings. Mom suggests they need to go home soon. They go through the 5 minute, 2 minute, and last minute warnings and then blow straight through their projected leaving time. This progresses to mom offering 'one last slide' which the toddler takes to mean one last slide, one last swing, one last monkey bar, one run around the tree AND one last dig in the sandpit. Mom then says, “OK, time to go now, JJ,” and this is inevitably met with tears and protests. Mom then goes into explaining how they have to go so mom can make lunch, and they can have sandwiches, “You like sandwiches, don't you JJ?” I'm not a creep so I totally wasn't watching judgmentally while this whole scene unfolded, but I believe it ended when JJ threw sand in mom's face seconds before she hauled him off to the stroller. I can only assume she'd reached her limit.

Limits. I'm no expert, but today I have few things to say about kids and limits.

Limits are learned through example, and there is no correct limit. Though it may sound otherwise, I am not judging the actions of this woman at the park. She would have been no less or no more of a mom if she'd hauled JJ's ass out after the last minute warning or waited until she convinced him to go on his own accord. She would have just been setting a different limit. But, I will say this about my very generous interpretation of the whole situation, actions speak louder than words! And what JJ took from this situation was not anything about leaving the park at a reasonable time so that mommy could make lunch, what JJ learned was, “JJ throw sand in mommy's face, JJ go home.” More accurately, he learned what mommy's limit was, and, for better or worse, he will take that forward when going to set his own limits in the future. I know in my own life, my 5 and 7-year old have been struggling with the old 'who-gets-the-pink-booster-seat' quandary. This had been dragging on and on and had come to the point where we needed to address it. As far as I could tell, there were a few ways to go about this...We could let them argue for as long as it took to figure it out. My best guess is that that would result in blood and last no less than 30 minutes. We could take turns. We could employ the 'you sit where I say you sit' method, or we could assign permanent booster seats. Now, again, I'm not suggesting this is the correct solution, but we opted for the taking turns approach. That is the ‘limit’ we chose to set on this occasion, and for us, it is the compromise between them having a say in the location of their ass in our vehicle and our own patience/time when it comes to dealing with the issue. Don't get me wrong, there is still plenty of disagreement as to who sat where last and for how long they sat there, but for now this is something we can all live with. Now, I will be clear, I see nothing wrong with parents who assign permanent booster seats so as to avoid the bickering entirely, and I can also entertain the merits of letting them hash it out on their own...However long it takes…Whatever blood is shed…While you wait and wait and wait. Having said that…

The length of your tether is not directly proportional to your virtuousness. If I put that in the context of limits, I might say, one is no more (or no less) virtuous just because it takes longer to reach their limit. We've all met a parent or two whose patience seem endless--the ones at daycare pick-up with that perma -smile on their face, even as they remind their child for the 20^th time that it's time to put on their shoes, those that keep smiling and speaking in the gentlest of voices while their child throws their vegetables on the floor AGAIN. 'Peas stay on our plates, sweetie.' Or better (worse?) yet, the ones who have seemingly endless time to engage with their kids in conflict-resolution strategies whenever there is a tussle over a toy, say. No doubt, patience is a virtue, and there are all kinds on wonderful lessons to be learned from engaging in a situation this way, but let’s not forget the getting-shit-done-and-meaning-what-you-say-the-first-time virtue. I have a tremendous amount of respect (and maybe a little jealousy) when I see a child who doesn't need reminding when their parent has asked them to put their shoes on, or who quite simply puts an end to what might be a painful and time-consuming conflict-resolution process with the simple words, “We share our toys.” Again, I'm not suggesting one is better than the other, just that these types of parents set different but comparably valuable limits.

Having no limits is just plain dangerous. Though I have ventured to not place too much value on the types of limits one sets for their kids, I will say this...DO set limits. Whatever they are. A quote from my own father, by some measures the most experienced dad I have ever met…“Kids need limits. Kids thrive with limits.” And he is absolutely right. Limits are those things which make kids feel safe physically and emotionally. They make life predictable, help us the develop good habits, and altogether help us navigate successfully through the variety of social and occupational situations we encounter throughout our lives. For instance, if parents set a 'bedtime before 830 on a school night' limit, this limit not only serves to make the bedtime hour more manageable and predictable, but it is hugely responsible for the readiness of that child to learn the next day and, further down the road, helping that child as an adult to make responsible decisions such that they are able to be at work on time and be a productive participant in their career of choice. On the flip side, and I haven't seen this type of the thing very often, but I was once on a play date with a few moms, and an incident occurred where one child choked another child. When this was met with a mere eyebrow raise and a flippant comment about how, ‘he was just kidding’ from the offending child’s mom, at first, I felt certain rage on behalf of the choke-ee and her mom, but, on further reflection, I also felt very sorry for the little boy. Apparently, for him there are no limits when engaging in dangerous behavior, and one can’t help but wonder what life will look like for him going forward.  

‘No’ is the most valuable limit your child will ever learn. Kids need to be comfortable with the word ‘No.’ They need to say it, mean it, hear it and heed it, in no particular order. I draw attention to this specifically because in my years of parenting, I have certainly noticed a trend toward not saying ‘No’ to a child as if the word is somehow negative or needs to be dressed up in some flowery way. I think I have even seen and read articles entitled something like, “10 things to say to your child instead of No” but I can't stress enough what a great disservice this is to our children.  I could go on and on and on, but I will leave it at this...Would you want your college-age daughter (or son) going to a frat party where no one had ever heard the word ‘no’? Me neither.

You don’t always need to justify your limit. It is easy to get caught up providing lengthy explanations to our children as to why we have chosen to set such and such limit (God knows they demand to know…'Why, Mom?’) and though there are plenty of situations where is this absolutely necessary and appropriate, I’m going to take this opportunity to remind you that limits are set more powerfully by action. Oftentimes words can actually take away from the clarity of a limit, and whatever your age, it is easy to get backed into a corner in these types of conversations. Imagine this:

FunFriend: Hey, it’s ladies night at ClubX on Thursday. Male strippers! Wanna come?

You: I don’t think I’ll make it.

FunFriend: Why?

You: I have to work early on Friday.

FunFriend: So do I. Come on, it’s just one night.

You: Nah, it’s not really my thing.

FunFriend: Why do you have something against strippers?

You: I don’t know. I’ve never been.

FunFriend: All the more reason!

You: I’m too broke to go out anyway.

FunFriend: There’s no cover. I’ll buy you a drink. I don’t want to go by myself and, hunky Jack is bartending.

You: I don’t think I have the car that night, anyway.

FunFriend: Great, I’ll pick you up, and you can buy the drinks next time. Bye

So, I’m going to propose that the actual reason you didn’t want to go to Club X is of no consequence. The point was that you said you weren’t going, and the rest of the conversation just served to confuse that.

When it comes to setting a limit with your children, maybe in some cases you have done so for the betterment of their health or safety, or maybe sometimes you have set a limit because you desire to teach them to be respectful of other people, or maybe you needed to set a ‘no-toys upstairs’ limit because you are just sick of the noise and the mess. The point is, you don’t always need to provide an explanation, just as you wouldn’t want your kids to have to always feel obliged to provide an explanation when they have set a limit. So let’s try this again…

You don’t always need to justify your limit. Period.

And finally…No brainer, but limits are most successful when you enforce them consistently. The other morning my son asked me if he could play on my phone while he waited for the bus. In my rush around to get lunches ready and breakfast cleared away, I absent-mindedly replied, “Sure.” My husband says, “Yesterday you said no screen time on weekdays??” And, I totally had. And this is why we are ALWAYS fighting about screen time. And when I have some magical parenting tip as to how one enforces limits consistently, I will totally get back to you, but I’m pretty sure I’m right not wrong in saying it.

So yea, wherever this finds you on your parenting journey today, I wish you the best of luck. Don’t mistake any of this as advice given from some position of superiority. I’m too busy sucking out at these types of things to judge you. All the best.

The Kid-Crap Explosion

A couple of days ago, my son called me from upstairs.

Him: Mom, mom! Come see what I made!”

Me: Ok, bud, one minute. (I trundle up the stairs) 

Him: (proudly displaying his new chapter book from the library complete with an entire pad of sticky notes—one stuck to each of the 120 pages)Bookmarks!

Me: AAAaagh, (I growl and his face falls) That is such a waste of paper, Oliver.

Now a better mom might have had the courtesy to react with a 'Wow, that's quite the project! How long did that take?' before launching into a serene speech about the value of using resources sparingly and only for useful purposes. Or maybe a better mom wouldn't get to the growling point over what was just a pack of sticky notes, but you know what? In my house it is always just something. Like when I get the marker box and find that 25% of the lids have been left off for a week. Well, they're just markers. Or the day I discover that the kids have gotten it into their heads to take a lick of each lifesaver from a pack of 200 and leave them in a sticky mess ('Mom, we made a lifesaver snake!'). Well, they're just lifesavers. Or the time when my children and few of their friends perfect the art of paper airplane making by utilizing an entire pad of construction paper and then some. Well, it's just paper. Need I go on? Because I can.  I'm not lying when I say things like this come up on a near daily basis at my house, and I am anything but proud of that. It seriously makes me wonder how I, who was raised in a house where we were reminded constantly to count the number of squares of toilet paper we used, could raise kids with such a wasteful mentality. I am actually disgusted. Now I like take responsibility for messing up my kids as much as the next person, and I am certainly not blameless here, but when I ask myself AGAIN why this is happening in my house, the answer is always the same. TOO MUCH CRAP!

Maybe you're wondering why I wasn't on the ball when my son was mindlessly wasting an entire pack of sticky notes. Well, do you know what I was doing?? Looking for the f#&king marker lids. And do you know where I was when they were carelessly losing marker lids? Trying to create a new organization system for the bookshelf—one that does not involve cramming and bending them into an already overflowing space. It is an absolutely endless battle against CRAP, and I know I am not the only parent who feels this way. First world problems, I know, but the values (or lack thereof) that are instilled in my children due to this process are downright scary. They think all material goods are disposable! Why wouldn't they, say, draw a gigantic red X on every page of their new coloring book? They have 30 more over there, and their mother is quite frankly too busy growling and arranging and rearranging the other CRAP to engage in any more meaningful activity or a discussion about how the situation is out of control. And that's what it is. OUT of CONTROL. It's like I'm always a step behind the crap that is already in our house, and more crap is already coming in the front door.

Where is all of the crap coming from, you ask? Well, this is where the mommy-blame train stops. It is NOT from me! Let me take you through a typical week in our house...

Sunday: Kids go to Sunday school and return with activity booklet and small baggie of chocolate Easter eggs.

Monday: Kids have knick knack sale at school. Both kids return home with two dollar-store type items each, all trashed by the end of the day.

Tuesday: Auntie stops by for a visit with chocolate bunny and Easter coloring book and mini markers

Wednesday: Kids day out with Granny takes them to not one, but two(?) different fast food chains. They return home with several Happy meal items, candy (just because) coloring pages and, you guessed it, more mini markers.

Thursday: Kids free(?) books arrive in backpack from school

Friday: Easter party at school! Kids empty back packs full of jelly beans, balloons, pencils, chocolate, mini pots of playdough, and two fundraising forms, one to purchase cookie dough (for the Grade 6 class trip!) and another for clothing with the school logo

Saturday: Kids attend workshop at hardware chain and return home after 45 minutes with self-crafted bird house, tool apron, Easter candy, and certificate of achievement (I kid you not).This is followed by an afternoon of Birthday parties! Yea, balloons and loot bags!

…eeeffectively rendering the Easter bunny scheduled to come the next day redundant, but that's another story.

Honestly, it is this endless and if you think this is isolated to the week leading up to a special occasion, you'd be wrong. There is always a special occasion, and if there isn't they invent one (case in point: 100 days of school, wtf?). EVERYONE, it would seem, is in on the conspiracy to destruct my sanity and household piece of crap by piece of crap--well-meaning relatives, friends, teachers (dance, karate, and piano), store clerks, large corporations, community organizations, local businesses, fast food restaurants, slow food restaurants, and the neighbor who routinely doles out full-size chocolate bars to my three-year old. They all have their sweet, unsolicited, junky or otherwise treat to contribute. Truly, it is nothing short of an unrelenting shit-storm of kid-crap. Where will it end ?? At this point, I’m waiting for an explosion.

Well this mom is DONE. DONE DONE DONE with all the crap! I don't even know where to begin as to how wrong this phenomenon is socially, environmentally, and morally--one could write a book on that topic alone--but let this be the first of many 'NO THANK YOU'S' that I’m going say in the upcoming weeks and months… Hang on a minute… My son is just got home from school…

Him: Mommy! I got a prize from milk!

Me: You what?

Him: I got a prize from milk!

Me: What (the hell) does that (even) mean?

Well, apparently, this…

Me: Wow (Cyber Scream). That (stifle growl) is (WTF?) really (AAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaa) cool, Oliver!

KA-BOOM! 

Suggestions, anyone?

Parenting with ‘Choices’ and Common Sense

Meet the Awesome Family. There's Mommy Awesome, Daddy Awesome and their delightful son JJ Awesome. A typical morning in their household goes down something like this...

Mommy Awesome: Morning, JJ.

JJ: Morning, mama.

Mommy Awesome: Did you have a good sleep?

JJ: Yes, Mommy.

Mommy Awesome: Come on, let's go have breakfast. What do you want today?

JJ: TOAST!

Mommy Awesome: Coming right up! (makes toast and little JJ scrambles into his booster seat) Do you want peanut butter or jam?

JJ: Jam! (Mommy Awesome obliges)

Mommy Awesome: Here you go, dear!

JJ: (seeing Daddy Awesome's peanut butter toast) I want peanut butter!

Mommy Awesome: But you said..

JJ: I WANT PEANUT BUTTER. I WANT PEANUT BUTTER!

Mommy feeling slightly-less Awesome: Ok! You can trade with Daddy. (switches plates)

JJ: WWWWWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAA!!

Mommy perplexed Awesome: What? What's wrong?

JJ: I want it on the GREEN PLATE!!!

Fast-forward 10 minutes…

Mommy Awesome: Time to get dressed, JJ.

JJ: No. NO! I don't want to get dressed.

Mommy Awesome: Do you want Mommy to help you today?

JJ: No. I don't WANT to get dressed.

Mommy Awesome: How about you choose! Who do you want to help you get dressed today, mommy or daddy?

JJ: No, I don't want to.

Mommy Awesome: You can't go to daycare in your jammies! Come on, I'll help you pick your favorite shirt.

JJ: No, I want DADDY to do it.

Daddy Awesome: Ok, bud, let's go pick a shirt.

JJ: I want to stay in my jammies.

Daddy Awesome: You can pick your Lightning shirt or you Buzz shirt!

JJ: Yay! BUZZ! (5 minute search for Buzz shirt ends when JJ triumphantly pulls it out of the laundry complete with Sunday night's pizza sauce) BUZZ!!!

Daddy Awesome: Oh, buddy, that needs a wash. How about your Lightning shirt?

JJ: No! BUZZ!

Daddy Awesome: What about your Mickey hoodie from grandma? Do you want to wear that? You LOVE Mickey!

JJ: NO! BUZZZ! WWWAAAA!

Fast-forward half an hour similar through battles with footwear and carseats…JJ arrives, still in tears, in his jammies.

If you've been dabbling in the parenting of young children in the past 10 years or so, maybe you have encountered the Awesome family. You see, they and all their like-minded friends like to do the parenting thing ‘by the book.’ And not just any book—the newest and most revolutionary books from the best-educated and renowned parenting experts in the western world. The Awesome family vigilantly employs all the latest strategies and lives in perpetual fear of inflicting childhood trauma by allowing their child to play with plastic toys or by accidentally exposing them to phonics. And every Awesome family knows that the best way to secure their child’s future as a philanthropic astro-physicist requiring minimal psychological intervention is to give their child choices, lots of them! So the Awesome family never misses an opportunity to engage their child in that oh-so-crucial decision-making process. JJ’s little voice is heard on every aspect of the day, from which potty he chooses to pee on in the morning to positioning of his 10 stuffies in bed at night. This can be tedious and, at times, a little trying for Mommy and Daddy Awesome, but they are determined to stick with it. What Mommy and Daddy have forgotten, something that might make their lives infinitely less complicated, is a dusty little nugget of wisdom way at the back of their overflowing book shelves. They inherited it from Grandma Awesome and, though they never refer to it because they largely consider its philosophies to be passe, they have kept it for nostalgic reasons—It is called “The Book of Common Sense.” And this book has a few tidbits that Mommy and Daddy Awesome might find useful as they apply to ‘choices’ and parenting:

More is not necessarily better—When it comes to choices, more choices do not necessarily equal better choices. Think food buffet. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t say my most shining nutritional moments have occurred in a buffet-type situation. The same applies to JJ. Just because you have offered him 6 different snacks, say, it does not follow that his food choice will be any better than if you’d just given him an orange. Or from a slightly different angle, engaging in the decision-making process ad nauseum, at every possible juncture, does not necessarily equate to better decisions either. For example, I have been engaging the choice to eat or not to eat chocolate daily since I was 10, and to date there has been no improvement in result. Sometimes more is just more. And further, sometimes, more is just unnecessarily confusing. Does JJ really need to consult the entire collection of books to choose his bedtime story? Or can Mommy and Daddy cleverly pare it back for him a little?

Actions speak louder than words—With all best of intentions, the Awesome family desires that JJ move forward with a solid foundation of good decision-making skills. But what’s the most powerful way to teach your child anything? Example, of course. That is, a child can as easily learn the decision-making process by seeing mommy and daddy acting decisively. So Mommy and Daddy Awesome simply need to move through their day swiftly making decisions about everything from plate colors to clothing to food to entertainment, and JJ will eventually mimic this. Could it be that dabbling in half an (unpleasant) hour of choosing a shirt every morning is really just modelling to JJ that getting dressed takes a long time and involves a lot of upset and cajoling? Which leads me to…

Take cues from your child—If the choice to choose a breakfast item results in weeks of upset every morning for JJ…the Awesome family might take that as their cue that, for whatever reason, he is not ready to make that decision. Though it may not be clear why to an adult, making a choice can be heavy burden for a child, so why not spare them the hassle from time to time. If they were to put toast and apple on a generic white plate, what is the worst that can happen?

As an aside, once I ran into the Awesome family in the supermarket and had the good fortune of watching the following scene unfold--Mommy is pushing JJ in the shopping cart down Aisle 10. JJ sees a Kinder surprise, and demands to have it. When Mommy says “Not today, JJ,” he turns up the volume a little, “I want a Kinder surprise!” There is a bit of escalating back and forth before JJ totally loses it. Mommy Awesome slips into choice-offering mode and asks him if he wants a raspberry instead (yes, because they are made of fruit and have no surprises inside???). A goldfish cracker? Does he want to hold a balloon? Does he want to ride in the cart with his stuffie? Does he want to say Hi to this nosy Nora passing by? At this point, I just want to scream… STOP with all the choices! You may as well offer him a trip to Disneyland and a Ferrari for all the good it will do. What he wants is the blimmin’ Kinder surprise and, since he can’t have it, he wants the next best thing… And that is to exercise his god-given right to blow a shit-fit on the matter. Let him! Would you want someone up in your face when you were upset about something offering you a bunch of choices? ‘Oh, your cat died. Do you want a KitKat (sorry bad pun)? Do you want to want a latte or some biscotti? How about going to theater?’ Might you just want to scream, ‘Get out of my face! I just want to cry about my cat’?

With freedom comes responsibility—Or as this applies to the decision-making process, with decisions come responsibility for consequences. The Awesome family subscribes to the idea that involving JJ in the decision-making process is a way of empowering him. And that may be true enough. JJ does gain a certain feeling of control through, say, having the final say in whether or not they are going to have a playdate with cousin Simon Awesome today. The Book of Common Sense, though, would argue that since JJ, being 3 and half years old, doesn’t exactly understand the responsibility he holds to Cousin Simon (who is REALLY excited to see him) and his parents (who have cleared their morning and booked the bowling alley), JJ just isn’t quite ready to make this decision. Never mind that JJ’s parents KNOW that he will have a whale of a time if he just gets past having to turn off Teletubbies and get ready to go. Perhaps this an opportune time for Mommy and Daddy Awesome to model some decisiveness? And finally...

Let kids be kids--If you ask Mommy Awesome, what the best part about being a kid was back when Grandma Awesome was alive, do you know what she says? She says, “Oh, times were simpler then. We just played and we didn’t have to worry about anything and we didn’t have any responsibilities!” Ahem…Yea, you didn’t have to make decisions all the bloody time! People, namely your parents did that for you, so you could just be a kid and focus on the type of things that matter to kids like whose turn it was to be ‘it’ in hide and go seek or who got be ‘Slimer’ in today’s game of Ghostbusters. And, what’s more, they left you to figure this stuff out on your own! Great practice (the best!) for your lifelong future in choice-making! And lo and behold, Mommy Awesome, though not an astro-physicist, didn’t turn out to be a miserable failure by any measure!

Luckily for JJ, his parents’ hearts are in the right places, so he will grow up to be just fine, but maybe, just maybe, Mommy and Daddy Awesome could make this whole parenting thing a little easier on themselves.