Dear Brady,
Here you are, 7 years old. You have all of the sudden matured into such a little man, like a switch flipped. You'll get up and make your own breakfast, and sometimes even your sisters' breakfast. It's pretty awesome for this mama, who loves to sleep. You'll do your homework unasked sometimes (whereas other times you'll scream and yell your way through it. Not awesome.). You're learning to really read, and it's amazing to see you expand your world and imagination in that way. But those aren't my favorite things about you. My favorite things about you are these:
-- Your sweet, sweet soul. Just last night you told Daddy and me you want to do chores to earn money to donate to people who don't have homes. This came out of the blue. I assume that you got this idea when we saw a homeless community under one of the bridges on the way to the zoo. And I love that you love your friends and aren't afraid to show them affection. I don't know how much longer they'll let you hug all over them when you see them, but it's pretty great. I was so worried school and mean kids would take away this part of you, but so far, so good.
And we can't forget how wonderful you are with your sisters. When they're upset, you step in to make it better. You put your arms around them, talk gently to them, and do what you can (even when there's nothing you can do because they are NUTS).
-- Your optimism. Maybe Georgia will intercept a ball (with 2 seconds left in the game) and run it back for a TD. Maybe Daddy will win the whole race. Maybe...maybe...maybe. You look for the best in every situation. Unless we tell you "no." Then God help us all.
-- Your smile, which is currently short a front tooth. I didn't think you could get any more adorable, then you started losing teeth.
-- Your terrible, terrible jokes. You occasionally try to tell me a made-up joke. They don't even make any sense! But you always laugh after you tell them, which makes me laugh, so keep on telling those jokes, in the grand tradition of Jewish comedians in America (and Yakov Smirnoff in Russia. And now Branson, Missouri).
-- How much you love our kitty cats. They're keen on you too, although you don't see it yet because they're NOT keen on you picking them up.
-- Your left-brained quirks. You need to be organized, and you can't get enough of math. I am fairly happy about this, as my math skills are about to be surpassed by yours.
I'm also pretty thrilled that your palette is expanding. FINALLY, finally, you willingly try new foods. All of the sudden, you love squash. I am so excited about this development.
It's fascinating to watch you discover the world. There's so much to know, and you are very curious about a wide range of (sometimes) interesting topics. We have not always had as much energy or time as we needed to help you explore these things, but as you get better at reading, you can explore them yourself. I can't wait to be there when you do, to talk and discuss and debate.
I have loved this past year as your mother, and I know I'm going to love 7 even more. You are a joy, a gift, the first best thing that ever happened to us. We are fortunate to be able to raise such a special soul. And frankly, I'm relieved to know that the parenting mistakes we've (okay, I've) made the past 7 years haven't seemed to affect you at all. You are you, and you are a wonderful you. Thank you for that.
We love you always, no matter what, thhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiisssssssssss much,
Mom
Thursday, March 13, 2014
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Deeply personal blog post: disciplining the kids
When you find out you're expecting a child, you think about the sweet kisses, the snuggles, the sleepless nights, the milestones, and the happy, loving home you're sure to create. You might spend hours researching the best bottles/breast pumps/diapers/cribs/diaper creams/organic clothing/gliders/thermometers/bath wash/bathtubs/etc/etc/etc. But I bet, if you're like me, you don't spend too much time thinking about discipline.
And why would you? YOUR child is going to be an absolute angel. That kid losing it at the grocery store? Nope, mine won't ever do that. The kid hitting another at the playground? My precious child would NEVER. Sibling fighting? Oh, no -- mine will all be loved the same, so what would they have to fight about? Six years into this thing, I laugh daily at my circa 2007-08 naivete'.
As it turns out, sometime around age 19 months, they become possessed by demons. It doesn't get any better for a long while. When they're not hungry, tired, or just plain grumpy, they occasionally do what you ask, when it suits them. They hit when they're frustrated. They look you in the eye, then ignore your request. They lose their shit when they want a toy at Target they can't have. And don't get me started about how they act when it's time to get dressed in the morning, have dinner when they're watching their favorite show, clean up the playroom, or even get in the car after school.
So for the past several years, how have I handled this outrageous breach of courtesy? It's a multi-step process:
1. I calmly ask them to comply.
2. I calmly re-ask them to comply.
3. I calmly re-re-ask them to comply.
4. I begin to raise my voice, thinking that maybe they simply didn't hear me.
5. I stalk over to them, thinking the intimidation and reminder of my presence will make them comply.
6. I yell.
7. I yell louder, threatening to take away stuff.
8. If it gets really bad, someone might get a pop on the tush or leg.
9. I feel terrible about the yelling and the spanking, and nothing has gotten done in the meantime.
Now friends, I'm here to tell you: this multi-step process as described above does not work. I usually get yelled back at, laughed at, ignored, or called some name (by Brady). And the house is in an uproar, I'm stressed to the nines, which stresses out Shawn, and everyone's yelling and screaming. This doesn't feel like the loving house I was expecting. And let me reiterate: the request that caused the uproar has not been fulfilled. My blood pressure is through the roof, and it didn't get results. Add this to a lot of exhaustion, the regular demands of work and home, and the fact that Shawn and I rarely get a break, I was beginning to feel like I was creating a recipe for disaster. (Worst-case Scenario Disaster That Keeps me Awake at Night: children who grow up to be angry, in constant therapy, and always sleeping on friends' couches because they can't keep a job after dropping out of high school; parents who die at 60 from stress-related illnesses.)
Backing up a bit, I'll tell you how I was raised. While I'm sure I was perfect, my mom and dad would undoubtedly disagree, and I spent a lot of time in my room. My dad yelled -- a LOT -- and I'm like him in that way. Shawn's parents did some yelling, but he's an extremely mellow person and is unnerved by the loudness and anger. I want to break away from the screaming and the hitting. I don't like it, it doesn't help, and it makes us all feel terrible.
So I figured, there has to be a better way. I think I might have found it. It's called Positive Discipline.
Someone I grew up with in Savannah is a certified instructor, and I'd heard about it here and there, but at first I balked. "Oh," I thought. "Positive discipline? Isn't that an oxymoron? Is this one of those hippy-dippy classes that puts kids' self-esteem as the priority?" (Side note: I am not at all concerned about my kids' self-esteem. They all seem to have that in spades. I don't want to raise any Hannah Horvaths.)
So I learned a little more, attended an informational session, and got inspired. Did you know that "discipline" doesn't mean "punishment" but instead means "teach?" The thing that got me was this quote from the woman who literally wrote the book on PD, Jane Nelsen:
I just completed a two-day course, and I'm encouraged and excited to learn more. Without getting into it too much (although I encourage you to learn more if you're having issues with your kids), I do want to say that it's about mutual respect, connecting with your children, being kind but firm, and focusing on long-term solutions rather than short-term punishments.
The criteria are:
--Helps children feel a sense of connection. (Belonging and significance)
--Is mutually respectful and encouraging. (Kind and firm at the same time.)
--Is effective long-term.(Considers what the child is thinking, feeling, learning, and deciding about himself and his world – and what to do in the future to survive or to thrive.)
--Teaches important social and life skills. (Respect, concern for others, problem solving, and cooperation as well as the skills to contribute to the home, school or larger community.)
--Invites children to discover how capable they are. (Encourages the constructive use of personal power and autonomy.)
Now I ask questions instead of barking orders (Instead of "Put your shoes by the back door, I ask, "Where do your shoes belong?" And damned if they don't put their shoes where they belong.). I ask them WHY they feel a certain way or want a certain something. I get down on their level and look in their eyes instead of screaming at them from across the room. We're going to create routine charts to help move things along at stressful times. And sometimes, I just give hugs when everything has turned to crap.
The part I like the best is how PD allows kids to see how much they can do and figure out for themselves. I was raised to be independent, and I deeply value that trait. But I'm kinda raising my kids to need me for everything, and I don't like it. The second day of the course was like a group therapy session. I was reminded about my control issues, which I honestly thought I'd gotten over. NOT SO MUCH. I was actually deflecting the stuff I couldn't control into stuff I thought I could control, and when I realized I had no control, I was losing my shit at the kids. Just realizing this has helped me make better choices around the kids. Not always -- I still get irrationally angry-- but it is helping.
The hardest part for me has been accepting that the consequences that come out of the choices the kids make are not punishments. So, for instance, I'm not going to take away Brady's games for not doing his homework, but when we all come down from the tizzy caused by him not doing his homework, we work out a solution TOGETHER that might result in him not getting to play any games until he finishes his homework. So he sees the cause-and-effect and does have consequences without feeling like crap about them. It's all more complex than this, and there are many more tools. But I'll tell you this: when I use the tools right, it usually works.
It's going to take some practice, some adjustment, and some serious overcoming of my own issues. But I'm willing to work on these issues to raise self-sufficient children with self-control, compassion, and respect for themselves and others. Many people will undoubtedly think this is all bunk, that I'm crazy. I guess we'll see as the kids grow up, as we bring this philosophy into our house. But mutual respect, understanding, and the natural acquisition of life skills makes perfect sense to me. So wish us luck! I'll keep you updated.
And why would you? YOUR child is going to be an absolute angel. That kid losing it at the grocery store? Nope, mine won't ever do that. The kid hitting another at the playground? My precious child would NEVER. Sibling fighting? Oh, no -- mine will all be loved the same, so what would they have to fight about? Six years into this thing, I laugh daily at my circa 2007-08 naivete'.
As it turns out, sometime around age 19 months, they become possessed by demons. It doesn't get any better for a long while. When they're not hungry, tired, or just plain grumpy, they occasionally do what you ask, when it suits them. They hit when they're frustrated. They look you in the eye, then ignore your request. They lose their shit when they want a toy at Target they can't have. And don't get me started about how they act when it's time to get dressed in the morning, have dinner when they're watching their favorite show, clean up the playroom, or even get in the car after school.
So for the past several years, how have I handled this outrageous breach of courtesy? It's a multi-step process:
1. I calmly ask them to comply.
2. I calmly re-ask them to comply.
3. I calmly re-re-ask them to comply.
4. I begin to raise my voice, thinking that maybe they simply didn't hear me.
5. I stalk over to them, thinking the intimidation and reminder of my presence will make them comply.
6. I yell.
7. I yell louder, threatening to take away stuff.
8. If it gets really bad, someone might get a pop on the tush or leg.
9. I feel terrible about the yelling and the spanking, and nothing has gotten done in the meantime.
Now friends, I'm here to tell you: this multi-step process as described above does not work. I usually get yelled back at, laughed at, ignored, or called some name (by Brady). And the house is in an uproar, I'm stressed to the nines, which stresses out Shawn, and everyone's yelling and screaming. This doesn't feel like the loving house I was expecting. And let me reiterate: the request that caused the uproar has not been fulfilled. My blood pressure is through the roof, and it didn't get results. Add this to a lot of exhaustion, the regular demands of work and home, and the fact that Shawn and I rarely get a break, I was beginning to feel like I was creating a recipe for disaster. (Worst-case Scenario Disaster That Keeps me Awake at Night: children who grow up to be angry, in constant therapy, and always sleeping on friends' couches because they can't keep a job after dropping out of high school; parents who die at 60 from stress-related illnesses.)
Backing up a bit, I'll tell you how I was raised. While I'm sure I was perfect, my mom and dad would undoubtedly disagree, and I spent a lot of time in my room. My dad yelled -- a LOT -- and I'm like him in that way. Shawn's parents did some yelling, but he's an extremely mellow person and is unnerved by the loudness and anger. I want to break away from the screaming and the hitting. I don't like it, it doesn't help, and it makes us all feel terrible.
So I figured, there has to be a better way. I think I might have found it. It's called Positive Discipline.
Someone I grew up with in Savannah is a certified instructor, and I'd heard about it here and there, but at first I balked. "Oh," I thought. "Positive discipline? Isn't that an oxymoron? Is this one of those hippy-dippy classes that puts kids' self-esteem as the priority?" (Side note: I am not at all concerned about my kids' self-esteem. They all seem to have that in spades. I don't want to raise any Hannah Horvaths.)
So I learned a little more, attended an informational session, and got inspired. Did you know that "discipline" doesn't mean "punishment" but instead means "teach?" The thing that got me was this quote from the woman who literally wrote the book on PD, Jane Nelsen:
“Where did we ever get the crazy idea that in order to make children do better, first we have to make them feel worse? Think of the last time you felt humiliated or treated unfairly. Did you feel like cooperating or doing better?”
I just completed a two-day course, and I'm encouraged and excited to learn more. Without getting into it too much (although I encourage you to learn more if you're having issues with your kids), I do want to say that it's about mutual respect, connecting with your children, being kind but firm, and focusing on long-term solutions rather than short-term punishments.
The criteria are:
--Helps children feel a sense of connection. (Belonging and significance)
--Is mutually respectful and encouraging. (Kind and firm at the same time.)
--Is effective long-term.(Considers what the child is thinking, feeling, learning, and deciding about himself and his world – and what to do in the future to survive or to thrive.)
--Teaches important social and life skills. (Respect, concern for others, problem solving, and cooperation as well as the skills to contribute to the home, school or larger community.)
--Invites children to discover how capable they are. (Encourages the constructive use of personal power and autonomy.)
Now I ask questions instead of barking orders (Instead of "Put your shoes by the back door, I ask, "Where do your shoes belong?" And damned if they don't put their shoes where they belong.). I ask them WHY they feel a certain way or want a certain something. I get down on their level and look in their eyes instead of screaming at them from across the room. We're going to create routine charts to help move things along at stressful times. And sometimes, I just give hugs when everything has turned to crap.
The part I like the best is how PD allows kids to see how much they can do and figure out for themselves. I was raised to be independent, and I deeply value that trait. But I'm kinda raising my kids to need me for everything, and I don't like it. The second day of the course was like a group therapy session. I was reminded about my control issues, which I honestly thought I'd gotten over. NOT SO MUCH. I was actually deflecting the stuff I couldn't control into stuff I thought I could control, and when I realized I had no control, I was losing my shit at the kids. Just realizing this has helped me make better choices around the kids. Not always -- I still get irrationally angry-- but it is helping.
The hardest part for me has been accepting that the consequences that come out of the choices the kids make are not punishments. So, for instance, I'm not going to take away Brady's games for not doing his homework, but when we all come down from the tizzy caused by him not doing his homework, we work out a solution TOGETHER that might result in him not getting to play any games until he finishes his homework. So he sees the cause-and-effect and does have consequences without feeling like crap about them. It's all more complex than this, and there are many more tools. But I'll tell you this: when I use the tools right, it usually works.
It's going to take some practice, some adjustment, and some serious overcoming of my own issues. But I'm willing to work on these issues to raise self-sufficient children with self-control, compassion, and respect for themselves and others. Many people will undoubtedly think this is all bunk, that I'm crazy. I guess we'll see as the kids grow up, as we bring this philosophy into our house. But mutual respect, understanding, and the natural acquisition of life skills makes perfect sense to me. So wish us luck! I'll keep you updated.
Monday, April 16, 2012
Dear Harper, on your second birthday
Dear Harper,
You're 2 years old! But you know that, because you keep talking about your birthday party yesterday, and of course, the Yo Gabba Gabba! cake. You love to talk, and I love to listen. You have the sweetest little voice. In all fairness, it does get *pretty* high pitched, and you do love to screech when you're not getting your way. But we're working on it. You're learning to use your words more.
You have a VERY clear opinion on what you want to wear every day. I think you have better taste and style than I do, actually. You're not afraid of mixing prints, I'll tell you that much. I like your boldness, Daughter.
You are so self-sufficient and secure. I LOVE that about you. You want to do everything for yourself. Sometimes I have to step in for the sake of timeliness, or so you won't choke yourself with your shirt, but for the most part, I try to let you do what you want to do. You love your sissy. "Good morning, Sissy!" And my favorite: "Sissy okay too?" You love your brother: "HI! BRADY!" You love slides, and danger, and taking off your clothes and diaper. You throw things when you're angry. You want Daddy and only Daddy to push you on the swing (see: danger, because he pushes you higher). You like jewelry, and riding bikes, and (THANK GOD!) books.
You are sweet as pie when you want to be, and the devil in disguise when you're feeling frisky. And you know, I wouldn't have you any other way. You're you, and I love you so much. I hope that you're just as secure at 12 and 22. I hope that you have a good job so you can afford jewelry and good clothes. I hope that you get exactly what you want out of life, and I have a feeling that your tenacity will help make that happen. I hope you remain true to yourself always, that you look in the mirror and see your eyes and my eyes and my mother's eyes, and you think, "I come from some strong women. I'm strong too." Above all, I hope you'll always know how much Daddy and I love you, and how grateful we are that you came into this world and are ours. You are simply amazing.
Love,
Mommy
You're 2 years old! But you know that, because you keep talking about your birthday party yesterday, and of course, the Yo Gabba Gabba! cake. You love to talk, and I love to listen. You have the sweetest little voice. In all fairness, it does get *pretty* high pitched, and you do love to screech when you're not getting your way. But we're working on it. You're learning to use your words more.
You have a VERY clear opinion on what you want to wear every day. I think you have better taste and style than I do, actually. You're not afraid of mixing prints, I'll tell you that much. I like your boldness, Daughter.
You are so self-sufficient and secure. I LOVE that about you. You want to do everything for yourself. Sometimes I have to step in for the sake of timeliness, or so you won't choke yourself with your shirt, but for the most part, I try to let you do what you want to do. You love your sissy. "Good morning, Sissy!" And my favorite: "Sissy okay too?" You love your brother: "HI! BRADY!" You love slides, and danger, and taking off your clothes and diaper. You throw things when you're angry. You want Daddy and only Daddy to push you on the swing (see: danger, because he pushes you higher). You like jewelry, and riding bikes, and (THANK GOD!) books.
You are sweet as pie when you want to be, and the devil in disguise when you're feeling frisky. And you know, I wouldn't have you any other way. You're you, and I love you so much. I hope that you're just as secure at 12 and 22. I hope that you have a good job so you can afford jewelry and good clothes. I hope that you get exactly what you want out of life, and I have a feeling that your tenacity will help make that happen. I hope you remain true to yourself always, that you look in the mirror and see your eyes and my eyes and my mother's eyes, and you think, "I come from some strong women. I'm strong too." Above all, I hope you'll always know how much Daddy and I love you, and how grateful we are that you came into this world and are ours. You are simply amazing.
Love,
Mommy
Dear Bayla, on your second birthday
Dear Bayla,
You're 2 years old! What an unbelievable 2 years this has been. Last year, I talked about how feisty you are. That trait has stuck around. You are truly a force of nature. You see what you want, and you take it. It's very Don Draper. I can respect that, except when you grab the desired object out of Harper's hands when she's quietly playing with it. Or when you knock down Brady's Legos so you can have the one you want. Or when you run away from me in pursuit of said object, are looking back at me to see where I am, and bang smack into the door frame. But mostly, I like your "World Be Damned" attitude.
You are still my snuggly bunny. You are always up for a good hug and kiss. You come to me when you need me, and you handle it when you don't. You wake up bright eyed and bushy tailed. You have a clear sense of fashion, and the cutest little tushie. You loooooooooooove your brother. You hear him from across the house, then scream his name and go looking for him. You absolutely adore Yo Gabba Gabba! You love to listen to Shabbat songs, and you help when I light the candles every Friday night. God help anyone who comes between you and your fruit snacks. And last night we discovered you can roll your tongue, so that's a fun new skill you've been trying out all day.
You have the best laugh -- it comes straight from your belly, and I just can't help but smile when you give a good giggle. You love to talk and make animal sounds. Your "waddle waddle" when you see a penguin will undoubtedly be one of my favorite memories of you when you're older. You love babies. I love to watch you go down to baby level, smile at them, and pat their heads.
Sometimes, in a quiet moment, I'll look at you, and I just can't believe my good fortune. I look at you and see my mom, for whom you are named. I don't think it's an accident that you, your sister, and your brother all have her eyes. It's so bittersweet to watch you grow and be your funny, feisty self and know that she's not around to experience it too. But I hope you'll take after her with kindness, caring, and compassion. I hope you'll find happiness but deal well with life's disappointments. I hope you will always be quintessentially Bayla, no matter where life takes you. Above all, I hope you'll always know how much Daddy and I love you, and how grateful we are that you came into this world and are ours. You are simply amazing.
Love,
Mommy
You're 2 years old! What an unbelievable 2 years this has been. Last year, I talked about how feisty you are. That trait has stuck around. You are truly a force of nature. You see what you want, and you take it. It's very Don Draper. I can respect that, except when you grab the desired object out of Harper's hands when she's quietly playing with it. Or when you knock down Brady's Legos so you can have the one you want. Or when you run away from me in pursuit of said object, are looking back at me to see where I am, and bang smack into the door frame. But mostly, I like your "World Be Damned" attitude.
You are still my snuggly bunny. You are always up for a good hug and kiss. You come to me when you need me, and you handle it when you don't. You wake up bright eyed and bushy tailed. You have a clear sense of fashion, and the cutest little tushie. You loooooooooooove your brother. You hear him from across the house, then scream his name and go looking for him. You absolutely adore Yo Gabba Gabba! You love to listen to Shabbat songs, and you help when I light the candles every Friday night. God help anyone who comes between you and your fruit snacks. And last night we discovered you can roll your tongue, so that's a fun new skill you've been trying out all day.
You have the best laugh -- it comes straight from your belly, and I just can't help but smile when you give a good giggle. You love to talk and make animal sounds. Your "waddle waddle" when you see a penguin will undoubtedly be one of my favorite memories of you when you're older. You love babies. I love to watch you go down to baby level, smile at them, and pat their heads.
Sometimes, in a quiet moment, I'll look at you, and I just can't believe my good fortune. I look at you and see my mom, for whom you are named. I don't think it's an accident that you, your sister, and your brother all have her eyes. It's so bittersweet to watch you grow and be your funny, feisty self and know that she's not around to experience it too. But I hope you'll take after her with kindness, caring, and compassion. I hope you'll find happiness but deal well with life's disappointments. I hope you will always be quintessentially Bayla, no matter where life takes you. Above all, I hope you'll always know how much Daddy and I love you, and how grateful we are that you came into this world and are ours. You are simply amazing.
Love,
Mommy
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Dear Brady, on Your 5th Birthday
Dear Brady,
Today is your 5th birthday. I can't believe it either! I went back and checked your birth certificate to make sure it said "2007," and it did. Then, because math is not my strong subject, I counted on my fingers to 2012. The result: you are in fact 5 years old today. It went by so fast. And apparently, it means that I'm just "Mom" now -- no "Mommy" for you anymore.
Man, I have just loved the past year with you. I think we've finally reconnected. I had NO idea how hard it would be to try to keep our lives together. I missed you. Not to say we didn't have our moments, but for the most part, you've been sweet, kind to your sisters, helpful, and oh-so-lovable. One day when you read this, you may not remember that you had an articulation disorder and were in speech therapy for months and months. But because of that, you were a late, unconfident talker. Well, no more! You are a chatterbox. From the moment you wake up until the moment you (finally) fall asleep, you are observing, asking, telling, cajoling, storytelling, and fact checking. (You also whine sometimes. But I love you anyway.)
And you are FUNNY. (I would like to think it comes from the Jewish side, but really, your dad is the funny one in the family.) You tell jokes, you recognize silliness, you dance all crazy and make funny faces. You seek out humor. You do pratfalls to make your sisters laugh. (Well, maybe that IS your Jewish vaudeville side.)
You want me to lay down with you at night until you fall asleep. The books tell parents not to do this, but I say screw the books. In a few years, you won't want me to do this, and I will miss it immensely.
You love superheroes, dinosaurs, Hot Wheels cars (but not Matchbox, for some reason), Legos, and playing with your older friends in the neighborhood. Your perfect day would be spent at a park with climbing walls. Your favorite foods are quesadillas with sour cream and salsa, hot dogs, cheese puffs, olives, and chocolate. THIS is your favorite song right now: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rDG0c3saE4I&noredirect=1
You are the best big brother I could ever ask to have birthed. You want to come with me to wake up your sisters, and my God, they are thrilled to see you. You teach them about the world. You protect them. You help me with them in a million different ways.
I think back to your birth 5 years ago, and I realize what a long road we've traveled together. I'm not always as kind, patient, or involved as I'd like to be, but I always love you more than life itself. I hope one day, maybe when you have kids of your own, you'll look back and realize that I WANTED to play pirate ship with you all morning, but I had to get everybody ready for school, and we were already late. I WANTED to hang out and watch dinosaur movies all day, but I had to get dinner ready, or clean up the mess from lunch, or do laundry. It wasn't because I wouldn't rather have snuggled with you all day on the couch.
So all of this to say, I am so lucky, so fortunate, so blessed to have you for a son. I am so proud of you every day. I watch you grow and mature, and learn to be the person you've yet to become, and I can't wait to see who that is.
Love,
Mom(my)
Today is your 5th birthday. I can't believe it either! I went back and checked your birth certificate to make sure it said "2007," and it did. Then, because math is not my strong subject, I counted on my fingers to 2012. The result: you are in fact 5 years old today. It went by so fast. And apparently, it means that I'm just "Mom" now -- no "Mommy" for you anymore.
Man, I have just loved the past year with you. I think we've finally reconnected. I had NO idea how hard it would be to try to keep our lives together. I missed you. Not to say we didn't have our moments, but for the most part, you've been sweet, kind to your sisters, helpful, and oh-so-lovable. One day when you read this, you may not remember that you had an articulation disorder and were in speech therapy for months and months. But because of that, you were a late, unconfident talker. Well, no more! You are a chatterbox. From the moment you wake up until the moment you (finally) fall asleep, you are observing, asking, telling, cajoling, storytelling, and fact checking. (You also whine sometimes. But I love you anyway.)
And you are FUNNY. (I would like to think it comes from the Jewish side, but really, your dad is the funny one in the family.) You tell jokes, you recognize silliness, you dance all crazy and make funny faces. You seek out humor. You do pratfalls to make your sisters laugh. (Well, maybe that IS your Jewish vaudeville side.)
You want me to lay down with you at night until you fall asleep. The books tell parents not to do this, but I say screw the books. In a few years, you won't want me to do this, and I will miss it immensely.
You love superheroes, dinosaurs, Hot Wheels cars (but not Matchbox, for some reason), Legos, and playing with your older friends in the neighborhood. Your perfect day would be spent at a park with climbing walls. Your favorite foods are quesadillas with sour cream and salsa, hot dogs, cheese puffs, olives, and chocolate. THIS is your favorite song right now: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rDG0c3saE4I&noredirect=1
You are the best big brother I could ever ask to have birthed. You want to come with me to wake up your sisters, and my God, they are thrilled to see you. You teach them about the world. You protect them. You help me with them in a million different ways.
I think back to your birth 5 years ago, and I realize what a long road we've traveled together. I'm not always as kind, patient, or involved as I'd like to be, but I always love you more than life itself. I hope one day, maybe when you have kids of your own, you'll look back and realize that I WANTED to play pirate ship with you all morning, but I had to get everybody ready for school, and we were already late. I WANTED to hang out and watch dinosaur movies all day, but I had to get dinner ready, or clean up the mess from lunch, or do laundry. It wasn't because I wouldn't rather have snuggled with you all day on the couch.
So all of this to say, I am so lucky, so fortunate, so blessed to have you for a son. I am so proud of you every day. I watch you grow and mature, and learn to be the person you've yet to become, and I can't wait to see who that is.
Love,
Mom(my)
Monday, September 19, 2011
On having twins
When I go to the grocery store, the park, the pediatrician's, or ANYWHERE with both girls in tow, I'm stopped an average of 5 times with this basic conversation:
--Are they twins?
Me: Yes. (thinking in my head: of course they're twins. are you an idiot?)
--A boy and a girl? [Note: I do not dress the girls in ribbons and bows from toes to head, not that it would matter with this question.]
Me: No, two girls.
--Oh. You don't dress them alike?
Me: No, they're 2 separate people. [Note: Those who do dress their kids alike are all right by me!]
--Are they identical?
Me: We don't know. We might find out one day.
Sometimes, it ends right there. And sometimes, it gets personal.
--Were you surprised? OR Do twins run in your family? [Translation: Did you use fertility treatments?]
Me: Oh, yes! OR My grandmother was a twin, but there hadn't been any for 91 years.
Then usually, I fake having to be in a hurry. Or rather, in a greater hurry than I already was.
And poor Brady if he's there too. He's essentially ignored.
--How old are they?
Me: 17 months.
Brady: YOU DIDN'T TELL THEM HOW OLD I AM!!
Me: And 4 and a half years.
Although I've gotten smarter and now say "4 and a half years and 17 months." Brady's usually satisfied with this.
Having twins is an absolute riot. And by that I mean it's sometimes hysterically funny, and sometimes, it's like an actual RIOT, with only the cool police shields and rubber bullets missing. When both girls go for the same toy, the screeching alone is enough to drive you over the edge. But when they're hugging each other and giggling, or playing peek-a-boo with each other, you can't help but smile and laugh along.
The first year was HARD -- just trying to keep 2 premature babies alive while also caring for your oldest child, keeping a household going, working, and occasionally talking to your husband is not for the faint of heart or stomach. But this second year is CRAAAAAAZY. Two toddlers without judgement or impulse control going in 2 different directions is insane enough. But these girls have OPINIONS -- which sippy cup each prefers, whether snack is delicious enough, even which sun hat should be worn outside -- and they are a force to be reckoned with. If I have to again say "Sit on your tushie" while they stand on a chair, "Get off the table" as they climb on top of the DINING ROOM TABLE, or "Eat your own snack" as they lunge for Brady's popsicle for the 100th time, I think I might lose my mind. Whenever we're out and parents of older multiples see us, they make a point to come over and say, "Don't worry! It DOES get easier!" (And I always think, "Man, we must look like shit if they came over here to tell us that.")
As it turns out, when 2 toddlers are testing their limits, they totally feed off each other. While this works out when they're learning to dance, it's not so fun when they're dashing up the stairs again and again, climbing the changing pad to get to the wipes, pulling Brady's and my hair, and straddling the arm of the couch. So whereas we could leave the room when Brady was this age, these girls need constant supervision. And it's exhausting and frustrating. The only thing I can say is that we learned a lot from Brady's toddlerhood, and we'll do things a lot differently with the girls. "Limits" is a word we understand now, both their need to test, and our need to set, and as they grow older, to follow through on with clear consequences.
But as they get older, they are getting more amazing. To watch them not only grow but thrive after all the complications of the pregnancy, and to see them realize that they have a special relationship -- it takes your breath away. And watching them with Brady -- oh, my, it just brings tears to my eyes. Just this morning Bayla almost fell out of a chair, and I couldn't get there in time. But Brady caught her! And then he was so proud to be such a protective big brother. He adores them, and I'm fairly certain they love him more than me.
Deciding to go for a second child is a big deal when your life has become more easy, and then to find out that child will be children...well...it's a lot to handle when you're somewhat ambivalent about it because you love your first child SO much you think it's enough. But then you welcome these kids into the world, and you see the sibling relationship start to develop....it's unbelievable. Everyone said that siblings are "a gift" for an older child, and they were so right. Brady has grown by leaps and bounds. He has his moments of course, but mostly, he's a considerate, mature, sweet little boy who values and loves his sisters. Seeing them all play together is a sight to behold.
And so I've concluded that all in all, even when I'm catching hulking baby girls as they fall off the couch for the 10th time in a row at the same time, we'll keep 'em. I love this family of mine. Before they were born, I didn't realize what I was missing. Now I double understand.
--Are they twins?
Me: Yes. (thinking in my head: of course they're twins. are you an idiot?)
--A boy and a girl? [Note: I do not dress the girls in ribbons and bows from toes to head, not that it would matter with this question.]
Me: No, two girls.
--Oh. You don't dress them alike?
Me: No, they're 2 separate people. [Note: Those who do dress their kids alike are all right by me!]
--Are they identical?
Me: We don't know. We might find out one day.
Sometimes, it ends right there. And sometimes, it gets personal.
--Were you surprised? OR Do twins run in your family? [Translation: Did you use fertility treatments?]
Me: Oh, yes! OR My grandmother was a twin, but there hadn't been any for 91 years.
Then usually, I fake having to be in a hurry. Or rather, in a greater hurry than I already was.
And poor Brady if he's there too. He's essentially ignored.
--How old are they?
Me: 17 months.
Brady: YOU DIDN'T TELL THEM HOW OLD I AM!!
Me: And 4 and a half years.
Although I've gotten smarter and now say "4 and a half years and 17 months." Brady's usually satisfied with this.
Having twins is an absolute riot. And by that I mean it's sometimes hysterically funny, and sometimes, it's like an actual RIOT, with only the cool police shields and rubber bullets missing. When both girls go for the same toy, the screeching alone is enough to drive you over the edge. But when they're hugging each other and giggling, or playing peek-a-boo with each other, you can't help but smile and laugh along.
The first year was HARD -- just trying to keep 2 premature babies alive while also caring for your oldest child, keeping a household going, working, and occasionally talking to your husband is not for the faint of heart or stomach. But this second year is CRAAAAAAZY. Two toddlers without judgement or impulse control going in 2 different directions is insane enough. But these girls have OPINIONS -- which sippy cup each prefers, whether snack is delicious enough, even which sun hat should be worn outside -- and they are a force to be reckoned with. If I have to again say "Sit on your tushie" while they stand on a chair, "Get off the table" as they climb on top of the DINING ROOM TABLE, or "Eat your own snack" as they lunge for Brady's popsicle for the 100th time, I think I might lose my mind. Whenever we're out and parents of older multiples see us, they make a point to come over and say, "Don't worry! It DOES get easier!" (And I always think, "Man, we must look like shit if they came over here to tell us that.")
As it turns out, when 2 toddlers are testing their limits, they totally feed off each other. While this works out when they're learning to dance, it's not so fun when they're dashing up the stairs again and again, climbing the changing pad to get to the wipes, pulling Brady's and my hair, and straddling the arm of the couch. So whereas we could leave the room when Brady was this age, these girls need constant supervision. And it's exhausting and frustrating. The only thing I can say is that we learned a lot from Brady's toddlerhood, and we'll do things a lot differently with the girls. "Limits" is a word we understand now, both their need to test, and our need to set, and as they grow older, to follow through on with clear consequences.
But as they get older, they are getting more amazing. To watch them not only grow but thrive after all the complications of the pregnancy, and to see them realize that they have a special relationship -- it takes your breath away. And watching them with Brady -- oh, my, it just brings tears to my eyes. Just this morning Bayla almost fell out of a chair, and I couldn't get there in time. But Brady caught her! And then he was so proud to be such a protective big brother. He adores them, and I'm fairly certain they love him more than me.
Deciding to go for a second child is a big deal when your life has become more easy, and then to find out that child will be children...well...it's a lot to handle when you're somewhat ambivalent about it because you love your first child SO much you think it's enough. But then you welcome these kids into the world, and you see the sibling relationship start to develop....it's unbelievable. Everyone said that siblings are "a gift" for an older child, and they were so right. Brady has grown by leaps and bounds. He has his moments of course, but mostly, he's a considerate, mature, sweet little boy who values and loves his sisters. Seeing them all play together is a sight to behold.
And so I've concluded that all in all, even when I'm catching hulking baby girls as they fall off the couch for the 10th time in a row at the same time, we'll keep 'em. I love this family of mine. Before they were born, I didn't realize what I was missing. Now I double understand.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Failing our daughters
We were at our neighborhood pool yesterday when I overheard a cute 16-yr-old-ish girl talking to the lifeguard, another 16-yr-old-ish girl. The first girl was lamenting her extra fat and laid out her plan: a crazy combo of fad diet and strict exercise regimen, consisting of 1.5 hours of cardio a day. Oh, and trips to the tanning bed because being tan makes her stomach look better.
Now, let me say that this girl, who is pretty and blonde, looks exactly how I would have killed to look when I was 16. I didn't see any fat on her. And I thought, where is her mother in all this? Aside from stepping in to avoid the SKIN CANCER risks associated with going to a tanning bed, is her mother not telling her she's beautiful? Is she hanging around with people who don't make her feel better about herself, and bring her down? Maybe her mother is involved, is telling her she's beautiful, and is warning her to stay away from the tanning beds. I don't know. But for me, it was a wake up call to make sure I'm saying the right things around my kids so that they know they're perfect, and that I'm comfortable with myself.
Which isn't to say I am. I can't remember a time since puberty I was happy with my body. I had curves early, and I like to eat, so that's a difficult combination for a teenager. I wasn't athletic, and the popular clothes for the time didn't fit me correctly, so I never looked the way I wanted. Add in a tall, blonde, volleyball-playing best friend, and well....I hated the way I looked. (Note: not my BFF's fault-- she never made me feel badly about myself. It was all in my head.) I gained 20 lbs my freshman year of college, and that did NOT help. Looking back, I was beautiful. I was never thin because of the aforementioned curves, but I wasn't baby-ravaged either! I could have chosen my wardrobe better. I could have exercised more routinely. I could have just dealt with it! The boys never seemed to mind too much, and I had plenty of amazing friends. But always, in the back of my mind, my body wasn't good enough.
And that brings me to my mother. My mother's mother, my Bubba, had some weird ideas about weight and fat people. She made my mother feel terrible about her own body. When my mom was dying from cancer, it made her stomach swell, and I'm sure my mother was dealing with body issues at the very end of her life; how could she not? She'd been programmed. My mother did her best to tell me how beautiful I was, how I should show off my body (appropriately. This was the time of grunge-- she would have settled for a tucked-in shirt). (God, I miss grunge.) I do remember one time, when I was back living at home when Mom was sick, and the stress of her illness, combined with a desk job, and the comfort of being with a boyfriend (now husband) who loved me, was contributing to some weight gain. She said something about noticing, and I responded with some barb about going to fix dinner, if I could fit through the door. She started to cry and apologized profusely-- she'd just done to me what her mother did to her, what she swore she'd never do. That stuck with me.
In a million years, I didn't think I'd have any daughters, not to mention TWO daughters. Bayla loves to eat, and she's a solid little girl. She's perfectly average percentile-wise. But I noticed that I was saying stuff like, "Look at that Buddha belly." She doesn't yet know who Buddha is. Heck, she doesn't even know what her belly is. But I realized that it's a negative comment for anyone other than a baby. And so it's going to stop.
And you know what else is going to stop? My self-deprecating comments about my own body and clothes. I'm not the heaviest I've ever been, but these kids have done a NUMBER on my figure. I have a permanent pooch where a cute belly had been before. My boobs are not where they used to be. But I successfully carried 3 children, and I have a husband who loves me even more for my pooch and stomach-boobs.
Bayla and Harper will most likely have different body types. Already I can tell that Harper is longer, leaner, more coordinated. It is 100% my responsibility to make these girls feel beautiful. Whether they believe me or not is up to them-- I didn't believe my mother. But I'm going to do my damnedest to help them love themselves. And also, choose the right clothing styles for their bodies. But they have to love and respect themselves. And I will NOT have any sexting to be accepted.
And what about Brady? Boys have it rough too. He'll be skinny his whole life, like his Daddy. I'm going to try to help him love his skinny little self, help him see the benefit of avoiding a pot belly in middle age. And I'm going to teach him that women come in all shapes and sizes, and we're all beautiful, all worthy of love. And that smart, well-read women are more interesting than shallow beauties.
They all have to realize that they should strive to be healthy, not stick-thin or hungry. HEALTHY, in mind, body, spirit. Teaching them this is my most important job. Second most important job: bringing back grunge. I think I still have a flannel shirt or 2 somewhere.
Now, let me say that this girl, who is pretty and blonde, looks exactly how I would have killed to look when I was 16. I didn't see any fat on her. And I thought, where is her mother in all this? Aside from stepping in to avoid the SKIN CANCER risks associated with going to a tanning bed, is her mother not telling her she's beautiful? Is she hanging around with people who don't make her feel better about herself, and bring her down? Maybe her mother is involved, is telling her she's beautiful, and is warning her to stay away from the tanning beds. I don't know. But for me, it was a wake up call to make sure I'm saying the right things around my kids so that they know they're perfect, and that I'm comfortable with myself.
Which isn't to say I am. I can't remember a time since puberty I was happy with my body. I had curves early, and I like to eat, so that's a difficult combination for a teenager. I wasn't athletic, and the popular clothes for the time didn't fit me correctly, so I never looked the way I wanted. Add in a tall, blonde, volleyball-playing best friend, and well....I hated the way I looked. (Note: not my BFF's fault-- she never made me feel badly about myself. It was all in my head.) I gained 20 lbs my freshman year of college, and that did NOT help. Looking back, I was beautiful. I was never thin because of the aforementioned curves, but I wasn't baby-ravaged either! I could have chosen my wardrobe better. I could have exercised more routinely. I could have just dealt with it! The boys never seemed to mind too much, and I had plenty of amazing friends. But always, in the back of my mind, my body wasn't good enough.
And that brings me to my mother. My mother's mother, my Bubba, had some weird ideas about weight and fat people. She made my mother feel terrible about her own body. When my mom was dying from cancer, it made her stomach swell, and I'm sure my mother was dealing with body issues at the very end of her life; how could she not? She'd been programmed. My mother did her best to tell me how beautiful I was, how I should show off my body (appropriately. This was the time of grunge-- she would have settled for a tucked-in shirt). (God, I miss grunge.) I do remember one time, when I was back living at home when Mom was sick, and the stress of her illness, combined with a desk job, and the comfort of being with a boyfriend (now husband) who loved me, was contributing to some weight gain. She said something about noticing, and I responded with some barb about going to fix dinner, if I could fit through the door. She started to cry and apologized profusely-- she'd just done to me what her mother did to her, what she swore she'd never do. That stuck with me.
In a million years, I didn't think I'd have any daughters, not to mention TWO daughters. Bayla loves to eat, and she's a solid little girl. She's perfectly average percentile-wise. But I noticed that I was saying stuff like, "Look at that Buddha belly." She doesn't yet know who Buddha is. Heck, she doesn't even know what her belly is. But I realized that it's a negative comment for anyone other than a baby. And so it's going to stop.
And you know what else is going to stop? My self-deprecating comments about my own body and clothes. I'm not the heaviest I've ever been, but these kids have done a NUMBER on my figure. I have a permanent pooch where a cute belly had been before. My boobs are not where they used to be. But I successfully carried 3 children, and I have a husband who loves me even more for my pooch and stomach-boobs.
Bayla and Harper will most likely have different body types. Already I can tell that Harper is longer, leaner, more coordinated. It is 100% my responsibility to make these girls feel beautiful. Whether they believe me or not is up to them-- I didn't believe my mother. But I'm going to do my damnedest to help them love themselves. And also, choose the right clothing styles for their bodies. But they have to love and respect themselves. And I will NOT have any sexting to be accepted.
And what about Brady? Boys have it rough too. He'll be skinny his whole life, like his Daddy. I'm going to try to help him love his skinny little self, help him see the benefit of avoiding a pot belly in middle age. And I'm going to teach him that women come in all shapes and sizes, and we're all beautiful, all worthy of love. And that smart, well-read women are more interesting than shallow beauties.
They all have to realize that they should strive to be healthy, not stick-thin or hungry. HEALTHY, in mind, body, spirit. Teaching them this is my most important job. Second most important job: bringing back grunge. I think I still have a flannel shirt or 2 somewhere.
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