Childhood has changed a lot since I was little. I am not going to tell you I walked three miles barefoot to school in snow. But safe to say the call-waiting invention of my youth has been totally surpassed.
On my day trip to the beach one child is watching a movie on his his iPod touch and the other is on my iPhone playing the brain pop app.
Remember the license plate game?
I am going to interrupt them and see if they want to spend the last forty minutes passing time old school.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Monday, July 4, 2011
Kitchen talk and the color of skin
My youngest finished Kindergarten the other day.
We were in the kitchen unpacking his backpack when he told me he wished he had brown skin.
Why is that?
"Because everyone in my class has brown skin and I look different."
He and his brother attend a predominately Hispanic school.
My son looked down at the floor as if he were about to cry.
I knelt down to him and said the world is full of lots of people - some have dark skin and some have light skin.
Everyone is different. Everyone is beautiful.
You have beautiful blonde hair and peaches and cream skin, I told him while pulling him close.
You are perfect the way you are.
Satisfied, he wriggled out of my arms and ran to another room to play.
I wondered if our conversation meant the world was finally changing.
We were in the kitchen unpacking his backpack when he told me he wished he had brown skin.
Why is that?
"Because everyone in my class has brown skin and I look different."
He and his brother attend a predominately Hispanic school.
My son looked down at the floor as if he were about to cry.
I knelt down to him and said the world is full of lots of people - some have dark skin and some have light skin.
Everyone is different. Everyone is beautiful.
You have beautiful blonde hair and peaches and cream skin, I told him while pulling him close.
You are perfect the way you are.
Satisfied, he wriggled out of my arms and ran to another room to play.
I wondered if our conversation meant the world was finally changing.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Letters from holiday road ...#1
I am at a Walmart north of Cleveland. My husband is at the wheel and the two boys are in the back seat.
It's a long way from Massachusetts. (572 miles of farmland and a scant view of Lake Erie) But we are on a mission to visit Caitlin in St. Louis - my cousin but not unlike a daughter or a kid sister and more accurately a sister to the boys.
We have stopped five times to pee. And yet, it's not without advantages. The New York thruway has free wifi. That means I could load up on new apps to keep the little hombres occupado.
Courtesy of Twitter and the NYT, I learned about super awesome interactive e-books for kids on the iPad. Madden football 2011 is also a huge hit. And Pandora...who knew that little satellite gem was going to save my sanity. Turns out they have Michael Jackson's "thriller." Tis a big request on the 6 y/o circuit.
So anyway, we are halfway there. Oh! Almost forgot. Dylan managed to lose his shoes in the backseat.
We found them in the nick of time to go pee.
It's a long way from Massachusetts. (572 miles of farmland and a scant view of Lake Erie) But we are on a mission to visit Caitlin in St. Louis - my cousin but not unlike a daughter or a kid sister and more accurately a sister to the boys.
We have stopped five times to pee. And yet, it's not without advantages. The New York thruway has free wifi. That means I could load up on new apps to keep the little hombres occupado.
Courtesy of Twitter and the NYT, I learned about super awesome interactive e-books for kids on the iPad. Madden football 2011 is also a huge hit. And Pandora...who knew that little satellite gem was going to save my sanity. Turns out they have Michael Jackson's "thriller." Tis a big request on the 6 y/o circuit.
So anyway, we are halfway there. Oh! Almost forgot. Dylan managed to lose his shoes in the backseat.
We found them in the nick of time to go pee.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Spirited parenting: taking a time out when you need one
I'm back from a work trip. It's always hard to leave the babies even when they are no longer babies anymore.
My youngest secretly packed me a stuffed, musical, Woodstock to hug while I was away.
He surprises me. He is so gentle and thoughtful in one instant and then intense, stubborn and defiant the next.
He's human, a change agent indeed. And dare I say, a reflection of his mother.
D is a committed practitioner who takes on things he wants with determination and zeal beyond his years. He gave himself a blister until he learned to snap and told me he must have a lemonade stand on a busy street to make money.
He's 6.
This passion comes in ups and downs. I sometimes struggle how to best handle the swings and tantrums that erupt if we don't have more of the favorite cereal he's had for breakfast the last 5 days in a row.
Spirited kids are creatures of habit. Change the game plan without warning and there is likely to be trouble.
I bought a book, "Raising your Spirited Child: A Guide for Parents whose Children are More Intense, Sensitive, Perceptive, Persistent and Energetic" that talks about strategies to work with his exuberant energy so it doesn't crush spirit and allows children to grow and manage emotions. What I learned is that I didn't need to fix him, I needed to fix me.
My son and I are very much alike. I am a spirited adult, and by the book's definition, passionate and purposeful and then frustrating the next. I dig in when I think I am right and my flexibility- yes I admit - can turn rigid.
I sometimes need time to come around.
So what do we do?
Breathe.
Look for the teaching moments. When it's time to change activities, for example, give warnings that time is almost up. I can teach him good words about his energy instead of always telling them to stop it, or calm down, or sit still every few minutes so long as what he is doing is safe.
I can say:
I wish I had your energy.
You'll make a great athlete
I can let go and be OK.
What I need to practice more is to notice when I hit the wall and need a time out to regroup.
It is best to remind myself that my spirited kid is not trying to get my goat but may need a little extra effort on the redirect because of who he is and how he's wired.
On the plane at 33,000 feet, I learned it's really the same for me. (My husband will nod here.)
As the last line in the book goes: Spirited kids are like roses...they need special care...you have to get past the thorns to enjoy their beauty. It feels great to watch them bloom and even better to know that my kindergartner and I share the same passion and drive to do the things we like to do with gusto.
XOXO D!
My youngest secretly packed me a stuffed, musical, Woodstock to hug while I was away.
He surprises me. He is so gentle and thoughtful in one instant and then intense, stubborn and defiant the next.
He's human, a change agent indeed. And dare I say, a reflection of his mother.
D is a committed practitioner who takes on things he wants with determination and zeal beyond his years. He gave himself a blister until he learned to snap and told me he must have a lemonade stand on a busy street to make money.
He's 6.
This passion comes in ups and downs. I sometimes struggle how to best handle the swings and tantrums that erupt if we don't have more of the favorite cereal he's had for breakfast the last 5 days in a row.
Spirited kids are creatures of habit. Change the game plan without warning and there is likely to be trouble.
I bought a book, "Raising your Spirited Child: A Guide for Parents whose Children are More Intense, Sensitive, Perceptive, Persistent and Energetic" that talks about strategies to work with his exuberant energy so it doesn't crush spirit and allows children to grow and manage emotions. What I learned is that I didn't need to fix him, I needed to fix me.
My son and I are very much alike. I am a spirited adult, and by the book's definition, passionate and purposeful and then frustrating the next. I dig in when I think I am right and my flexibility- yes I admit - can turn rigid.
I sometimes need time to come around.
So what do we do?
Breathe.
Look for the teaching moments. When it's time to change activities, for example, give warnings that time is almost up. I can teach him good words about his energy instead of always telling them to stop it, or calm down, or sit still every few minutes so long as what he is doing is safe.
I can say:
I wish I had your energy.
You'll make a great athlete
I can let go and be OK.
What I need to practice more is to notice when I hit the wall and need a time out to regroup.
It is best to remind myself that my spirited kid is not trying to get my goat but may need a little extra effort on the redirect because of who he is and how he's wired.
On the plane at 33,000 feet, I learned it's really the same for me. (My husband will nod here.)
As the last line in the book goes: Spirited kids are like roses...they need special care...you have to get past the thorns to enjoy their beauty. It feels great to watch them bloom and even better to know that my kindergartner and I share the same passion and drive to do the things we like to do with gusto.
XOXO D!
Monday, February 21, 2011
I can scream like a girl cause I am one
I'm out numbered by gender in my house.
No big deal really, until, well, it is.
I take my role as the lone female voice in a house full of guys seriously. Maybe all of my boys wish it less so, but I think it is up to me to explain a few things before they reach adolescence and I become the dumbest person on the planet.
Lesson one : Don't say "crying like a girl" unless you are one.
The teaching moment came while we were in the car during a freak lightening storm.
The youngest starts to shriek. He's scared and I tell him he'll be OK. So does his Dad.
But dad, takes it one step further, and adds the oft innocent and old-school disclaimer... "You're screaming like a girl" to the older brother who was mimicking the little one.
This is the part where someone might dub in the sound effect of tires screeching to a halt or a voice over saying: "OH-NO-HE-DIDN'T!"
What did you just say?
I despise the phrase "crying like a girl" for two reasons.
"Crying like a girl "connotes that girls are weak when they are not.
"Crying like a girl" tells boys that there is something less worthy about being a girl than a boy.
Before you say I am taking this too far riddle me this: What else is that phrase supposed to mean?
So if my boys are crying, I tell them to own it.
Boys will cry like boys in my house. There's no shame.
Mom will handle the crying like a girl part, thank you very much.
No big deal really, until, well, it is.
I take my role as the lone female voice in a house full of guys seriously. Maybe all of my boys wish it less so, but I think it is up to me to explain a few things before they reach adolescence and I become the dumbest person on the planet.
Lesson one : Don't say "crying like a girl" unless you are one.
The teaching moment came while we were in the car during a freak lightening storm.
The youngest starts to shriek. He's scared and I tell him he'll be OK. So does his Dad.
But dad, takes it one step further, and adds the oft innocent and old-school disclaimer... "You're screaming like a girl" to the older brother who was mimicking the little one.
This is the part where someone might dub in the sound effect of tires screeching to a halt or a voice over saying: "OH-NO-HE-DIDN'T!"
What did you just say?
I despise the phrase "crying like a girl" for two reasons.
"Crying like a girl "connotes that girls are weak when they are not.
"Crying like a girl" tells boys that there is something less worthy about being a girl than a boy.
Before you say I am taking this too far riddle me this: What else is that phrase supposed to mean?
So if my boys are crying, I tell them to own it.
Boys will cry like boys in my house. There's no shame.
Mom will handle the crying like a girl part, thank you very much.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Chasing Coats
Somewhere between birth and Kindergarten, the struggle begins.
It's freezing outside and your little bundle of joy whom you swaddled from the womb to protect, refuses your direction to wear a coat.
Try as you might to reason, the refusal - at least in my experience - heightens when I pay attention to it.
According to NPR, "Bundling kids up satisfies a deep-seated parental impulse to protect.
And culturally, it's considered the right thing to do."
Try telling that to my two boys.
I have tried to see things from the little people's perspective. I think of Ralphie in the Christmas Story who is so bundled up that when he falls he can't get up. But that's not my M.O. My plea is reasonable - Put on a fleece and go to school.
My impulse to protect is also rooted in being perceived as a good mother What will other people think if Patty sends her kids anywhere without a coat? BAD MOTHER. But experts say sometimes you have to let kids figure out that cold weather and a warm coat make good sense.
I checked in with national parenting coach Bill Corbett to capture some sanity.
"Getting your kids to wear their coat can be a challenge for a couple of reasons. For some children it is a power struggle because it is their way of exerting their sense of power and control. For others, it's not cool because the sign of a coat indicates submitting to the uncool parent and they don't want their peers to see them being influenced by their parents," he said.
Corbett said in some instances, it may be acceptable for a parent to avoid the power struggle and let the child leave for school without their coat and let the cold be the natural consequence of not having the coat.
" This might motivate the child to put on his coat," he said.
But then there are more questions.
What if the power or peer pressure is greater than the effects of the cold air? Or what if the parent is not willing to take the chances of having to pay for health care and losing time at work when their child comes down with a sickness?
There is an alternative.
"Give the child a choice between two jackets to wear. If the child refuses the choice, the parent could ask for the teacher's cooperation in telling the child that a coat must be worn to come to school on cold days," Corbett said. " Another option may be for the parent to play the "I'm not willing for you to leave the house without your coat" card."
Throwing down the latter gauntlet is handled like this:
"The adult reminds the child that putting on a coat at the parent's decision is called "cooperation." If the child refuses to cooperate, then the parent may have to remind the child that he or she may not get cooperation from the parent with activities or privileges that are not rights, such as going places, having friends over, and use of entertainment electronics in the house," Corbett said.
At my house we had a family meeting about coats.
The kids came up with the solution. They would take their cold weather gear in their backpacks to school. I could live with that because I knew when I was not there, they had the equipment they needed to be warm.
On the first day we saw a bit of snow, the boys put their coats in the backpacks. When we went into the chilly air and freezer like car, they both whined, "It's cold" and shivered.
What could you do about that? I asked.
I heard the zippers of their backpacks open.
It's freezing outside and your little bundle of joy whom you swaddled from the womb to protect, refuses your direction to wear a coat.
Try as you might to reason, the refusal - at least in my experience - heightens when I pay attention to it.
According to NPR, "Bundling kids up satisfies a deep-seated parental impulse to protect.
And culturally, it's considered the right thing to do."
Try telling that to my two boys.
I have tried to see things from the little people's perspective. I think of Ralphie in the Christmas Story who is so bundled up that when he falls he can't get up. But that's not my M.O. My plea is reasonable - Put on a fleece and go to school.
My impulse to protect is also rooted in being perceived as a good mother What will other people think if Patty sends her kids anywhere without a coat? BAD MOTHER. But experts say sometimes you have to let kids figure out that cold weather and a warm coat make good sense.
I checked in with national parenting coach Bill Corbett to capture some sanity.
"Getting your kids to wear their coat can be a challenge for a couple of reasons. For some children it is a power struggle because it is their way of exerting their sense of power and control. For others, it's not cool because the sign of a coat indicates submitting to the uncool parent and they don't want their peers to see them being influenced by their parents," he said.
Corbett said in some instances, it may be acceptable for a parent to avoid the power struggle and let the child leave for school without their coat and let the cold be the natural consequence of not having the coat.
" This might motivate the child to put on his coat," he said.
But then there are more questions.
What if the power or peer pressure is greater than the effects of the cold air? Or what if the parent is not willing to take the chances of having to pay for health care and losing time at work when their child comes down with a sickness?
There is an alternative.
"Give the child a choice between two jackets to wear. If the child refuses the choice, the parent could ask for the teacher's cooperation in telling the child that a coat must be worn to come to school on cold days," Corbett said. " Another option may be for the parent to play the "I'm not willing for you to leave the house without your coat" card."
Throwing down the latter gauntlet is handled like this:
"The adult reminds the child that putting on a coat at the parent's decision is called "cooperation." If the child refuses to cooperate, then the parent may have to remind the child that he or she may not get cooperation from the parent with activities or privileges that are not rights, such as going places, having friends over, and use of entertainment electronics in the house," Corbett said.
At my house we had a family meeting about coats.
The kids came up with the solution. They would take their cold weather gear in their backpacks to school. I could live with that because I knew when I was not there, they had the equipment they needed to be warm.
On the first day we saw a bit of snow, the boys put their coats in the backpacks. When we went into the chilly air and freezer like car, they both whined, "It's cold" and shivered.
What could you do about that? I asked.
I heard the zippers of their backpacks open.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Doing the best I can...Erica Jong gave me permission
Parenting is hard work.
Duh, you might say.
But in hindsight, did you ever really think about all the challenges you might face when you were picking out the layette?
The not knowing and living as it comes, is all part of the fun in raising a family. Yet, it is still scary.
The pressure to do everything well and by the societal book is daunting.
Someone always says, "Where was the mother?"
The judgement police or the real-life mommy mean girls in @nerdyapple's viral blog post about her 5 year old son dressing as Daphne from Scooby Doo, are always ready to pounce.
It can be hard to dismiss the head trash.
Erica Jong's essay in the Wall Street Journal today - Mothering Madness - kind of slapped me back to reality.
Like Jong, I too am tired of looking at celebrity mom photos toting around their babies while jet setting when you know darn well their bazillion dollar pay checks, nurses, maids, drivers, cooks, tutors and whatever else not captured in the photo tell a very different story.
I don't need mothering tips from Giselle.
The simple words, "Do your best," that Jong used at the end of her essay let me breathe.
I have spent the last week having nightmares about 4th grade homework. I have what-iffed over insufficient flashcards, worried about Robin Hood in Spanish and stressed over whether the Spanish was Spain Spanish or Latin American. My dusty dictionary from college is Spain Spanish.
This dialect dilemma was only interrupted by repetitive thoughts to whisk my son to the barber when he does not want to go. He is growing his hair like Tom Brady. (Again, thanks Giselle.)
I stop obsessing about locks just in time to read the school newsletter that says, "Please be sure to read to your child every night"...(Because if you don't you are a the most unengaged, sorry excuse for a parent that ever lived!)
OK, the newsletter did not really say the last part, but the directive moved me to action and simultaneously consumed me with guilt.
I read five books in a row to my kindergartner, including a BobThe Builder page turner, because I nearly forgot I had a second child having spent so much of my week in 4th grade.
So thanks for the smack Erica Jong.
I needed that.
Duh, you might say.
But in hindsight, did you ever really think about all the challenges you might face when you were picking out the layette?
The not knowing and living as it comes, is all part of the fun in raising a family. Yet, it is still scary.
The pressure to do everything well and by the societal book is daunting.
Someone always says, "Where was the mother?"
The judgement police or the real-life mommy mean girls in @nerdyapple's viral blog post about her 5 year old son dressing as Daphne from Scooby Doo, are always ready to pounce.
It can be hard to dismiss the head trash.
Erica Jong's essay in the Wall Street Journal today - Mothering Madness - kind of slapped me back to reality.
Like Jong, I too am tired of looking at celebrity mom photos toting around their babies while jet setting when you know darn well their bazillion dollar pay checks, nurses, maids, drivers, cooks, tutors and whatever else not captured in the photo tell a very different story.
I don't need mothering tips from Giselle.
The simple words, "Do your best," that Jong used at the end of her essay let me breathe.
I have spent the last week having nightmares about 4th grade homework. I have what-iffed over insufficient flashcards, worried about Robin Hood in Spanish and stressed over whether the Spanish was Spain Spanish or Latin American. My dusty dictionary from college is Spain Spanish.
This dialect dilemma was only interrupted by repetitive thoughts to whisk my son to the barber when he does not want to go. He is growing his hair like Tom Brady. (Again, thanks Giselle.)
I stop obsessing about locks just in time to read the school newsletter that says, "Please be sure to read to your child every night"...(Because if you don't you are a the most unengaged, sorry excuse for a parent that ever lived!)
OK, the newsletter did not really say the last part, but the directive moved me to action and simultaneously consumed me with guilt.
I read five books in a row to my kindergartner, including a BobThe Builder page turner, because I nearly forgot I had a second child having spent so much of my week in 4th grade.
So thanks for the smack Erica Jong.
I needed that.
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