Dirty Little Secret

So Hot Guy has taken Ironflower and Lovebug to Kansas to stay with their grandparents. For a week. Initially, I had a lot of anxiety about this. I’ve never been so far away from them, never been without them for so many nights. And yet, now that they are safely there, I feel at peace.

Because taking care of one toddler? It’s cake.

An endless supply of snacks and occasional trips in the car (his favorite phrase these days is “Go car!”, which can be amended to screams of “Car go!” if you don’t respond quickly enough) and he’s pretty happy. Plus, he doesn’t care what shows we watch when the TV is on.

So yeah, parents of only children? You have it easy.

Not that there’s anything in the world that would make me give up any of my 3 in 4 years, but still. This is just so much easier.

Of course, I didn’t think so when I (briefly) had only 1 kid. Then I thought having a kid was so much work.  And it was, compared to my life of having no kids.

So I think what I need to do when the big kids come back is borrow a few more kids. So that I’ll have 5 or 6 to manage. Then I’ll send the extras back to their (well-rested) parents and having 3 will seem easy.

In fact, I think that’s what all of us who feel overwhelmed should do – borrow some extra kids. Your kid is tiring you out? Handle 3 for a week. Three kids driving you crazy? Try 5. Five kids stressing you out? Have 7. And those of you that have more than 5 kids? Send them to whiners like me and have some time off. Because you? You don’t need to be reminded of how much more difficult things can be.

Sure, “time off” isn’t quite the same when you have kids. You spend your time cleaning their closets and rearranging their rooms while they’re gone, like I have (amazingly, though, I still haven’t gotten around to cleaning their bathroom.). You worry about what they’re doing and how they’re feeling and whether their father is remembering to put sun block on them. You miss their hugs and their commentary, though maybe not their love of the Disney Channel.

So it’s not the “time off” of yesteryear, which involved lots of booze, trashy television and complete relaxation. (That wasn’t just me, right?) But it’s still time where you don’t have to do a lot of the more annoying parenting tasks like settling arguments, cooking (ChunkyMonkey prefers meals of fruit, milk, peanut butter and crackers and who am I to argue?) and listening to Phineas and Ferb.

At least that’s how I’m looking at it.

I survived taking the kids to the pool again today. On the bright side, no one pooped. Though Lovebug let out a few screams (overtired+overexcited=Lovebug screams in response to any negative stimuli) that were loud enough to make me think someone had pooped.

But I suppose I’m the one who misbehaved today. Because today, folks, I read a magazine while my kids were in the pool. That’s right, not only did I let them go in by themselves, I dared to look away while they were in there.

Of course, they are 4 and 5 and they were in about 3 feet of water. Fenced into 3 feet of water, I should say. And there were like 6 other kids in the whole area.  While neither swims quite successfully, they do understand not breathing water. Oh, and they are very loud.

So, when I was not playing with them, feeding them or finding out why Lovebug was screaming (bumped his elbow on the fence, for example), I read. Not a novel, because I could get so engrossed in a novel I could miss them taking my wallet and handing it to the guy who sells ice cream and/or smacking that kid who was splashing everybody. Anyway, you should have seen the looks I got from the other moms.

Not all of them, but enough. Especially the one that I was NOT going to make fun of on this blog because she always seemed perfectly nice. I am trying to be a kinder, gentler me. But she glared at me, so clearly she started it and I can make fun of her freely.

Now let me say that a lot of moms around here still wear bikinis. Because they still look good in bikinis. And another percentage, while maybe not rocking the bikini, still looks cute at the pool. This mom is clearly trying to be in that category, because she doesn’t try the pregnant bikini thing, but her suit is very cute and she always does her hair.

And by does her hair, I mean that she invariable ties a grosgain ribbon around her ponytail. It’s always a different color, too.

What woman over 18. . .hell, what girl over 10 wears a ribbon in her hair? And who thinks, yeah, a ribbon is the perfect accessory for swimming?

And it’s in this loopy, lop-sided bow with long strings hanging down her neck. I mean, it would not have been a great style in 1986.

Ahem. So, yeah, ribbon lady and her friend glared at me today, as I sat with my magazine. I started to feel self-conscious. Because, you know, maybe I was being irresponsible by not watching them (along with the 2 lifeguards) in the 3 feet of water. And then I thought, maybe they’re just jealous because they had toddlers to follow around(this is why I avoid taking ChunkyMonkey to the pool. Also, he gets bored. And if I’m hauling a ton of gear and making a picnic, we are staying at the pool for more than an hour, dammit.) and I did not.

So then I thought, I’ll ask the internets. Well, the 4 of you not at BlogHer, anyway. Was I being irresponsible? Should ribbon lady have glared at me? Or would you have done the same thing?

Today I ran into my neighbor at the grocery store. Not so strange, even though we were not at the grocery store located several blocks from our respective homes but at one several towns away which has lower prices. And is always SO. DAMN. CROWDED. Usually I just split the difference and go to the slightly closer, slightly cheaper and significantly less crowded one that’s located one town away. But what also had to buy Lovebug a boogie board, or as I used to call one, a kickboard. His sister has one and there were savage fights over it during our last trip to the pool.

Plus, it was only $5.

Which I probably saved shopping at the super crowded grocery store conveniently near 5 Below, aka, the shop where they sell cheap kick boards.

So I see my neighbor and she almost stops in her tracks. Which is dangerous at super crowded store, because those bitches will run you over. We smile and say hi and as we race in opposite directions, she calls, “You’re so brave!”

She was child-free – apparently I should have been friendlier with her so that maybe she would share her baby-sitter with me. Because I had all 3 kids with me.

You would think that because I had them all corralled in the genius contraption known as the car cart (that’s right, my kids are so close together in age that all 3 of them fit on a car cart) and that generally they are well-behaved kids, shopping with all 3 of them shouldn’t have been such a big deal.

I should, in fact, be using this post to scoff at being called brave for taking 3 kids to the grocery store. Because, I mean, really, it’s not like going to war. It’s not even like dealing with them for 2 weeks straight by yourself. Which I have done.

But I am not scoffing. Because I loathe unfamiliar grocery stores. Add in construction and rearrangement, aisles not meant for the super-size car cart and the fact that ChunkyMonkey was hungry and I”m surprised we all survived.

So, thank you, neighbor. And thank you for complimenting the kids’ behavior when we ran into you at the check-out. True, you may have been complimenting because the pinching fight Ironflower and Lovebug had just finished left no marks, but I don’t care. It’s your kind thought that counts.

Now how about sharing that baby-sitter?

This week I am volunteering at Vacation Bible School.

My kids’ preschool is housed in a church and there’s some crossover. Like VBS. We don’t belong to the church, though. We don’t belong to any church. We’re a mix of secular humanism and Unitarian-Universalism; we  don’t believe the Bible is the word of God.

I never went to Vacation Bible School. Or Sunday School. The first time I read the Bible was in college, as an history major who took everything regarded as historical fact with a grain of salt.

Although the first time I heard about the Bible was 9 or so years before,  from a neighbor whose family was EXTREMELY dysfunctional. She told me I was going to hell because I hadn’t been baptized. I asked if her (extremely violent) brother would go to hell also since, you know, he was evil. She said no, he was baptized. (I realize that this was faulty, but I”m trying to explain my thinking)

I had no way of arguing with her, I barely knew what “baptized” meant. And that’s exactly what I DON’T want for my children. I want them to understand what Christianity is so that it can’t be used against them. When the time comes, I want them to make an informed choice about their religious and spiritual practices. (I would, of course, prefer that choice to be like mine, but I’ll settle for anything short of Quiverfull, extremism of any kind or Satanism).

So, anyway. VBS.

Yesterday’s lesson was that the Bible is the word of God. Fortunately, I am volunteering in the nursery so that I don’t have to have a lot of theoretical discussions about the lessons. Or, really, any discussions about the lessons. Which is good, since I don’t actually believe most of the lessons.

Ah, the lessons of VBS. They make me think of  cult indoctrinations. That and the songs of praise/dancing/clapping sessions twice a day. We don’t take the nursery kids to those sessions, we just play the CD over and over and over. And over. Isn’t that a part of an indoctrination methodology?

All of my children are having a grand time. They loooooove VBS.

The older two recount stories to me, and I repeat, “That’s what some people believe”. I wonder if they’ll have VBS detention if they repeat that to all of the believers. I wonder if letting them go to VBS  just because it’s fun, cheap and filled with friends makes me a total hypocrite.

I wonder if I can listen to that CD for 3 more mornings straight.

I wonder what your thoughts are on sending your kids to religious education classes or camps. Do you expect your kids to believe what you believe or to make their own decisions?

Also, do you think I”m a total hypocrite?

Every time I hear a kid crying or screaming in public, I think, “Thank God that’s not one of mine.” Except, of course, when it is.

There was a time when I was absolutely mortified when one of my kids had a tantrum . . .or even cried. . .in public. Ironflower didn’t have a lot of public tantrums, or even private ones, so when she did I always felt completely at a loss. Lovebug had more, but all that did was make me humiliated more often.

And along came ChunkyMonkey. ChunkyMonkey has had more public tantrums than I can count. Usually when I had no option but to deal with them, as he’s much more likely to do it when I’m alone. And when the big kids are having fun somewhere.

I talk calmly to ChunkyMonkey. I say “No bite!” in a strict voice. I carry him facing away from me so he can’t bite or scratch, sideways so he can’t kick and go on about my business because I am no longer mortified.

Or humiliated.

Or even embarrassed.

When one of my kids starts screaming in public now (Lovebug has not completely given up the tantrums, he’s more like a heroin addict weaning himself slowly with the methadone of whining), I find myself slightly annoyed. In fact, it’s quite similar to my reaction when they whine. Or poke each other for no good reason. Or talk incessantly at the top of their lungs.

I wouldn’t say I’ve gotten much better at dealing with tantrums (although, thanks to ChunkyMonkey, my ability to dodge head butts and kicks has gotten a lot better) in my 5 and a half years of motherhood. I certainly wouldn’t say that my children have gotten mellower.

I would say that my attitude towards other people has changed, though. I no longer give a shit what they think. You want to glare at me as I carry my screaming 20 month old out of the 7-11 because I wouldn’t let him carry my precious Big Gulp? Fine. You give him your Big Gulp then.

How do you feel when your kid throws a tantrum in public? Mortified? Humiliated? Embarrassed? Annoyed? Sad? And how do you handle it?

I might need some ideas if ChunkyMonkey gets any stronger.

I really, really don’t want to have to change Lovebug’s blog name to “Crankypants”, but I’m seriously thinking about it. I know there are some people – some amazing people – who do not get grumpy when super tired. I know there are some people who endure constant pain, or constant heartache, and are still filled with patience and kindness.

Lovebug is not related to those people, I’m sorry to say.

Lovebug’s people snap when they are tired or stressed out. And because Lovebug is 4, his version of snapping is crying and whining over EVERYTHING and smacking people. Oh yeah, and last week’s biting episode.

Also, Lovebug’s people may, in fact, not always react with kindness to his whinescream (imagine a fake baby cry delivered at a very high volume) over things like getting bumped or dropping a toy. They may be giving him negative reinforcement sometimes. Ahem.

But I believe the real culprit here is that the boy DOES NOT SLEEP. No matter what time he goes to bed, he is up at 6. Often he stays up until 10, either playing with toys in his room (which we have outlawed, but if I have to sit on the stairs every night to listen I will go nuts) or with the cars he brings to bed. And no, hiding toys does not work. He keeps himself awake to furtively search for them. Without toys, he actually stays up later.

Also, he has quit napping. So, in an average 24 hour period, Lovebug is getting a max of 9 hours of sleep. Which is what I need and is far less than either of his siblings get. And while I’m sure there are 4 year olds who are fine with this amount (and probably grow up to be those assholes who choose to sleep only  4 hours a night), Lovebug is not one of them. Trust me, my boy is TIRED.

The baby is currently sleeping in a play yard in the bathroom because I blamed him for Lovebug’s lack of sleep. There are super-thick shades on the windows and music plays softly. Light comes in through the open door from the well-lit hallway because Lovebug freaks out if it doesn’t. Our getting to bed routine generally takes an hour and includes books and a backrub during some lullabies. He’s not allowed caffeine and we try to make sure he gets at least an hour of activity every day.

So what the hell else are we supposed to do to help him sleep more? We’ve moved his bed time around and his nap time. We’ve rewarded him for staying in bed. We’ve praised his great behavior on the few days he has gotten more sleep and pointed out the link.

We’ve done pretty much everything except slip some Benadryl into his juice. Which I am considering.

Does anyone else have any suggestions before I start drugging my child?

I must start by saying that I’m sure my neighbors are nice people who love their children very much. And who (fortunately) do not read my blog.

But. (You totally knew that was coming, didn’t you?)

I’m not sure how I feel about my kids actually playing with their children. They gather at the cul-de-sac that ends our street. At first, I was pleased that the parents seemed so nice and so willing to share their kids’ myriad toys with my kids (we live about a block up and mainly come down with our bikes and some chalk).

Ironflower was enchanted with 2 little girls, slightly younger, who share her penchant for princesses. ChunkyMonkey just loved that I let him out of the stroller outside of the house. Lovebug was not as thrilled, as one boy was too little and the other little boy is really, really into sports (What can I say? We’re so afraid of becoming psycho sport parents that we’ve sort of forgotten to teach our kids the rudiments of T-ball. Oops. Also, we’d much rather go for a walk.)

Lovebug changed his tune when the motorized Barbie Jeep and the motorized Mustang came out. Each of Ironflower’s new little friends has her own car (Did I mention that they’re younger that she is? And she’s 5?).  Well, he did until he realized how hard it would be to actually get a turn.

Not that the girls used the cars a lot. But just because they weren’t using them didn’t mean they wanted to let a BOY use them. Their parents cajoled and begged and bribed and Lovebug was allowed to play. Which I thought was nice of the parents. And bitchy of the children.  A bit later, one girl threw a huge hissy fit about not having the right princess shoe. She demanded them and demanded them and finally her mother went home to get them. A bit later there was another tantrum that resulted in another child getting what she wanted.

And another and another and another until my children were just kind of staring at them in fascination. When it was time for us to leave, Ironflower was riding in the mustang with one girl. Before she could get out, the girl started the engine. I followed, half jogging while I pulled Ironflower’s bike, pushed ChunkyMonkey’s stroller and kept an eye on trike-riding Lovebug. I told them to stop, told Ironflower to ask the girl to stop but nothing worked. The girl’s dad caught up and also told them to  stop.

They didn’t until they were at our driveway.

Now, if Ironflower had asked, I would have been fine with this. But there was no asking ., . . .and no listening. Which is not like my kid. The dad was unsurprised and unconcerned that his daughter didn’t listen and had driven off without permission. He didn’t say anything to her about it, just asked her where she wanted to go next.

And I was horrified. I was horrified by the whole experience. I’ve avoided the cul-de-sac at peak times ever since.

But now I’m thinking. . .what if it’s me? What if I”m the bitch? What if I’m being unduly harsh by giving consequences for temper tantrums? What if it’s not a big deal when my kids don’t listen and obey? Why should I care how they talk to me?

But I can’t help it. I don’t want my kids to act like that or to treat me like that. And I’m not sure if I want them hanging out with parents who do.

Some days the world is so annoying that you just have to fantasize about things you wish were true. . .

1. That Jesse James was actually Sandra Bullock’s beard and these are all disgruntled ex-girlfriends of hers coming out because she has finally found true love with Jodie Foster.

2. That when celebrities went to rehab to work on their “issues”, “stress” and “anxiety”, what they had to work at Wal-Mart for minimum wage while supporting 2 kids with ADD and no health insurance.

3. That all the Tea Party people were really just doing it for the cash supplied by Rush Limbaugh and Glenn Beck and didn’t believe any of the crap they were spouting.

4. That milk chocolate was just as good for you as dark chocolate.

5. That saying, “Oh please, for the love of the Goddess, shut up!” as the 1 year old screams and gets in my way every time I prepare a meal was taken as a loving comment and not, you know, an inappropriate outburst.

6. That I had my 31 year old, pre-child body. . . .forever.

7. That we only read about racism, sexism and homophobia in history books.

8. That houses were self-cleaning.

9. That instead of paying for language immersion and piano and dance and soccer and T-ball and gymnastics and swimming and art classes for 3 year olds, parents taught them empathy first.

10. That I didn’t really see Tiger Woods’ kindergarten teacher on the news yesterday.

11. That Dr. Jack Cassell failed the MCAT.

12. That sleeping with a famous person was not a more likely path to celebrity than writing a book of poetry or solving a conundrum in theoretical physics.

13. That my kids would never doubt how wonderful they are.

14. That Friday Night Lights was returning to network TV. And staying on forever.

15. That Jon and Kate Gosselin never did a reality show.

16. That kids had volume dials like stereos.

17. That Justin Bieber was going back to high school to focus on his education. Or his hairstyling skills.

18. That all the people I loved lived within a 100 mile radius.

19. That aging rockers retired gracefully instead of horrifying us at the Super Bowl.

20. That I had an iPad, even though that’s got to be the stupidest product name on the planet after “Pussycat Dolls”.

What do you wish was true?

This post was supposed to be about the quote, “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.” I heard it somewhere the other day and I thought, no wonder parents always feel like they’re going crazy! I mean, every day I serve my kids some “new” (“new” meaning they don’t currently like it, not that they’ve never had it before or even liked it before) fruit or vegetable. And every day, they tell me they don’t like the fruit or vegetable. But I keep hoping.

I was prepared to lament about how many times I’ve told them to use words when they’re angry, or to flush the toilet, or to ask politely for what they want instead of whining. And how many times they have totally ignored me.

I was going to say that, “Parenting is the definition of insanity.”

But then I looked up the quote. It’s not a Chinese proverb. It’s not by Mark Twain, Albert Einstein or Benjamin Franklin. It does not resonate with years of gravitas.

It’s something that Rita Mae Brown said in a novel in the ’80′s. Probably.

And THEN I realized that my children don’t bite anymore. They have all bitten each other (and me, their father and grandmothers) in the past, usually somewhere around the age of 14 months. And after each bite, I would say “NO!” and remove them from the situation. And lo and behold,  after of a month or doing the same routine 20 times a day, they would actually STOP BITING.

So really the definition of parenting is doing the same thing over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over  and FINALLY (after years of gray hairs and martinis and blogs posts about public humiliations and candy bars and tears) you get different results.

I have just received Ironflower’s 8 PAGE packet for her dance recital. Now, I might welcome the packet if it told me exactly what make-up to put on her or what to do with her beautifully unruly hair. I might welcome the packet if it laid out her 2 routines so that we could practice at home. I might welcome her packet if she wasn’t in preschool. But instead I look at the packet and think, are you FREAKING SERIOUS?

I still don’t know how to do her hair or her make-up. . .or even what her costume looks like (which doesn’t really bother me because the recital is not until late May, but why not just include this info in the packet?). But I do know that we can’t make our own DVD of the recital AND that it will cost us $40 to buy one. I also now know that I can purchase extremely over-priced bouquets and photos. Oh, and there’s a complicated lottery system for ticket purchases. I have also read about the procedures for picking up my child after the performance and extensive details about the dress rehearsal.

I am also to provide non-staining snacks and toys for her use backstage.

Snacks????? Toys??????

You know what I did backstage during the myriad recitals and performances I was in?

I talked to my friends and I watched the other dancers. When I got older, I put on more make-up. And I didn’t get to eat anything. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I also walked 2 miles up hill to school (actually, I would have done that, if my mom hadn’t driven me to school most of the time) and survived just fine.

I am usually the person who stands up for the booster seats until they can drive (or whatever the rule is now),  helmets and bouncy playground surfaces. I’m reluctant to leave my children with a baby-sitter or for them to have playdates without me. I overanalyze everything (which you have probably noticed if you’ve ever read this blog before). In short, I am a modern parent.

But I think we’ve gone off the deep end where dance recitals are concerned. First come, first served seating is no longer good enough for today’s families.  DVDs have to be professionally produced. Bouquets have be  big and expensive. Photos must be taken by an overcharging professional. Children must be entertained backstage. Packets must be sent home 3 months beforehand. All the spontaneity of live performance must be crushed.

I am so NOT cut out for helicopter parenting.