Vocabulary Testing

Posted on February 5, 2012 by admin

When I think about TV influencing my children, I think about Rose seeing objectified, emaciated, air-brushed women and thinking she should look like them. I do not think that, while watching “Suburgatory,” Rose will learn new vocabulary, but she does.

This week, when I went to pick Rose up from preschool, Rose’s teacher took me aside to say that Rose got a time-out for calling her friend a “biotch.” She assured me that the friend didn’t hear Rose correctly and thus didn’t get upset or worse, learn the word from Rose. I told her teacher that Rose learned the word from TV and we’ve been trying to stop her from using it. Her teacher told her that they don’t use that word in preschool. I said the same thing in the car, and added, “Your friend’s moms won’t want you to come over for playdates if you talk that way.” The next day in school, Rose said “biotch” again for another time-out.

We do not swear around the kids. We don’t even swear when they’re not around. We used to, but we worked very hard to stop and find new words to express dismay or frustration or damnation. I even wrote an article on how to stop swearing for a parenting magazine. So I should be an expert at keeping these words from Rose’s vocabulary, right?

Rose watches TV with us at night. She doesn’t go to bed until nine, and we don’t want to watch “Sleeping Beauty” all the time, so she watches our shows. I didn’t worry about the TV shows influencing her because all the jokes and sexual innuendos went over her head. Until now. She still doesn’t get the sexual references, but she sure does pay attention to new words.

Last week she asked me, “Are you British?”

I said no. She said, “’Cause you’re sexy.”

Oh crap, I thought, she got that from “2 BrokeGirls” when Max complained that her crush’s girlfriend was British and sexy. Crap.

“We don’t say that,” I said calmly. “Sexy” isn’t a bad word, but it is for a four-year-old. No more “2 Broke Girls” for us.

She gleans words from shows and movies we don’t even think about. We watched “Dodge Ball” last weekend and she loved it. It’s a pretty tame movie, at least one where all the references go over her head. The references weren’t a problem, but two days later she said, over and over, “Lesbian, lesbian, lesbian,” and then she tried it in the car, “That guy’s a lesbian.”

At least “lesbian” isn’t a bad word for anyone. I took a different tack with this one. I said, “Rose, do you want to know what that word means?”

“What does it mean?”

“A lesbian is a woman who loves other women like Mommy and Daddy love each other.”

“Oh.” And she stopped using it. She’s very good at using new vocabulary in context, and she just didn’t have the occasion to use “lesbian.” But that doesn’t work for “sexy” or “biotch.” She can call people British ‘till the scones mold up, I don’t care.

I was so frustrated with the situation that I couldn’t even remember the tips I’d written about in my article. So I looked it up. It said that by the time children are four or five, “We don’t use that word,” should work. Not for my daughter. She thrives on the shock value and likes to seek negative attention, so telling her we don’t use a word just builds her ammunition stores.

One of the other things experts told me for my article was that when you hear a bad word the first time, you should distract the kid or convince her she’s mispronouncing it. That doesn’t work when she hears it on TV.

From now on, either she goes to bed earlier, which will never happen, or we DVR all of our shows and try to watch them in the half-hour we have together each night.

As for the vocabulary she already has, I think I’m going to take the playdate argument further. I think I’m going to tell her that I tried to arrange a playdate, but her little friends’ mom said no, because she doesn’t want her kid to learn Rose’s words. I’m gonna do it a few times, maybe five. And if that doesn’t work, maybe we’ll just ignore the words until they go away. I can only hope.


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Bad! Bad Mommy!

Posted on January 29, 2012 by admin

I took Christian to his preschool class this week. It’s held at a local college and part of the class is “parent education.” So while the kids play, the moms (and one dad) sit in a circle listening to the “parent educator” – I don’t know why they don’t just call her “teacher” or “professor.” This week’s topic was reading, but then we were encouraged to discuss any issues we’ve been having with our kids.

As the class went on, I began to feel worse and worse. First the educator talked about reading to our kids. She said it’s never too early or too often. Big fail on our part. We read to Rose from the womb and she loved it, but Christian won’t sit still for a book. We can hold his attention a little longer with a “touch and feel” book, but still, he squirms and complains. He’s 15 months old and he just started sitting down to read with us. We feel bad, but it’s the best we can do. We also feel bad because he’s not talking. He only says two words – “hi” and “bye.” By this age, his sister had been speaking for six months and already started to put phrases together. Must’ve been all that reading.

Even worse, one of the moms in the parenting group talked about smacking her kid’s hand when he reaches for something dangerous, like the stove or an electric socket. No one in the group thought anything of this but the parent educator warned that this kind of parenting will result in a combative kid. She said the kid will learn to solve problems with violence if his hand gets smacked.

During this discussion, I kept my mouth shut and focused on what horrible parents we are. Not only do we smack hands away from dangerous stuff, but sometimes — albeit very rarely — we spank Rose. That’s right, I said it. We don’t put her over our knee and beat her, just one swat on the butt when no other recourse gets her attention.

As the teacher went on and on about teaching violence, I had CSI-style flashbacks. Spanking Rose. Rose hitting Christian. Rose hitting her father. Rose hitting me. Oh my God, we’ve raised a pugilist! Just give her a few years and few more spankings and she’ll be the next featherweight champ!

As I was thinking about all of this, I heard the teacher talking about time-outs, and how they’re not to be used as punishment, they’re just a “break” for the kid to calm down. Yeah, sometimes, but what do you do when your kid has just picked her brother up by the neck, as Rose did the other night? Is that the point where you say, “Okay, Sweetie, seems you’ve been naughty. Take a few minutes to calm down in the time-out chair, okay?“

Let me tell you, we weren’t feeling “time-out” when Rose almost broke her brother’s neck. Matt screamed at her and sent her to her room while I comforted Christian and then I sat hugging myself, shocked and frightened at what had just happened. And I was angry too! At that point I wanted to take Rose over my knee and spank her. I wanted to ground her for the rest of her life and take away all of her toys. I wanted her to pay.

We didn’t do any of that, though. Matt just blew up at her and sent her to her room. She realized how serious the situation was by the tone and volume of her father’s voice, and she did not come out until he went back and talked to her, as I still sat there, frozen. I know Matt told her that she should never pick anyone up by the neck, because that could kill them. I don’t know if that approach works or just gives her ammunition when she decides that killing her brother is a good idea. And usually I hate when Matt yells at the kids, but this time, I felt it was warranted. Plus I couldn’t think of anything else to do.

As I sat in the parenting class, I kept thinking, I don’t need this class for Christian, I need it for Rose! The irony is that I attended the same class with Rose when she was her brother’s age. I think I was a much better parent to Rose then, just as I’m a better parent to Christian now. It’s Rose who throws me for a loop. I thought turning four was going to calm her down, at least a little bit. But it turns out four is just as bad as three. And I’m just as bad a mom at four as I was at three.

I need some parenting help. I need a whole overhaul of my parenting system. I need to find an effective way to discipline Rose and Christian, and to motivate Rose to comply when I tell her, for example, to put on her socks for preschool instead of dallying and making me mad. Matt and I need to find out how to control ourselves when she pushes our buttons. We need to know what to do when she does something truly egregious. We need to stop yelling.

We need to find someone to teach us all of these things. Maybe this parent education class is just what I need. Maybe I can sneak in questions about how to raise Rose in conjunction with her brother. If not, I’ll have to find another way. Got any ideas?


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Snowbored

Posted on January 22, 2012 by admin

It’s almost over, and I don’t know if I’ll make it. Nine straight days with the kids in the house. It started last Friday. I took Christian to his new preschool program in the morning. I had waffled on signing him up because it meant no babysitting on Fridays, but in the end, I knew it would be good for him, so there we were. He had a blast and pooped out in the car on the way home. As he slept, I got to take a shower, then we picked Rose up. Since Christian napped earlier, he was up during Rose’s after-school nap. So basically all the alone time I got was in the shower.

I did go out later that day – took the kids to Costco – but we didn’t go out for our usual Friday dinner. Big mistake. Saturday, I wrote the blog and hung around the house. Matt took the kids to swim class. That was the day it started snowing. Matt and I had planned for a date night, for the first time in months, but by late afternoon, the roads were getting bad, so we cancelled. No date night for us, and I didn’t leave the house all day. The kids were ok. Lately they’ve started roughhousing on the floor and we had to break that up a few times, and Rose likes to scream while flitting around the house, but that’s normal.

Sunday came, with more snow, so we enjoyed the coziness of being snowed in. The kids were getting restless – plastering themselves to the windows and whining – so we took them outside. Christian didn’t like it, but he did like handling the snow shovel so we let him do that. Rose learned how to throw snowballs – very accurately — as she aimed for the back of my neck. When we went back in, Rose and I made cake pops. On Monday – Martin Luther King Day — the snow melted a bit, and, anticipating a big storm on Tuesday night, Matt and Rose, stir crazy by now, went out to get milk. I kept saying that we should all go out just for the heck of it because we’d be stuck in the house, but we didn’t. Big mistake.

Some of the schools pre-emptively cancelled classes Monday night, but Rose’s school was, thankfully, still open. I emailed the teacher to say we’d be there. I was ready to get the kids out of the house by then, especially knowing we’d have a huge (for here) snowstorm midweek. So we got ready for school Tuesday morning. And then it started snowing. Got an email from Rose’s preschool teacher – school was cancelled.

Rose was disappointed, and so was I, but we called our neighborhood babysitter and placated Rose with a movie. Rose was not liking being in the house, and she was also not liking the attention the babysitter was paying to her brother. From our temporary office lair downstairs, Matt and I heard her stomp off and slam the door to her room several times. She loooves this babysitter too, so we knew being in the house was getting to her. Tuesday wasn’t even “the big snow.” We were expecting eight inches of snow on Wednesday. So I knew school would be cancelled Wednesday and, more than likely, because they do not have snow management in the Seattle area, Thursday. I expected that I’d at least get some preschool on Friday.

So by this time, I’d had the kids all day, every day, since Saturday. I know I sound like a horrible parent, but I am just not used to having them more than three days in a row, unless we’re on vacation, and even then we make arrangements for alone time. I feel bad about it, but I am just not the stay-all-day-with-the-kids type. I need that time away from them to pursue my own work so I can be an effective parent when they’re around.

Having the kids in the house above you is not the same as having them out of the house. Rose kept coming downstairs; I had to come upstairs to make lunch; and I heard the constant stomping of little feet and screeching of little lungs, and booms followed by crying. I’m very thankful we had the babysitter but I am used to being alone in the house a few hours a day. And I am used to leaving the house every day, and I hadn’t done that since Friday.

It snowed all day Wednesday. The babysitter came again and took the kids out in the snow. Our neighbors were out with sleds and the kids went sledding down our road. We do that here. It’s a hill and it won’t get plowed, so that’s where everybody sleds. Matt and I worked downstairs. By this time we could not stand staying in the house, so we all went to play in the snow after naps. All of our neighbors were out – some we only see on snow days. We had fun chatting and sledding, until we heard a couple of transformers blow. I wanted to sled more – I only went down once – but I went in to make dinner, in case we lost power.

It snowed Thursday. Same routine. School closed. Babysitting in the morning. Out in the snow after naps. A hundred posts on Facebook, trying to connect with the outside world. The roads were still white.

Preschool was closed again Friday, because the roads weren’t clear yet, but we had hope, because it was supposed to warm up and start raining. It did, and I have never been so grateful for rain in my life. It cleared the roads and melted most of the snow, and we went out, me for the first time in a week, Friday night.

And here I am today, back in the house, writing the blog. What did all this snow teach me? It taught me a lot about how stir crazy I, and the kids, can get. It taught me that when I think I should get out of the house, I should do it. It also taught me that some things are out of my control, and that I should use every resource to deal with it the best I can. I’ll have to remember all that I’ve learned. We’re expecting another snowstorm next week.


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Wishful Thinking

Posted on January 14, 2012 by admin

I didn’t know he had it in him. I never thought he could do what he did, but he did it. Well. This week I was sick. Well, three of us were, anyway, one at a time. First Rose got it – stomach bug – I’ll spare you the details of cleaning it up, but it started at 5 a.m. and continued through the day. Next day, gone. Two days later, Matt got it – same thing, misery for twenty-four hours, next day, gone. Two days later, I got it. Woke at 4 a.m. with the “brick” in my stomach that Matt warned about. In the morning, I told him I had it.

“Want me to stay home?” he asked.

“Let me get up,” I said. I rolled over and as soon as I got vertical, ugh, “Yes, I think you should,” I said.

Then Matt went into motion. He got up, got the kids changed and fed, ready for school and babysitting, and almost out the door before I heard yelling. “GET YOUR SHOW AND TELL NOW! I DON’T HAVE ALL DAY! YOU SHOULD HAVE GOTTEN IT BEFORE! NOW GET YOUR SOCKS AND SHOES ON! GET YOUR SOCKS AND SHOES ON! GET! YOUR! SHOES! ON!”

There was a lot of yelling but I can’t say it was much different than my morning routine with Rose. She has to get her show and tell last minute and she’ll play with it when she’s supposed to be putting her shoes on. I yell at her too. It’s my fault, really. I need to structure her morning so these things run smoother. I vowed to get her to put socks on when she gets dressed and get her show and tell at the same time. I went back to sleep.

I got up about ten. Matt told me he and Rose had a talk in the car about listening and she, very sincerely, said she was sorry about not getting her socks and shoes on, and she’d do better. It was nice to hear things weren’t as tense in the car. What amazed me, though, is that Matt remembered how to get to the school by himself – he’d only been there once, and he doesn’t do much driving around home – and he got to the babysitter’s too, without calling me. I know Rose could have guided him to school but Christian, although he’s saying “Hi” and “Bye,” could never have gotten him to the babysitter’s house.

So Matt peacefully worked from home while I waited to yak. Once that was over, my stomach felt better, but all of my joints ached and my head was killing me. I went back to bed, but couldn’t sleep. Came out and watched a movie Matt had recorded for me.

Then, when it was time to pick up the kids, Matt got out on time, and he got back and nobody was crying. Unbelievable! He sent both of them to their naps and we had peace again, while I finished my movie.

I went back to bed when they got up but I was worried. Either I fell asleep right away or there was no yelling but Matt seemed to handle them all right. I got up at dinnertime and he had the kids eating tacos at the table and talking to Grandma on the phone. I had some rice. I still wasn’t up to handling the kids, but I hung out until 8:00 and went back to bed.

I can’t believe how well Matt did. The last time I’d seen him with the kids all day, I was there and he still had a huge blow-up by 1 p.m. Every time this happened, I’d think, wishfully, How could I go on a book tour? I know, I don’t have a book out yet, but I am close enough to dream about it. I could never go on one of these “girls’ weekends” I’ve heard so much about, I’d think. I could never visit my BFF in New York.

But now, a whole world of possibilities had opened up for me. Oddly enough, my BFF had called the night I got sick, in a crisis situation – just the kind I’d want to fly back for. Maybe Matt COULD handle the kids for a few days. Maybe I COULD go on that book tour. And then I heard “GET IN YOUR ROOM NOW! I DON’T EVEN WANT TO SEE YOU RIGHT NOW!” coming from the living room, and I thought, Naaaaah!


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Starving an Obsession

Posted on January 8, 2012 by admin

My husband, Matt, spent Tuesday night at a bar watching the big bowl game for his alma mater, Virginia Tech. He was with a bunch of other Tech alums, and they all cared about the game. I stayed home with the kids that night, and you know what? I didn’t mind at all.

Matt’s obsession with Tech football is beyond my comprehension. The man is freakin’ crazy. So crazy that he talks to me about Tech ball all the time. He knows how little I care. I don’t even listen to be polite anymore but the guy just won’t get the hint. He even backs up game footage for me to see key plays.

I went to the University of South Florida and, though they have a pretty good team now, they did not have football when I was there. So I never watched college football – never cared, still don’t. He is constantly telling me “You guys beat Notre Dame,” and I say, “Who’s YOU?” Then he explains that “you” is “my” team. I’m glad they’ve got a good program now, but their wins mean nothing to me.

Back to Matt. When we first started dating, he took me to a Tech game. We met some friends down in Blacksburg, Virginia, tailgated and watched the game. The game was a blowout, the stands were freezing; the highlight was the fun we had spiking our sodas with smuggled liquor. But all in all, it was fun. And Matt jumping up and down screaming at the top of his lungs for his team was appropriate to the situation. Afterwards, we went to the book store to buy Tech gear. I was totally onboard. Matt was overjoyed that I willingly participated in his self-proclaimed crazy obsession.

I didn’t watch any other Tech games with Matt at the beginning of our relationship. We were both Dolphins fans, so when we watched football together, it was NFL. After about six months of dating, Matt’s apartment “allegedly” caught fire (but that’s another story) and he moved in with me. That’s when I saw his true maroon and orange. Every Saturday, and some Thursday nights, he’d watch a game, jumping up and down and screaming “COME ON REF! HOLDING!” or “BLOCK IN THE BACK! WHAT THE HELL?” Then he’d tell me, in great detail, how the officials cheated for the other team. This happened – happens — every single game.

So I went from liking the game experience to hating the drama every Saturday. The years went by. We got married and got a house so we didn’t have to be in the same room during games. Then we moved to Seattle. When we bought our house here, we specifically chose it because of its potential for a Man Cave. Matt created that Man Cave – bar at one end, maroon couch with orange pillows at the other. I told him that the Man Cave was his place to watch Tech games and he heartily agreed.

Well, Matt does not watch his games in the Man Cave. I think that in the three years we’ve lived in the house, he’s watched maybe four games down there. He prefers to watch games in my living room. And it makes me miserable. Instead of having his lunacy safely tucked away downstairs, it’s flagrantly displayed up here, where I could be watching “Sex and the City” if this maniac wasn’t taking up my space.

But I guess I should be happy about his personal interest in the game. One of the big issues in my last marriage was that my ex-husband had no interests of his own. He said he liked dressing up all medieval and sword-fighting, but he never made an effort to pursue it during our relationship. I hated carrying the burden of all of his social and entertainment needs. I had softball, and he had nothing to do with that. In fact, if he attended a game he’d read until I got up to bat. I finally told him not to come to games at all. And it was good to feel like I had my own thing.

Once I shooed my ex off the bleachers I enjoyed softball more, probably because it was mine again. And that’s why I have issues with Matt’s Virginia Tech obsession. He tries to include me in it even though he knows I’m not interested. And I don’t want to be included.

I love his obsession as long as he enjoys it without me. And that’s what happened this week. When we first moved to Seattle, he’d go to a bar every Saturday and watch games with other Tech fans. And I loved it. But once the kids came, he had this crazy idea that he needed to be home “for the children,” even though he’d wake them up with all of his crazy yelling. He has taken advantage of the time at home, though. This year he stained the living room ceiling while listening to games on the radio. And he does take the kids to the gym some game days, to give me time to write the blog. (He wanted me to say that. What he didn’t want me to say is that those times, the game’s not on TV here so it doesn’t really matter.)

So this week, when he asked if I’d mind his trip to the bar, I said no, not at all. I’m hoping I can encourage his outside interest to stay outside our home, but unfortunately, this is the last chance I’ll get until next season. I’m thinking of launching a campaign to make him watch “Sex and the City,” by backing up to key scenes and discussing the girls’ love lives with him at length, asking questions about “a guy’s perspective.” If that doesn’t work, I plan to redecorate the Man Cave as a writing room with my antique typewriter, bookcase and framed articles on the walls. Or maybe a dress-up room for Rose, complete with princess castle. If that doesn’t work, I’ll be the one to go to a bar during his games.


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“Is there more?”

Posted on December 31, 2011 by admin

Christian's Christmas cache

I’ve coined a new phrase: Shower the gifts and spoil the child. I told it to the family in many different ways, before Christmas, but they must have misunderstood me. They must have thought spoiling was the objective and not the problem.

It all started Christmas day. The kids woke up, headed for the tree, and stopped to take it in. There was a treasure chest for Rose and a ride-on construction truck and a pirate ship for Christian. Rose, remembering our threats the night before when she was acting up, was really happy that Santa came at all. (We’d been using Santa as a discipline tool for months and he was losing his edge.) She opened her treasure chest and found a Princess Jasmine Barbie doll and accessories, a Disney Princess notebook and a sheet of Princess magnets.

“I didn’t even tell Santa I wanted this,” she exclaimed, holding the still-boxed doll, her eyes wide, “He knew!” She took out her notebook and magnets and examined them. She was happy. We showed Christian how to ride his toy and immediately he started pushing the buttons, making driving and construction sounds. He was happy.

I wish Christmas morning could have ended there.

We broke their reverie by telling them, “There’s more. You’ve got gifts from Yiaya.” We hadn’t put them under the tree because we wanted to distinguish each set of gifts and their sender. We also feared getting robbed – no thief would have been able to help himself if he saw how many presents we had.

So Matt went downstairs and made his way through the box and gift-bag-stuffed guest room and brought up Yiaya’s gifts. Rose opened the box of four specialty Barbies – Doctor Barbie, Ballerina Barbie, Veterinarian Barbie and some other Barbie – and waved it around. “Barbies!! Look Mommy, Barbies!!” She unwrapped three more gifts, squealing about each one, and we were done with Yiaya’s batch of toys. Christian opened his gifts and went back to his construction truck until we could get the new ones out of their plastic prisons.

Rose was happy. She asked us to free her Barbies from their plastic pods, but then we said, “There’s more.”

“More?” she said, wide-eyed as Matt went downstairs.

“These are from Grandma,” Matt said as he struggled to find the steps under a mound of boxes and bags. “I’ve got to go back down for Christian’s,” he said, as he dumped the haul in front of Rose.

Rose opened a “Little Mermaid” baby doll, at least two “My Little Ponies,” some clothes, a huge Barbie Winnebago, and others too numerous to remember, all from Grandma. Christian opened a “Little People” safari truck, an animated Cookie Monster, some clothes and a “Thomas the Tank Engine” self-propelling train, and some other stuff I can’t remember. Matt left three large toys intended for Christian downstairs so Rose wouldn’t think that he got more than she.

When Rose finished opening Grandma’s presents, she asked, “Is there more?”

My greedy little girl. “Yes there are,” Matt said, heading downstairs. When he came up he told her they were from her aunt, uncle and cousin.

My brain was so fried at this point, I don’t even remember what they got, but at the end, when Rose was surrounded by a haul even royalty would envy, she said again, “Is there more?”

“No, Sweetie, that’s it,” we said.

“Awwww!!” She said, stomping her foot.

Therein lies the problem.

Where was the little girl we were so proud of? The one who was happy with five gifts for Christmas? Where was the little girl who was grateful that Santa stopped at our house after all? Where was our sweet girl who was delighted with Jasmine? Washed away by the tsunami of Christmas gifts, that’s where.

Grandparents like to “spoil” their grandchildren, but usually spoiling just means giving/allowing something that Mom and Dad wouldn’t. They do not intend to make their grandchildren selfish, materialistic, ungrateful brats. But that is what happened at our house. Rose was happy with her Santa gifts. We should have stopped there and given the rest of the toys away. That would have been responsible parenting. But we knew how much the grandmas wanted to give the presents they sent; and we wanted to give them credit for sending them; and, more important, if we didn’t how would we handle that uncomfortable Christmas phone call?

We didn’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings. It turns out that we spared feelings at the expense of our children. It’s true that the more you have, the more you want. Someone once told me that it’s impossible to explain appetizers and desserts to someone from the Third World. They’re just happy to have food at all.

Rose asks for dessert every night. While I don’t want my kids to know Third World poverty, I do want them to know gratitude. And if such a bounty is thrust upon them every birthday and Christmas, they’ll learn to expect it. And they won’t be grateful, they’ll keep asking for more.

I don’t fault the grandparents for wanting to “spoil” their grandchildren. It doesn’t help that they live all the way across the country, and most of the time, giving gifts is often the only grand-parenting they can do. Good-natured “spoiling” is ok, but what we see every Christmas is destructive. I’m sure they don’t want their grandchildren to become insatiable materialistic brats. And I’m sure that they want their grandchildren to learn gratitude. But what their grandmas really want them to appreciate is their grandparent relationship. And relationships are born out of love, shared experiences, and wisdom. Maybe we need to read “The Grinch” to them on Christmas Eve. Maybe the’d see that grandmas don’t come from a store, grandmas, perhaps, mean a little bit more.*

*Adapted from “The Grinch Who Stole Christmas,” by Dr. Seuss.


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We Wish You a Stress-Free Christmas!

Posted on December 24, 2011 by admin

It may be too late to bitch about Christmas, but if I can save even one person holiday heartache now or next year, it’ll be worth it.

You either love the holiday season or you hate it, but one thing transcends your opinion. No matter your view of the holidays, you’re always busy – too busy if you ask me. You think it’s necessary but it’s not. It’s really not necessary to make yourself crazy stressed just because Christmas is coming, or Chanukah or Kwanzaa, but mostly Christmas. Let’s face it, the other holidays don’t demand half as much as Christmas does. So here’s my plan to streamline your holiday season.

Trim the fat. So many things you do during the Christmas season are unnecessary. Take Christmas cards. Do you really have to take on the task of writing and addressing cards to 52 of the friends you see daily on Facebook anyway? And it’s one thing if you write personal messages. I know someone who still does this and I admire the shit out of her – not enough that I would want to do it, but I do admire her. All but one of the cards we’ve received are addressed to us and signed by hand. That’s it. Do I really need a card to tell me that we’re still friends or family? And don’t tell me you’re thinking of me during the holidays. I know you’re really thinking, Dammit, I’ve got to get these F-ing cards out! And it’s worse for people who send holiday pictures. It’s nice to see how they’re aging and their kids are growing, but they went that extra step to get their family portrait taken. Again, I admire them but wouldn’t want to be them.

My solution for Christmas cards? Don’t bother. I know you’re thinking of me when you’re reading my Facebook status, and whenever something reminds you of me. That’s enough for me. If you really feel the need to reach out and touch someone, send an email , but not an e-card because no one trusts those anymore. It’s totally cool if you want to contact me after the holidays, when things calm down. I almost feel guilty receiving your cards because I know you worked hard on them and I’m going to throw them away after Christmas. Don’t make yourself crazy.

Another thing you don’t need to do is take Santa pictures. I expect some controversy for saying it, but do we need them? I recently found eight Santa pictures from two years ago in a desk drawer. We never sent them to anyone. Nobody ever saw them. This year we didn’t take them. I know I run the risk of hearing “Why didn’t we ever take Santa pictures?” from my kids, but unless you get in before Thanksgiving, you’re going to wait an hour or more and your kids will be cranky and you’ll buy expensive pictures that you’ll never see again. I may rethink that next year if I get in line in time but for now, who needs ‘em?

Christmas cookies. That’s right. I said it. I have heard so many people talk about the stressors of getting the cookies done in time that I’ve deemed cookies unnecessary. Buy them. They make perfectly adequate Christmas cookies and you can get them at any store. If they must be “homemade,” get the refrigerated cookie dough with the snowman and tree insets that you could never have made yourself. That cuts your time down from hours to minutes. Totally worth skipping.

Christmas events. These, in my opinion, are the fun parts of the holidays, but to some, they’re not. Simple rule. If going to holiday office parties, special concerts, or Christmas villages stresses you out, don’t do it. If you do, pick and choose, and skip the ones that happen during the last week of the Christmas rush.

There you have it. Hereditary Insanity’s stress reduction plan for the holiday season. I know it’s last-minute, but now you have all year to rethink your Christmas activities. I hope that the culmination of your holiday season brings you something – whether it’s joy or relief.

Happy Holidays!


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Lying, Cheating and Stealing

Posted on December 17, 2011 by admin

Rose wants an American Girl doll. If you’re not familiar with them, they’re high-end dolls that can be customized to your tastes and there are tons of expensive accessories to go with them. They’re really not that different from regular dolls, except that they have that je ne sais quoi (French for marketing) that makes every girl want them.

I had no intention of buying one. I really didn’t. But then came the pacifier challenge. Rose had to quit using her pacifier, and I happened to discuss the issue with one of the country’s leading childcare experts (one of the perks of writing magazine articles), and he suggested we use an incentive program. What did Rose want more than anything? That’s right. An American Girl doll. Normally, I wouldn’t buy my four-year-old a 48-dollar doll, but given a choice between her and orthodontia, the doll, although not covered by dental insurance, seemed much more economical.

So we began the process of quitting the pacifier. We did not make her cut down on use. We’d already gone down that road and we’d already backslid, so we really needed to cut out the pacifier altogether. The only real problem area was sleeping. Rose really needed the pacifier to fall asleep, but we dug in our heels and she went to bed without a paci. The first couple of nights were hell. She cried and whined, “I want a paaaaaciiii,” but we didn’t crack.

I kept going into her bedroom and saying, “Do you want the American Girl doll?”

She’d creak, “Yeeeess.”

“Well, if you go two weeks without a paci, then you can have the doll,” I’d say.

“Ohhh kaaaay,” she’d say, frowning.

Once she got over the initial shock of it, she was doing really well. The last time we’d tried to give up the paci, she’d steal her brother’s pacifiers, out of his mouth, waking him up in the middle of the night. This time, we put a child lock on the outside of his door so she couldn’t get in. We also told her that Christian would be giving up his pacifier too.

“Christian doesn’t get a paci either?” she asked, worried about her source, but pleased that her brother had to suffer.

“No, he won’t,” we said, and we fully intended to wean him off of his pacifier.

But we didn’t. Christian isn’t the good sleeper that Rose was. He’s fifteen months old and his sleeping pattern goes through cycles. He’ll sleep through the night for a week at a time, and then he’ll get a new tooth and he’s back to waking up at 2 or 3 a.m. We are desperately trying to train him to sleep through the night and to take away his pacifier during this process would be devastating to all concerned.

For a while, we told Rose that Christian would indeed give up his paci, and we meant it, but then he got three teeth at once and we needed that sucker so badly that weaning him was out of the question. Rose was on top of this and she began to steal pacis, just like last time we tried to quit.

She’s a really smart kid, but she’s not very good at deception. Every time she had a paci, she’d tell me, “I don’t want songs or a hug,” before bed. Or “I don’t need a book” before her nap. And up until just recently, she’d hide the purloined pacifier under her pillow, every time, making it pretty easy to find when I went in to take it away. Did I take it away every time? No. I did at night, but naps were so tenuous that sometimes I just let her fall asleep with a paci and pulled it out of her mouth when she was sleeping. Sometimes I didn’t even do that. But when I found her with a paci, I’d tell her, “Well, now your two weeks for your American Girl doll start over.”

“Nooooo,” she’d cry.

“I didn’t make that choice. You did,” I’d say, as she burst into tears.

Well, after a month, Rose is still stealing pacifiers every chance she gets, but we’ve gotten sneakier about hiding them. So I’d say she sleeps with a paci about 20 percent of the time now. We know that until Christian quits using his paci, Rose won’t quit either, but we just cannot afford to interrupt his sleep right now, or ever, unless he somehow develops a consistent sleep pattern. At first, Rose was angry that he still had his paci and she couldn’t have hers, but she quickly saw the advantage. So she won’t complain about the inequity anymore. What bothers me is that we lied to her. We didn’t mean to. We really thought we’d wean Christian off of his paci too, but given a choice between sleep and no sleep, we just couldn’t.

When Rose was younger, I always kept my word to her. It was a point of pride to me. I said I won’t lie to my little girl. Now it’s “I wanna hear the SpongeBob songs!” and “I’m sorry, Sweetie, that CD’s not in the player right now and I’m driving.” It is in the player. I just don’t want to hear it. But that’s a lie she believes. When we failed to wean Christian off the paci when we swore we would, we went back on our word, and she knows that. I want her to trust us, and how can she if she knows we lie?

Maybe it’s not such a big deal to her. Maybe this is that earth-shattering moment when she realizes that we’re not perfect, although we’ve given her countless opportunities to learn that already. It had to happen sooner or later, right? I just hope that since our lie works to her advantage, she won’t focus on the fact that we lied. Instead, she’ll focus on the fact that she can still have a pacifier once in a while. That’s not such a bad compromise, is it?


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You take the good, you take the bad

Posted on December 12, 2011 by admin

Be careful what you wish for, especially if you wish for a family. Nothing prepares you for parenting. Well, maybe those of us from big families are better prepared, having more experience with kids. And maybe preschool teachers are better able to deal with tantrums and potty training. But the vast majority of us have no idea what we’re getting into.

Take last week, for example. I had just finished reading Rose’s bedtime stories when she told me, “I have a bead up my nose.” Since she waited so long to tell me, I was inclined not to believe her. We went out to see her father. “I have a bead up my nose. A red one.”

Since she told Matt, the disciplinarian, about the bead, and added the detail, the story sounded more believable. Matt took it seriously right away. He had her hold one nostril and try to blow it out the other a dozen times before we called her doctor, who, incidentally, had closed just fifteen minutes earlier. The doctor told us to take her to the emergency room. Had Rose told us 15 minutes earlier, we’d be paying for an office visit, not a trip to the ER. But that’s how it went down.

On their way out, “What were you thinking?” Matt demanded of Rose.

“It was for Mommy,” she said.

“Rose, if you want to give something to Mommy, you put it in your pocket, not your nose,” I said.

“Now we have to go to the hospital because you put the bead up your nose,” he said. “I can’t believe you,” he said.

“Are they gonna cut me open?” she asked, because Matt, trying to get her to cooperate at home, had told her that’s what the hospital would do.

“Maybe,” he said. Good luck getting her to cooperate now, I thought. He took her to the hospital while I stayed home with our son. I thought about his attitude and what he had said. Did he really believe that this was an unusual act? How come I knew that kids did this all the time and he didn’t? And why get mad? Aside from the fact that it wasn’t helping, what did he think he signed up for when he decided to have a family? Did he have some Norman Rockwell vision of doting children seated at his knee, smiling as he read to them? I think he did. He has very little tolerance for defiance or tantrums or his favorite nemesis, “not listening.”

Well, parenting isn’t the cover of the Saturday Evening Post. When you decide to become a parent, you are signing up for everything – the good, the bad and the unexpected. You sign up for dirty diapers, picky eating, tantrum throwing, broken bones, broken hearts, broken furniture, and the bills that come along with them. You also sign up for first laughs, first words, first days of school, lots of “I love you”s, hugs, kisses, bedtime stories, home runs, touchdowns, gold stars, and the pride and the love that comes with all of it.

But a lot of parents don’t get it. They want all the good stuff, without the bad. They don’t realize that kids are there day in, day out, and we have to deal with every whine, every cry and every tantrum. When you get married, they go through the spiel about “in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer,” etc. and you agree to it. They should have a similar ceremony in the delivery room, or better yet, at conception. As a parent, you can’t pick and choose your experience. You have to take everything as it comes. And if that means taking your kid to the ER with a bead up her nose, you do it.

Two days later, same bead, another emergency room, I answered some routine questions about Rose. Does she have any chronic illness? No. Has she ever been hospitalized? No. Is she on any medications for any condition? No.

As I answered the questions, I thought about all the parents who had to say “yes” to them, and I thought I was pretty damn lucky to have a kid whose only problem was a bead up her nose. I hope I never have to say “yes,” and I have a tremendous respect for the parents who do. I’m sure they could tell me a thing or two about taking life as it comes. I think my close friend, a single mom whose child is now grown, summed up parenting best. I told her that I could never have raised a child alone, without any help, and she shrugged and said, “You do what you have to do.” That about covers it. You do what you have to do.


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Late Post

Posted on December 11, 2011 by admin

I will be posting on Monday this week. I spent all day yesterday at the hospital while they tried to get a bead out of my daughter’s nose. I’m just too exhausted to write today. I apologize.


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