9 Reasons I *Will* Make My Kids Share

Over on Scary Mommy, I read an article entitled 9 Reasons Why I Won't Make My Kids Share.

I was pretty interested in reading the author's thoughts. I still have things to learn, and am open to new ideas about this whole parenting experiment.

But I have to tell you, I found her reasoning largely unconvincing and somewhat shortsighted. I understood some of where she was coming from, but felt like she painted an incomplete portrait of childhood and life in general.

At one point she likens sharing to having a barista tell you, an adult, to give your laptop to someone else to play with.

What?

I think it's much more like when I go to the gym and jump on the treadmill. If there is someone waiting, I need to limit my time on that treadmill to 20 minutes. Sure, I could be a total jackass and stay on, and screw all of those other people. But I'm not.

And I'd rather my kids weren't either.

So, I thought I'd answer the post.

Here are my 9 Reasons I Will Make My Kids Share:

1. Because playing with toys is not like baking a cake. Toys in our house are often communal property, since buying one for every child would be prohibitively expensive. It's fair that they shouldn't be allowed to monopolize something that other people would like a turn with.

2. Because they're not the center of the universe. With the exception of the computer, my kids rarely get sucked into an activity that someone then wants. What happens far more often is that child 2 goes to play with something that has been abandoned by child 1, and child 1 upon realizing that said toy is now desired by someone else, now has to have it back. Because now it's the best toy ever.

I would really like them to understand that they're not always going to get what they want.

3. Because teaching them to share isn't throwing them under the bus. It's parenting them. I hope my kids love playing with toys that expand their imagination, and encourage their creativity. But I also want them to be able to consider the feelings of others.

4. Because it's normal. We absolutely do share as adults. I share my food, my home, my car, my bed, my bathroom (though my husband might argue that I monopolize it), and so much more with the crazy people who live in my house, and that dude I promised to spend my life with.

Yes, we share. From gym equipment, to taking turns at the checkout counter, to zipper merging on the freeway, sharing is a vital life skill.

5. Because I am interested in fair. The world is not fair, and it won't be. But they can be. We can try our best. It can be a value we strive for. Because we recognize when it isn't fair, and I don't want my children just to accept injustice as a fact of life. I want my children to always work to correct it.

6. Because teaching them to take turns and share, gives me the opportunity to teach about choices and consequences. If you choose to take something without asking, or if you choose not to let someone have a turn with something special that they'd like to play with, there are logical and natural consequences.

If you grab it out of someone's hands, that's rude, and you don't get it at all. If you are refusing to take turns and share with someone, then later, when you want them to share with you, they won't want to.

7. Because sharing and taking turns can actually help them learn vital negotiation skills and set boundaries. This isn't bullshit, either. I have watched my kids negotiate how long they will have with a given item, and work it out between them, only coming to me to set a timer for them. That is a beautiful thing.

8. Because while they might still learn to cooperate, sharing isn't always about cooperation, per se. It can be, but sometimes it's just about seeing that everyone has a chance, and that everyone's needs are met.

Besides, these little lessons, are good practice for later, when they really don't want to get off the treadmill at the gym. Or you know, go to school.

9. Because I definitely want to create nicer people. I believe that sometimes kids have to learn that the answer is "no" and that they can't have it right now. But sharing isn't about taking away from one and giving to another.  It's about making sure they both get a chance to play with something.

It's about teaching them that sometimes they have to wait, and sometimes they have to stop.  Because taking turns and sharing requires both of those things. And while it might require a little more work than just throwing one's hands up and saying that sharing isn't important at all, I think it's worth it.

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The Tiger Cubs Go To The Fire Station

It sounds like a nice story, doesn't it? Like a childrens book, beautifully illustrated with information about fire safety, and helpful firefighters.

But this was about a dozen 6 and 7 year old boys.  The blog post really should be entitled The Tiger Cubs Go To The Fire Station And Chaos Ensued.

Knowing what Quinn is like with the other Scouts, I went over some ground rules with him before we even got there. Even with said ground rules established, he still needed reminders during the trip.

I don't know if other parents took the time to do the same, but it sure didn't seem like it.

Which, really, may just be the pull of insanity that grips a bunch of little boys like that. Or maybe dads don't always think of that as often as moms do. I'm not sure.

I know their Den Leader didn't go over any rules. Maybe the thought hasn't occurred to him, and I should bring it up. He's a great Den Leader, but with that many kids, you just have to make sure everyone is on the same page.

We let them run around a bit outside, first. I had hoped it would release some of their energy.

No luck.

Inside, the noise level was unbelievable.

If I were to assign a numeric value to each boys volume, I'd say each was at a 4 out of ten. Just all by themselves.

But if you put 3 boys together, each at a 4 volume, you don't end up with 12 volume. You end up with 36 volume.

The accumlative effect of them is mind boggling.

Still, the tour was wonderful. The boys were, well, little boys.

They explained to the firemen how their own equipment worked. Because they might not know. They're only firemen. Not educated young men like our Sweet Scouts.

They told the firemen that they should be allowed to slide down the poles, as they'd slid down way taller ones before. And they've never been hurt. Kids don't understand words like "liability" and "City policy."

They asked important questions like "Has there ever been a fire in the firestation?" and "Has there ever been a fire on the firetruck?" which begs the question, what kind of firemen do they think we have here? Not very good ones, if they're setting their own fire station and vehicles on fire!

There was a little hitting, some not listening, more trying to impress the firefighters with their vast 6 and 7 year old knowledge of fire.  And there was so much chaos of boys this way and that way, and utterly refusing for the most part to just shut their sweet little yaps.

Then there was a call, and that was it, the tour was over. Our brave heroes had to go off and do something bravely heroic. Honestly, I think they might have been secretly thrilled. The sirens couldn't be as loud as the kids.

I'm still awfully glad I got to go. It's so much fun to watch the kids take it all in. Quinn even said that after becoming a baseball player, he might like to be a firefighter, and a police officer, oh, and a doctor.

He has one very busy life ahead of him.

And I got to see the cute firemen. Turns out, they have to buy their own groceries, and sometimes they get called away in the middle of their shopping. Then they have to go back and do it again.

I think they need a den mother. Someone who can shop for them. And bake them brownies. And you know, I could do that job. Out of the pure goodness of my heart. Because I'm such a nice person.

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One Nation, Indivisible

I used to dream of imparting wisdom to my children.

"Mother" they would say, "Mother, explain to us the ways of the universe, and educate us as only you can."

I, their mother, would gaze at them, lovingly, and explain the great mysteries of the world, while taking joy from watching their eyes fill with understanding.

Clearly, I had this dream was before I ever had children.

Reality turns out more like this:

"Look, Mom, an American flag!" Quinn's voice bursts out behind me in the van on the way to a Cub Scout dinner. After some discussion about the flag, then the Pledge of Allegiance, and how I use to think it said, "one nation, invisible", we came to their "great mystery" of the day:

"What does 'indivisible' mean?" my seven year old asked. I gripped the wheel and thought about how to explain it in a way he could understand.

"Well, Quinn, you have two legs, two arms, a head and a torso, right? These are different parts of your body. But they can't be taken apart. Together, they form your one body. Quinn's body. And you are 'indivisible'" I smiled, probably a little smugly, proud of my own quick thinking.

Though I couldn't see his face, I could just imagine the look of understanding that was surely passing across it.

"Well," he started, shattering my mental picture, Because the second he started speaking, I knew from the tone, that he was about to pull what I'd just said apart. "Someone could cut me up, with a big knife or a sword." I could feel the wheels begin spinning rapidly in my brain, screaming for extra coffee, and desperately thinking of how to respond to that while simultaneously erasing such a thought from my head.

"Well, not without a lot of bloodshed and pain!"

This was not the right answer. And we both knew it.

"But still, a really big sword and it could..."

And this is when I stopped the conversation, reminded of my place in this world.

Some days I kill it at the mom thing. Other days, it's a battle of wits, and I have left all of mine somewhere else. They remind me that I'm not as smart as I think I am. And while I hate to admit it, that's probably a good thing.

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And Liam Was His Name-O

My BFF's 3 year old daughter can spell her last name. It's seven letters long. And again, she's 3.

That child is so amazingly bright and talented. She is a joy to all who love her. Seriously, there's nothing snarky here, she's just a great kid.

But there are things that she can do that it would never occur to me to expect from Liam. He's the same age, but...come on. The kid's got a unique kind of brain. The things he learns, they take different paths.

It turns out, however, that his capacity for learning goes far beyond my expectations of him. And so, he keeps blowing my mind with things it would never have occurred to me that he might know how to do.

Today at lunch I was trying to work, and (like usual), he was trying to type on the keyboard with me.

"W W W" he said, "wa, wa, wa."

"That's right, W says wa" I answered him with a teensy hint of annoyance. I had things to get done, and I really just wanted him to eat his food and go take a nap. But I don't want to discourage him. I'm excited about his love of letters and numbers.

"Q Q Q" he continued, "qwah qwah qwah."

I was starting to tire slightly of my alphabet lesson, pretty sure I had them mastered over 30 years ago, but was still going along, hoping he'd be done soon, when he completely threw me.

"Liam," he said, "L-I-A-M. Liam."

I think this was something like the face I made:


What?!?
My 3 year old may not be able to spell his last name, but I'm pretty damned excited that he can spell his first name.

Sure, he may think that the main function of my phone is to take his picture. And he's still banging his head against the wall as if it were a job for which he would be paid. But my little boy is learning. And he's learning some things so much faster than we ever expected. I'm so ridiculously proud of him.

We've got to take the wins when we get them. Right? And I think it's important to remember that, special needs or not, we can't underestimate our kids. They're capable of so much more than we realize. And how much more could they do, if they knew how much we believe in them?


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The Best Things About Kids' Shows

Piper, 12, was in her school play tonight. It was the second night, and a free show for all who attended.

Broadway it was not. Adorable though? They had that going on.

The show was School House Rock, Live! and took us through a teacher's first day, with all the songs that helped her to teach her students.

As I sat there in the audience, surrounded by other parents, friends, and students, I started thinking of the things I enjoy about my kids shows.

1. Mistakes.
Kids don't have error free shows. Well, at least not normal kids in normal Middle School settings. There are errors, and watching them cover for those mistakes, is sometimes the most fun you have in the show. Tonight one little girl got up at the wrong time, for the wrong song. She looked at the main character, told her she looked good, and sat back down. If 20 other kids hadn't been loudly whispering to her that it was the "wrong song" it would have almost been a part of the show.

2. Smiling, or lack thereof
I think there's a rule that directors remind the kids about 1000 times in rehearsal to smile during the show. I find it hilarious to watch that reminder war inside of them with the desire to remember their lines, music, and choreography, and to deliver them correctly. So, they'll look deeply contemplative, singing their hearts out, then they'll smile at strange interludes. Because the director said to smile, and they just that moment remembered that they should.

3. Watching them not get sick
I'm sure someone somewhere actually does get sick. And for them, I have nothing but sympathy. Most kids I notice, however, never do. They just look like they're about to. Then they forget that they feel sick, and smile like the director told them to, then look sick again. I find it adorably endearing.

4. Pure joy
I love it when the kids get to a number that they truly enjoy. The smiling becomes more frequent, and they give it the gusto that is often distinctly lacking in other parts of the show. Their joy is contagious, and whatever number it is, immediately becomes my favorite. I love that they take joy in drama and music, which gave me such a sense of belonging as a kid.

It is fun for me, to see what experiences my children are drawn toward, and to support them as they explore them. And way to go Piper and all her classmates. Well done, guys!

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I'm Not Better Because I'm At Home

This award, it isn't a thing. There's no medal, no award, and no blue ribbon for a job well done.

Neither are there guarantees that what you do is going to provide you with the kid you always dreamed of.

But the reason that there is no Best Mom Award, is that it's not a competition.

I was reading an article today by Lydia Lovric called, "Dear Daughter, This Is Why I Don't Work." and was really bothered by a few things she said.

First of all, Stay At Home Moms work very hard. I know I'm up early, and often I don't get to bed until late.

There's school drop off, pick ups, practice for the school play, clubs, cub scouts, baseball, PTO, Special Education Advisory Committee, meals, shopping, cleaning, laundry, and so freaking much more. I am amazed I don't forget half the things I'm required to do, or that I've volunteered to help with.

Add to that I work part-time from home, and am trying to launch my Scentsy business (see sidebar for a link if you're interested) and I work almost all the time. But even if I weren't doing those things, I would be ridiculously busy. Being a mom is work, whether you have a job, or you're at home.

But that's not really what I take issue with in her piece. She says:

Recently, I came across an article written by Sasha Emmons, the Editor-in-Chief at Today's Parent, who made a startling confession about her eight-year-old daughter: "Not long ago you asked me if I love work more than I love you and your brother," she wrote in a piece titled "Dear Daughter, Here's Why I Work."

Such a question would break my heart and crumple my sense of pride and self-worth.

I think it's a pretty normal question for a kid. My kids have asked all sorts of questions like that. They don't really think I love anything, or anyone, more than I love them. They're just re-affirming their place in the world. It's an opportunity for a discussion, like so many things kids ask and say.You sit down, pull them close, explain how and why they're important to you, and ask what brought up the question, answering any more they might have. And then ask if there's something they'd like to do with you.

I call it parenting.

The mom who was asked that question, Sasha Emmons, I thought had some really great answers. Answers that affirmed that she was a person with her own desires and interests, and could continue to be that while still being their mom.

Well done, Sasha.

Lovric continues, with a harsh judgement of what I thought was Emmons' lovely response:

But Emmons -- who admits she left her daughter at just three months of age -- freely offers some rather selfish reasons for going back to work:

"I work because I love it."

"I work because scratching the itch to create makes me happy, and that happiness bleeds over into every other area, including how patient and engaged and creative a mother I am."

"I work because this nice house and those gymnastics lessons and those sneakers you need to have are all made possible by two incomes."

"I work because I want you and your brother to be proud of me."

Those are Emmons' words. Not mine.

The really harsh "left her daughter" comment makes it sound as if she abandoned her child to murderous circus clowns when she was barely old enough to hold her own head up. That tiny comment is fraught with a really disgusting attitude, and says so much more about Lovric than Emmons.

I have clients who are forced to go back to work when their babies are much younger. They're not selfish. They're just trying to survive. And I don't blame them for going back to work. I am instead frustrated with a system that creates a financial burden so heavy, that mothers are forced to go back to work when their babies are so young, and then shames them for somehow being bad mothers for doing so.

But, I honestly don't find Emmons' reasons selfish. I find them honest. Is she not allowed to love her work? Is it unacceptable for a person to find fulfillment and joy in  something they do? And, not that you have to have two incomes to survive, but I can tell you that without two full-time incomes in our house there aren't gymnastics lessons, and fancy sneakers. In fact, there's a lot of "No, we can't do that."

Don't get me wrong, I'm not always sorry about that. There are benefits and drawbacks to busy schedules. We hope that what they lack in lessons and activities, they make up for in relationships with their siblings. But I'm not going to lie, they do sometimes miss out because there are things we just plain can't afford to let them do.

Wanting to give your kids those things, isn't selfish. Neither is denying them. They're just different choices made by different parents, with different views of the world, and different priorities.

All that said, I loved Lovric's reasons for staying home:

I stay home because although I did love my job very much, I love you more.

I stay home because although writing and radio did make me extremely happy, I knew that you seemed happier when I was around. And your happiness was more important to me than my own. And making you happy also made me happy.

These are awesome reasons to stay home, if that is an option for your family. For so many, even though these things are true, that second income isn't about gymnastics and gym shoes. It's about a roof over their heads and food on the table. And I don't think any parent should ever feel guilty because they have to provide for their families.

Nor do I think any parent should feel guilty for following a career path that brings them joy, and allows that joy to spill over into their parenting.

I'm actually a big believer on abolishing the vast majority of parental guilt, which I find unnecessary.

Then she added this:

I stay home because I want you to learn that family and love are more important than material possessions. A large home or fancy sneakers will not make up for an absent mother.

Again, why the need to attack working mothers?  As I said, many moms work because they must. Will the food and clothing make up for the "absent mother"? Or does she not judge those who have to work?

And those who work because they love it? Well, why does that mean that they're absent?

Some families have a dad that stays home. Some people have amazing care-givers during the day, and when they're with their kids, they're so excited to spend time together. They have amazing experiences with their kids. There are also stay at home parents who are resentful and disconnected.

My parents were public school teachers. I would have loved to have had a stay at home parent. But I never felt like my parents were absent.

There isn't a one-size-fits-all answer to how to be a family, and I'm tired of women justifying their perfectly legitimate choices, at the expense of other women.

The feminists may not like it, dear daughter, but even if I made it to the very top of my profession, even if I drove a fancy company car and went on a slew of business trips, I would feel like an utter failure if any of my kids felt the need to ask me if I loved work more than I loved them.

I suppose it wouldn't have been complete without a subtle attack on feminism, while showing a complete misunderstanding of what the point of feminism is. That she would feel like a failure has everything to do with her seemingly myopic view of how to be a mother, and nothing at all to do with feminism.

As a feminist, I support the decision for her to stay home and care for her children. If that's what's best for her and for her family, I applaud her choice to make financial sacrifices and make that work.

My hope is that, should a time ever come when she has to, or would like to work, she is paid a fair wage, and not less because she is a woman. I would like her to walk down the street and have her personhood respected. And I would like her not to be demeaned as less of a woman, or less of a mother, because she works outside of the home.

In fact, there are a whole host of things I would like as a feminist. Not the least of which is a stop to the idea that there is only one right way to be a mother, only one right way to be a woman, or only one right way to raise a family.

It's not a competition.  

And I really wish that she could see that the ability to sit home and judge other mothers for not making the same choice she did, is an elitist luxury.

I'm so glad I've been home with my kids these last few years. But I would so much rather build up other moms, instead of making them feel doubtful or guilty about how they're doing things.

*****
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Life Is Sweet

Life is hard, sometimes. In big ways, and in small.

My son is going to graduate from High School soon. I can't slow it down, and I can't get a do-over for anything I might have screwed up along the way.

He's not going away to college. And I suppose I could get all bogged down in the idea that he's not doing something that other kids are, but you know, he's going to graduate. That's not true for all High School Seniors.

And there may be some who don't think that I have any right to complain about that. Because maybe their kids aren't graduating. But hey, at least they're healthy. They've got that.

Well, unless they don't. And those parents could easily look at the parents of a kid who isn't graduating and think that they have nothing to complain about.

Of course, some kids haven't made it to their senior year. For one reason or another, they're not here anymore, and their grieving parents wish they had their child, even unwell, to hold.

We've all got something to worry about, be nervous about, or be afraid of.

We've all also got something to rejoice over, be thankful for, and appreciate.

I read a blog recently of a mother who is skipping her child's graduation. I don't judge her choice. I can't say what the right thing is for her and her child. I just know that I read a lot in the comments that was very judgemental about "normal" parents and all the things they're worried about.

Not that I've never been guilty of this. There have been times it's been hard for me to watch my friends children doing things I don't know if mine ever will. But I can not get bogged down in the "whose pain is worse" game. No one ever wins at that, and you just feel dirty for having played it.

Life is hard. But none of us has a monopoly on hardship. And it's not always hard. We take turns with the hardship, like a horrific game of hot potato, passing it from one to another.

None of us will get to escape catching it at some point.

But life is also sweet, and full of unexpected joys. Liam asked me a whole question today, a whole sentence, with the word please at the end. My baby who I wasn't sure would make it, now asks me questions. He says "please" and "thank you." Sometimes he even tells me he loves me.

Like Natalie Merchant says, "I tell you, life is sweet, there's so much more, be grateful."

I have a lot to be grateful for, and I think I will be a much happier person if I live from that place, than one of jealousy and bitterness. And that's the only gift the "whose pain is worse" game has ever given me.

*****
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Things My Kids Can't Do When I'm Sick

I don't know if I'm sick.

Okay, let me explain. I was having a perfectly normal day, when all of a sudden I felt...weird.

As the day has gone on, I've progressively felt worse. Not a cold. Yet. Not the flu. Yet. But like my bones hurt, and that all the sleep in the world won't help because I'm not comfortable enough to sleep.

But I don't want to be sick. So, I'm trying not to say that I am.

Of course, I know I am. I'm totally sick. Hence the title of the blog.

So, since I can't sleep anyway, and there's stuff that just has to be done before another school week starts tomorrow, I've been working, and trying not to be insanely annoyed by things that usually wouldn't phase me.

Here are some things I'd like my kids not to do in my presence when I feel this way:

• Come to me with vague needs. Piper says Bridget isn't putting things in the right place. What things? Which places? What am I supposed to do? 
• Tell me different stories. Piper said Bridget wasn't putting things in the right place. Bridget said that Piper wanted her to organize the toys and she doesn't know how. Dominic said they were just mindlessly arguing. When I don't know what's happening, I can't help them fix it. And I can't tell you how much I don't feel like figuring it out.
• Dawdle. When I say I need something done, I don't mean tomorrow. I mean now. 
• Forget everything I've ever asked them to do regularly. This isn't the day to stop putting your dirty clothes down the laundry chute. No. This is the day to start doing it! 
• Argue. I don't have enough patience to decide how I feel about what my own body is doing. I don't have the patience to work out all of your issues or disagreements and make it all work for you. 
• Breathe and/or cry. Because I'm not rational. That's why.
• Need to eat. What's with all the "Oh, if I don't eat food I'll wither away to practically nothing?" I swear I feed them constantly when I feel fine, and they somehow survive on nothing but air, and the tiny amount of sunshine they're exposed to in Minnesota in the winter. But no, once I get sick, they're all hungry, all the time. 

This is when I'm exceptionally grateful for a husband who takes care of me. An amazing Bonus Kid, and a really easy Teen. With their help, no blood has been shed. And when I say no blood, I mean mine, which would come from repeatedly beating my head against the wall in frustration. 

Sometimes it's the little things that make me happy. 

And bedtime. Bedtime makes me super happy.

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I'm Going To Stop Saying, "Be Quiet!"

Brennan, 5, talks.

He talks in the morning. He talks in the afternoon. He talks in the evening.

After we send him to bed at night, he talks to his brothers until sleep beats him senseless, and he finally gives in.

But when he wakes up in the morning, it starts again. Almost like it never stopped.

My son's incessant chatter has become the background noise of my life.

We ran errands today and he showed at least 10 people his missing tooth.

I said, "Please be quiet."

He told one man that he would be old one day, and that mommy is old now.

I said, "Brennan, Baby, be quiet."

He said that one man had a beard, but he hoped he never had a beard because that wouldn't be right.

"Brennan! Be quiet!"

And so forth and so on, it continued until I considered filling my ear with coffee grounds and dryer lint. You know, the stuff I have lying around the house. Because clearly, asking the child to be quiet was not doing the job.

But I didn't.

Instead I started to think that maybe there was a way to turn the whole thing around.

Maybe the problem isn't that he's talking, but that I'm not listening.

Maybe he is filling our days with words in the hopes that I'll hear at least something that he's trying to tell me.

He's in bed now, and finally quiet.

I told him that I really wanted to hear what he has to say, and would he please lie down and think about what he wants to tell me tomorrow. And you know what? He did.

When he has forgotten, and started talking, I've asked if there is something he needs to tell me. I've asked if it's easy or hard to sleep while people are talking. And I've reminded him that he's going to think of all the important things he needs to tell me about.

It's actually been much better.

Maybe the problem with my pint-sized motor mouth is that it isn't his problem at all. I think it's mine.

I have to remember that they're children for a single hot minute. But just because they're small doesn't mean that they don't have anything valuable to say. In fact, when I think most about what Brennan tells me, it's that he loves me.

So my new experiment in motherhood is going to be to stop telling him to "be quiet", and instead asking him to tell me the most important thing in his mind at that moment.

I'll let you know how it goes.

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Do You Think My Head Will Actually Explode?

I'm somewhat immune to meltdowns.

After being Ciaran's mom for 9 years, with his Autism leading to puddle on the floor tantrums, and then Liam, with his neurological issues providing much of the same, I've learned to largely take a tantrum in stride.

It's not those crazy, fall-on-the-floor-and-freakout meltdowns that phase me anymore. I just stay calm and power through it.

No, what gets me is average kid illogic and over-reaction.

Take, for example, my sweet Brennan (5). He walked into my room freaking the fuck out this afternoon. I mean, screaming, tears running down his face, and inconsolable.

Clearly he'd been bitten by a rattlesnake, Or endured some other world-ending torture. So of course I let him calmly lay there scream-crying until he required enough breath that I could ask him which of these things had occurred.

So, what happened? "I pushed a button on the Nintendo Wii, and it didn't work!"

Um, seriously? This is what freaked you out so much? This is what led to you screaming on my bed for what felt like 2 weeks?

This is the kind of thing that might make my head explode.

Tonight he came to me super angry, because Quinn (7) told him that he was being rude.

I kind of wanted to give Quinn a medal. He said exactly what was wrong, without name-calling. I was so proud.

Brennan was less than thrilled with my advice. I told him to stop being rude.

No, it's not the big fits that will kill me. Those are my children who don't yet have the capability to cope, falling apart. They're having a hard time, and they need my calm love and support to get to the other side.

It will be my other kids and their completely over the top fits over little things. It will be the unwillingness to accept logical consequences for their actions. It will be the unwillingness to admit error. It will be their ability to forget that I know them deep into their souls, and can tell when they're full of crap.

It will be the everyday, average frustrations of parenting that ultimately drive me straight to crazy town.

The bonus is that, it's largely populated by other parents, and I hear there are amazing margaritas.

*****
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No Room For Mean

"I said, 'Mom apparently has no humor.'" Bridget answered my question, arms crossed, eyes looking up at me from a mildly scowling face.

Color me surprised! Me? No humor? Hey, my name's Mom, and I live to make you laugh. Have we not met before?

Okay, so I'm not having the best evening. It might be allergies, or I might be coming down with a cold. But either way, I'm not feeling quite myself. So, I was listening to my book while folding laundry. A great example of mommy-multitasking. And I hadn't heard what they were saying, and then, even when they repeated it for me, I didn't get their joke.

See, my daughters are 12 and 11, and their jokes are often based on inside jokes and information that they share with each other. Sometimes, outside of their sisterly dyad, they don't make a lot of sense. Of course, they think they're a laugh riot.

So, clearly this sarcastic and sassy mom just has no sense of humor.

I know it's not true. But it still stung. It was clearly meant as an insult. It said, "The problem, Mom, is not that our joke blows, but that there's something wrong with you."

Thanks, kid.

One of my kids likes to deflect real feelings. Usually this is done through humor. But when things get hard, it can fall to meanness instead.

Not the kind of mean that I am as their mom. You know, the kind of mean that is any parent who insists on consequences for actions. Seriously, if your kids never ever think you're mean, you might be doing it wrong.

The kind of mean that this particular child is indulging in is the kind that hurts feelings, and isn't funny for anyone. I happen to be a parent who places a premium on funny, and has no patience for mean. So, this isn't working for me.

There are some great ideas for explaining to kids the damage that words can do. Like, you can have them hammer nails into an orange, and then pull them out. You can take the nails out, but the damage is still done. It's a great visual.

But I've found that the most important thing is a no-tolerance policy. Feelings are okay. I won't ever tell anyone how to feel. But you have to communicate what you're actually feeling, and ask for what you actually want and/or need.

There's no room for mean.

It's not a lesson that's taught in one session, or one day. It's a lesson taught over and over again, not only when I stop said child and explain it, giving other tools and words that express their feelings better. It's also a lesson that's taught when I do the same. When I don't go to the first thing I want to say, that might be biting or sarcastic. And sarcasm is my second language.

I actually think the best way I can teach this, is through example. I must continue to do my best to never say things to my children that are intentionally hurtful or insulting. The easy thing to lash out with, is almost never the right thing to say.

I've learned to take a time out if I need it. Tonight I might even have some wine. But I will not insult or demean my children.

I will, however have a talk about how Mom has feelings too, and how I'm sorry if not getting the joke was hurtful. But it's not okay to talk to me that way. I'm a person, and I deserve to be treated with respect. The way I treat them.

In our house, there's always room for humor. But there's just no room for mean.

*****
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I'm Giving Up The Guilt

Mom guilt. It's a phenomenon that starts early.

Oh, did you not have a perfectly natural birth in a stream, with a wild deer in attendance, and a bodhran player providing the life rhythm that would guide your baby out into the world? What a shame.

Did you not breastfeed for the first seven years? That's too bad.

Did you not make your own organic food from the vegetables you grew in your organic hydroponic garden? That's really the best you know.

Did you cloth diaper? Only provide wooden toys, blessed by a shaman in the himalayas? Did you work? Did you stay home? Did you shout? Did you never shout? Did you use time out? Did you never do anything?

No matter what choices you've made as a mother, there is someone to judge them, and sometimes, the harshest judge we have, is ourselves.

We judge ourselves over the big things, sure. But the guilt that really slows us down is over the little things. Did we say the right thing? Did we handle things the right way?

Of course we want to do the best job possible. We wouldn't have this guilt if we didn't deeply feel the need to get this job done right.

But it's not doing me any good. Sure, it's fair to evaluate whether or not my methods are working for my kids. But instead of feeling guilty, which I know leads me to go far in the other direction and makes me feel bad, it's time for me to give up the guilt.

I've done things I'm proud of as a mom (breastfeeding, babywearing, communication). And I've done things that I'd do differently if I had the chance again (spanking, and yelling). But I know how to say I'm sorry from my mistakes, and I know how to learn from them. That's most I could ask for from my kids. I don't see why I'd expect more from myself.

So, from now on, when I start to feel guilty, I'm going to ask myself two things:

How would I handle that differently in the future?

and

What did I learn?

They didn't come with instructions, and really, the best any of us can hope for is that we keep trying our best.

Mom guilt is not our friend. It's a waste of our time, it's a waste of our energy, and we don't deserve it.

*****
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Sleep Is A Thing We're Supposed To Have

I was listening to the radio the other day, to a nutrition and wellness show. They were saying that, for weight loss, you need 9 hours of sleep a night. I laughed out loud. Is that even possible for mothers?

It was a long day, today. Two parent teacher conferences, As a PTO representative, I set up a teacher luncheon at school (since they're there all day for conferences),  then there was a trip to the book fair, a staff meeting, and back to clean up at the school.

I've been moving, pretty much all day long.

All I want now, is to fall into a coma like sleep. But I can't. Because Liam won't sleep.

It's don't have the sleep deprivation of the new mother. But it's still pretty awful, and I'm not a fan.

Most nights, Liam lets us know that he's up by banging his head against the wall, and crying. But when I lay down with him, he mostly just wants to stick his finger up my nose.

Really kid? You need to stay awake for this?

Tonight we sang his goodnight song repeatedly, and he ran me through the tricks he's trained me to do. And at the end of it, my eyelids were drooping, and he was still awake and ready for more.

So now, I'm out here, typing up this blog post, though the screen is blurry through my tired eyes. And, of course, I can hear him again, banging again in his room, which requires my return.

Someday, when he's a teenager, I'm going to wake him repeatedly, all night long, stick my finger in his nose and make him sing songs to me.

He has it coming.

*****
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We Are So Much More

I went to the gym tonight.

I'm not fat, by any stretch. I'm in a healthy weight range for my height and body type. I'm a size 6. When I was in High School I was a size 2 or 4, depending on what I was wearing, and while sometimes I still dream of wearing clothes so effortlessly, the reality of having given birth to seven children, means that it's not likely.

Especially since I like food.

Still, I'd like to lose a bit. Not because I have to. Not because I'll be perfection if the numbers just hit that point on the scale.

No, I want to be a little bit thinner because I like the way I look. Because lately my jeans have been getting a little tighter. Because I know that if I'm not careful, my eating and weight can easily get away from me.

So, I went to the gym tonight.

I didn't have a ton of time, and it's been a couple of weeks. So, I thought some time on the elliptical and a few weights would be a perfect workout for me.

Like anyone at a gym, I pay attention to who's there. I people watch. The college girl to my right, in her tee-shirt advertising a local pizza place. And to my right, the girl I see all the time. She appears to be anorexic.

I'm not trying to diagnose her, which I'm not qualified to do. But when I started at that gym, almost two years ago, she was a different person. Trim, and clearly athletic, she was a little thinner than I would be comfortable with, but she looked healthy.

Tonight I saw her in her tank top, which I don't often. I mean, she's almost always there, on an elliptical and moving at a rapid pace, but usually she's pretty well covered. See, she starts most workouts in a heavy coat. As she works out, she strips down her layers. She must have been at it for a long time, because tonight the layers were off.

I found myself working to not stare. She's skeletal now. She's lost her color. There doesn't appear to be an ounce of fat anywhere. Her bones are protruding, and she's become a mass of sharp angles and hard lines. Her hair looks like straw, and it's thinning and falling out. She looks like she could collapse at any minute. I don't actually know how she could have the energy to keep exercising.

I wonder if those who love her have confronted her about this. I wonder why the gym keeps letting her work out there. I know she often stays till closing and has to be asked to leave.

I know nothing about this woman, save what I can see, and yet, I feel like what she has is an exaggeration of what so many of us have.

We look in the mirror and see our flaws. We see what makes us ugly. We see what we think we need to fix. We see what the world might not love, and become our own bullies.

I know that eating disorders are complex. And I can't begin to speak to the myriad of issues that would lead this woman or any other person, to end up in one. But I know that that we women have to stand up to a culture that leads us to thinking that our only value is in a set of numbers on a scale, and how well we can attract men.

So, how do we stop believing the billboards and advertisements, selling us impossible images and unrealistic expectations? How do we change our culture so that we are valued more as people, and less as objects to be admired or derided if we don't meet the standards?

I'm teaching my daughters to dress for themselves. I'm teaching them that healthy is more important than skinny. I'm teaching them that their value is inherent, and inside of them, which cannot be changed with alterations to their bodies.

We are so much more. My daughters are so much more. And I want them to love themselves.

But can I be louder than the billboards, than the ads, than the movies?

I don't know yet. And, I have to admit, that really scares me.

*****
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On Relationships And Kids

Some days my conversations are hardly what I'd call "elevated". With four sons under the age of ten, at times my conversation is as fascinating as Brennan (5) looking at me and saying, "Mom, I totally farted just now."

I never know what to say to that.

My mother, who raised me to have good manners (I promise, she really did), echoes in my head, telling me to remind him to excuse himself, and that such things needn't always be announced.

But really I just want to tell him, "Good job, kiddo. Yay!" because, well, because that's more fun for me. And because darned if he doesn't cheer everything I do. Honestly, I joke about it, but how did I ever go to the bathroom before I had someone cheering for me every time?

Questions for another day, clearly.

Other days, the conversations with my kids are somewhat more complex.

Piper (12), for example, has a new Significant Other.

"I didn't put it on Facebook, Mom. I mean, it's not that I don't want everyone to know, but I wasn't sure if Dad knew." she said, nervously, as we cleaned up together this evening.

"Of course your dad knows." I assured her, "I told him about it."

"Well, then why hasn't he asked me about it?" She was genuinely perplexed. She saw this as a significant event, and surely her dad would want to discuss it with her.

"Sweetie, your dad and I trust you to tell us what we need to know. And we trust that you'll answer our questions when and if we have some." She looked happy with that response, and secure in the knowledge that her parents trusted her. Which we do.

We talk about everything and we know that our kids will talk to us when they need to. We also know Piper. We know that she will talk this thing till it's lying on the floor, begging her to stop.

And of course, we know the love lives of twelve year olds. They're somewhat fickle things, subject to change on a whim.

I've seen parents try to control the relationships of their children. And I've seen parents ignore the relationships of their children. Neither approach have I seen been very successful. Because kids sometimes date each other. That's a thing that happens. And you'll never do well trying to manage it for them, and if you try to pretend it's not happening, then you can't help them when they run into trouble.

We're trying to take the position that our kids need to forge their own paths with their friends and relationships, but we'd like to sort of be included, in a way that's involved, but not in charge.

We want be their sounding board. The place where they can get some insight and wisdom. Where they can get advice and guidance.

We like to think that this will allow them to navigate things themselves, but with a safety net.

Of course, this requires trust on both sides. They have to trust that we are there not to meddle, but to help. While we have to trust that they're basically kids who make good choices. And when they don't, it will be a learning experience, not the end of the world.

Sometimes I miss the days when the most complicated choice I had to make in my conversations with my older kids was deciding whether or not to take a moment to instill the manners my mother tried desperately to instill in me. But most of the time it's kinda great to watch them grow-up.

*****
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Esbat Musings on Motherhood & Witchcraft

My mother told me a story once. Her baby sister was a small baby, a little sickly, and not growing very well.  My grandmother was worried, and told her mother about it.

My great-grandmother told her that they needed to take my Aunt's "measure".

My mother doesn't remember much of the story after that, only that her sister did indeed start to grow. "But Mom," I said, "you know that was witchcraft, right?"

My mother was shocked and rather dismissive of the idea. But taking one's measure is pretty common in modern witchcraft, and is a very old custom.

You measure certain parts of the body, which then become a physical representation of that person. My guess would be that my great-grandmother would have taken my aunt's measure and then buried it at the new moon, so that as the moon grew, so would the baby.

And, you know, that's witchcraft.

Now, she probably would have said some prayers to Jesus, because they were Christian. And she may have been completely unaware of it's old Pagan roots, being passed down as just a folk remedy.

But it's still witchcraft. And I can't help but wonder if my great-grandmother was secretly a witch. I doubt it, as family stories are interesting, but rarely that interesting.

But still, I wonder.

I mean, clearly people had kept these traditions. Why not?

Think about it. When your kids are sick, do you sit back and hope they're cured? Well, not most of us. We want things we can do. We find the right medicines. We cook. We take them to the doctor if we need to. But whatever we do, we do something.

Really, what is harder to do than nothing? So people kept their old ways, slapping a new God on the front of them. Because, whether it worked or not, it made them feel like they were doing something. Like they had some power. And for women who have been raised for centuries with very little power, I don't think the value of that can be underestimated.

Personally, I'm not just a believer in my faith. I'm a doer. My tools are simple, because the power to do the work I do, doesn't lie in my tools. It lies in me, in my intention. In my own innate power to affect change in the universe, and within myself.

Mothers (and fathers, too) are magical in ways we don't even realise. From defeating monsters beneath the bed, to curing a hurt with the power of a kiss, we have the incredible power of changing an entire life, with our love.

So, get out there, and know that you are every bit as special as the little people you care for. And hey, if your little one is a slow grower, maybe you just need to take their measure, and bury it beneath the new moon, offering up prayers to whatever Gods and Goddesses you follow. It can't hurt.

Blessed Be! And enjoy the Full Moon...

*****
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Hearing Problems

I feel like my kids can't hear me.

Maybe when I speak, I'm secretly speaking a foreign language that they don't understand.

Maybe I speak in a unique frequency that they are unable to hear.

Maybe it's that they are virtually never quiet enough to hear anything but the roar that comes from their own heads.

I think it's the last one, to be honest.

My children also seem to think that since they can't hear me, I can't hear them. But, oh dear god of the flowers, I can.

I can hear them all of the ever-loving time.

I actually told Brennan (5) tonight, that I no longer cared if he went to sleep. All I wanted at this point in my day, was for him to be quiet. Just quiet. That's not too much to ask, right? He could whisper, he didn't have to sleep, he just had to put his two lips together and stop making all of the noise.

He's in time-out again.

My children also seem to hate sleep. Liam is crying, no one wants to stop playing, and I'm weary in my bones. The kind of tired that could leave me falling asleep doing just about anything. You have no idea how much I just want to lay down on the keyboard right now.

I know this doesn't last forever. My older kids listen to me. They tell me important things, and trust me with their secrets.

And I know that there is a beauty to these early developmental stages that you can never get back once they're older.

But if someone could convince them, even a little bit, that I can hear them, and that they should be quiet once and a while and listen? I would kiss that person, and buy them a pony.

And then I'd kiss the pony.

Yes, still very tired.


*****
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Being A Grown-Up

Tonight's post is brought to you by Grifone wine from Trader Joe's. And if you drink wine, but haven't tried it, you really should. One of my favorite reds and only $3.99 a bottle.

But I couldn't decide, do I want wine? Or do I want tea?

So, despite the graphic, I decided not to decide. I have a nice glass of wine, and a cuppa tea with me.

Sometimes, life's too short to choose.

I read an article recently about why moms talk so much about drinking coffee and wine. And I could sit here and pretty much offer a lame ass ditto to all the points the author made. But I think I want to explain it from my perspective.

Beyond all of the reasons she mentioned in her piece, I like to have a glass of wine, or a cup of tea even, to feel like a grown up.

Maybe that's crazy.

The thing is, I became a grown-up and found out that everyone's parents were playing a massive game of Pretend. We were so lied to.

They were pretending to be adults. Pretending they knew what they were doing. Pretending that they had the answers.

And now it's my turn. I get to pretend that I'm a real-live grown-up. I'm even expected to do grown-up things, like pay bills, work, and parent.

It's not that I don't know anything. Experience is an amazing teacher, and I've had some of that. But I don't have all the answers I thought my parents did when I was a kid.

So, after a long day of pretending that I know what I'm doing, when I'm clearly just guessing. it's so nice to relax and have something that only a real adult can have.

I put it in a fancy glass, and listen to what my house sounds like without multiple small people, all talking at once.

If I have to pretend, at least I'm going to get something good out of it.

After all, tomorrow is another day, with so many more things to guess at, all while hoping I'm not irreparably damaging these people I love so much.

Here's to motherhood!

*****
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I'm Not Insane. Not, Really.

"Are you crazy?"

I wish I could tell you that only one person has ever asked that, when they heard that I have seven children. But that wouldn't be remotely true.

I do answer this question. And since I have a sense of humor about myself and our family, I usually say, "Well, if I wasn't before, I probably am by now!"

Because what else am I supposed to say, really? How does anyone answer a question like that?

But I'm not crazy. Not really.

Some days I'm tired. Touched out. Overwhelmed. Or even scared.

Some days I'm angry. Frustrated. And so busy I hardly have time to go to the bathroom all day (which, by the way, I wouldn't be allowed to do alone).

But guess what? Every mom feels that way, even mothers of only children.

It turns out kids are a lot of work. Who knew?

But I don't do this alone.

Tonight, my husband made dinner. He cleaned up the kitchen, too. Two kids cleaned up the playroom. Everyone worked together to get kids ready for bed. This is how we do things, as a team.

My normal may be a little more chaotic than other people's normal, sometimes. But it's not insane, really.

So, I'm not crazy. At least no more than any other mom.

And all of us need to cut ourselves some slack. Most of the moms I know, make themselves a little nuts, trying to be all things to their families that they love so much. I wish I could remind all of them not to forget to take care of themselves. They're definitely worth it.

*****
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Parenting In The Digital Age

When I became a mother, it was 1997. The internet was a thing, but it wasn't everywhere. In my house, you still had to pick, internet, or phone. Because the internet meant dialing up through a phone line, and then no one to reach me.

Don't freak out, anyone-who-doesn't-remember-those-days, if I was desperately needed, people could page me.

On a pager.

That I actually had.

Sometimes it feels like it was the Dark Ages.

Mostly I used the internet for chatting on AOL, and for hanging out on my BBS with other geeks and nerds like myself. We actually felt like we were kind of ahead of the curve with computers, as we'd been using them in ways other people weren't for a long time. We were pioneers.

Or something.

Now, all of my kids have access to computers in our house. And devices. My three oldest kids have smart phones, which is like a computer in your pocket with full access to all of the things the world wide web has to offer.

A lot of parents are kind of freaked out about this. The internet opens a window to the big bad world, right in your living room. They feel like their kids are exposed, and at risk.

So, I'm just going to throw this out there and hope it doesn't come across wrong, but, I'm not worried at all. And not just because I'd have to face my own Facebook addiction (which for the record, doesn't exist. So there).

Maybe I should be worried. Maybe I'm naive. But I think, for the most part, that we're not going to keep our kids from the internet. And the most important tool we have as moms and dads, is the thing we've always had: communication.

I don't know how other parents do this, but I talk to mine about everything. My kid is on Facebook? Well, if they're on the young side, I get to know all of their FB friends, and I get to have their password as well. In fact, I get full access to anything they write anywhere. Mostly because I want to check and see that they're being safe. That they're being polite, and that their interactions are appropriate. It's also so I can help them navigate new situations that come up.

Honestly, I haven't needed to use my access very often.

I talk to them about what to do when someone you don't know wants to talk with you. Maybe it's fine. Maybe they were introduced by a friend of a friend. But they should be careful. They shouldn't ever give out personal information that would make them easy to find. People aren't always who they say they are on the internet.

I didn't figure that out until I was almost 30. And it shocked me. I mean, I'd gotten into computers and the on-line world, through local BBS's where anyone you talked to was known by someone you knew. People were who they said they were. Why lie? What would be the point.

But they do, and so my kids have to know that.

We talk about so much already, that most of these little lessons have naturally come up through the course of conversations at some point. And when my kids have had questions, I've answered them as honestly and completely as possible.

They have to have some basic internet common sense, but they should also have all of the things that are great about the internet. Like a sense of community.

Being able to find the people who geek out over the same things you geek out over, is really pretty great. Piper, for example, is into this webcomic thing called Homestuck, and I'm really never going to give it the love it deserves. But she has found her people online, and it makes her so happy. I want her to have that.

For my older teen, at this point there's a lot of trust. Seventeen years of really open communication, and him bringing to me the hard things in his life, has me feeling pretty confident that I can trust him with all kinds of things, including the internet, and the technology he has available to him. He's going to be an adult soon, and I feel like it's time to start slowly cutting the apron strings.

I've done a good job, and he's a good person. I trust us both.

Our children live in a digital age, in which so much of the earth's knowledge has been catalogued and recorded, and is available for human beings to share. It's really incredible when you think about it. And so much of this has changed in my lifetime. Life before a home computer is a story I will tell my unbelieving grandchildren someday. And when I say someday, I mean a long long time from now.

Long.

So anyway, for me, I'm not worried about the technology, or the internet. My only goal is to make it something that enhances their experience of the world, instead of replacing it.

*****
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