Just Be Regular

Disclaimer:  I have had a margarita and I will use profanity.

Do you see this guy?  Cute as a button, right?  Probably one of the most beautiful little boys I've ever seen.  

Well, today I looked him square in the eye and told him to stop being such an asshole.  Stop screaming, stop hitting, stop freaking out.  Just be regular for 60 seconds.  Don't fight me to get your shoes on or get in the car or take your shirt off or sit down at a restaurant.  Eat your food without being picky about the way it's presented and sit in your cute little blue car and be pushed to Starbuck's for as much chocolate milk as you want.  Stop running away from me and stop screaming at me for not turning on the TV.  And stop screaming at me for not turning the TV to the exact cartoon you want.  Just stop screaming.  And stop being such an asshole.

This sensory processing crap is really wearing on me.  In fact, I'm really pissed off about it all.  Mack is almost three and he is barely talking, doesn't like to play with many other kids, and is so far from being potty-trained that I just need to invest in Pampers.  He stays overwhelmed and overstimulated and unregulated, and I find myself walking on eggshells most of my day.  I beg the therapists for answers on how to prevent tantrums and how to end tantrums.  Some of it is normal 2-year-old assholeishness, and a lot of it is just Mack not being regulated.

I've looked at myself and tried to figure out what I've done.  I ate healthy during his pregnancy.  I didn't get too many ultrasounds.  I stayed very calm and rarely raised my voice while carrying him.  The delivery was uneventful.  I nursed him the first year.  I fed him healthy food.  He was a happy baby.  He was a good sleeper.  I thought I did everything right.  And, I honestly still think I did.

The truth is that this is Mack.  I can read all those dumb-ass "The 17 things parents should really be concerned about" and "Why moms in other countries don't have these problems" and yadayadayada, but Mack is the way he is.  I can no longer beat myself up.  He is wired a certain way, and I need to come to terms with that and guide him the best way that I can.  I've researched his diet and immunizations and family history, and the facts are there that he has been this way since the day he was born.

But I have this almost five-year-old daughter who developed completely normally -- even early in many ways -- and I HATE to see a video of her at his age.  She was playing with others and singing entire songs and reciting her alphabet and pee peeing in the potty like a champ.  Any tiny little thing that upset me about her not being able to identify all her numbers or count past 20 just seems so freaking silly now.  I would love for Mack to count past three and to actually include the number one when he does it.  I would love if he even pretended he wanted to play with another child.  And if he even hummed along to a familiar tune I swear I would take him to the place I LOATHE name Disney World.

If you're wondering whether I'm jealous or not of your almost three-year-old who is smart, then you're damn straight that I am.  I've tried to talk myself out of not comparing many, many times, but I can't help it.  When I hear your child having a convo with you, I'm jealous.  When you tell me about your simple difficulties with potty-training, I'm jealous.  I am happy for you, but I want to be in that normal place too.  I want to have regular toddler tantrums.  I don't want to have sensory processing disorder tantrums.

There is this one mom who I've chatted with some in one of Mack's classes.  When Mimi was his age and was taking little classes, I was able to chat with lots of moms because she was too busy doing her own thing.  Now I must stay on top of him all the time to make sure that he isn't freaking out, and I also want to avoid the other looks from some moms and nannies who don't quite get him.  Like the one who stared deep into my eyes and sternly spit out, "He's gonna hurt someone."  No shit, lady.  That's why I spend every second on top of him.  Thanks for pointing out how difficult it is for me to take him in public.

But I digress.  So anyway, there's this one mom I chatted with some in a class.  Her daughter was cute and smart and talking a crazy amount, but she always seemed willing to let her daughter play around Mack in class.  We talked about our older daughters and their independence, and I even let her know about Mack's diagnosis a few months ago.  I have no idea what her name is, and I have no idea why I felt comfortable talking with her about this.  But I did, and she always listened without judgement.  I enjoyed her conversation and her cute little daughter, but secretly I was so jealous of how easy her life seemed to be with her daughters.

I ran into her tonight while at dinner.  We said hi and I asked Mack if he remembered the little girl, and he just closed his eyes and stuck his head in the sand like always.  We did a quick catch-up and then sat down to eat.  I noticed two six-year-old girls at the end of the mom's table being silly, and of course Mimi was immediately attracted to their singing and dancing.  I told her it was okay for her to talk with them until her food arrived, and as soon as she walked over to them, she and I noticed something different at exactly the same time . . .

"Hey, I'm Mimi.  Can I play with you until my food comes?  Oh, wait . . . you don't have any hair . . . "

No hair.  No eyebrows either.  Holy shit.  Who's the asshole now . . .

The sweet little girl just looked at her friend, and they shrugged their shoulders and then moved on to a song.  I know I've said it before . . . at least he doesn't have cancer . . . but I wanted to vomit at that very moment.  And I think I have it rough . . .

He beautiful and exactly the way he's supposed to be.  The truth is I'm not really so mad at him.  I'm mad at myself.  I should be able to handle this.  To guide him.  To make mistakes and learn and grow and give him the resources to become amazing.  But I'm in a rut right now and I'm being a brat.  He fights me all the time, and my back is breaking and so is my heart.  I want him to experience life to the fullest, and I'm afraid I can't give him that right now.

"This too shall pass."  Have I said before that I hate to hear that?  It may pass but not anytime soon.  Clint and I have a long road ahead with this little guy, so it doesn't help to hear that it will pass.  We know that it eventually will, but there's a lot of work to be done in the meantime.

 Mack is this way for a reason -- I'm a believer in that sort of thing.  God gave him to Clint and me because . . . I don't know . . . maybe because I'm patient?  Because Clint loves to play rough-house?  Because Mimi knows how to make everyone laugh?  I'm not sure I'll ever know, but we have the responsibility of making life awesome for him.  Time for me to put my big girl britches on, I suppose.

I do know that Mack has done something to Mimi.  She loves to push his buttons because she's a regular big sister, but I've noticed some new things come out of her in the past year because of Mack.  Patience.  Empathy.  Understanding.  She wants to make him laugh.  She is upset when he's not happy.  She wants him to want to play with her, and she knows exactly how to do it.  She is more loving with him than I am at times.  She will stop her fabulous world when he arrives . . .

For example at her last karate class . . .

Mack escaped from my grasp . . .

Mimi thought she could help . . .

So she just tackled him.  In front of everybody and their mommas and cameras.  She wasn't embarrassed or angry.  She just wanted him to feel like a part of it all.

This little girl is something else.  I'm so proud of who she is becoming I can't stand it. 

And this guy.  He's happiest when he's near the water.  

Which is one reason why I'm excited we're moving to the North Shore.  Oh, that's right.  I haven't told you that we're moving yet.  Just a few miles north of the city so not a HUGE move, but I guess it's still pretty significant.  New schools, new neighborhood, and a completely different feel.  I just went to a 4th of July parade with my ONE, count it, ONE friend in the area, and I felt like I was in a different world.  In a strange way it felt like a Midwestern version but Oxford, Mississippi.  So completely different from the big city, so it will take some getting used to.  More to come about that later.

 These pics are from the lake in Michigan.  Unbelievable how gorgeous the lake is.  Forget Florida for now.  I have no problem driving an hour and half to see this.

Our little beach cottage was down a road that looked this.  Amazing, right?

And on to playing catch-up.  Mimi is no longer a preschooler.  I can't even type that without crying.  She will start kindergarten in the fall, and I am just so stinking happy with her preschool experience this year.  I regret the silly post from last fall I had about not being sure about our neighborhood public school.  It was absolutely the best year she could have had as a four-year-old.  This is her with her sweet, sweet, sweet teacher, Miss Jami.  Hands-down the most fabulous PreK teacher for Mimi.  Patient and fun and just plain amazing.  And her classmates were also soooo adorable.
 

Official last day of PreK photo in the rain.  I'm so glad it was raining because that way I didn't have to say any real goodbyes.  And no one could see all of my tears.

On to the first day of summer camp!!  At least we get one last summer in this awesome city before we're rocking the suburbs.

Spending our days at the neighborhood park.

And at the other neighborhood park steps from our building.  We really did choose an awesome building.

 Sorry to the little buddy for losing my patience today.  As one of my therapists told me, "He is so good-looking for a reason.  There's no way to stay mad at this face for too long."

She doesn't know how right she is . . .

On raising bebes French style. Oh, and my son was kicked out of preschool yesterday.

Since both of my children turned four and two years old in August, I felt it was finally time for their check-ups, um, at the end of October.  My four-year-old daughter measured around the 12th percentile for height and weight while my two-year-old son is in about the 90th.  This equates to Mimi being only about an inch and a half taller than Mack and one pound heavier.  No wonder strangers ask if they are twins.  I really should start saying yes, but the girl is quite precocious.

During this exam Clint and I learned that Mimi is completely healthy.  We also learned that she is quite dominant.

No . . . you've gotta be kidding me . . .

Clint and I smiled with a little pride and a little embarrassment, and the exam continued with Mack.  While he is also quite healthy, we knew a certain question was coming.

"Is he putting together two or more words-- "

"No."  And I completely cut her off.  I then went on to justify my worth as a mother by explaining how Mimi was saying many words by her first birthday and could recite her ABC's by 16 months.  At Mack's age, we were easily having conversations with her.  I couldn't just stop there so I kept telling her how I've worked with small children and was once an English teacher.  I talk with him and read to him and narrate his every move.  Oh, and he has significant hearing loss in one ear.

The doctor didn't seem a bit concerned about my insecurities and told me that he has two things working against him -- since he does have normal hearing in one ear, this shouldn't hinder him much but it could.  We discussed following up with an ENT, but this wasn't her main concern.  She said that the main cause is his dominant older sister.

Oh.  Cue inadequate mommy guilt.  This girl who we've molded to be so entertaining and outgoing could possibly be keeping her brother from talking.

She asked if we'd heard about the book titled Bringing up Bebe, which we had not, and she gave a small explanation.  Basically an American who was trying to raise a child in Paris noticed that French children were calmer than American children in public yet were still bright and happy.  She pointed out how we were constantly giving Mimi attention during the check-ups -- both positive for being funny or negative when she was interrupting -- but when we finally ignored her, she stopped begging for our attention and found a toy to entertain herself.

I always do a little eye-rolling when someone recommends a parenting book to me.  How to potty train, how to sleep train, how to let them cry, how to breast feed, how to introduce solids, how to teach toddlers to read, how to teach toddlers calculus.  I mean, really, who has time to read all these books that each contain overwhelming yet vague strategies?  All of their information contradicts another expert and most of these authors had pretty crappy childhoods themselves from what I've read.  And now this pediatrician wants me to read about Parisian babies?  Really?

But there was something about her that seemed very warm and motherly, so after a week of procrastinating I ordered the stupid book on Amazon.  And it's not half bad.

Let me start by saying that I am only half-way finished, but I think I get the gist.  I'll summarize what I've gathered:
-Americans are too in our children's faces.  We overstimulate.  We feed too often.  We worry too much.  We're too attentive.  We stop our lives as women to transform into mothers.  We do not feel like worthy mothers unless we're exhausted, overweight, and have completely given up the idea of having a normal conversation with another adult until our children move out of the house.
-Parisian children are not picky eaters and eat only at family mealtimes.  They rarely interrupt their parents.  The moms are skinny AND babies are sleeping through the night by 3 months old.  They pause before attending to their children.  Moms do not make a big deal out of breast feeding, forcing the child to read early, or having to go back to work.  It's okay for the mothers to still be fabulous women while still being loving, nurturing mothers.

So far, so good, right?  As I read, I noticed that I once lived somewhat within this realm.  Both of my children slept through the night relatively early -- Mimi around 16 weeks and Mack around 8.  I owe much of this to forcing myself to listen to their cries, going to the bathroom, and then getting some water before actually picking them up.  I tried to calm them and check their diaper before feeding them and eventually they realized food wasn't necessary when the rest of the world was sleeping.  Two points for me.  Clint and I continued going out to dinner when Mimi was small (I didn't cook, so this was sometimes necessary), and attempted to go and do as we always had.  I had a job, which gave me other purpose than being a mom, and it forced me to have more balance.  Mimi was happy with us and happy at day care, and I felt that her life was balanced and wonderful.

Then I got pregnant and hormonal with Mack.  My job wasn't a happy place for me anymore, and I began feeling that maybe I would get more out of my only job being to raise Mimi.  Then I also realized that while she was bright some other children were involved in activities and learning things that she didn't know yet.  This combo turned me into the stereotypical American mom.  Overstimulating, overanxious, worried, obsessive, and insecure.

Sigh.  So I'm re-evaluating exactly what kind of parent I want to be for the umpteenth time.  I want my children to be happy and have fun but also have some healthy boundaries.  I want them to be able to play by themselves or with each other and not always need attention from me.  I want to make them feel important but not that they are the most important.  Because I am important, too.  As is every other human.  In order to do all of this, I must, of course, make a list.  I love a list.

1.  I will be clear about rules without yelling or freaking out.  I will speak to them as if they are actual humans.  Mimi, you WILL stop at the alleys and corners to wait on me before crossing.  Mack, you will NOT throw your food in the floor.
2.  I will not interfere when they are playing quietly by themselves.  Do you do this, too, or am I the only attention-hungry mom?  Mack will be quiet and happy pushing a toy car back and forth on the floor, but I feel like a terrible mom if I'm not in his face asking him to repeat words.  "Wheels.  Those are wheels.  Mack, can you say wheels?  And they're round.  Like circles.  Can you say circle?"  Seriously, Mom, get out of my face and let me play with my car . . .
3.  I will encourage them to play with each other instead of me.  Mimi constantly wants me to watch her do her freakish ballet moves or to tell me a joke that always ends with the punchline, "Banana Pants!"  I just realized I never say to her, "Why don't you show your brother?  Why don't you teach him how to do it?  Wouldn't that be a fun game if Mack joined in?"
4.  I will sit on the couch with a good girlfriend and coffee without interruption from my children.  This one will take a while and may never happen, but I'm making it a goal.  We had a play date at the home of a wonderful friend this morning, and it was a bit crazy at times.  But most play dates that include my children are a bit crazy.  All of our children love each other and had so much fun, but looking back I realize one of the times that the friend and I were able to have a conversation was when we were cleaning up toys in her son's room and our children were running around like banshees in the den.  I kept calling for them to come help, but then I thought Why interfere?  They are finally having so much fun together and letting us be adults.  They can help clean in a few minutes.  Also included in this goal is having an uninterrupted meal and phone conversation.  I realize these might also never happen while my children are awake.
5.  I will hold my children more accountable.  Mack can totally climb up the stairs and walk down the street by himself.  Mimi can get her own snack and milk out of the refrigerator.  Mack can clean up the crackers he spilled on the floor.
6.  I will pause before responding to their every whim.  Mack has learned to throw a fantastic fit, and he continues to throw them because Clint and I always respond quickly to get him to shut up.  Yes, Mack, you can have ANYTHING you want, but for the love please stop freaking out!!!
7.  I will stand my ground and not let snobby North Side moms dictate how I raise my children.  My other Chicago friends know exactly what I'm talking about.  That mom who gasps when my children are too rowdy at the park or find out I haven't enrolled them in gymnastics, Spanish, Mandarin, theater, and the Latin School.  Those moms who love to point out that my child may have offended hers (yet failed to notice how her own child instigated it all because she was too busy talking with her designer on the phone).  That grandmother that yelled at Mimi, that mom who attacked my sweet friend at Little Beans while she was nursing her baby, that mom who accused my former nanny of ignoring a child because she wasn't in his face nonstop.  Those stupid women can shove it.

And on another note, Mack was kicked out of preschool yesterday.

I can say that I'm exaggerating, but I suppose it's true.  He has been attending a once a week, 2 1/2 hour class at the private school that is at our church.  This is the same school I discussed a few posts back, and I even toured it for Mimi.  I didn't feel it was the right fit for Mimi, and now I must face the reality that it's also not the right fit for Mack.  Honestly, it's not the right fit for me either.

I told my mom about this on the phone this morning, and she immediately said, "Wha??" to which I responded, "I know, right?"  When I tried to talk with Clint about it last night, he got all reasonable and devil's advocate on me, and then I shut down and said forget it.  So this is why a girl should just call her mom first.  We need reassurance that we're fabulous and perfect moms and how dare they?!

So anyway, the story goes like this.  The class is called "Time for Twos."  Not "Time for Almost Three-Year-Olds."  Yet almost every child in the room is at least 7 months older and acts more like a three-year-old while Mack acts exactly like a boy-with-a-dominant-older-sister-and-a-slightly-neurotic-mom who just turned two.  I was SO excited about this class because Mack dearly needed time away from me.  Let me get something straight -- I do NOT do attachment parenting.  You can co-sleep and nurse until your toddler is four and never have a babysitter and home school and what-not, but I do not.  Studies show and African tribes and yada yada yada, but I do what I know.  My mother was knocked out when she delivered me.  She barely nursed.  I was in Mother's Day Out (this is a 2 day a week, 9-2:30 type of preschool at many Southern churches) from as early as I can remember.  She dropped me off at the door without tears, and I couldn't wait to play with my friends.  I love my mother dearly and I never had attachment issues.  Stay at home moms in Chicago have no such option as Mother's Day Out (how much have I complained about this?) until the child can attend preschool at three, which I think is just waaay too late.  Other than babysitters, these kids are up their mom's butts until three and then they have to figure out how to deal with it.  So I wasn't shocked when Mack threw a fit each time I had to leave him in this class.

Anyway, the teacher immediately pointed out how Mack was not able to communicate or join the group like the others, and she was constantly trying to make sure he was safe while keeping the others engaged in group activities.  I'm sure I did some eye-rolling the first time we had this convo because, seriously, she expected me to believe she could keep a two-year-old engaged in a group activity?  Moms are required to volunteer once a session, and I did notice that he was more immature than the others in the class because, well, he is several months younger and not talking much.  All of the children played well and explored, and they appeared to act like normal two-year-olds.  The girls played quietly and wanted to be read to while the boys jumped from activity to toy to activity.  I expected Mack to be awful because I was there, but the only trouble he seemed to cause was trying to take pretzels from others and punching buttons on the radio.  I didn't quite see this safety issue that the teacher kept telling me about but whatever.  He didn't seem to be at the others' maturity level, but as a former teacher I know that younger children will eventually learn from the older ones.

She and I had this convo several times, and I continued putting my foot down.  He met the requirements of being a two-year-old, I was not going to show him that his crying will get him out of my leaving him, and he will eventually learn from the older ones.  Yesterday, he was especially clingy and fussy when I dropped him off, and I was having trouble getting Mimi out of the room, which made my stress level ridiculous.  When I returned, he was so focused on him painting that he didn't even notice I had arrived.  Mack was happy to see me and to show me his blobby painting.  He didn't cling to me and he didn't try to pull me out of the door.  He was happy and painting just like the others, so I thought this was encouraging.  I asked the mom who helped that day how things went, and she said he did cry for a few minutes after I left but then played well.  I was feeling we had finally reached a new milestone when his teacher came over to me with a kind smile but then said, "Mack is just not a good fit for this class right now.  Why don't we try in a few months in the spring session?"

On a different day I may have continued my fight, but yesterday was not the day.  "You know what -- you're right.  This is not a good fit."  She tried to justify and comfort and sugar-coat, but I stopped her because I didn't need an explanation.  She was completely right.  This was not a good fit for any of us.  She is a kind person and wonderful teacher who has devoted so much to this school, and while I may not agree with this two-year-old mold, I need to respect her opinion and vision for this class.

I will continue with Little Gym and the occasional YMCA swim class because we totally fit in these places, and I'm okay with that.

In the meantime, I'll just ignore my children, smoke cigarettes, and eat pain du chocolat.  Hey, it works for the French.    

        

I blinked and it was August

I'm in a stage that I like to call the "Bipolar Stage" of parenting.  I'm on a high one minute and a low the next.  Mimi just turned 4 -- and, no, I'm still not ready to talk about it.  Not ready to talk about how big "4" sounds and how she's acting a bit more mature and independent.  Not. Even. Ready to not consider her a baby.  And Mack is about to turn 2, which is scaring the complete shit out of me.  No, you don't have to blink and re-read that line.  The older Mack gets, the more he scares the complete shit out of me.

One minute is fantastic and breath-taking and makes me want to write a book about how I have an amazing attitude and patience and how this parenting little ones thing is so much fun.  And the next minute I'm afraid John Stossel is going to jump out from behind the couch to tell me he is working on a segment about mothers who are borderline crazy.

So this summer has been a bit nuts -- mainly in good ways -- and the poor blog has gotten neglected.  I want so badly to be that amazing woman who raises interesting children and writes about it in a weekly blog post . . . so I've got the "interesting children" part down, but the rest of that isn't working out so well for me.  And since I read some where that people like to see lists and numbers, I'll make this a lists and numbers post to try to fill you in on a bit of the Darby life.

1.  Our home has been occupied with visitors (all welcome, of course) since the middle of May.  It was been wonderful to share our home with so many fun people, but no one is allowed for a while.  It's not that I don't love guests.  It's that I don't love washing sheets and towels and unloading the dishwasher.  If you don't mind dirty sheets or eating off paper plates, then please let me know when you'll be in town.

2.  We've tried our best to enjoy more of this awesome city this summer with our guests, which you should know all about it my husband is your FB friend.  He finally got an iPhone and has tagged himself at every location in this city that he possibly could.  But if you're trying to rob our home when he's tagging away, just know that our babysitters can take you down.  I do have photos and fun stories, but I just had a bit of a panic attack when I downloaded photos from my camera to my computer.  I mean, it's a bit ridiculous.  I'll save that for another day when my child is sick again.

3.  On that note, Mimi is sick.  Dad, stop worrying and please don't call me about this.  She has a cold.  A basic stuffy nose and funky cough and goopy eyes.  She's so, so very sweet when she's sick and even puts herself down for a nap, but, my word, she's been a whiny little thing who flips her lid if I try to leave her side for a drink of water or to use the bathroom.  She's been crying and saying things to me like, "Why are you going to the kitchen to make lunch?  Do you not want to play ponies and Barbies with me??  Waaahhhh!!  You don't want to be my friend anymore?? Waaaahhh!!"  I'm trying so hard to be patient and understanding, but the way I've been raising my voice and jumping at the chance to leave the house by myself just to take out the garbage tells me that John Stossel is probably working hard spying on this crazy momma.

4.  Mack is a holy terror.  Oh. My. Cuss words.  I don't know what happened to my little fuzzy-headed chicken, but he is more like a beast.  I've become calling him Bam Bam because he literally destroys everything in his way.  Toys, food, sippy cups, my hips.  I'm not kidding.  I'm actually going to physical therapy because I have pulled tendons or ligaments or muscles or something in my hips from wrestling this wild thing.  I've also done something to my wrist but I don't really have time to deal with that now.  Most of the time he is still so sweet and cute, and then I will pick him up, he'll show me his sweet smile, and will then slap me as hard as he can across my cheek.  Holy crap.  Clint was trying to snuggle with him on the couch last night, and I think he took a foot and knee and elbow to the face about ten times.  And he doesn't like to talk.  He can say some words, and he completely understands what is said to him.  But he would rather point and yell and throw things than say the words.

5.  Mack climbed out of the crib about a week ago, and I thought that life as I know it had ended.  His afternoon nap is literally the only time I can unload the dishwasher or wash clothes or really do anything because he is into absolutely everything while he's awake.  I took the advice about strategies from about twenty different people, and luckily something has worked.  I don't know how much longer this will last, but my next option is a straight - jacket.  There's some more material, Mr. Stossel.

6.  Mimi has been at summer camp a couple of afternoons a week all summer, and I'll have to admit I'm a little jealous.  Just the word "camp" brings up all kinds of warm and fuzzy feelings about silly songs and swimming and wearing t-shirts and tennis shoes.  It seems so "big kid" to me to be able to do that.  Her teachers call her Jellyfish and have taught her some fantastic songs that I totally remember from camp.  Oh, and she's been doing awesome at swim lessons.  Just a few weeks ago, she was that kid who sat on the side of the pool and told her instructor exactly what she was NOT going to do, and now she's jumping off the side and swimming like a fishy (with a light flotation device, of course).  I'm kind of hoping for a most improved award or something at the end of all of this.        

7.  We hit our 2-year anniversary in Chicago.  And I continue to love this new city and the new friends we've made.  Clint has some really cool clients and co-worker.  I have made some wonderful girlfriends who are also amazing moms.  We've found some precious girls who love our children more than we could imagine.  And my monkeys have made some adorable friends who are just as silly as they are.  There's still so much to do and so much to explore, and I've loved sharing it with our visitors.  The weather has been fantastic in the summer and Midwestern people are just so genuinely nice.  In case you've wondered, we are definitely sticking around for a while to see what the future holds.  Oh, and an almost four-year-old little girl just moved into the building.  You better believe Mimi is excited about what the future holds :).  

So this is just a short synopsis, and I'll get to more once I can focus on the photos.  Life has been fun and busy and crazy.  Just the way it should be . . .

She's Crafty

You know who I'm talking about and not in the Beastie Boys kind of way.  That Martha Stewart kind of woman.  The one who can make a gorgeous dining table display with a couple of toilet paper rolls, tin foil, and a glue gun.  She brings the most beautifully gift-wrapped presents to birthday parties and showers, and the gift inside is probably hand-made.  She lives on Pinterest and then posts all the wonderful door hangers and wall art and children's crafts that her family happily made with items just lying around the house.  And she makes me want to gag.

Okay, maybe I'm a little jealous because I totally think I should be like this.  I have a minor in art (well, kinda.  I'm missing one foreign language credit, but I don't think that matters), and I love to draw and sew and do a few other things that require me to use the right side of my brain.  But I am in NO WAY crafty.  I do not own a glue gun.  I can't look at the plastic fruit containers and cardboard beer boxes and egg crates in my recycling bin and envision an afternoon craft project with the toddlers.  I can't make bows for my daughter's hair.  I've never fashioned a quilt out of old sorority t-shirts.

If a teacher was to grade me on my ability as a SAHM, I would get a big, fat F in the art category.  I would get a big, fat F in several other categories (which I'm sure I'll discuss at a later date), but art class has been nonexistent at the Darby house.  We sing and dance and play blocks and read books, but I rarely come up with more than a coloring book and crayons for my monkeys.    

I honestly didn't see this as a problem until recently.  I mean, I have messy toddlers who eat glue and paint, and I have always felt that art should begin maybe at preschool or around the age of whenever they stop putting glitter in their eyes or glue sticks up their noses.  But I need to change this because I LOVE art.  I once dreamed of being a starving artist wearing second-hand clothes and hanging out at really cool parks sketching.  Okay, so this was for about a second during my freshman year of college, and then I realized that I wasn't that very good and I absolutely despise second-hand clothes.  They never fit right after someone else has worn them.

And at this week's mom's group one of the girls thought it would be fun for the older kids to finger paint and make cute little designs out of their handprints and for the little ones to squish two different paint colors together in a gallon plastic bag.  Wow.  How did she think of something so clever??


I'm not being a smarty pants.  I really don't know how she thought of putting the two different colors in a baggie and letting them mix and squish together to make a completely different color, and (this is my favorite part) there was no mess.  Why can't I come up with something so simple on my own?  And her little girl is absolutely the tiniest little thing.  I'm not even sure she is old enough to eat a crayon.

I complimented her on the fun baggy idea, and then she excitedly began spitting out other ideas like finger-painting with pudding and then my head started spinning out of control when Pinterest was mentioned.  I DESPISE Pinterest because it is a reminder of how un-crafty I am and how crafty everyone else is.  (On a side note, have you seen the $*#T SAHM Moms Say video on You Tube?  Because you should.).  She was just full of crafty ideas, and it made me feel, well, a little embarrassed that I had absolutely nothing to bring to the table.  If you know me, you know I HATE not being a bit of a know-it-all.  Not one idea with felt or macaroni or pipe cleaners or anything came to mind.

I thought about it all afternoon.  Why can't I be crafty??  And then Mimi, who seems to read my mind on occasion, announced that today was Valentine's Day and the next day would be Frog Day.  "What?  What's Frog Day?"  I asked.

"I don't know.  But tomorrow is Frog Day and the next day is Princess Day."  And then she tackled her brother and stole his blocks.

Hmmm . . . a theme day for every day.  I could make that really fun.  We could talk about the life stages from an egg to a frog and the different types of frogs, teach Mack how to say "ribbit" and play leap frog with Mimi, and then make some sort of craftiness with frogs.  Wow.  Mimi is so brilliant.

But the next day I forgot about this and we did nothing pertaining to amphibians, and then she reminded me that the next day would be Princess Day.  Oh, joy!  Princess Day!  I pulled out her Snow White and her new Cinderella and let her watch some Barbie Princess nonsense while getting ready for preschool, and then I had plans of making princess crowns and discussing British royalty with her during Mack's nap time.

So this is how I might start being crafty.  A theme for each day.  I can let her come up with the ideas and that way I don't have to think too hard.  Also, it will be easier for me to Google or search on Pinterest (eeks) or whatever for some sort of project.  I know that this will probably force me to spend a bit more time at Joann's than I would like for some crafty items (I despise Joann's.  I've always felt like people think I crochet tissue box covers or bedazzle my jeans if they see me going in there).  But having a theme is a start, and I think it's a good one.

But back to the Princess Day for just a moment.  When I took Mimi into her classroom that morning, I saw a very disappointed look on her little face.  It was indeed "Princess Day" (and "Super Hero Day") in her class so all the girls wore pink and purple princess dresses and the boys wore capes.  Oops.  I guess I should have read the last e-mail from Miss Kelley a little more closely.

Anyway, Mimi decided that today is "Hat Day."  She and Mack dressed up in cowboy hats for all of ten seconds.

Then they helped, well, kinda helped make their own hats.  And then I chased them around the den trying to make them realize how awesome it would be for them to sweetly stand next to each other while wearing their fun hats so Mommy could document this moment on film.  They screamed and hid from me, and then my battery went dead.

So here they are.  Proof that even I can be the crafty mom.  

Something tells me I'm not getting "pinned" any time soon . . .

Until the next fiasco . . .

I Am NOT an Island

At least I hope not.  

Please tell me I'm not . . .

One of the best pieces of advice I can give any new mommy or to one adding a second child to the family is this -- make new friends.  You can keep the old ones, but go out of your way to find other women who have children around the same age as yours.  Not that they once had children the same age as yours but that they do right now.  Join a play group or strike up conversations at Little Gym.  You can't be shy.  Don't worry if those women who may have absolutely nothing in common with you other than they are also a SAHM or a working mom or a single mom or they have all girls or whatever.  Do NOT try to figure this thing out on your own.  I repeat, DO NOT TRY TO FIGURE OUT PARENTING ON YOUR OWN.

I am not only suggesting that you do this so that you can learn from others who are walking in shoes similar to yours, but you need to know that you are NOT crazy.  This shiz is hard.  You will have some seriously bi-polar ups and downs, and you are not alone.

I really, really, really from the bottom of my heart appreciate any feedback I get when I write about my crazy days.  I do lots and lots of moaning and groaning, and I'm relieved to hear that some of my girlfriends are going through exactly the same thing.  I love the advice or the unloading or whatever you need to do.  I started this  blog as a way to keep up with family and friends as my family grows, but I'm so glad it has turned into more for me.  

So I need to be reassured -- I'm really not an island, am I?  

I just noticed as I sat down to write this that I never published the last post, so I did.  And then I giggled at its tone -- Yay, me!  I was a great mommy today!  Because today is a bit different . . . 

Well, today is okay, but yesterday was complete crap.  See these sweet children below:

I had a lunch date with them at Bakin' and Eggs.

She begged me to let her help mop.  I mean begged.

  Don't they look so sweet and awesome in these two photos?  Well, they were sweet and awesome at moments . . . and then the rest of the day was complete mayhem.  The details aren't too important and they weren't being naughty, but they were complete nuts at lunch and fussy and whiney and loud and UGGHHHH for the rest of the day.  A mom actually gave Mack her child's Buzz Lightyear because he continuously screamed and pointed at it throughout lunch.  Basically, they were just little handfuls of crazy.  I did a great job of keeping my cool, which usually helps.  But it didn't help at all yesterday, and I was annoyed and embarrassed.  I thought it would be fun to make cookies with Mimi, but it ended with me basically shoving her out of the kitchen and making her watch a movie.  Yep, making cookies wasn't quite as sweet and fun as I thought.

And then Clint messaged to ask if it was cool if he went to dinner with a client.  Oh, holy crap.  Anyway, I convinced him he needed to be home because our children had kicked my butt today, and luckily he was able to get out of it.

I've also been thinking a lot lately about whether I'm really doing the best that I can as a mom during the years I'm able to stay home with my toddlers.  We love Chicago and all that it has to offer our family -- great museums, amazing parks, incredible public elementary schools, 3 high schools on my side of town in the Newsweek top 500, tons of toddler activities . . . but sometimes getting around and wrestling with the crowds is a bit overwhelming.  And then I think about our life in a suburb or small town and how some of our friends in the South have inexpensive Mother's Day Out options and big yards and cheap babysitting (well, relatively speaking).  Last night when I was having one of my "I'm so completely exhausted" moments, I began to question myself.  And then I woke up this morning and was fine.

Seriously, what's up with all the highs and lows?  Why can't parenting be the most amazing experience ever, like, all the time?

Sigh.  So I'll keep trying and learning and growing and talking and talking and listening a lot more than I talk.  Well, I don't know.  I do talk a lot . . .

I had a convo with a dear friend this morning who is very close to my little monkeys, and she pointed out that I am a big softie when it comes to disciplining Mimi.  What I'm doing might work with some children, but she needs serious boundaries because she's sneaky and witty.  Yep, this is so true.  We also talked about how I need to add some structure and keep them as busy as possible.  I needed this.

Then the discussion at my mom's group was about whether to add another child to the family or not while living in this big and busy city.  I thought about skipping this week just so no one could convince me that adding another is "such a joy."  Girls talked about having two or three children in a two bedroom house (The babies that sleep in pack 'n plays in the "big bathroom" were called "spa babies."  That makes me giggle), the struggles with teaching their little ones to act appropriately in public, learning the ropes with finding free museum days or the more affordable preschools (like that exists!), and working out a dinner schedule when no one has a husband who gets home before 6:30.

We do have some different challenges in the city, but everyone has some sort of challenges with trying to figure out how to survive parenting.  At least I can keep my kids in the stroller while I run some small errands to pick up more contacts or milk at the grocery and then the dry cleaners.  My head spins when I think about getting two wild monkeys in and out of a car a bazillion times a day.

Okay, now I have some frosted heart-shaped cookies I need to share with my wild children.  I think we've all earned a treat after being so sweet and structured and disciplined today. :)

Chin Up

Yesterday was bad.

Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad.

The weather was nice. My children were sweet and funny. My husband had a great day.

I was the one who was so bad.

Like so bad that I raised my voice and actually threw something and broke it. Wow. I don't think I've ever done that. My tone sounded like Darth Vader's. I had so much anger that flames could have burst out of my ears at any moment.

I usually try to giggle when things start to spin out of my control because I know that one day I will laugh at this, and I know that I am never actually in control of my world. But I had absolutely zero control over anything. Nothing. And so I lost my shiz. A lot.

I could pinpoint a bazillion things that happened -- Mimi was exhausted but refused to nap. Mack ran as I was changing his diaper and pooped in the floor. Some dumbass parent didn't shut the gate at the park, so Mimi and a buddy escaped and ran toward a busy intersection. After cleaning up all the pine needles in the floor after removing decorations and lights, Mimi grabbed my broom and scattered them EVERYWHERE. And then immediately did it again. And again. Both of my kids were extremely picky eaters at dinner. And the list could go on and on and on.

Now that I have it typed up in front of me it all seems a bit silly. I'm embarrassed that I couldn't control my emotions. I'm angry that I broke my favorite dust pan. I'm sad that Mimi saw me make a complete jerk of myself.

God gave me these specific children for a reason. I'm sure of it. And it's time like these that I begin to see a glimpse of why.

When my tone turned angry, Mimi started imitating it, roared at me, and then told me that she also wanted to play monsters.

When I threw the dust pan and broke it, she told me I needed to play nicely with my toys so I don't break them. Then she said I should go to time out and think about it.

When my two children were running around screaming like wild monkeys at the park with another little girl, her mom told me, "Wow, they are little daredevils. I love their energy! Aren't they so entertaining and fun? My daughter is having a blast with them."

Mack had at least ten serious giggle fits last night. Like I thought I might tee tee in my pants giggle fits. And he and Mimi really played together well. When it was his bedtime, she begged for me to let him play with her longer. Melt me.

So, chin up, Jeri Anne. Today is a new day. A better day. Snow is coming and everything should be clean and white and pretty by tonight. I'm going to let yesterday go and force myself to giggle . . .

Control Issues

I have a confession. Lately I've been a bit of a . . . dare I say it? Hi, my name is Jeri Anne Darby and I am a Type-A control freak.

If you know me, you know that this is waaaay abnormal behavior. It is just not in my nature to not be okay with, well, pretty much anything that is thrown at me, but I have learned that this is completely normal . . . I mean, I am a human being and all.

I heard some news yesterday morning that literally rocked my new control-freak world. I was sadly reminded that I am really not the one in charge. Not at all.

Let me start this story with telling you about a really great guy I went to elementary and high school with. His name is Ron and he is about the nicest guy I've ever met. I mean super-nice but not in a dorky pushover kind of way but a nice that is genuine and caring. He was a football captain and president of the FCA our senior year. He was even voted Mr. ACHS (along with a really dorky girl for Miss ACHS . . . not sure what our class was even thinking), and basically everyone liked him. I remember sitting in Mrs. Foust's senior English class one morning, and Ron turned around in his seat to ask me what I thought about Amanda Cossey. Should he ask her to prom?

Oh my gosh. Amanda was a couple of years younger than us and possibly the sweetest girl I'd ever met. Why hadn't I ever thought of this brilliant match? It was too, too perfect. He was a football player and she was a dancer . . . he was FCA president and her father was a preacher . . . they were both smart and cute and nice. Too perfect.

So they went to prom . . . and started dating . . . went to college . . . and Ron eventually became the head coach of a high school football team in the small Mississippi town of New Albany. Amanda also taught there and was a speech pathologist. When I was a cheerleader sponsor at a nearby high school, I can remember Ron coming across the field giggling after his team played mine because he heard some cheers from our old high school (remember the "Get. The ball. Get, get, get the ball" one? And the "Football jerseys, football socks, we've got the Bulldogs by their jocks. Pull, team, pull!" It's tacky but so fun.) I was so glad to see his smiling face and find out that he and Amanda had gotten married. And then a few years later I found out they were expecting a baby girl a few months before I had Mimi. I was so very happy for such a sweet and deserving couple. And everyone I've ever met from their new small town felt the same way. What a perfect, perfect couple.

According to the newspapers, Ron and Amanda had just arrived at home Tuesday night after taking a student to an all-star game, and Amanda had let their dog out into the backyard. Just an average day in their life. Get home. Put down their things. Put the baby in bed. Take out the dog . . .

Then she spotted an intruder . . . screamed . . .

. . . and was shot.

Ron ran outside . . . and he was also shot. Ron is expected to be okay . . . but Amanda . . .

So now that three-year-old girl has no mommy and Ron has lost his best friend, and my heart hasn't broken like this in a very, very long time. I am so freaking angry and sick that I can't stand it. I want to find this person who committed this act and . . . well, basically all the same things you're thinking right now. But it won't bring her back to her sweet family . . . and it won't changed the horrible things that have happened.

I spent most of my day yesterday being angry. What the hell? Why did something so awful happen to such awesome people?

But the truth is that bad things happen to pretty much everybody in some way . . . as do good things. We have absolutely no control over many, many things. No matter how much planning and preparation and effort I put toward disciplining and teaching my children, cleaning and cooking, and all the many, many other things in my life I try to control, it can all be taken away instantly. Life has to go on, and we have to figure out how to continue.

So today I decided to stop trying to control and to just let it go. Of course I fed my children and brushed my teeth and all the other things I normally feel I need to do, but I didn't lose it on my children when they made absolutely the most ridiculous messes ever (like I did recently. Ouch. It hurts to admit).

Like this guy who loves to steal ornaments from the tree . . .

"I need this turtle dove. Mom won't notice."

I let them eat their snacks in the den and space out watching a movie.

This has been a hard one for me lately because Mack LOVES to shake the heck out of his snack container until all the Goldfish or pretzels or whatever are slung literally all over the room.

Just a friendly game of keep-away.

And then they stomped on their Goldfish, and Mack decided he needed to "swim" all over them.

I refrained from yelling and cussing and spanking and losing my shiz like I did recently over a puzzle mess. Seriously. People, I promise I try really hard to be a great mommy, but sometimes I am TERRIBLE at this. Not often. But it does happen.

So after I completely lost it, that night I got my pay-back. When little Mack hurt himself on something and cried, Mimi sweetly asked me, Oh, shit, Mommy. What happened?

Yes, you read that correctly. She said a four-letter word. It's no lie that I don't use them when I feel necessary, but I don't exactly want my daughter at three-years-old to use them. And I don't say them around her. But I guess in one of my rants over a bazillion puzzle pieces being slung all over the downstairs, I let that word slip. A good friend reminded me that I'm going to mess up occasionally, but I still want to stick my head under a pillow and hide in shame over that one.

But Mimi and I discussed how that word isn't appropriate for her to use, and she was all cool about it and hasn't said it since.

So anyway, I was much more chill and regular and not all uptight and strict today, and guess what? Things went much more smoothly. All I can do while I'm on this earth is try to be kind and good and teach my children the same. I'll make sure we have some fun along the way (a whole lot of fun), and I'll try to be prepared . . . but that's all I can do.

So on that note, Mimi painted a picture. I know it has nothing to do with anything, but she did.

I like how she has to hold her tongue just right.

While I was snapping this shot, she was telling me, "Wait, Mommy! I not finished! Just one more thing! The princess castle needs a sidewalk, so she can get to the train and go to work downtown!"

Like a princess walks on a sidewalk to take a train to her job downtown. She rides in a chariot. Duh.

I will leave you with this until next time . . .

I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? "And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labour or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendour was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? So do not worry, saying, "What shall we eat?" or "What shall we drink?" or "What shall we wear?" For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

Matthew 6:19-34

I'm Putting Myself in Time-Out

I am going to blame it on my laryngitis. It's something I'm stricken with once every couple of years either in the early fall or spring, and my number must be up once again. I can't talk, so all I can do is be quiet and listen and think. Gosh, how boring.

Over the past few weeks I've felt like I've had way more discussions with friends who are thinking about having babies, thinking about having a second baby, or thinking about pulling their hair out from all of their babies they already have. While doing all this being quiet and thinking, I have been going over those conversations in my head and looking at baby pictures and reminiscing a lot about my time as a mommy . . . and I've been wondering if I could go back in time what I would have told myself about all this baby business a few years ago . . .

. . . and I think I would have jerked myself up by the ponytail and said this:

#1) Stop thinking about yourself so dang much. Get in the routine of doing for others. Take care of others first. Volunteer. Take dinner to a sick friend. Call your Mom more often.

#2) Stop complaining that I'm SOOO busy. Limit my TV time and start cooking dinner and working out. If I don't do it now, why do I think I'll do it when I have a baby?

#3) Laugh at myself. Don't take life so seriously. Stop gossiping. And quit worrying about not having enough money for those fabulous boots in both black and brown.

#4) Stop taking forever to get ready for work or a dinner. Limit washing my hair to every other day. Clean out my closet so I only have pieces that I feel fabulous in. Put my keys, sunglasses, and wallet in the same place every. single. day. Don't pack for a month when I'll only be gone for a weekend.

#5) Join an awesome Sunday School Class at a church that is focused on what's important. And make sure that Sunday School class has plenty of young couples who have started their own families.

#6) Make awesome friends who I can trust and rely on and who don't complain too much. I'll need these people to help me not go insane when I'm ready to call it quits. And learn to tune out the haters. If friends or family members are being critical now, just wait until they can unleash all their judging on me as a mother.

#7) Learn to REALLY communicate with my husband. What makes him tick? What does he need to feel loved? What do I need from him? What's really going on when he gets so dang mad about not being able to find his belt?

#8) Talk to God. A LOT. Ask him for absolutely everything and learn that I fail miserably when I stubbornly try to make decisions on my own. Don't get so overwhelmed. Have FAITH.

#9) Don't be disgusted at poots. They really are funny :).

But I couldn't write this list to myself before we had Mimi, so Clint and I just jumped in head-first like everyone else has to do who doesn't have a time machine. And we've worked hard and succeeded and failed and bickered and been exhausted and have had a heck of a lot of fun. But I still need to make sure I'm learning and trying and failing so that I can learn some more. We've recently reached a new milestone with Mimi being a preschooler and Mack being a toddler. Things have changed and I have to roll with it and constantly keep myself in check, but I haven't been exactly sure how to do what's best for my little stinkers.

Stinker #1

Stinker #2

A good friend recommended a book to me called Loving the Little Years: Motherhood in the Trenches by Rachel Jankovic, and it has completely changed my perspective. Stop rolling your eyes because I have probably already recommended you read this and I have talked about it, like, nonstop for the past few weeks. It was JUST what I needed. This chick is a mother of 5 small children all under the age of 6. Four of them are girls (imagine that house full of drama and hormones), and one is a set of twins. Just knowing that she has all of that going on and is still surviving enough to write a book should make most of us stop whining and complaining. She is a Christian, but I feel like really anyone who was raised with similar morals can take something away from this.

Anywho, get the book. The author is cute and funny and amazingly positive, and you'll want to highlight almost every single sentence. It's only about 100 pages and each chapter is only a few pages. I read it during a naptime and right before I went to sleep (which means I've been able to leave Mimi in bed by herself most nights! Woo hoo!). She's not preachy and condemning but is real and honest and doesn't claim to have all the answers. I promise you'll come out of it ready for a fresh start with a new perspective on what exactly it is we're supposed to be doing as parents.

So from this book and from talking to other moms and from trial and error, I have put myself in time-out to stop and reflect on this new list I created for myself:

#1) Quit complaining about not having "me time." I just had a convo with a new dad at Trader Joe's who has a 7-week-old. He was in total survival mode, and I could tell he was struggling from the way he was constantly rubbing his eyes to stay awake. He said he's a competitive cycler, and he hasn't even pulled out his bike since the baby has arrived. I wanted to say, "Dude, focus on the big picture. Just think about the first time he can ride on the back of the bike with you along the lakefront . . . and when you get to remove the training wheels from his Elmo bike and let him go by himself . . . and when he gets to race next to you one day." But all he needed to hear from me today was, "Don't worry. You will be able to do it again. You're in survival mode right now, and you'll be proud of yourself when you make it out of this stage alive." I've so been there. I've been so concerned about MY free time. When do I get to do things by myself again? Instead I need to find things I enjoy doing with my children. Taking them on a jog in the stroller . . . teaching them how to splash in the ocean waves . . . painting Mimi's fingernails while doing my own . . . and before I know it spending time with them becomes a lot more fun than spending time by myself.

#2) Speaking of survival mode -- it's okay to do this occasionally. We're rushing from a doctor's appointment to ballet to the grocery store, and somewhere along the way I need to fit in some lunch and naps. I will not beat myself up if I have to hit the drive-thru at McDonald's and Mack's nap is later that day. If guests are coming over and nothing is keeping the kids occupied so I can cook and clean, then I can't feel guilty about pulling out a Costco frozen pasta and pre-made salad and quickly Swiffering around the edges. I mean, who needs a friend who will look under the couch for dust-bunnies anyway?

#3) I can't stay in "survival mode." Although that is basically what everyone does during the beginning and certain transitional times, I have to realize that being a SAHM is my life now, and I must give it my all. The house does need a good scrubbing every now and then. I need to shower and put on make-up and matching clothes. I should cook healthy meals. I must put all that folded laundry away. And most of all, I need to make time to sit in the floor with the children and let them throw all the pillows off the bed and dump everything out of the toy bins and sing and dance and giggle.

#4) Remember that this is supposed to be fun. There was a mom at soccer last week who was begging and pleading and bribing and coaxing and guilt-tripping and all-out demanding that her child get out on that soccer field RIGHT NOW and HAVE FUN. Meanwhile, the little girl was in her own world twirling her hair and trying to find absolutely anything she could do other than getting on that soccer field. I'm not judging the mom because who knows what kind of day the two of them had had or what other issues have arisen at soccer each week, but I hated to see that it all ended with the mom whisper-yelling how she'd had enough and they could just go home. Then she stomped out of the building while the completely unaffected little girl skipped behind her. And all I could think was, Oh my goodness, so that's what I look like when I do that. Well, I haven't exactly done that, but I sure have let Mimi know how disappointed I have been in her when she hasn't willingly done the things I've wanted her to do. And guess what. Totally doesn't phase her. And I'm glad it doesn't. She shouldn't be doing these things to please me. There is a huge difference in doing what is "right" and just doing something that I think is right. So I can encourage and expose them to what I think is fun . . . but I need to make dang sure I'm paying attention to what she and Mack want to do for fun.

#5) Respect versus etiquette. Last night we had a new babysitter who responded to a question I asked her with, "Yes, ma'am." Oh my goodness. I can't recall the last time someone has said that to me, and I found her response with her sweet Texas accent to be so lovely. But I could tell she used this phrase genuinely and honestly with respect. When I taught high school English a million years ago in a small town in Mississippi, I noticed that some parents completely freaked out if their children didn't respond with, "Yes, ma'am" or "No, sir" or "please and thank you" to the point of being ridiculous. I had a couple of mischievous ninth grade boys who were very good at using these magic words when they were in trouble, and finally one day I'd had enough. They were selfishly disrupting the class the day before exams, and as soon as I called them outside they both started with their "yes, ma'am" crap. I asked them to NEVER use those mocking and disrespectful words to me again, and I explained that it doesn't mean anything if it isn't said with respect. They obviously didn't respect me or their classmates, and I wish that they had learned how to do that rather than recite that meaningless word. While I do occasionally ask Mimi to use "ma'am" or "sir," I haven't cared too much about hen-pecking my children to always say this, but I care a heck of a lot about my children being grateful and unselfish and loving.

#6) Be ready for change. What worked a few months ago for keeping them occupied while I do laundry might not work anymore. While Mimi may have always been a fantastic eater, she is suddenly eating sporadically -- very little at one meal and an extreme amount at another. Time outs worked well last week but not so much this week. Mack has discovered how to climb on beds and up stairs. My methods must change and I have to be okay with Plan B. Or C. Or D.

#7) Save the yelling (this doesn't really work anyway with laryngitis!). A few months ago my house could fall to crap at any given second. Mack had begun teething, Mimi was being a really terrible two-year-old, and Ruthie barked her head off at everything that moved. I was still trying to figure out how to function being at home all day, and I lost it waaaay too much. And guess what? Little ones become immune to that. And they even learn to yell back and yell at each other. Uh oh. I knew that if I didn't stop soon yelling would become a way of life, and I'd make a complete A-double-S out of myself in public over Mimi kicking off a shoe. So now I'm forbidding myself from yelling unless Mimi is running out into the street or she's choking her brother until his face turns blue or Mack is about to grab scissors or a hot stove. If I freak out, so will my children. They need to learn how to calmly deal with problems by watching my example.

#8) Make sure I'm disciplining my children when they are sinning and not when they are just getting on my nerves. Are they being selfish and jealous and mean? Or are they just squealing too loudly while I'm trying to watch Friday Night Lights? Am I pointing out why we should share the blocks with our friends or am I just yelling and humiliating them? I remember being silly with a couple of other little girls in the ice cream line during snack time when a teacher smacked us all on the bottom and called us "disobedient little girls." We were all completely humiliated, and I found myself being very withdrawn and frightened around this teacher after that incident. I wasn't a bad kid, so I went over and over this moment in my mind trying to figure out exactly what we did that was so wrong. There wasn't a rule about not talking in line, so was it wrong to giggle? I know you think I'm crazy for remembering this, but kids do remember times like this. Children need to be children. Silly and loud and wild . . . but also kind and gracious and loving. Also, I need to realize when the real problem is all my fault. Did I forget snacks for my irritable, starving children? Did I really think I could buy groceries for the week during naptime?

#9) I need to let my children know my expectations. There have been total meltdowns in Target and at the park and in restaurants . . . and I kept going back with the kids and doing the same thing but expecting better results. Eventually I started telling Mimi, "We're going to the park, but we can't get any ice cream this afternoon because we will soon eat dinner with Daddy. Also, I need you to climb in the stroller when it's time to go because Daddy will be excited to see us." I asked her to agree with me and repeat this so I knew she heard me, and then I reminded her once again when we got to the park. And guess what? It usually worked. Also, I've learned to practice good behaviors with my children before expecting them to actually "be good." One sort of scary thing about living in the city is all the traffic, but I knew Mimi had to learn to walk next to me on the sidewalk and stop at all alleys and streets. I've seen some of her friends doing it, so we slowly let her walk short distances with us. And each time she did well she was allowed just a tiny bit more freedom to stop and pick up stick and rocks and point out dog poop and tell me how yucky that was.

#10) Let my children help. There was a family I babysat for some who had two small children and a girl who was about 8 or 9. When it was time for me to feed them dinner or get them ready for bed, I always asked the oldest one to help out by giving her simple tasks like clearing the table, brushing their hair, or drying them after their bath, and she was happy to do so. Whenever I let the parents know that she was always a great help, they seemed so surprised. The mom told me that she never even asked the daughter to help because she thought the girl would do it wrong and it was easier to just do it herself. I have to constantly remind myself now that Mimi can do more than I think she can -- I just have to guide her a little. And be patient with her while she's learning. I give her hand towels to fold when I'm putting away laundry. I give her plastic dishes to dry when I'm unloading the dishwasher. I ask her to take off her shoes and put them by the door when we get home. I let her stir and pour in some ingredients when we cook together. And there is usually a mess and Mack gets in the middle of it and I have to do it over. And each time I ask her she will get better.

So I'm jerking myself up by the ponytail and vowing to be a better mommy. I will fail daily and it won't be easy, but here it goes. I'll let you know how I do. :)

To Nap or Not to Nap . . .

. . . that is the question.

It is 9:00 at night, and for the first time in about 6 months both of my children are asleep . . . but this has come at a cost: almost losing my sanity.

Mack has absolutely no problem falling asleep. I need to run some errands in the middle of the day, and he'll take a short morning nap and an afternoon one. We have things to do in the morning, so he has no issue waiting until after lunch and taking a long afternoon nap. Around 6:30-7:00 at night he gets a little fussy and will even point up the stairs, which means, "Take me to my crib, please." All I need to do is give him a little milk, turn out the light, and put him in his crib.

At this age Mimi wasn't much different. She easily transitioned to one nap and even slept on a mat when she changed day cares at 12 months old. Around 18 months it took a little longer to get her down for a nap on the weekends, but she still quickly fell asleep at night. Around 2-years-old it took a little longer to get her settled for a nap, but still it was nothing to complain about. BUT since she was 2 1/2 and moved to a big bed, I have been very close to losing my mind. She began rebelling at both naptime and bedtime, and I tried every trick I knew. The "Supernanny take them back to bed and not say anything" routine. On the show this one solves the problem in a couple of nights. We tried it for a couple of months, and we were taking her back to bed until 11:30 some nights. We tried to take away a toy each time she got up (she sleeps with about 20 of her favorite stuffed animals), and we tried to reward her with one when she stayed in bed. We've been turning off the lights and television and giving her milk and a boring story. We've discussed how we need our rest because we have a "big day" planned for the following morning. I've shortened her naps to just an hour in the afternoon, but she wakes up extremely fussy and still won't go to bed any earlier at night. It's been suggested to just lock the door and let her cry it out, but they are French doors with no lock. Baby gates wouldn't work either because of the way the doors open out into the den. Sigh . . .

I talked with a pediatrician about this issue, and she suggested all of the above. When I told her how all of those methods have failed -- my kid's too damn smart and we're too damn stupid -- she said, "Why don't you just lie down with her until she falls asleep. She will eventually grow out of this, and that's some really sweet time you'll never have again." She was right, and so that is what we have been doing. It has definitely kept her in the bed . . . but it has also kept us in her bed. I'm usually so exhausted that I probably fall asleep before she does and then stumble up to bed around 2:00 AM. Clint does the same but usually stays there all night because he's such a heavy sleeper.

If you're paying attention you'll notice that this leaves absolutely no time for Clint and me to hang out. As soon as he gets home from work and changes into casual clothes, it's normally time to put Mack to bed, eat dinner, and then clean the kitchen. We might spend a little bit of time discussing bills, his job, my day with the kids, or talking with family on Skype, and then it is time to begin the bedtime ritual with Mimi. The only way Clint and I ever have a real conversation is when we get a sitter, and that ain't cheap. I would absolutely love to have a night to sit on the couch and watch and episode of Friday Night Lights with him and no children climbing on me, but that hasn't been possible. I also talk with other moms who have side hobbies, and I ask when in the world they have time. They all respond, "During naptime and after they go to bed." Naptime is the only time I have to clean the house and take care of other business, so I am so ready to have that "after bedtime" time that everyone seems to love. I know people who have all their children in bed by 8:00, which gives them a solid 2 1/2 hours to do whatever it is they want to do. For the record, I hate you.

Something had to give, so today I conducted an experiment. There would be no nap for Mimi. We had to run errands this morning, so I put Mack down for his one long nap after lunch. Normally Mimi plays in the den while I eat and clean up their lunch and then together (at least I try to get her to help) we clean up the den before her nap. Today I let her continue playing quietly while I unloaded the dishwasher and began working on laundry. I thought maybe this was going to be a great idea because she can entertain herself pretty well. Around the time we normally go to her room for a nap, I brought a couple of books to the den and decided this would begin her new "quiet time." She was nice and calm during the books, and then something happened. I think it was her second wind because she suddenly had a surge of energy and began squealing and jumping around the room. I returned a couple of phone calls (I usually don't talk on the phone during this time because I'm afraid I'll wake up Mimi) and she yelled and screamed and whined the entire time I was trying to have a conversation. I took her to her room and pulled out some of her favorite toys and explained that she would have "quiet time" in her room instead of a nap today. She didn't like this idea and wanted me to stay with her and play. I told her Mommy really needed a few minutes by herself to regroup and fold laundry, but that was out of the question for her. She ran to the den and threw all the clothes in the air and acted like a crazy hyena, and I swear I thought I was going to jump out of the window. I put the laundry away and moved her to her room again, and this worked for just a little while. Not long after this Mack woke up, and I was so happy because that meant I could get my crazy self out of this house.

We went on a walk and to the park, and, my gosh, I should have never taken that child out in public. She was okay for a little while, but she kept taking buckets of water from the splash pad and dumping it in the dirt to make mud, and she ran away from me screaming when I tried to wash the mud off her legs. She pestered the ice cream man and cried for both me and him to give her some Bugs Bunny popsicles. And I can't even bear to write about the show she put on when I tried to get her in the stroller. Let's just say my back will be hurting for a long, long time. When we got home and I began running the bathwater, she ran away from both Clint and me and fussed and whined, and Clint's first question was, "Has she had a nap today?"

But at 8:15 when I told her we needed to get ready for bed, Mimi responded with, "Okay, Mommy," and there was no drama. No kicking or screaming or running away or flailing of her arms and legs. We brushed her teeth, used the potty, read a book, and turned out the lights. I still stayed in her room until she was asleep, but this whole process was over by 8:45.

I guess now I need to pick my poison. To make her nap or to not make her nap . . . how do I know when it's time to drop the nap? Will the crazy 5:00-7:00 drama continue if she doesn't nap, or will she get adjusted? For the last few months I (and sometimes Clint) have spent almost 2 to 3 hours of each day trying to get her to fall asleep at naptime and bedtime, and I have to find a way to put an end to this.

Today one of my friends I was attempting to have a conversation with on the phone through all the fussing and whining told me that a pediatrician recommended giving her sleepless child melatonin, which is a naturally-occurring hormone that helps regulate sleep cycles. Anyone know anything about this or used it with your children?

Since I have just a little time before I crash, I think I need to pull up Netflix and catch up on the Dillon Panthers . . .