Thursday

I don't have a favorite day of the week, but I definitely have a least-favorite.  That would be Thursday.  Hence the blog name (It is also a plug for Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and anything else written by Douglas Adams.)  Thursdays and I go way back.  Growing up, Thursday was always the day I had piano lessons, or gym class or math tests.  Recently, Thursday is the day my husband chooses to attend night class (or the university schedules them - whatever).  I am always braced for a rough day on Thursday.

 This semester, Husband works from home on Thursdays during the day; which is awesome because sometimes I get to kiss him when he comes downstairs for lunch before he goes back to work on his thesis.  But he still has a night class.  Which means homework time, dinnertime and bedtime are all a solo act.  Last week was especially eventful.

 There were bruises and tears.  My oldest spent an hour sitting on his bed before he was willing to talk to me about fighting with his brother.  The length of time was his idea - he got involved in a book and wanted to finish it.  Then another hour not doing his homework at the kitchen table.  And the boys had a food fight at the dinner table.  A food fight, seriously!?! So they mopped the floor and cried some more.  The girls were a little sick and just wanted to be held, but not while I was holding the other one.  I told them I would turn out their light early, and that every minute they wasted was time they wouldn't be reading.  

"Good!" said my oldest.  "I finished my book anyway.  And besides Mom, the earlier WE go to bed the        earlier YOU have to go to bed."

Me: "That's the point."

Him: "Well. . . then.  I mean, the earlier we go to bed the LATER you have to go to bed."

The highlight of my evening was this note from my son, when he finally decided to practice his spelling words.  

Correct is one of his words.  I think the original plan was to make up a sentence about how mad he was at me for every word, but that took too long, so he finally quit and just wrote them.  He brought it to me while his younger brother was practicing reading, so we complimented him on his handwriting and let JJ practice reading it out loud.

It was crazy and hectic, but it actually turned out to be a great day.  It was one of those moments as a parent that I got to enjoy the fact that my kids' drama is not my drama.  I can laugh at them when they are being ridiculous.  Just because they are angry does not mean that I have to be angry back, and I wasn't.  

Growing up I was always surprised at parents when they wanted to be friends with their kids.  Parents who were actually hurt by their children saying things like "I hate you!"  All kids hate their parents sometimes.  And I felt sorry for my friends who felt like it was their job to make their parents happy.  One friend told me that his earliest memory was sitting on the couch next to his mom, trying to get her to stop crying.  That is way too heavy a burden to place on a child.  They shouldn't have to be the ones emotionally taking care of their parents.

I like that my kids can be open with me about their feelings without worrying about how I will react.  I'm not going to cry or scream or hurt anything.  It isn't their job to boost my self-esteem.  And they are free to be themselves too.  They know that I love them, and they know that nothing they ever do can change that.  My love for them is not conditional on anything they do.  It is something that exists inside ME.  They can't change it, ever.  And by their actions that night, I could tell that they believed that.

In our church we talk a lot about self-reliance.  Most people take this to mean food storage and saving money, but I think that emotional self-reliance is just as important, if not more so.  It is certainly harder.

So it was a good Thursday.  A self affirming, I-am-on-the-right-track Thursday.

But I won't be changing the name of my blog.

Victoria's actual Secret

Photo credit: mostinterestingfacts.com

Once upon a time, many years ago I had a job.  A job and no reoccurring bills other than tuition.  During that time I amassed a huge collection of pajamas and shoes.  In fact, every paycheck had a dedicated "pajama/shoe" allotment.  Times have changed, my friends.  Yes, I do miss my purple velvet two inch heels, but let's be honest, it isn't like I'd be wearing them.  I don't usually lament the loss, but around Christmas time I realized that all of my pajamas are older than all of my children.

So I asked for pajamas for Christmas.  Not the interesting kind.  (Side note - bridal shower advice from my aunt:  "You know how to try on lingerie right?  You throw it on the floor and say "Oh good.  It fits." Because the floor is where it will be spending most of its time.")  But I am picky.  They have to be warm enough that I won't freeze if I happen to spend an hour or so on the floor of the bathroom or bedroom with a small child, cover enough that I won't be (too) embarrassed if I have to answer the door in them, and accessible enough that I can breastfeed the newest addition without suffocating him/her, also, the top and the bottom have to match.  My momma is awesome and made me some herself.  Husband took me with him to the store, and when we couldn't find anything, he did some browsing online.  Then he brought me his laptop.

Him:  "I found a couple of sites that may have what you want.  The Victoria's Secret ones are cheaper, but they don't look as warm as the PajamaGram ones."

Me:  "That is because the Victoria's Secret models can't seem to manage buttons.  I'm sure they would be warm if their stomachs weren't hanging out.  Or if they would tuck their breast implants back inside, or just stand up normally.  See?  They have to stick their hips out because they don't have any real curves. . . Who does that?  Please tell me that men don't really believe that women choose to sleep with their pajamas half off unless they know someone will be seeing them."

Him:  "You mean girls don't get together for sleepovers in slutty pajamas and have pillow fights?  Teenage boys the world over will be so disappointed."

Browsing through I noticed something strange about the models.  Not just their abnormally shaped bodies and photo-shopped skin.  In nearly every pose where the model wasn't smiling, her mouth was open.  Not much, just lips slightly parted.  What is that about?  Is there something sexy about a woman with her mouth open?  Or is the stereotype is true; women just talk a lot, and even during a photo-shoot they couldn't get her to shut up?

Photo credit: Victoriassecret.com

I asked my husband, who is my resident expert on all things "sexy." (I personally don't understand the concept of sexy very well.  Husband says I am - but only when I'm not trying.  If I try to be sexy, I just end up laughing.  Somehow our society has labeled giggling as un-sexy, which is just messed up in my opinion.  How is happy not sexy?  But no, we must take our sex very seriously.)

Anyway, I ran my open-mouth-models theories past my husband.  His explanation was much better:

Him:  "No.  They are just hungry.  They lock the models in cages and never let them eat, but the people off camera have food, so the reason the models' mouths are open is because they are saying "fo-ooo-ooo-od." But they are so malnourished that they can't open their mouths all the way."

I love that man.

Replace "food" with "brains" and they are exactly like zombies.  Everything comes back to zombies.

photo credit: stylefrizz.com

Baby hungry

In which you realize that I am actually crazy and you have nothing in common with me.

You know how sometimes you can listen to a person talking and know all the words they are using and still have no idea what they are talking about?  That is the way I feel about the phrase "baby hungry." I understand what someone means when they say that they are going through a phase where they really want to have a baby and they would love to hold a baby, but I can't say that I personally know the feeling.


I mean the part about it being a phase.  Or the idea that wanting a baby makes it a good time to have one.

See, I LOVE babies.  Misshapen heads, pimply skin, weird red marks on their eyes, can't do anything but cry, newborns.  This isn't normal.  I've only ever met one other mom who feels the way I do.  Of course, other moms love their children, but most everyone that I've talked to takes three to six months before they actually enjoy their babies.   I wish we talked about this more as mothers, but it seems a little taboo.  There is a great article here that sums up how most people that I've talked to feel.

I think part of this comes from the fact that (around here) fewer people are having babies, and people are just exposed to them less.  So they are not exactly prepared with what to expect.  Movies and TV aren't a good substitute, since you can't actually put a week-old baby on camera for long enough to shoot a scene, let alone an entire sitcom.So sometimes mothers are surprised that their newborn is actually kind of freaky-looking and requires more maintenance than anything they've ever imagined.  (You should pause here and read this post from Rants From Mommyland where they very accurately call newborns "grimacing plucked chickens")

 Me, well. . . I'm special.  I've always had a thing for babies (this does not apply to baby animals of any kind).  One of my earliest memories is repeatedly running to my mom because my baby doll wasn't staying wrapped in her blanket right.  I was too small to do it myself, but I knew there was a right way to wrap a baby.   I was two.

When I was expecting our first I read in one of my books that you should get the nurses to teach you how to swaddle the baby before you leave the hospital - since they are experts, and babies like it so much. I was expecting to find some new trick, and then realized that they were just wrapping the baby the "right" way.

 I can't think of a day in my life, including high school, the day I was married, or the day I delivered any of my children that I would have declined if you had offered to give me a baby.  I am logical enough to know that there have been times when I shouldn't have a baby, and many other people waiting for a baby that could provide a better home than I could; but if you had insisted - yes, in a heartbeat, I would take care of a baby.

The thing is, there is a huge, HUGE difference between a baby at six days and six weeks and six months, but we call them all "babies." There is nothing wrong with liking one stage more than another, and really hating some stages.  Having a newborn feels like being directly deposited into your own personal hell sometimes - even for me, and I like newborns.

We've romanticized the "mother-child" bond so much that a lot of moms feel that they'be failed if they don't spend the first few minutes of their child's life staring with wonder into her eyes and forming a magical connection that will carry through her entire life.  I've been through it four times and I've only felt that way once, and it wasn't with the first.  It doesn't make me a bad mom.  It doesn't mean that I love that child any more than the others.  It means that I was emotionally ready for it at that moment that one time.  There isn't one moment to bond with your child that defines your entire relationship.  A relationship is built on millions of those moments - spread over a lifetime.  If you don't get them in the first six months, don't worry.  They will come.  I'm looking forward to many more of those moments.  Maybe when he turns 50 and I'm 70-something our eyes will connect through two pair of thick bi-focal lenses, and we'll just know, we were meant to be a family.




Which brings us to one of the strangest videos I've ever seen.  This is a robot baby, meant to be used in film making, since it is so difficult to use a real baby.



Normal people are just creeped out.  My first thought was "Somebody needs to pick that baby up.  He's crying!  Where is his robot mommy?" and I started to cry.

See? Crazy person.

'Male baby hunger is not as great as women's – few have to make such a stark choice between reproduction and professional success. Baby peckishness, perhaps.'  THE OBSERVER 28TH APRIL 2002

Her Highness is Not Pleased

It has been unseasonably warm, so we left the front door open for a little while the other day.  Lil' Girl saw the sun streaming into the living room and got very upset.
Her: "Why is the door open?"
John: "Because it is a beautiful day outside."
Her: "Well, I HATE it.  The clouds are not PINK.  It is NOT a beautiful day!"

And after the fourth trip to the bathroom when she was supposed to be sleeping.
Me: "Go to bed and stay there."
Her: *sigh* "Mom, don't worry about ME."
Me: "Stay in bed."
Her: (another long-suffering sigh) "Fine."

And getting ready in the morning:
Me: "Come, lets comb your hair real quick and get it out of your face."
Her: "Mom.  It's fine."
Me:  "But it's in your face."
Her: "But I'm a princess.  I can just wiggle it out." (and then she demonstrates the proper princess hair tossing technique)

Mr. Darcy had Autism

I've heard a lot of people say that some mental issues are only a fad.  That things like ADHD and Autism aren't really as prevelant as statistics would have us believe.  These people seem to think that if no-one had a name or a medicine for a disability then no-one would HAVE that disability; that people who raise awareness for a disorder are somehow causing the disorder.  I find this facinating (and sad).

It's true that as doctors get better at diagnosing we will see more people with certain labels.  And maybe there are some doctors out there who misdiagnose out of ignorance or lazyness.  I'm also sure there are some environmental factors to some of these "newer" disorders that we've yet to figure out.  And now that we don't gather up people with dementia, down syndrome, depression, epilepsy and every other abnormality we can think of and label them "insane" and send them to an institution; naturally you are going to see an hear about these things more often.

But there is one thing we don't talk about much in the context of people with disabilities or disorders, and that is that our society is changing so quickly and we only label and treat things that are a problem.  If it doesn't interfere with what we think someone should be doing, then it isn't an illness.  And our expectations have changed wildly over the past couple hundred years.

They cut out the bottom of the frame
so you can't see his hands flapping.

Which brings us to Mr. Darcy and his high-functioning Autism.  I could write a whole thesis on this - let's just say if there was such a thing as a degree in psychology and literature you would have to call me Doctor.

Everyone who meets Darcy at a party thinks he is rude because he doesn't initiate conversation and has little to say.  His friends say he is a wonderful man, but takes some time to get to know.  He admits how uncomfortable people make him, especially in large groups.  It is because he is autistic and has a hard time reading social cues.  He says how irritating he finds the music with so many people around - maybe a little bit of sensory processing disorder as well?  His disorder makes it hard to easily converse with people, and they assume he looks down on them.

Memorizing the number of rose
sconces in the mantelpiece.

A man born in the time and station of Mr. Darcy had a good chance of being very successful despite his Autism.  He would have had tutors and governesses giving him one-on-one instruction constantly.  And at the time, social mores were much more rigid.  There were rules about who talks to whom first, what to say and how to say it.  Life would be much easier for those with Autism if they had a set of rules to memorize on how to interact with people on a daily basis.  Our culture is changing so fast that there are almost no conventions for polite behavior anymore, and people are proud of their "openness" and "freedom" and think that anyone who tries to teach basic manners is a prude.  Of course people who have a hard time reading social cues are standing out more - our society is not supporting them like it used to.  So now we see him as a "problem" and he needs treatment, instead of every woman waiting with hearts a-flutter hoping he will notice her.

Mostly what I'm saying is that there are probably lots more disorders out there that have yet to be named because they are not a problem right now.  Maybe someday they will be.

What actually got me thinking about this is the fact that you can have ADHD (Attention Deficit, Hyperactive Disorder) or ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder) but why can't you have HD (Hyperactive Disorder)?  Because what do we call someone who is hyperactive but can concentrate for long periods of time?  Driven.  Ambitious.  Around here we call him John.

I believe my dear husband was born without the ability to be still.  He can sit, but he can't not think of 10 new ideas in five minutes.  He loves to be busy, he needs it.  To the point where he recently quit his comfy corporate job to do free-lance work because he didn't have enough to do.  The job he only worked part time while he gets his PhD.  And teaches.  And does research.  And volunteers several hours a week at church.  And makes sure his is available to help the kids with homework. And did I mention I've been sick, so he has taken over the dinner, laundry, lunch-making chores as well?  Plus, he is really good in bed.  I love the man dearly, but if you ever called him "normal" I'd have to laugh in your face.

I guess I just wanted to say that none of us fit in a mold.  We all have quirks.  It all kind of depends on your perspective.  Next time you see someone you might want to classify as weird - try picturing him in a puffy shirt and cravat;  it may just be a Mr. Darcy.

And I must add a plug for the book Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.  It is AWESOME.  Not least for the fact that Darcy beats up Wickham - dude totally had it coming.

The more things change. . .

the more they stay the same.

2007

2012

Manling

 So I was rubbing lotion on my son's back the other day and I noticed how broad his shoulders are getting, especially compared with his narrow waist.  I know that it is mostly just because he is so tall and skinny and growing so quickly.  But just for a moment, he wasn't my little boy anymore - he was almost a man.  No longer needing me to take care of him or tell him what to do.

It was kind of terrifying, actually.  I felt like my time with him is slipping away so fast.  Soon, I won't be his favorite person anymore.  Truthfully, I'm not his favorite person most of the time now.  Seven-year-olds, well, they're special.  In my mind seven is the new three (ie: the age that is surprisingly difficult and I don't know what to do.) (For more on three-year-olds, go here and here.)

Most cultures have some kind of coming-of-age ceremony around the 7-8-9 ages.  Kids are given more responsibility and privelages.  As I watch my son, I can really see why.  His whole way of thinking is changing.

Most of the development in middle childhood is mental and emotional, the super-fast physical development of the toddler years has slacked off dramatically, deceiving you into thinking maybe things will calm down a little.  Since you can't see the mental development, it may catch you off guard, but trust me, you won't miss anything.  In the infant/toddler years you can go out of town for a week and completely miss a whole stage - not so in middle childhood.  The stages come on gradually and linger and linger and linger - you'll KNOW.

He is developing empathy, which is HUGE.  Empathy means friendships are deeper and more complicated, games and sports are more involved, he can lie intentionally and accurately, he can manipulate.  He can also be very sweet and understanding.  He has a serious fixation with justice and fairness - though fair is defined pretty narrowly as "equal."  Which means we can have fun conversations like this:

Him:  "It isn't FAIR that I have homework and Lil' girl doesn't."
Me: "She's two.  You didn't have homework when you were two."
Him: "So.  It still isn't fair."
Me: "Well, you're just going to have to get over that."
Him: "Well, you're going to have to get over SAYING that."
(Oh and have I mentioned the ATTITUDE?)

There are also a whole vocabulary of grunts and humphs and eye rolls and foot stomps to let me know his displeasure.

The anger is the hardest for me to handle, but also the best thing going on with him right now.  I'll try not to lecture you too much on child-development.  He is getting a lot more control over his emotions, and is able to distract himself from things that are distressing.  So the talking back, foot stomping, ect, are actually replacement behaviors for crying and whining; giving him a little distance and control over the situation.  It's good.  It's also annoying.

All of this is good, and it means that his views on morality can shift from "This is wrong because I will be punished for it." to "This is wrong because it could hurt someone else."

We're Latter-Day Saints, which means that if he chooses, he can be baptized after he turns eight.  We believe that at eight a child can be accountable for his own actions - before this any misbehavior or sin were the direct responsibility of the parent (which is scary).  But at eight, he can make his first covenant with God, and begin to decide what kind of person he wants to be for the rest of his life.  We also believe that any child who dies before eight immediatly goes to heaven, after that, they will be judged on their choices.  But again, the parents are responsible to teach them how to make good choices, and we will be accountable before God for how we taught (and showed good examples to) our children.  So no pressure.

Also, before eight, Satan is not allowed to tempt a child - all misbehavior is a result of the examples children have seen.  After eight, they can start coming up with ideas on their own.

As part of his baptism, he will also recieve a special blessing, the option of the constant guide of the Holy Ghost to help him make good choices.  Every human being has the Holy Ghost to guide them - we usually call it a conscience.  But it comes and goes, and bothers us less the more we ignore it.  But with the "Gift of the Holy Ghost" you can be guided through ALL your choices in life.  Which is cool, when you are willing to always do what is right, which is hard.

Whew!  We're done with Sunday School (for now).  So I'm reminding myself of this as I watch him ignore me and start making decisions simply because HE wants to and not because I tell him to.  (Gee, I wonder where he sees that.)  Now is a good time for him to want to be independant and I need to respect that, even when it is annoying or makes my life more complicated.

The more I pray about what to do, the more the answers come that I shouldn't do anything.  I shouldn't lecture, shouldn't remind.  HE KNOWS.  I just need to let him figure it out.  Do you know how hard that is?  Inaction is not a parenting skill of mine.  But he has been taught right from wrong, and I just need to let the natural consequences take their course.  (Most of the time.)


Also, most of my discipline stratagies have been phazed out now.  You don't really send a seven-year-old to "time out."  I occasionally sent him to his room, but that is more so that both of us can cool off.  See, he usually hides candy in his pockets and a book in his bed - so sending him to his room is not really a punishment.  I do threaten to take away privelages.  But he is most attached to his books, and it is hard for me to want to take those away from him.  "You can't read!" kind of runs counter to our entire parenting philosophy.   Again, natural consequences.  You don't clean up your toys = mom cleans up your toys and you can't find them (no wonder they check the garbage).  And I really can't punish him for attitude.  As annoying as I find it, annoying isn't a punishable offense at our house.  Danger and destruction are pretty much the only things that are.  It's a good thing too - I would be sent to time out regularly based solely on the music I like that no-one else does.

So I'm doing what I always do.  I pray.  A lot.  I highly recomend praying no matter what your religious affiliation is.  Especially as a parent.  And I mean more than meditating.  It really helps me to talk through everything I'm thinking with God (he never repeats what I say to anyone).  After I've explained everything that I'm feeling I'm able to formulate specific questions about what is going on.  Most of the time I already have the answers.  Once I boil down my issues to a specific question, I know how to begin my search for answers.  Most of the time all I need from God is the peace to keep going.  And that He has in abundance.