The Haircut

Lil' Girl got her hair cut last week. She asked for it, and I feel very strongly that my kids should be in control of their own hair. She was really excited. It is just below her ears. Of course, she looks adorable - she always does.

I had a mini panic attack. Maybe not so mini. I worry about her so much. I've seen the way kids can sometimes be rude to each other when someone doesn't conform to their expectations, and where we live now has a lot of rigid gender stereotypes. I would hate for someone to say something hurtful to her. And even if they don't tell her she looks like a boy, what if she gets so much praise for her shorter hair that she thinks its better? Better to not be stereotypically feminine because girls are worse and being a girl is somehow inferior?

And then there is the why...... Why did she want to get her hair cut? Several months ago she got it cut. It was really long and we donated the 12 inches of blonde curls to Locks of Love. She was excited for the change and got a lot of praise and attention for that, too. She overheard me telling the story of how happy and cute she was while getting her haircut to her Grandmothers and aunt on the phone.

[side note: I try to be careful about what stories my kids overhear me telling about them. They are always, always, always listening!]

And I took pictures and put them on instagram and facebook. Sometimes when she is bored or upset we look back at all those old pictures of her. And she is still very proud of that haircut.

So is she doing this now because I created this story about her? Because she now has to be this person I said she is? Did I create a script she is following?

She tries so hard to be good, to do what she thinks is right. And I have no idea what I am doing. It scares me that she trusts me so much. What if I say the wrong thing, or get angry with her about something stupid and she lives the rest of her life believing something completely backwards because of me?

And I probably already have. I know I already have. I've already made her life harder; and all I want to do is watch her become this amazing person with this huge personality that she already is. She just IS amazing, and I don't want to ruin that.

So I panic about little things like haircuts and I'm scared a lot. The only thing that really helps is prayer.

Because I don't need to be reassured about my parenting. I know I'm doing all I can. And I know that at the end of the day, she is a strong person. But I also know that I majorly fail her a lot.

And this is the whole point of the atonement. This is why I need the grace of God every single day. Because I have messed up and will again, even when I am trying my best. And grace is the only thing I know that can actually fix these problems.

Please, please, please protect my girl from me and the whole world. We are not a good as she deserves.


p.s. I will add pictures when the computer and I are playing nicely together again. For some reason we are having issues today. :)

Romantic aspirations of a four-year-old

The girls have been in bed for 20 minutes, but are still talking....

Me: "Stop talking. It is time to sleep!"

Child #4: "But Mom! I'm just trying to decide who I should marry!"

Me: "I'm pretty sure that can wait. Stop talking so you and your sisters can sleep!"

Child #4: "But Mom! It will only take a second!"

Me: "Go to sleep!"

I went back upstairs. I'm pretty sure she kept up the conversation (but in a whisper), until she made her decision. I'm too afraid to ask.

*    *     *

Overheard Child #4 and her father.....

Child #4: "Dad, do you know why I am so sad?"
(bear in mind, she does not sound remotely sad. Only matter-of-fact)

Him: "No, why?"

Child #4: "Because no boys love me."

Him: "I love you. Your brothers love you. Your grandpas....."

Child #4: "No! Dad, no boys MY AGE are in love with me."

Him: "Oh. Ok, then."

If anyone has any tips on how to keep her from growing up so fast, I'd love to hear them.

I am a feminist (and so can you)

(I wrote this post because this is something I spend a lot of time thinking about, but not a lot of time talking about. And I really want to talk about it. I want to hear if people agree with me or disagree. I'm still forming my own opinions about it, and I want to know what other people think. So if you have a thought, please share it, even if you think I'm wrong. I'm in the process of trying to figure this whole thing out. And I'm not so fragile that finding out that people disagree with me is going to hurt my feelings.)

This shouldn't be a surprise to anyone, but I'm saying it anyway: I am a feminist.

But I haven't always called myself that. Growing up, I was naive and sheltered and that thought "feminist" meant someone who hated all men. A thought which never made any sense to me. Saying anything about "all men" is just as demeaning as saying things about "all women" and I couldn't wrap my head around how someone could say "Women are just as important as men, and all men are pigs." in the same breath. But I did not actually know any feminists, or at least no-one I knew called themselves that aloud. So my definition of feminism came only from people who were against it.

And I didn't have a bad expirence. I met my share of rude guys, but I never assumed that they were treating me badly because they hated women, I just figured they were jerks. I met plenty of rude girls as well, and since I didn't think that women couldn't be sexist I didn't feel like sexism affected me. Which is a lot like saying that air pollution doesn't bother me because I keep my windows rolled up when I'm stuck in traffic. Just because it isn't making me cough right now, doesn't mean that I'm not breathing it in or that I'm not contributing to it.

I came to my feminism a little differently than most. See, I had these two adorable baby boys. And I began to pay attention to all the messages that society was subtly (and not so subtly) sending them. That they had to prove their manhood. That it wasn't enough to simply be born male, at every turn, they had to defend their true manliness. Because of course, the worst thing a boy can be is. . . .  like a girl.

And I watched adults try to make them feel ashamed for even the smallest deviations from what they thought a boy should be. My son was told he couldn't compliment someone's key-chain because it was pink. And that he couldn't be interested in my nail polish. It was so frustrating to me. My boys hadn't done anything wrong and people were trying to make them feel embarrassed. It was especially difficult when one of the boys would be demeaned for trying to copy me. I could see the confusion in their eyes. I was the center of their small world, and they were being told that being a kind, fun person like their mother was wrong. Like I was the worst thing they could aspire to be.

I got really good at intercepting those kinds of comments, and don't you dare ever tell one of my sons to "man up" while I'm around, because you will get an earful. But I know I can't filter the whole world for them, and I don't want to. So I began to study how to protect my boys, how to teach them, how to let them become themselves. And I found the answers in feminist theory. Or at least, the beginnings of the answers.

And then I had my girls, and my world opened up even more. I hadn't noticed before how often I use "he" and "his" as a default. It didn't bother me much to use "man" and "mankind" as a synonym for "people". I just dismissed it as an unfortunate, dated, but probably unchangeable tradition. But then my daughter started asking me to sing songs "the girl way". Did you know that the five little monkeys don't all have to be boys? "HE fell off and bumped his head" It never occurred to me to sing it any differently. Or the little turtle, or the slippery fish? All these things she felt like she couldn't participate with, because it was just for boys.

And then one night, I was watching a talk show. The guest had just written a book. She had a fascinating job; (I can't remember all the details - I'll try and look it up for you). And when she walked on to the set and the first thing I thought was how beautiful she was. She looked like a model for business suits, and she wasn't white. So here she is, this gorgeous woman of color with a successful career, and I loved every second of the interview. As I tried to tell my husband about it later, I had a hard time explaining exactly why it struck me. I said, "...because he just had a normal conversation with her. He conducted the interview like she was a normal person." What I meant was, the interviewer treated her like a man. He didn't mention her looks, he never asked her if it was hard to be a minority, he was genuinely interested in what she had to say.

And I'm very embarrassed that the words I used to describe how men treat other men were "like a normal person". I've come to understand that that is what people mean when they talk about patriarchy. It means that our society treats white men as the default setting for human, and everyone else is somehow less important or deviant.

Now I don't want to get into an argument about semantics, ultimately it is our beliefs that matter - not the exact words we use. But our words are a reflection of how we think, and in that case, my thinking was wrong and it showed in my words.

I also don't want to get into an argument about nature vs nurture. Actually, I do. Just not right now. I find the whole concept fascinating and complicated, but it can not possibly be resolved anytime soon, we simply don't know enough about how our genetics interact with our surroundings. So I'm not going to say that there are not differences between men and women. Of course there are. Some are hard wired and some are taught, and we could discuss for hours which are which. But I am going to say that if the differences were SO huge and obvious, we wouldn't spend so much time and energy on exaggerating them. And in the end, what difference does it make with how I raise my children? And how I treat everyone around me?

I try to focus on one simple fact: Boys and girls are equally valuable and have equal potential for success and they deserve an equal chance.

That is really all there is to it. That is what I mean when I say I am a feminist.

I think that feminists get a bad reputation because they tend to look at statistics like "one in three girls will be sexually assaulted by the age of 18" (yes, in the US) and only "16% of our country's politicians are women" and "women earn between $0.60 - $0.77 for every dollar that men do for the same job" and they get mad.

And people don't really want to join a cause that makes them angry - it is an unpleasant emotion, and its a turnoff. But that anger is because they can not accept it. A feminist hasn't given up hope on the human race just yet. Most sane people would agree that those things are bad, but a lot of the people I talk to think there is nothing we can do about it.

And I won't accept that. You can not look at the faces of my sons and tell me that they will never be able to control their sex drives, and that they will grow into violence.  You can not look at my daughters and pick which one "deserves" to be assaulted because of her clothing choices, and that they are not as smart as their brothers.

What we allow is what will continue. And I say: we can do better. I'm not wanting to point fingers or blame anyone, what I want is for us to not give up hope. Our world can be a better place. Let's not give up. Let's all be feminists!

Raising them right

My extremely shy three-year-old had a bad ear infection and we couldn't get in to her regular pediatrician. I was bracing myself for an awful trip, but the on-call doctor was fantastic.

Matching princess aprons

He stayed out of her space and talked to her, and even drew her a flower on a tongue depressor. He managed to check her ears with no fuss at all and that was that.

Two days later she was still carrying around the flower. She was sitting on the floor, staring at her tongue depressor when she looked up at me in sudden realization, "Mom! Boys can be doctors TOO!"

"You're right! Anyone can be a doctor." And it warmed the cockles of my cold feminist heart.

Gee, thanks

My two-year-old walked into my room as I was getting dressed......

"Mama, you naked?"

"Yes, I'm naked."

Wrinkled nose and disgusted look: "Ew" and then she walked away.

I'm yelling after her: "Hey! This is not "ew" this is normal! And it's YOUR fault! This body created yours, you don't get to say "ew"!

Of course, she was already down the stairs and ignoring me.

Nothing like starting my day with a self-esteem boost.

"Natural" Mothering

Confession: I have a really hard time with women who look at me and my children and say that they could never be mothers. Women who say they are not compassionate and nurturing and therefore will not raise children. I'm not saying anyone should have kids if they don't want them, because that is not my choice to make and I would never presume to make it for someone else (especially since I am not the one who would be cleaning up said child's vomit at two in the morning).

But I really hate this idea that mothering is innate; that all women are born nurturing and loving, and if you don't have that you should never be a mother and should probably feel like less of a woman. That if you do not want to hold every baby in a five mile radius you are somehow a defective woman.

Being a mother is a skill. Being a PARENT is a skill. You learn it by watching and reading and trying and doing, just like anything else. And yeah, some people have an aptitude for it. Some people enjoy children and seek out "parental learning opportunities" when they are young, and some people don't. And that does not mean that those people are the only ones who should have children. Anyone can choose to develop those skills, and anyone can be good at it.

I also hate the idea that women are naturally nurturing and compassionate - that it just flows out of us spontaneously. (And the counter-idea that men are not.) Because here is the truth: I am not a naturally compassionate, nurturing soul. I'm just not. But just because charity isn't my first inclination does not mean that I don't behave that way. I always have the choice in how I react.

In our home, Husband and I have divided up the workload, and it is my primary responsibility to nurture the children. This works for us, and we both enjoy our different jobs. And part of the reason I enjoy my job is because it is a challenge for me, a stretch, to make myself a better person and react with kindness even when I REALLY don't feel like it.

Christmas day my little princess got a black eye. I didn't see what happened, something about wrestling and cousins and a recliner. It's a pretty nice bruise - turning black and green around the edges. Her brother also has a black eye, though his is less noticeable (he had a run-in with a kitchen chair). What can I say? They take after their mother and I'm not exactly what you would call graceful.

The next day she and her father were dancing or wrestling in the living room. (Sometimes it is hard to tell the difference.) She fell and hit the back of her head on the coffee table on the way down. She screamed, ran to me and then fainted. (Fun fact about head injuries - loosing consciousness is a bad sign)

My first thought as I held my limp little girl in my arms was: "Oh, the emergency room is so expensive! I don't want to have to pay for another trip this year." And my second thought was: "She already has a black eye. The nurses may feel suspicious enough to call child protective services. Better not bring the other kid who has a black eye." And then she woke up. She was hurt and coherent and mad. "Why did Daddy hurt me?" She wailed. "I did not want him to do that to me! Daddy hurt me!" And I thought: "Unless she starts bleeding and vomiting profusely, there is no way I'm taking her to the doctor. I wonder if I have any friends who could testify that she isn't being abused?"

And then, THEN after all that, I was sorry that my precious little darling was hurt. We got her an ice pack and cuddled on the couch and read stories.

The whole thing was very quick - less than five minutes. And she is totally fine. It is funny to me now. Especially since empathy and concern for my child are not even the SECOND thing that crosses my mind in an emergency. And you know what? I still held her and calmed her and cared for her injuries. I love her like crazy and she knows it. I'm a good mom. Even if it doesn't come "naturally."

#4

Once there was a little girl, who had a little curl, 

right in the middle of her forehead. 

When she was good, she was very good indeed. 

But when she was bad she was horrid.

- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

This is Child #4. 

 She shines.

She is so full of life it shoots out of her in sparks and rays and beams. When I was pregnant with her I was praying to know how to prepare and what to expect from the next little life to join us. The answer that I got was very specific: "This child will be different in ways you can not imagine." With an introduction like that I knew we were in for quite a ride.

I have not been disappointed.

The majority of the time she is delightful. But this past year has been hard for us. Two is always a rough age, and her personality made it especially difficult. I don't always know how to handle her. When she gets upset, she is hard to calm down. Even if I just let her cry it out, she can sit in her bed and cry for an hour and then be on edge for the rest of the day. I can not always anticipate what will set her off. And she has recently been diagnosed with Celiac like her father and brother, so she spent much of the past year not feeling well.

I tried every trick I know to avoid tantrums, screaming and whining. Nothing was working. I can not stop that child from being upset if she has a mind to. So I gave up. I decided the only thing I can do is to try and tip the scales. I tried to make her laugh at least once a day (and we had been weeks without hearing her laugh). I chased her and tickled her and sang more songs. I drew out the happy times as long as possible, knowing that I needed to save up her smiles to help me get through the screams.

I wasn't expecting it to change her behavior, but it has. She is happier, more confident, less clingy and does not have nearly as many bad days. I can't stop her from fighting with her sisters or getting into things she shouldn't. But I can make sure she has fun games to play and lots of hugs. I should have realized earlier that she is very good at reflecting the emotions going on around her, and made sure she had plenty of positive ones to choose from.

She turned three in November, and I have been worried. Our experience has been that three is harder than two. And she has been our hardest two year old. But so far things are just getting better. She is old enough now to do so many things herself that she can be as independent as she has been fighting to be. And I am enjoying this sweet season of spending lots of time with my little firecracker.

We have this ongoing battle about pants. She hates them. And she hates that I make her wear them. Our compromise is that she can wear just a skirt at home but when we go out in the 10 degree weather she has to wear pants. At her three-year checkup she got a flu shot, and she had to take off her leggings. I told her she did have to get the shot but she did not have to put the leggings back on. So she let the nurse give her the shot with no fussing at all.

And the next week we had to go back because she had had an ear infection for several days. The nurse and the doctor both commented on her outfit - a very typical bright patterned shirt, non-matching striped skirt and zebra striped leggings. They both asked her if she dressed herself and told her she looked nice. I find it hilarious that they think I EVER get to pick her clothes.

In about fifteen years her insistence on wearing short skirts with nothing underneath and covering her arms and legs with bad art is going to be a lot less cute. (Yes, I give her pens and let her write all over herself. It washes off. Not even worth trying to stop.)

Milestones

Yet another post that may make you very glad that you are not me.

Baby #5 and I have reached an amazing milestone.

She is 1 and I am not pregnant.

Guys, this has never happened to me before. I had six pregnancies in seven years. I've never had a one-year-old and not been throwing up because of the next one. I'm not quite ready to give up on adding to our family down the road, but I am having a blast with this whole NOT PREGNANT thing.

I've always loved one-year-olds, but I'm getting to enjoy her all of the time. It is awesome.

And she is such a doll. She has this great little personality and is in no danger at all of being left behind or lost in the mix of older siblings. I feel like I could look at her all day and never get enough. I feel this way about all my kids - but it bears repeating here. Every child is the sweetest and the best. I can't imagine my life without any of them, and loving one does not at all diminish how much I adore the others.

Eating someone's plant experiment.

Playing with Mommy when she should be sleeping. But I can't get enough of her adorable face.

New tricks.

If you're old enough to be having this conversation, you're too old to be having this conversation

Disclaimer: I know that two-years-old is too old to still have a pacifier.  I know I should have taken it away a long time ago.  I know that the only reason she still has a pacifier is because I am too chicken to take it away. I have five kids and I'm exhausted, I just haven't had the energy to deal with it.  My only defense is that at least she isn't carrying it around the house all day, so it isn't delaying her speech; she is only allowed the binky in her bed. I should take it away, and I will.  Just not tonight, tonight I want to sleep.

Child 4 comes into the kitchen sucking on her binky.

Me: "Binkies are for bed.  Take it upstairs."

Her: Popping the binky out of her mouth, "But it's MY binky."

Me: "And it belongs in YOUR bed.  Go put it away."

Her: "But it's MINE."

Me: "Yes, it's yours.  Go put it in your bed."

Her: "But Mommy, it's my birthday."

Me: "No it isn't! Go."

There can only be ONE Holy Family

I love nativity sets, and I've collected a few over the years.  Some of them I didn't get out this year because they are beautiful and fragile and I'd probably forget that my children are also beautiful and fragile; if by (likely) chance one of them forgot to look only with their eyes and not with their fingers.  Just not worth it this time.

But I do have some that are kid-friendly.  And the kids have enjoyed playing with them.  I have loved watching them - I wish I had videos, but I'm not sneaky enough when I get out my camera, so they always stop playing.  All of the following scenarios were instigated by child #3 (aka the one who never stops talking.)

The first day Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs came to visit the baby Jesus on a field trip in the school bus. Poor Snow White, she somehow lost the use of her legs, and has to ride in a wheel chair now. (The "Little People School Bus" is handicapped accessible.)  The dwarfs were very considerate of her.





The next day the two Marys were nose to nose.  Their argument went something like this:
"MY baby Jesus is more powerful than YOUR baby Jesus."
"No! MY baby Jesus could defeat YOUR baby Jesus!
"No! Mine is bigger!"


And the Josephs started shoving each other:
"I get to protect Mary and Jesus!"
"No! I do!"

And of course, the wise men all wanted to give the baby their presents first.

Then one of the Marys learned how to fly, so she ferried everyone to whichever shelf they liked the best.

They've reached a sort-of peace now.  They manage to share the one un-broken stable without much fuss.  I'm actually worried that Joseph may have developed a thing for the wrong Mary. They keep sneaking off together and I find them hidden around corners and under tables.

Even the Holy Family becomes dysfunctional when you bring them into our house.

Hats

The other morning it was snowy and cold when we walked the boys to school.  Every single person that we passed smiled at us.  Drivers, bikers, dog walkers, EVERYONE smiled as we passed.

I like to pretend it is because I look adorable in my new hat.

But I believe the reality is that everyone was smiling at my entourage.

At this angle it is hard to tell, but child 3 has an Easter egg under her hat.  An Easter egg full of beans.

Playing House

Since the boys started school and my oldest daughter is now the biggest (aka bossiest) kid at home, we have been playing "house" a lot lately.

It is kind of awesome because I don't have to stop what I'm doing (I play house all day every day!) and I'm still playing with her.  Child 3 is always the mom, and I am always the kid, sometimes the baby gets to play as the pet.  She makes allowances because she is a "Small Mom" and I am a "Big Kid" so I can drive her to the grocery store or vacuum  or do the baby lifting.

It gets confusing when she plays house by herself though, because I'm usually only half listening and I answer her questions even when (clearly) she was talking to "Mom" the cat.  She gets very annoyed at me and sighs most dramatically.  Also, I have no outward clues as to when she has started playing house by herself.  The other day she got very upset because I answered when her foot (the kid) was asking her other foot (the mom) if she could go out and play.  "I wasn't talking to you!  *sigh* Your talking hurts my head."

And then there is this: We were at my mom's the other day and she wanted to play house. We didn't have an established role for my mom so. . . I'll let her tell it.

She is awesome and adorable and possibly in need of psychiatric help.

UEA Weekend

The older two are home from school for a long weekend, so I thought we could do some craft projects. . .

Me:  "Hey, I know!  Lets make some fall crafts to decorate the house."

Child 1: "Yeah!"

Child 3: "Yeah!"

Child 2: "I want to watch a movie."

Me: "No movies.  Lets go outside and gather sticks and leaves and things."

Child 1: "Yeah.  What about Halloween?  Can we decorate for Halloween?"

Me: "I like fall better."

Child 1: "I like Halloween better."

Me: "Fine.  But go get some leaves and sticks and stuff.  We could make a collage.  With bats and black cats."

Child 1: "Yeah!"

Me:  "Ok.  Lets make a big tree on this paper."

Child 2: "There are trees outside."

Me: "I know, but we want to hang one on the door."

Child 2: "Why?"

Me: "For decoration.  Go get me some more sticks."

Child 2: "I don't want to."

Me: "I am the queen of the whole entire universe!  Go get some sticks!"

Child 3: "What about Jesus?"

Also, we made this.
Melted crayons on a pumpkin
with the blow dryer.
Which sent Child 4 into hysterics.

Me: "Fine.  I am the queen of the whole house!  Go get some sticks."

Child 2:  "You are the queen of your room."

Me: "STICKS! Go get some sticks!  We are making a tree in the house!"

Child 1 contributed a black cat to climb the tree.  Child 2 brought me the tiniest sticks he could find, while giggling at his crazy mommy.  And I sort-of left Child 3 alone with the glitter glue.  So I made a tree, and sat in glitter glue.

haircut

So.  We had ANOTHER incident involving small idle hands and scissors.  This was while Husband was out of town for a couple of days.  Lil' girl came to find me with a handful of curls and the explanation:  "Mommy. I didn't mean to."

I think I handled it pretty well all things considered.  And what I mean by that is that I didn't let her see me cry.  

It isn't too terrible.  And by that I mean it was fixed by my friendly neighborhood stylist and you can't tell anymore.  Her hair was so long, and she cut off the end of her ponytail.  It could have been much worse.

And it was a bit of a shock for me.  I didn't realize I had any ego invested in my child's appearance.  I guess I do a little bit.  Five inches of blonde curls!  People pay money to get hair like hers.  And I've never cut it before.  This is the same hair she was born in!

Mostly I was trying to figure out the right way to tell her that she had done something wrong, without making her feel like she is only cute because of her hair.

You know what is wrong with short hair?  NOTHING.  You know what makes you cute?  YOUR HAPPY SMILE. You know why we don't cut our own hair?  Ummm....because we prefer to pay someone to do that.  And so that it is all the same length.

Brilliant child rightly pointed out that my hair is not all the same length, and that I cut my bangs myself.  And I'm left saying lamely: "Just don't cut your hair, Ok? Just don't."





Now you should go listen to this.  I'm afraid we may be having this conversation in a few years at our house, too.

Well, at least I don't have to worry about a Zombie Apocalypse

Hanging out with my niece and my daughter at my mom's house the other day. . . .

Niece: "Sometimes my curtains look like ghosts or monsters!"

Me: "But nice monsters, right? The ones that tickle you?"

Niece: "Or ZOMBIES! They will eat your braaaaains!"

Daughter: "Mom, you don't have brains. You just have hair." 
(as if the two are somehow mutually exclusive)

 Later, as Husband was rocking the baby, I was telling him this story  and that I should just go ahead and change the name of my blog to "Things my 3-year-old says." The baby grinned and chuckled.

A Lady, you-have-no-idea-what-is-in-store-for-you kind of chuckle.

I'm afraid of what she has in mind for me.

I'm sure this will be funny in a year or so

She's been in bed and quiet for over an hour.  And then she comes to find me while I'm rocking the baby to sleep.

Her: "Mommy, there was a marker in my bed"

Me: "What? No! we only color on paper!"

Her: 'But there was a marker in my bed."

Me: "You know you're not supposed to color on yourself!  Why did you color on your face? It isn't paper!  This was NOT a good thing to do!"

Her: "Some church shirts are like paper."

Me: "No! Church shirts are not like paper, just because they are white does not mean you can color on    them!"

Her: "White isn't a color, it's a shade."

Me: "You still are not supposed to color on anything but paper!  Come on.  Let's go wash you off."

Her:  "We also need to wash my bed."

Me: "You colored on your sheets?  This is NOT OK."

Her: "Do we need soap?"

Me: "Yes."

. . . .wash . . . wash. . . wash. . .

Her: "I also colored my library book - it's paper."

self inflicted wounds

Its a sad and kind of embarrassing thing, but most of the time when one of our kids is having some kind of problem, I can trace the it back to myself.  For the first three years ALL of their misbehavior comes from the examples they see, after that they begin to make some of it up on their own, but very little.  It isn't until around school age that they start being able to deliberately misbehave. (Have I warned you about seven-year-olds?)  But even so, I can usually find the source, and it is always a little to close to home.

Like a couple of months back, we were having a problem with Lil' girl sleeping through the night in her own bed.  This hadn't been a problem for a while, but suddenly she was climbing into our bed at all hours of the night because she wanted to cuddle with mommy.  She'd fall back asleep pretty quickly - usually by lying on my face.  But if I tried to send her back to her bed too quickly she would scream and wake up her little sister.  This is a real problem for us.  We can have Sleepy Mommy or we can have Happy Mommy, also known as Nice Mommy, but we can't have both.

I had no idea what to do.  But the longer I thought about it (and prayed about it, always pray about it) I realized what had changed.

She was transitioning out of everyday naps.  I would put her in her bed for quiet and reading time and she was content to read for an hour or fall asleep - either one was fine with me as long as I got a few minutes to do the dishes, or sleep (usually sleep.)  But when it got to the point that she wasn't napping at all anymore, it kept the baby awake.  So I'd let her read books on my bed and I'd lay down by her.  After a few weeks of napping together she started getting into our bed every night.   Ah Ha!  Because sleeping with Mommy in the daytime was so much fun, sleeping with Mommy at night would be fun too.

Also, she was potty training and sleeping more lightly as she was learning how to wake herself up when she needed to use the bathroom.

Solution:  Quiet time on the couch with her books.  After about a week we were back to our regular sleeping routine and life is OK again.

It surprised me that I didn't realize that I had been creating this problem for myself.  But I think that most of my parenting "wounds" are self-inflicted.

Not long after this we were working on another problem.  The baby can talk a little.  She can say several words, and sign several more.  So every time she came to me and held out her arms to be picked up and screamed, I would remind her to talk.  "Say, UP.  UP.  Stop yelling, you can talk."  We were making a little progress - yelling goes down noticeably when talking gets you what you want faster.

Then one morning she woke up around 5am and was just babbling in her crib, happy as could be.  I lay in bed and thought "There is no way I am getting out of bed at 5:00 if she is content to stay in her crib."  She wasn't even being loud enough to wake her sister.  As I drifted back to sleep I realized that she was saying: "up up up up."  I knew that if I don't respond it would go against that whole "talk, don't scream" rule I'd been trying to make.

Whatever. At 5am I am not coming to get you unless you scream.  zzzzzzzzz

That's what SHE said

Just in case you don't have a dramatic two-year-old girl around your house to listen to.

Daddy offered to let Lil' girl watch a movie on his iPad.  You need to hear the outraged tone of voice to get the whole effect.  Imagine a very upset two-year-old.

Her: "No, Daddy!  That makes me SO MAD!"
Him: "What?  Why?"
Her: "Because it is SO DANGEROUS!"
Him: "Why?"
Her: "Because I can't watch movies on your toy!"
Him: "Why?"
Her: "Because it makes me MAD."
Him: "Why does it make you mad?"
Her: "Because it is SO DANGEROUS!"
Him: "Why is it dangerous?"
Her: "Because it makes me SO MAD!"
Him: "But why does it make you mad?"
Her: "Because it is SO DANGEROUS!"
Him: "Oh no! You are caught in a tautological argument! How are you going to get out?"
Her: "That is SO DANGEROUS! And I am so MAD!"




I handed her a stack of plates and asked her to spread them on the table.  But I didn't count, so she had a few leftover.

Her: "Mom, these ones are for the NOT yucky dinner.  We can put fruit snacks on them."

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)

quotes

I love listening to my kids talk.  It is like getting tiny glimpses into how they think, and I love how they think.

It is so cute how they can be so logical and still wrong.  And I'm sure Heavenly Father thinks this about me all. the. time.

A few quotes from my sweet two-year-old:

As she is helping me do the dishes
Her: "What is this?"
Me: "Its a cup."
Her: "What is this?"
Me: "Its a baby spoon."
Her: "A baby spoon?  Oh! Its SOOOO cute!  What's it's name?"
Me: "Its a spoon.  It doesn't have a name."
Her: "Yes it does.  See?"
Turns out the spoon did have words on it, so it does have a name.

After I tried on a new dress and then changed back into my regular clothes
Her: "Mom! Where is your beautiful dress?"
Me: "I took it off."
Her: "But you are supposed to WEAR it!"
Me: "Why?"
Her: "Because its MONDAY!" (The"duh" was implied.)

Pretending to cook
Her: "I am making dinner. . . . it is called, yucky food. . . .Want a bite?"

I'm pretty certain that our house is going to sound just like this in a few years.  (minus the British accents)