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Mommy Talk
June 2008
Monday June 30, 2008
Posted by: eyoung at 11:36AM CST on June 30, 2008
I had an English teacher once who led us in an exercise of binary taxonomy. (I did not know at the time that we were practicing binary taxonomy, and in fact, had to e-mail my smarter-than-me brother for this term for the purposes of this blog.) For any readers who, like me, are saying “binary taxonomy — what?”: We basically had to come up with different ways to complete this sentence: “There are two types of people in the world ...” “... people who hunt, and people who don’t.” Sadly, I can’t remember the exact point of the exercise — most likely it was a lesson in the limitations of binary taxonomy when it comes to people — but it’s stuck with me. I find myself playing this classification game when I'm frustrated with humanity, bored in a crowd, or hilariously, desperately alone in an argument. ("Yeah, well, there are two types of people in this world: People who care about the dining preferences of others, and people who don't! But fine, we'll go for pizza. Harrumph.") Now that I’m a mom, I find myself practicing binary taxonomy as I try to figure out what kind of mom I’m going to be: There are moms who carry Purell in their purses, and there are moms who don’t. There are moms who will let a baby cry it out, and there are moms who won’t. There are moms who ignore their children when “Lost” is on, and there are moms who don’t. I’m (usually) not judgmental in my classifications, just sorting myself into one side or the other. (Purell? Nope. Crying it out? With both my babies, and it worked like a charm. “Lost”: Denounce me all you want, but I’ve been known to lose my “mom ear” when I’m riveted by TV.) This month’s lesson: There are moms who obsess over dance recitals, and there are moms who don’t.
“Stand up straight, sweetie!” I really thought I’d belong to the latter category here. I mean, I don’t carry Purell. My children rarely match. My 4-year-old hasn’t had a haircut in four months and looks terrible; my hair’s not looking much better. Our car is full of crumbs and Happy Meal toys. Oh, I admit I have my share of odd obsessions: I want their birthday cakes to be masterpieces in icing, their Halloween costumes to be homemade. But dance class? Dance class wasn’t important to me. I enrolled my daughters because my 4-year-old can’t enter a room without pirouetting. I thought they’d have fun. I was relaxed. No big deal. And then came Dance Recital Week. And I became a horrible Dance Recital Mom. 
... (more) Wednesday June 25, 2008
Posted by: Janine Anderson at 10:19AM CST on June 25, 2008
Henry's turning into a copy cat. For months, one of Scott's favorite ways to get Henry to giggle was to blow raspberries at him. Over the weekend, he started blowing back, and now, there's nothing we can do to keep him from sticking that little pink tongue out and blowing. Spit flies, and he's covered in drool. On Monday, I had him out with some friends, and one of them (who has a 2-year-old daughter) spelled a naughty word that he's normally said without hestitation. I told him he had a few months before he really had to worry about things with Henry, and he said he didn't want a word like that to be his first. I'm starting to think about what habits I need to change before Henry picks up on them. We don't always eat right. That's one. I have a habit of leaving a mess behind me. That's two. I swear. That's three. I'm sure there are many, many more that I'll learn too late - like when Henry does it himself for the first time. What habits did you break for your kids' sakes? What ones did they pick up on - good or bad? Monday June 23, 2008
Posted by: eyoung at 4:15PM CST on June 23, 2008
My back aches. I feel muscles in my legs that I didn’t know existed. My right tricep is sore to the touch, and my left shin has a bruise from when I tripped and whacked it on a pedal. I’m learning how to ride a bike all over again, and pardon my negative attitude, but it stinks. This is never going to work. She’s never going to get it. She’s going to be on training wheels forever, and I’m going to need a back brace and lots of ibuprofen. See, I have to vent here because when I’m running along behind her bike, I have to shout all kinds of positive things like "Keep going!" "You’re doing it, you’re doing it!" "You’ve got it!" and "Great job!" It doesn’t matter that she’s not getting it, that she’s not doing it, or that the only reason she’s not on the ground is because I’m holding her up. I can’t very well shout what I feel like shouting when I’m running along behind her bike, which is "Come ON, you are not even trying!" Or "If you don’t get this soon, we are giving up!" Or "Listen, kid, but asphalt doesn’t get any softer as you get older, so tell me before you brake next time. Geez!" I’ve been so exhausted during our training sessions that I haven’t even begun to worry. Worry about the cars that will inevitably whiz by her once we graduate from the deserted parking lot. Worry about the fences and the gates and the trees she could crash into. We’re still in the beginning stage — the stage that’s most frustrating. I know that this is a skill she has to master. (Not only because the other kids her age are whizzing by our house, training wheel-free. But because her father ran over her training wheel with the car, ruining it.) So she pedals and I run — half behind her, half beside her, leaning awkwardly over her, gripping the back of her seat or her shoulders, depending on what online advice I’m following that day. And excuse me, but it is very difficult to run that way. My legs are just long enough to get tangled in each other. I’m not very good at running in an upright position. Make me lean low and to the left? Forget it. Impossible. IMPOSSIBLE. What I need: Someone to run along behind me, shouting encouraging words at me: "You’re doing it! You’re being a super encouraging, positive mom. And you’re showing extraordinary grace and patience. You’re doing it! She’ll be riding alone in no time. Great job!" What else I need: A back brace and a couple more ibuprofen. How old was your child when he or she learned to ride a bike? How exactly do you teach this life skill? Is it worth buying this? Or something like this? Racine Cyclery, 4615 Washington Ave., sells a few stabilizing bars for teaching a child to ride a bike, says sales associate Jason Aho. "The bar attaches to the seat post so (parents) can walk the child while they’re learning to ride," he explains. "You’re basically holding the child up while they’re doing the pedaling." They learn the motions — and you save your back. They range in price from $10 to $20, Aho says. Alas, the bars are out of stock at Racine Cyclery right now, he said (drats). As soon as one comes in, I’m there.
Wednesday June 18, 2008
Posted by: Janine Anderson at 11:17AM CST on June 18, 2008
Henry's 7 months old now, and every time we see his cousin Oliver (who is almost 4 weeks old), I realize just how much my little guy has changed since his November birth.
I hear Oliver's throaty newborn cry and realize I forgot exactly when Henry's cry changed from that urgent oowaaah! oowaaah! oowaah! to his big baby cry. Oliver's limbs are out of his control. Henry purposefully grabs things - like his toes - and puts them in his mouth. He turns things over and over and over, staring intently at each side. This morning he was fascinated by the ribbon tie on my sweater. He makes more noises every day, expanding his vocabulary from a constant ba-ba-ba that meant everything from Hello, mobile animals! to Come get me! to Wow! My voice sounds really cool inside this church! The other day, he blew on my fingers. Blew. Like he was scattering dandelion seeds. His gently exhaled baby breath tickled me. He's sitting up, he's scootching (it takes 20 minutes for him to go 6 inches, but he's moving forward), he's eating crazy amounts of food, and only waking up at night if he's smashed in the corner of his crib or can't find his pacifier. It's amazing to watch him discover the world. It used to be so small, and it's getting so much bigger. What discoveries did you watch your kids make? Any stories to share about their first months?Monday June 16, 2008
Posted by: eyoung at 3:19PM CST on June 16, 2008
I'm home today, celebrating the first official day of summer vacation with my daughters ... and they want nothing to do with me. They've enjoyed being on their own schedule all day: getting dressed whenever, eating lunch whenever, playing alone with their toys with nowhere we need to go. So I'm taking advantage of their independence and getting ready for a rummage sale.
I don't have rummage sales often; this is my second ever. I'm more the hold-on-to-everything-because-I-might-need-it-someday type. If it weren't for enterprising neighbors planning a subdivision-wide sale this weekend (and a basement so full I can barely walk into it), I would gladly keep everything stored in plastic bins in our basement. In fact, my mother-in-law was in town a few weeks ago, when I started going through my daughters' baby and toddler clothes. My "Keep" pile was growing larger than my "Sell" pile. I think I scared her. She kept telling me about an episode of "Oprah" she saw on hoarders. "These people saved everything -- everything -- until they couldn't even walk through their living rooms," she kept warning me.
So hoard I won't. But it is tough to get rid of stuff from their baby days. For one thing, my daughters are newly amazed with every old toy I drag upstairs. "Mom, you can't sell this!" my 6-year-old argues. My 4-year-old doesn't argue; she just collapses on the carpet in a very dramatic display of fake tears.
My strategy to weaken their resistance: This week I'm going to leave every old toy in the living room so they can play all they want. Come Friday, they'll be bored with them again. Think that will work?
As for my resistance, I've got no strategy. What I do have: Two bins in the basement marked "SAVE." In them are clothes I know we'll never need, that my daughters will never need, that no one will ever wear again. But I can pick up the outfits in those bins and remember days I'd otherwise forget: "This one came from your great-grandmother. She drove for three hours to get to Wisconsin the day after you were born, and she sat on the couch in our old house just holding you. You were born 84 years apart. ... This one came from your Aunt Margaret, who died shortly after you turned 1. ... And this one? This is the one you wore on that wonderful August day, when the breeze was just right in the back yard and you finally stopped crying long enough to notice the leaves rustling in the old elms."
Those clothes? Those I'm hoarding. But the rest? Priced to sell.
Have you gotten rid of your children's baby things? What have you kept? Any rummage sale tips?
Friday June 13, 2008
Posted by: eyoung at 1:33PM CST on June 13, 2008
The clock is ticking. The race is on. Father's Day is Sunday and I've got nothing. NOTHING. (Sorry, husband of mine who reads this blog -- but you're difficult to shop for.) So a plea to any dads out there: Help out all us stumped moms who must buy presents on behalf of our young children. What do you want for Father's Day? Is it really all about grill forks, golf towels and polo shirts? According to a survey of 1,000 folks by Discover Card, more than a third of adults plan to give gift cards for Father's Day this year (a 10 percent increase from last year). More than half (52 percent) aren't planning to buy anything for their fathers. And nearly half of dads surveyed said that $50 or less is an appropriate amount to spend on them. Popular gift ideas included: - Gifts related to a sport or hobby (39 percent of survey respondents said they'd buy in this category.) - Gift certificates (36 percent) - Taking dad to dinner (33 percent) - Music, books, movies or games (32 percent) - Tools or appliances (31 percent) A homemade present and dinner at a restaurant were the most popular gifts fathers hoped to get, according to the survey. (Survey results courtesy of the Associated Press) Dads, share your wish list here. Moms, what are you planning for Sunday?
Wednesday June 11, 2008
Posted by: eyoung at 10:06AM CST on June 11, 2008
So here we are. The last week of kindergarten. My daughter is coming home every night with pieces of her kindergarten room in her backpack: Art projects that have decorated the walls, mainly. I keep them like I kept her first few projects of the year. Look how she’s grown. I drop her off in the mornings and she skips into school. I pick her up every afternoon and I don’t even get a real hug anymore. I might get a half-hug, a smile, the occasional eye roll. Then it’s "I’m SO hungry!" or "Can we go to the playground?" or, if I’m a little later than usual, "Wow, what took you so long?" She walks ahead of me out of the school, definitely not holding my hand. I follow her lead, smiling. My goodness, how she’s grown. She’s memorized sight words and mastered phonemes. She’s practiced her handwriting and learned which way the bumps should face every time she writes "23." She’s sang in three concerts, performed in her first dance recital, rode school buses for field trips, and stood in the lunch line. She’s checked out her own library books, read them! — and remembered to return them on time. She’s counting higher, writing neater, acting braver and standing taller. She’s made a bunch of new friends and mastered a year’s worth of new skills. And I think to myself lately, as I get my half-hug or eye roll when I pick her up: This is not the kid I dropped off nine months ago. It feels like just yesterday that I sat at my desk, a complete wreck for her first day of summer school. She seemed so little, so vulnerable, so timid. She didn’t seem big enough to carry her backpack, much less conquer the hallways of such a big school. Now my timid little 5-year-old is a strong, capable, courageous 6-year-old. She can’t wait for first grade. Is there any teacher more important than one’s kindergarten teacher? I don’t know. This is the teacher who sets the tone for the next five years, the next 11 years, and however many years after that. I interviewed Gifford kindergarten teacher Cheryl Pulda a few weeks ago, after she was named State Teacher of the Year by the Wisconsin PTA. In describing her job, she told me that one of her most important goals each year is to make sure every child loves school. "If they don’t love school, I haven’t done my job," she said. "You have such a long way to go." Such a long way to go. My daughters have been truly blessed by the teachers in their lives — from their first-ever teachers in their day care’s infant room, to the amazingly patient teachers in the toddler room, to the ones who handled tear-filled drop-offs in preschool and 4K. Each year I think their new teachers can’t possibly be as good as the teachers we’ve had so far. And each year, I’m proven wrong. ... (more)Wednesday June 4, 2008
Posted by: eyoung at 11:21AM CST on June 4, 2008
A Mommy Talk reader writes: "My son was in kindergarten. He and two other boys found a string on the playground. For three days this string became the focus of recess. It was many things. When you are in kindergarten, the imagination is a great thing to see working. The string was a kite with no kite actually attached. They ran all over the playground trying to make the string fly. The string was a river, and they tried to see who could jump it and not get wet. "Then it was a tie to a doorknob and became a trip wire. Right then and there, the three kids were almost expelled for plotting to blow up the school. "I understand the world today, but was this just a little too much of blowing things out of proportion? It was a string. Could a kindergartner really make a bomb? Is this too young to bring these things to their attention? "Right around that time, my son’s cousin was shot in Iraq and almost died. Things are well now, but my son was well aware of the war and what happens in the army. Is that now something you can’t grow up to be? You can be a fireman. You can be president. You can be a cop — just don’t shape your hand like a gun and try to arrest someone. You can be in the army — just don’t pretend the playground equipment is a tank. "Does this seem weird for such young kids?"
Monday June 2, 2008
Posted by: eyoung at 10:07AM CST on June 2, 2008
Most columns on Mommy Talk are from the mom’s perspective. Occasionally we allow the dads to have their say. Today’s Mommy Talk? Courtesy of my newly-6-year-old daughter. She had a rough day last Wednesday — and the day didn’t get any better as the hours passed. By bedtime, she was thoroughly annoyed with being 6. So she composed a little song as she lay in bed feeling grumpy and miserable. She sang it so loud, I could hear her from the kitchen. And because I just can’t stop the Mommy-Talk writer within, I grabbed a pen and notebook and scribbled down the lyrics as she sang them. This morning I thought I’d share her take on life as an un-grown-up. (I figured I should check the song’s origin before giving her credit, so I Googled the lyrics and even called her music teacher — who now thinks I’m a little nuts, by the way.) The tune is the chorus of "Farmer in the Dell." (For those who need help getting it in their heads: "The farmer in the dell, the farmer in the dell / Hi-ho the derry-o, the farmer in the dell.") So here you go: "Why it’s hard to be a kid," a musical composition by my peeved 6-year-old: "It’s hard to be a kid, it’s hard to be a kid / You always have to drink your milk, it’s hard to be a kid. It’s hard to be a kid, it’s hard to be a kid / You never get to make a choice, it’s hard to be a kid. It’s hard to be a kid, it’s hard to be a kid / You always forget the magic word, it’s hard to be a kid. ... (more) |
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