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Mommy Talk
September 2008
Monday September 29, 2008
Posted by: eyoung at 8:07PM CST on September 29, 2008
(Ten points if you know what this Mommy Talk post is about just by its title alone. OK, now try this one ...)
... (more) * * * "Blame it on the rain, yeah, yeah." No, it's not 1989. It's 2008 and my 4- and 6-year-old daughters are rocking out to that lyric, singing it over and over again as they dance around their bedroom. That's the only lyric from the Milli Vanilli song that they know — and they only know it because of "Full House." In one episode of the old ABC sitcom, DJ Tanner and her best friend Kimmy Gibbler are listening to their Walkmans and singing in DJ's bedroom. They're one line into the chorus when they're interrupted — "How RUDE!" — by little sister Stephanie. Remember them? DJ, Stephanie and Michelle? Uncle Jesse and Aunt Becky? Joey Gladstone ("Cut. It. Out.") and Danny Tanner? That's right: The Tanner family is again living large in my living room. My children love "Full House." They love the Tanners. They love the happy home in San Francisco where all nine Tanners live in harmony and hilarity. They especially love little Michelle. The episodes air on the Family Channel and have a standing spot in our DVR. My daughters request them by made-up titles: There's "Foot Michelle," in which Michelle's feet grow too fast for her self esteem. There's "Bird Michelle," in which Michelle accidentally helps the preschool class pet escape through the classroom window. There's "Car Michelle," in which Stephanie drives Joey's car into the kitchen. And their latest favorite: "Auckland, New Zealand Michelle." In that mouthful of an episode, Stephanie and Michelle accidentally fly to Auckland, New Zealand. (That episode originally aired in 1992 — back when it was apparently still possible to accidentally board a plane going to Auckland, New Zealand.) The episodes all follow the same basic formula: Child messes up. Child learns lesson. Child is forgiven and accepts consequences. Everybody hugs. And there you have it: Thirty minutes of quality family TV. We just have to time-travel two decades to find it. Friday September 19, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 12:47PM CST on September 19, 2008
As I was riding into work this morning, a radio commercial sparked the strangest childhood memory. My parents were discussing a house in Waterford that my dad wanted them to go look at. He asked me how I would feel about moving to a house with a really big back yard and a barn. He may have even mentioned horses. Was he kidding? I was about 5 or 6 at the time, living in our tight-knit West Racine neighborhood with a big group of friends and a city lot patch of grass and garden outside. Waterford sounded like an exciting adventure! The reason the memory is so strange is because my parents never mentioned it again. We didn’t move to Waterford, and as far as I know, my dad never convinced my mom to go see the house. But it got me thinking about the choices we make as parents and how those choices impact our children. For example, if our family had indeed moved to Waterford, I would not have gone to the same schools. I wouldn’t have met all the girlfriends who are still my best friends today. I probably wouldn’t have gotten a part-time job at the Italian restaurant I worked at through high school and college. Which means I wouldn’t have met and married the owner’s son. And I wouldn’t have my three wonderful children. My life would be completely different if my mom had let my dad talk her into a move. My family, as I know it, might not exist. We made a big decision recently regarding our boys’ education. We made the painful decision to switch schools. While they love their new school, and only have fond memories of the old, I wonder what this move might mean for them in the future. Is this the path they are supposed to be taking? Did we jeopardize something fantastic in their future? I guess we’ll never know. I’m not one to lament about what could have been. I’m usually a pretty forward thinking and moving kind of gal. But the childhood memory I was hit with this morning made me realize just how life altering the decisions we make for our families can be. Have you had to make any major decisions for your children lately? Do you regret any choices you’ve made for them? --Marci Wednesday September 17, 2008
Posted by: eyoung at 9:03AM CST on September 17, 2008
When my oldest daughter started kindergarten last year, I was astounded at how quickly she adjusted. She loved it, no question. But once the school day ended and she was home again, her emotional state was fragile to say the least. One small thing could set her off and she’d completely lose it. Maybe her sister would knock over her bowl of Wheat Thin crackers. Maybe a puzzle piece wouldn’t fit or a game box wouldn’t open. Maybe the game she was playing at pbskids.org would freeze our computer. And then look out – every man for himself. Because holy cow, she’d completely fall apart.
Sometimes she’d just collapse into a pile of tears. Other times there’d be full-blown temper tantrums – tantrums like I hadn’t seen since she was 2. “Who is this kid?” I’d wonder as I picked up the pieces of her meltdown, gathering her into a hug or wiping up the spill that sent her spiraling. This phenomenon lasted about three weeks into the school year.
I figured the behavior was her way of letting loose after holding herself together for seven hours straight. After all, kindergarten is a huge step for kids. They need to behave all day and pay attention all day, and step outside their comfort zones into a classroom full of strangers, and not cry even when they really, really want to because they’re big kids in kindergarten now. My daughter was making it through her days with nary a snag, but she’d unravel when the day was done.
Sure enough, once she got used to the rigors of kindergarten, she was back to her old amiable self. Whew.
Lo and behold, the first few weeks of first grade have been the same way. Not to the same extreme, but there’s definitely been some adjusting going on. Kindergarten’s a scoop of cookie dough ice cream compared to first grade. Goodbye rest time, goodbye play time, hello workbooks and spelling tests. “First grade stinks,” I heard more than once that first week. (She was quoting a book by the same title, in which a little girl misses the comfort of kindergarten and must learn to give first grade a chance. Leave it to me to buy her a book with a built-in mantra for the first week of school.)
Now we’re halfway through Week 3. The surprise eruptions and end-of-the-day hyperactivity have subsided. Things are getting back to normal. And guess what: First grade is awesome. (Just like the book "First Grade Stinks" said it would be.) Thankfully, the back-to-school breakdowns appear to be over. How about your kids? Any after-school meltdowns? After a full day of behaving like angels, are they bouncing off the walls? Monday September 15, 2008
Posted by: eyoung at 11:07AM CST on September 15, 2008
I love to watch my children at the playground. After school on nice days, we stop at the playground before heading home. I join the other parents perched on the wooden beams that separate the rubber mulch of the play equipment from the cracked asphalt of the parking lot. Many of the moms know each other and have lots to discuss. I don’t know them yet, so I usually find an empty spot a few backpacks away. I drop what I’m carrying — two coats, a backpack, a lunch box, my keys. I sit and stretch my legs and exhale away the rush of the day. And then I watch my girls. I know I’ve read somewhere that the playground is where we learn many of life’s biggest lessons. I am aware of this as I watch my daughters wait their turn, negotiate with children they don’t know, shyly begin following another child until they’re *almost* playing together. I watch as they try a new piece of equipment, only to fall and try again. I love taking my children to the playground because it’s here that I find one of the most tangible measures of their progress in becoming little people. Last spring my 4-year-old couldn’t step from one shifting-shaking blue pod to another; now she bounds from pod to pod without fear. Last week my 6-year-old hung from the first rung of the monkey bars, just swinging until her skinny little arms couldn’t hold her anymore. This week she reaches for the next bar and grabs it. For my 6-year-old, the after-school excursions are an exercise in ownership; she gets to experience that awesome feeling of owning her school. Remember that feeling — when for some reason you’d have to be at school after hours? And you’d walk the empty hallways, or peer into the office, or skip through the cafeteria, or have the run of the playground? After school my daughter can try new climbers with bravado she doesn’t have in a 20-minute recess shared with 100 other kids. After school she can jump off the rock wall like she saw other kids doing but wasn’t quite ready to try herself. Most of the time, though, she simply hangs upside down, her long blonde hair sweeping against the rubber mulch. She quietly hangs and hangs, for a few seconds, a few seconds more. Then she pulls herself upright, jumps down and finds a new bar from which to swing. Then — still just as serious, still as quiet — she hangs some more. For my 4-year-old, after-school trips are her introduction to Big Kid School. A year away from 5K, she’s excited to join the ranks of this world. She alternates between pretending to be a Big Kid, and watching them in awe. She imitates, adapts, experiments. She watches for cues of how to survive in this kid-owned world. ... (more)Friday September 12, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 11:11AM CST on September 12, 2008
“My” These are my daughter’s favorite words. The first, as you can imagine, is said in a demanding little 16-month-old voice. The second is said in a content sing-song voice that means she received what she wanted. The third is said as she calmly brushes the leftover graham cracker, peas and bananas off her high chair tray onto the floor. The fourth is said with great desperation as she extends her arms toward whatever forbidden object has caught her eye for the moment. The last is her best word. She says “bye” like a champ. As soon as she sees me get my purse from the closet, my baby girl extends her lips for a kiss and says, “Bye.” If I’m leaving her behind, she says it over and over as I walk out the door. If I’m bringing her along, she sings it from the time I put her in her car seat all the way to the store, or church or the babysitter. I see this first perfect word as the beginning of the end of her babyhood. Soon she will know how to properly say a lot of things. And she will no longer be a baby. We moms do commit to memory our children’s funny little attempts at words while they are building their vocabularies, don’t we? I loved when my oldest son toddled around talking about Fifford the Dog and asked if I was “drinkin’ you foffee.” Now my baby girl is learning to talk. She can say the names of all the people she spends the most time with. She asks for her ball and the hone (phone). She sings baby songs with me and has the line, “All day long,” down pat. We started working on “please” and “thank you” a few weeks ago, and she picked them up quickly. I’m really enjoying watching her learn and grow. And I love that she has one perfect, ungarbled, clear-as-a-bell word. “Bye” How fitting, huh? This is the child who will be my last baby. The one I kept in her bassinet in our bedroom months after she was sleeping through the night. The one I didn’t encourage to walk. The one I still give a bottle to at night, although many will say she’s too old. How sad and perhaps fitting that her first perfect word would be the one I want to hear least. “Bye”
Thursday September 11, 2008
Posted by: Janine Anderson at 4:43PM CST on September 11, 2008
Remember the Choose Your Own Adventure books? Being a mom is a lot like that, I’ve discovered. I’ve got an infinite number of things I can do. I can write Mommy Talk. I can check my voice mail or my e-mail. I could jump up and run, screaming, from the building. I could sneak out and spend the afternoon in a coffee shop. So, I pick. (Mommy Talk it is!) This happens all the time. Every. Single. Moment. And my brain happily plays along. Want to come?(Note: While based in reality, this is an exaggeration. Sometimes a little one, sometimes a big one. Read with a (large) grain of salt.) Henry’s been waking up at night. What’s going on?
You get up and check your e-mail. One of the cats jumps in your lap. You play online sudoku and crossword puzzles before starting a pot of coffee (decaf, but it smells good) and making an English muffin with peanut butter and honey for breakfast. You get to work early, but by 2 p.m. you can barely function, you’re so tired. Go to G. B You give Henry ibuprofen before his last evening feeding. He goes to sleep peacefully, but wakes up screaming at 4 a.m. What do you do?
You wake up late and groggy. Sleeping on the couch isn’t the best idea you’ve ever had. Your neck is stiff, you miss the first thing you were planning to do, and you have to skip breakfast. You sincerely hope someone brings doughnuts. Go to G. D Henry screams. And screams. And screams. This goes on for 30 minutes before:
You hate everybody. You hate the not-sleeping baby. You hate the sleeping husband. You hate the awake you. And you hate the fact that you have to go to work in a few short hours, and that you won’t be able to rest for another 18 hours. You go to work mad, and stay that way. Sourpuss. Nobody wants to eat lunch with you. Go to G.F You get up, change Henry’s wet diaper, and feed him. You give him a pacifier, then put him back in his crib before you try to go back to sleep. The operative word here is “try.” What really happens?
There’s nothing you can do to fix this problem. Let him cry, feed him, medicate him. Nothing you can do will ever make your baby sleep through the night. Get all the sleep you can, and take heart – the moment you walk in to get him after work is the best moment of his day (and probably yours). Who could resist that goofy grin and those happy, happy baby bounces? You’re the luckiest gal in the room. You win! Wednesday September 10, 2008
Posted by: eyoung at 10:55AM CST on September 10, 2008
"Mom." My 4-year-old has her accusatory voice on. She’s standing in her closet, her arms crossed in the polyester sleeves of a putrid pink Sleeping Beauty dress. She’s wearing a glittery Tinkerbell tiara on her head, plastic Cinderella shoes on her feet. And she’s royally perturbed at something. "Yes?" I ask her. "Why" — big sigh and shrug from the peanut-sized princess in the closet — "Why have you Not. Taken. Us. to Disney World yet?" "Disney, huh?" Geez, listen to that tone, I say to myself. When did my sweet baby become a bratty tweener? Note to self: No more "Suite Life of Zach and Cody," not even while I’m preparing dinner and there’s nothing else on. "Emma went to Disney World and Grace went to Disney World, and that’s where Gabriella and all the princesses live." I raise my eyebrows and she quickly changes her tone. (So that's why we have eyebrows.) "Please can we go there?" she asks. "Maybe someday." I answer. Maybe someday when I’ve got an extra four grand lying around, or I’m prepared to spend $200/day waiting in long lines and big crowds. Maybe someday when I’m not worried that any more princess exposure will turn you permanently into something pink and polyester. "Maybe someday." It’s impossible to avoid Disney World these days; my children hear of their friends' trips and want to go to. I went once when I was a kid. And I do want to take my children, I do. I just don’t want to do it more than once. So what’s the best age to take children to the Magic Kingdom? Should we try to go soon, when they're 4 and 6 and still awed by Disney princesses? Do we wait until they're older — and taller — so they can go on more rides? Is it really a must-take trip? And is it really as expensive as everybody says? (I was considering combining a trip to California with a trip to Disneyland but according to comments on this Travel Time blog by Diane, it's much better to do the real thing.) Monday September 8, 2008
Posted by: eyoung at 1:42PM CST on September 8, 2008
So we’re a week into the school year and everything’s going very well. My daughters like their teachers. We’re adjusting to the weekly routine. We’re (mostly) getting out the door on time. We’re (mostly) remembering our various backpacks, lunch bags, gym bags, gym shoes, signed notes, filled out forms, book rental fees, Scholastic book orders, etc.
And only once or twice a day do I think I might lose it.
Lose my mind somewhere in my calendar amid the soccer practices, work deadlines, swimming lessons and committee meetings …
Lose my mind somewhere in the pile of papers that is now my kitchen counter: Worksheets, classroom schedules, lunch menus, teacher letters, school newsletters, picture order forms, fall fund-raisers …
So yesterday I hung a calendar. This isn’t just any calendar, mind you. “It’s an entire organizational system,” I told my husband, who smirked. I’m going to call it “The Wall,” as in “I don’t know when the cable company’s coming, look on The Wall” or “I think they’re playing on field 14 this Saturday, but check The Wall.” And soon it will have everything I need to get dates and times out of my head, and papers and forms off our counter. ... (more) Thursday September 4, 2008
Posted by: mlaehr at 9:19AM CST on September 4, 2008
Does anyone make their kids Halloween costumes anymore? Do you know anyone in town that still makes costumes for their children? I know its a little early for this topic, but I'm asking because I want to write a Home and Garden story on it. What do you think is more budget friendly: making or buying costumes? Marci Wednesday September 3, 2008
Posted by: Janine Anderson at 9:04AM CST on September 3, 2008
Last night I called my sister and asked if she wanted to hear why I was the worst mom in the world. Of course she did. You do, too, I bet. ***Disclaimer*** This is about poop. It will be gross. If you don’t want to read it, stop now. Click back on your Web browser and pick another blog. Seriously. This is nasty stuff. ***End disclaimer*** ... (more) Tuesday September 2, 2008
Posted by: eyoung at 9:48AM CST on September 2, 2008
I know I’m supposed to feel some sort of relief this morning. Some deeply exhaled “ahhh”: “Ahhh, we made it through summer.” “Ahhh, they’re back in school.” “Ahhh, peace and quiet and routine at last.”
Instead, I feel a little less “ahhh” and a little more “AHHHH!” I don’t know who‘s more nervous about first grade: My 6-year-old or me.
I’m reassuring myself that she has all she needs, from Craypas to computer headphones. Whew. I’m reassuring myself that she at least knows the school this year, when last year for kindergarten everything was new. I’m reassuring myself that her teacher seems nice and enthusiastic and came highly recommended.
And I’m relieved that my silly-dilly 4-year-old decided to wear cowgirl boots and a butterfly-antennae headband into 4K this morning – a fashion statement that made even my nervous 6-year-old roll her eyes and giggle. Sometimes all it takes is one goofy thing to get you through the day.
How did your children do on the first day of school this morning? What about you? Stress factors: What gets you worrying?
Posted by: eyoung at 9:12AM CST on September 2, 2008
Here’s what stresses out my 6-year-old: Helium balloons. While most children scramble for them, my daughter steers clear of them. She’s experienced the stress that comes with being a balloon handler and for her, it’s just not worth it. Constantly worrying that it’s not tied tightly enough around her wrist, that it’s going to float away from her forever, that it might blow out the car window as we’re driving home. "Would you like a balloon?" so many people ask her, at fairs and carnivals, stores and restaurants. "No!" she answers, stricken that strangers would want to inflict such worry onto her otherwise sunny day. Here’s what stresses out my 4-year-old: Band-aids. Specifically their inability to stay on her skin forever. From the minute a Band-aid relieves her injury, it wreaks havoc on her anxiety levels. "Will it come off when I put my tights on?" "Will it come off in the bathtub?" "Will it come off if I sit on it?" "Will it come off when I turn 5?" "Will it hurt when it comes off?" There are tears; there is wailing. I must wash her, dress her, tuck her into bed gingerly. "Don’t peel them, don’t peel them, don’t peel them!" she’ll plead. "Don’t wash them! Don’t wash them! Don’t wash them!" she’ll shriek. "I will not touch your Band-aid," I have to promise her. "I will NOT touch your Band-aid. I promise. Do you trust me?" Here’s what stresses me out: That I will let them down. "Do you trust me?" I ask them. Do you trust me, your mother, to not touch your Band-aids? To not inflict pain? To hold tightly to your balloons? Do you trust me to pick you up from school on time? To get you to the basement in a tornado warning? To catch you when you jump into the pool? Every day, my daughters place their moods, their meals, their little souls in my hands. And in a way that only parents worry, I worry that I will let them down. ... (more) |
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