Kids can be so brutally honest. Usually, around our place, their honesty leads to pointed comments about Mom's appearance.
Like, "Oh, Mommy. Does that boo-boo on your face hurt?" [Translation: Mom, you have a zit.]
or "Wow, Mommy. You're turning blonde like me!" [Translation: Mom, you're going gray.]
Sometimes, Dad's the victim and the comment is phrased in the form of a question. Such as, while brushing teeth...
"Dad, how can a person's teeth get so yellow?"
But, every once in a while, the honesty dice get rolled in our favor... Sort of.
Such was the case yesterday during lunch, when I was trying to have a conversation with my husband. My daughter had a tiny play cup at the table and wanted milk poured into it instead of in her regular glass...
She said with increasing volume, "Mom-ME! IwantheOTHERglaass! IwanmymilkinthePRETTYone! Mom! Mom! Momm-ME!"
I made a weak comment that I was talking to Dad, and she needed to just drink what she was given. But as the whining libretto continued, I just wanted peace. With an exasperated sigh, I reached over and poured some of the milk from her regular cup into the play cup.
"Thank you, Mommy."
All my mind registered was that our world was now peaceful and we could finish our conversation. Two minutes later, it was done.
Silence.
Then a tiny voice.
"You know what mom?"
"What, honey."
"I stop whining when you give me what I want."
Not-so-veiled threat from Ms. Four-year-old.
I looked over at my smirking husband, who raised his eyebrows, and realized I'd just been perfectly manipulated by my child.
Well... at least she had the decency to let me know.
- Midwest Mom
Showing posts with label raising girls. Show all posts
Showing posts with label raising girls. Show all posts
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Girl Power
My 4-year-old daughter is starting to discover her -- er -- feminine powers.The other day, as my husband and I got breakfast ready for the family, she strolled into the kitchen in her new 'rock star' pajamas.
"Mom, Wonder Woman has super-panties," she declared. "I like them."
Her dad had his back to us. I heard a snort and saw his shoulders start to shake as he fought to compose himself.
Playing along, I replied, "Well, honey, she walks around in her super-panties because she wants to embarrass the bad guys. As soon as they see her, they drop the loot to cover their eyes."
At that point, Dad regained control -- at least long enough to give us both a lesson in superhero powers. "Actually," directing a pointed look at me, "Wonder Woman has a magic lasso and bracelets that make bullets bounce off and an invisible plane." Then, with a smirk, "maybe her super-panties are powerful enough to make her plane disappear."
My daughter's look was deadpan.
"No, Dad."
There was a meaningful pause.
"She does that with her super-breasts."
- Midwest Mom
Friday, September 18, 2009
Birthday Girl turns 4
My only daughter turns 4 today, and I awoke with the thought that four years ago my alarm clock was replaced by a nice, strong contraction. The thought made me realize just how far we've come since then.
When I look at my daughter now, I see a child brimming with personality and confidence. She amazes me every day.
She has a remarkable sense of humor, sometimes deadpan but mostly just silly. Last night at dinner, she entertained us by making fake bird calls to imitate the sounds we heard through our open kitchen window. The bird calls themselves were not nearly as hilarious as the fact that she was cracking her self up by making them.
On Tuesday, she learned to read her first word. It was 'No' by the way. Now every car ride is punctuated by her exclamations of "I just saw 'No' again!" (Maybe I need to teach her word #2.)
She is a beautiful child and a considerate friend. I love watching her play with other children (when she doesn't realize I'm looking.) She has an amazing imagination. Yesterday, while my oldest was at soccer practice, I watched her and my first grader invent a pantomime bakery. She stirred, cooked, and cut the bread. He loaded the pantomime truck and made deliveries. They played like there was no one else in the whole world but them... and their bakery.
I want to remember my daughter as she is right now, this very moment. This is a great age for her, as she works so hard to do everything 'all by herself.' But that tiny hand that slips into mine when we're in a crowd and that little voice that sang 'Happy Birthday Dear Mommy' right after I sang her awake this morning show me she still needs her Mommy. We are such dear friends in this time and place.
I just want to savor it and thank God in Heaven for giving me the gift of this beautiful girl for my very own.
- Midwest Mom
When I look at my daughter now, I see a child brimming with personality and confidence. She amazes me every day.
She has a remarkable sense of humor, sometimes deadpan but mostly just silly. Last night at dinner, she entertained us by making fake bird calls to imitate the sounds we heard through our open kitchen window. The bird calls themselves were not nearly as hilarious as the fact that she was cracking her self up by making them.
On Tuesday, she learned to read her first word. It was 'No' by the way. Now every car ride is punctuated by her exclamations of "I just saw 'No' again!" (Maybe I need to teach her word #2.)
She is a beautiful child and a considerate friend. I love watching her play with other children (when she doesn't realize I'm looking.) She has an amazing imagination. Yesterday, while my oldest was at soccer practice, I watched her and my first grader invent a pantomime bakery. She stirred, cooked, and cut the bread. He loaded the pantomime truck and made deliveries. They played like there was no one else in the whole world but them... and their bakery.
I want to remember my daughter as she is right now, this very moment. This is a great age for her, as she works so hard to do everything 'all by herself.' But that tiny hand that slips into mine when we're in a crowd and that little voice that sang 'Happy Birthday Dear Mommy' right after I sang her awake this morning show me she still needs her Mommy. We are such dear friends in this time and place.
I just want to savor it and thank God in Heaven for giving me the gift of this beautiful girl for my very own.
- Midwest Mom
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Tickled Pink
My daughter is tickled pink. Can't you tell?
You see, we spent the weekend painting our garage. Well, not actually painting it per se. We scraped it and primed it.
Since we decided to change the color of the garage from it's original (stained and peeling) white to a darker, deeper red brown that matches our brickwork, the helpful man in the paint department suggested we tint the primer.
He dutifully plugged our chosen color name into his trusty paint-mixing computer, and out poured perfectly-measured amounts of red, brown, and black. He loaded the can of primer in the shaker. He warned us that the color would not come out as dark as our paint -- so there would be a contrast between coats.
Out of the paint shaker it came; our daughter couldn't have been more pleased.
We started to apply the primer, and just as we finished, the sky opened up. It rained and rained, preventing us from painting the much darker finish coat.
It's raining again today, much to my daughter's pleasure and my husband's chagrin.
Why? This is why.
All I can think of is Pepto Bismol and the fact that our neighbors may disown us.
But at least my daughter is happy. That has to count for something, right?
- Midwest Mom
You see, we spent the weekend painting our garage. Well, not actually painting it per se. We scraped it and primed it.
Since we decided to change the color of the garage from it's original (stained and peeling) white to a darker, deeper red brown that matches our brickwork, the helpful man in the paint department suggested we tint the primer.
He dutifully plugged our chosen color name into his trusty paint-mixing computer, and out poured perfectly-measured amounts of red, brown, and black. He loaded the can of primer in the shaker. He warned us that the color would not come out as dark as our paint -- so there would be a contrast between coats.
Out of the paint shaker it came; our daughter couldn't have been more pleased.
We started to apply the primer, and just as we finished, the sky opened up. It rained and rained, preventing us from painting the much darker finish coat.
It's raining again today, much to my daughter's pleasure and my husband's chagrin.
Why? This is why.
All I can think of is Pepto Bismol and the fact that our neighbors may disown us.
But at least my daughter is happy. That has to count for something, right?
- Midwest Mom
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Dilly Dally: Tales of a Lady in Waiting
My three-year-old is testing my patience.
Daily.
Okay, maybe it's hourly.
She must have been listening back in April when my mother came to visit. During a dinner table discussion of appropriate manners, my mother shared a bit of her family history with my brood. "When I was a child, my mother told us that my Grandmother's Grandmother was a Lady-in-Waiting for Queen Victoria."
I heard the Lady-in-Waiting story often when I was growing up. My daughter did not ask her Nana what exactly a Lady-in-Waiting was. But apparently she liked the sound of it so much that now waiting is all I ever seem to do. After all, there is a family tradition to uphold, right?
Sadly, my patience is not as boundless as it might be.
Here is a partial list of the tasks that cannot possibly be done in less than 30 minutes and without an elaborate cajoling ritual...
And then I think, What Is Wrong With Me??
She's three. And playing your way through the day is what age three is all about. It's also about asserting your independence (which has issues of its own -- trust me.) But mostly, it's about operating on your own "schedule" and doing things in your own time.
Since the boys are so independent, I guess I had forgotten that.
And then something happened yesterday while I was planting my garden that made my parental hypocrisy meter top out. I was planting a bed of Basil when my daughter came up and asked me to play soccer. "After I'm done with these Basil plants," I told her. She waited. She made conversation. She made up a game to make the waiting go faster, which I played with her as I planted. Finally, she left for a few moments and returned.
"Are you ready to play now, Mommy?"
It hit me that I was "playing" in my garden while she patiently waited for me, doing whatever she could to spend time with me. (And also, I am an idiot for making her wait like that.)
So I stopped planting, and we had one heck of a backyard soccer game. Of course, she had to blow a whistle and say, "Argh, he's in the stretch, there's the pitch!" and pantomime a swing for the fences before every kickoff. (Apparently, she's a pirate baseball-playing soccer player??) We also had to establish before kickoff exactly who would be allowed to score the goal. And afterward, she would shout, "SCORE!" and do that breathy crowd noise thing. And despite my sham sorrow at losing yet another point to the masterful mistress of soccer, I did my best to hide my tears, extend my hand, and say, "good game." And then we'd start all over again.
We played for a long time, but it was fun, so that makes it time well spent. In the end it was my own little Lady-in-Waiting who taught me a lesson about patience and being considerate. And about making time to play.
I wonder what my daughter's Grandmother's Grandmother's Grandmother would think of that.
- Midwest Mom
Daily.
Okay, maybe it's hourly.
She must have been listening back in April when my mother came to visit. During a dinner table discussion of appropriate manners, my mother shared a bit of her family history with my brood. "When I was a child, my mother told us that my Grandmother's Grandmother was a Lady-in-Waiting for Queen Victoria."
I heard the Lady-in-Waiting story often when I was growing up. My daughter did not ask her Nana what exactly a Lady-in-Waiting was. But apparently she liked the sound of it so much that now waiting is all I ever seem to do. After all, there is a family tradition to uphold, right?
Sadly, my patience is not as boundless as it might be.
Here is a partial list of the tasks that cannot possibly be done in less than 30 minutes and without an elaborate cajoling ritual...
- Choosing clothes/Getting dressed for the day: First we must have a "favorite colors" guessing game or a "guess what shirt I'm thinking of...?" game. Then comes the "I need you/I don't need you" tug-of-war.
- Putting shoes on: Oh, and they're slip-ons, by the way. God help us when it's time for tie shoes. And we can't forget the issue of matching shoes to one's outfit. (Gah!)
- Brushing teeth: She must brush, then I must brush. "First, count to 19," she will say before handing the brush to me as I slowly pull out my rapidly greying hair.
- Getting into the car: Not getting to the car... just into it. She has to do a super-jump and climb into her car seat, smoothing the back of her shirt just so. Otherwise, she will spend the entire ride complaining that it "frickles."
- Getting out of the car: Frickling is not a problem getting out. We are usually searching for a lost item before getting out -- a marble, barrette, or toy. Today it was a bit of plastic from a juice box straw wrapper. She's meticulous... I'll give her that.
- Putting on a jacket: Here we fall victim to "I'll do it myself" syndrome. Even the zipper. It takes For-Ev-Er.
- Choosing a book: I love to read to her, but often 20 minutes of looking will have her settling (finally) on a book with 6 pages.
- Any meal: She just wants to talk to whomever is at the table. She's a social girl... that is, until dessert is served. Then she's full (except that she has room for dessert.)
- Bedtime: Tonight I was kissed by no less than three dogs, two bears and a blankie. I then had to fight for a kiss from my daughter playing "you can't find me" under her bedsheet.
And then I think, What Is Wrong With Me??
She's three. And playing your way through the day is what age three is all about. It's also about asserting your independence (which has issues of its own -- trust me.) But mostly, it's about operating on your own "schedule" and doing things in your own time.
Since the boys are so independent, I guess I had forgotten that.
And then something happened yesterday while I was planting my garden that made my parental hypocrisy meter top out. I was planting a bed of Basil when my daughter came up and asked me to play soccer. "After I'm done with these Basil plants," I told her. She waited. She made conversation. She made up a game to make the waiting go faster, which I played with her as I planted. Finally, she left for a few moments and returned.
"Are you ready to play now, Mommy?"
It hit me that I was "playing" in my garden while she patiently waited for me, doing whatever she could to spend time with me. (And also, I am an idiot for making her wait like that.)
So I stopped planting, and we had one heck of a backyard soccer game. Of course, she had to blow a whistle and say, "Argh, he's in the stretch, there's the pitch!" and pantomime a swing for the fences before every kickoff. (Apparently, she's a pirate baseball-playing soccer player??) We also had to establish before kickoff exactly who would be allowed to score the goal. And afterward, she would shout, "SCORE!" and do that breathy crowd noise thing. And despite my sham sorrow at losing yet another point to the masterful mistress of soccer, I did my best to hide my tears, extend my hand, and say, "good game." And then we'd start all over again.
We played for a long time, but it was fun, so that makes it time well spent. In the end it was my own little Lady-in-Waiting who taught me a lesson about patience and being considerate. And about making time to play.
I wonder what my daughter's Grandmother's Grandmother's Grandmother would think of that.
- Midwest Mom
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Raise the Curtain on Drama
They say as a toddler I was fairly dramatic.They say their nickname for me was Sarah Bernhardt.
They say they used that nickname often.
I should feel complimented, really. She's quite beautiful.
"They" are my parents.
I wonder what they would say about my daughter and her recent discovery of the gamut and depth of human emotion.
My daughter, as you may know, is three. Much of the time, she is a dear, delightful child. But during the past month, a new part of her brain seems to have awoken. It is the part that helps her to feel all emotions -- from joy to the deepest sorrow -- with frightening strength.
I'm afraid she doesn't know what to do with those feelings yet. To be honest, neither do I.
I have been amazed to see the transformation of my mild little girl into a wailing banshee of fury in a matter of seconds. Her godfather, upon witnessing one of her rare outbursts (I think sparked by the denial of candy before supper) looked bemused as she arched her back and opened her mouth to eight times its usual size for an ear-splitting NOOOOOooooo! "Well, I'm happy to know that nobody can push my god-daughter around! That girl's got some power!" he accurately observed.
Because her transformation happened so publicly (at our family Christmas celebration), I had to remove her from the watchful eyes of the relatives and give her a time-out in a separate room. I let her spend time alone until she was calm enough to rejoin the group. What worked? Whispering in her ear that every person in the house could hear her yelling, and that they all knew the noise was coming from her. She looked at me with surprise. "They do?" Fairly soon afterward, we rejoined the family.
Looking back, I'd say I was lucky.
To be honest, seeing her careen out of control frightens me a little bit. I have always known that parenting girls would be somehow different. It made me nervous (still does) because I want to do it well. I want to help her control her reaction to the strength of her feelings without teaching her that feelings themselves are bad. When I look back at my own upbringing and the way I was taught to hold feelings inside and when I think about how much I kept hidden from my parents, especially as a young woman, I am hopeful that I can find another way. Maybe there is a way to parent my children through emotional times and lead them to understanding. Maybe not. Maybe that's just supposed to come later. At this point, I'm not sure.
This morning, on the way home from dropping her brothers off at school, my daughter had another angry outburst. She wanted to go into the building to visit with "her friends" (the teachers and secretaries and her brothers' classmates). But we had other errands to run, so I kept her in the car and said goodbye to the boys and drove away. I was treated to about 8 minutes of abuse that seemed more like 40.
At first, my reaction was strong, telling her that children who behave that way have no business going into a school and that yelling at me was not appropriate. But the more she flew off the handle, the more detached I became. I realized she wasn't yelling at me. She was trying to remake reality and was frustrated that things weren't turning out as she had expected. I turned on the radio and let her process that we were driving home instead of back to the school.
"We ARE going in to school! I AM NOT GOING HOME!" she stated loudly and with power.
I let her wind down as we drove. I could tell she was starting to accept that I was not giving in. Early in the drive (when I was still in 'reactive mode') I told her that she was going to have to accept that there were some things she couldn't control. No one enjoys hearing that, no matter how true it is. I know I sure don't.
About three-fourths of the way home, she started saying, "Mommy?" But she was still so wound up, I didn't respond. I needed to feel like I was cool enough to not react harshly. I waited until we were all the way home, until she was played out completely, to respond. And even then, I waited until I had turned off the car, had a moment of quiet, and got out to unbuckle her. When we were face-to-face, she asked, "Mommy? Is today my playgroup day?" I was able to speak to her and calmly say yes.
Then came her request for a hug. It is something she does at the end of almost every outburst and sometimes right in the middle of one.
When she is still angry or crying, though, I don't hug her. I wait until she has regained control. Sometimes I feel conflicted about that, especially if she is both crying and begging for a hug. But I don't want her to start relying on me to get her emotions under control -- I want her to learn to do it herself. Then we can re-establish our bond. It may be over-analyzing, but I think sometimes she is starting to realize that she is having far different feelings than I am, that we won't agree all the time, and that we are, in fact, different people. Maybe that's scary, especially since she has been my little princess and constant companion since she was tiny.
Oh, through all of this, I worry. It is a tough time for me as a Mom because I want to help her, but I understand that she has to discover the answers for herself, even though she is only three. Maybe the best I can do is keep her safe and talk about things once the crying is done.
Wish me luck. I know this is only the beginning of her journey, and I want it to be a good one. At this point, parenting through this is tough.
Maybe now I'm the one who needs a hug.
- Midwest Mom
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Lovely, Lovely Lotion...
My daughter has a new habit. She is addicted to lotion.
I'll explain.
The other day, my daughter found a little bottle of Bath & Body Works peach scented lotion on my nightstand. She asked what it was and I told her.
"May I have some?" she asked sweetly. I thought, "what will it hurt?" and agreed.
She smelled her hands and made a face. I told her she could wash it off with water if she didn't like it. She happily complied.
Ten minutes later, in she walks with a bottle of Nivea from the bathroom. (In case you're wondering, we are a dry-skin family.) We went through the same routine.
Then my daughter went from room to room, bringing her little bathroom stool around the house to make her taller so that she could check dressers, countertops and cupboards. I would hear a little squeal when she found a new bottle of lotion somewhere, and she would bring it in to where I sat reading. At the end of the expedition we had 9 bottles of lotion in all different sizes and shapes. Some had pump tops, some had screw caps, some had flip tops. She even found the little tube of lotion I keep in my purse and brought it in.
"Mommy, let's have a lotion party."
Laughing, and although there was a note of caution in the back of my consciousness, I agreed. I'll be darned if she didn't try every single one until she found the smell she was looking for. By the end of it all, her hands were as soft as a newborn baby's.
Giggling, I told my husband all about it when he got home. He said, "does she come up with these things herself, or are you teaching her to be a girly-girl?" I assured him that she is naturally a girly-girl... there is no "teaching" required. He gave a half-hearted frown. Our daughter entered the room and immediately had him smell her hands. He gave just the right amount of attention to let us both know that he thought it was cute.
And it was cute, until...
A few days later, my daughter and I went shopping for a friend's birthday. I looked in several shops for jewelry or clothes, finding nothing that sparked my interest. Finally, I spied Bath & Body Works. We went in.
My daughter's eyes nearly bugged out of her head at all the bottles of lotion everywhere.
"I love this place!" she exclaimed in her three-year-old squeal.
The salespeople descended like flies. Out came every tester of every kind of lotion I have ever seen. My daughter pushed up her sleeves to make more room for more samples to be rubbed on her skin. (She was quite upset when she realized how difficult it is to smell lotion you've just put on your elbow.) By the time we left, she smelled like a raindrop peach raspberry pomegranate fuchsia sweet pea coconut.
But, man, was she happy.
When we arrived at my friend's house for her birthday, my daughter proudly announced that we'd brought a gift from "the stinky soap store" (what Daddy calls it). With a confused smile, my friend said, "Thanks... I think." My daughter proudly told the story of trying 8 different lotions and lip gloss, too. She had the impression that it made her very grown-up, indeed.
All I know is that she made it far easier for Santa to fill her stocking than anyone ever imagined. (If you need to reach us anytime after Christmas, don't be surprised if we don't answer the phone. It will probably be slipping out of our heavily-lotioned hands.)
- Midwest Mom
I'll explain.
The other day, my daughter found a little bottle of Bath & Body Works peach scented lotion on my nightstand. She asked what it was and I told her.
"May I have some?" she asked sweetly. I thought, "what will it hurt?" and agreed.
She smelled her hands and made a face. I told her she could wash it off with water if she didn't like it. She happily complied.
Ten minutes later, in she walks with a bottle of Nivea from the bathroom. (In case you're wondering, we are a dry-skin family.) We went through the same routine.
Then my daughter went from room to room, bringing her little bathroom stool around the house to make her taller so that she could check dressers, countertops and cupboards. I would hear a little squeal when she found a new bottle of lotion somewhere, and she would bring it in to where I sat reading. At the end of the expedition we had 9 bottles of lotion in all different sizes and shapes. Some had pump tops, some had screw caps, some had flip tops. She even found the little tube of lotion I keep in my purse and brought it in.
"Mommy, let's have a lotion party."
Laughing, and although there was a note of caution in the back of my consciousness, I agreed. I'll be darned if she didn't try every single one until she found the smell she was looking for. By the end of it all, her hands were as soft as a newborn baby's.
Giggling, I told my husband all about it when he got home. He said, "does she come up with these things herself, or are you teaching her to be a girly-girl?" I assured him that she is naturally a girly-girl... there is no "teaching" required. He gave a half-hearted frown. Our daughter entered the room and immediately had him smell her hands. He gave just the right amount of attention to let us both know that he thought it was cute.
And it was cute, until...
A few days later, my daughter and I went shopping for a friend's birthday. I looked in several shops for jewelry or clothes, finding nothing that sparked my interest. Finally, I spied Bath & Body Works. We went in.
My daughter's eyes nearly bugged out of her head at all the bottles of lotion everywhere.
"I love this place!" she exclaimed in her three-year-old squeal.
The salespeople descended like flies. Out came every tester of every kind of lotion I have ever seen. My daughter pushed up her sleeves to make more room for more samples to be rubbed on her skin. (She was quite upset when she realized how difficult it is to smell lotion you've just put on your elbow.) By the time we left, she smelled like a raindrop peach raspberry pomegranate fuchsia sweet pea coconut.
But, man, was she happy.
When we arrived at my friend's house for her birthday, my daughter proudly announced that we'd brought a gift from "the stinky soap store" (what Daddy calls it). With a confused smile, my friend said, "Thanks... I think." My daughter proudly told the story of trying 8 different lotions and lip gloss, too. She had the impression that it made her very grown-up, indeed.
All I know is that she made it far easier for Santa to fill her stocking than anyone ever imagined. (If you need to reach us anytime after Christmas, don't be surprised if we don't answer the phone. It will probably be slipping out of our heavily-lotioned hands.)
- Midwest Mom
Monday, September 8, 2008
Potty Success! (It's about time!)
Those of you who read Midwest Moms on a regular basis know that we have been struggling with the potty training of our youngest daughter.
Well, do I have news for you!
Today marks the very first day since May 2001 that I did not change a single dirty or wet diaper.
Yes, folks, mark your calendars. (Umm, actually, that might be a little weird.) But you can at least make a mental note, if you choose. Today was a banner day in our household, after seven and a half long years of motherhood. It's like getting a "Get Out of Jail Free" card.
Now, I can't guarantee that our little flower will never have another accident. I'm probably jinxing whatever progress she's made just by writing this at all. But, it happened and now it has been appropriately documented.
So, to Kate of The Blankie Chronicles and any other Mom struggling to potty train a child, I have a message:
See that light? It just might be the end of the tunnel, honey.
- Midwest Mom
Well, do I have news for you!
Today marks the very first day since May 2001 that I did not change a single dirty or wet diaper.
Yes, folks, mark your calendars. (Umm, actually, that might be a little weird.) But you can at least make a mental note, if you choose. Today was a banner day in our household, after seven and a half long years of motherhood. It's like getting a "Get Out of Jail Free" card.
Now, I can't guarantee that our little flower will never have another accident. I'm probably jinxing whatever progress she's made just by writing this at all. But, it happened and now it has been appropriately documented.
So, to Kate of The Blankie Chronicles and any other Mom struggling to potty train a child, I have a message:
See that light? It just might be the end of the tunnel, honey.
- Midwest Mom
Monday, August 11, 2008
Potty Chronicles: Will she? or Won't she?
I wrote a bit last month about my daughter's Adventures in Potty Training.
Well, the adventure continues...
We had made a sticker chart for my daughter after my last blog on this topic. We put the word "BIG" on a large sheet of paper. We covered a portion of the letter B with a star sticker every time she went. It was such a success! She looked at the chart approvingly, and at the star sticker I also gave her on her hand. Her brothers saw how she was doing on her stickers. It was great. She was on the road to potty training.
Until...
Have I mentioned that the boys have gone back to school? Since they started back, my daughter has completely rejected the toilet. I understand, to a point, that she misses her brothers. And because they are gone, she has less frequent reminders to go. I have backed off on my expectations to give her time to adjust.
However, it has been three weeks and I am nearing the limit on my patience.
Starting yesterday, I began to wage the battle of words, mustering the full force of my persuasive power to get this two-almost-three-year-old to restart her training. I have reminded her of the pretty panties she will get to wear once she's trained. I have explained that diaper rash (hers has been painful at times) does not happen when one uses the toilet. I have talked about "putting away" her business the same way she puts away her toys.
So far, no luck.
Today, we spent time at the boys school while I volunteered. I convinced her to try a "visit" to the girls' room. We went in and she happily explored it. I even got her to sit on the potty for a while. Some "big girls" came in, and she got a kick out of the fact that they were there and everyone washed their hands together.
I thought it was a step. It turns out it wasn't.
I am trying to keep my frustration in the background, but I honestly will be just so happy once we are past this step. I would rather have "the talk" or teach her how to drive or figure out how to pay for college than THIS DUMB STUPID AWFUL PROCESS!
-whew!-
That felt good.
I am hoping that her reluctance will pass and she will eventually train. I don't think I can handle teaching her how to drive if she's in diapers. Of course, the plus will be that I can put off that "talk" -- boys just don't dig a girl who smells like Desitin.
Midwest Mom
Well, the adventure continues...
We had made a sticker chart for my daughter after my last blog on this topic. We put the word "BIG" on a large sheet of paper. We covered a portion of the letter B with a star sticker every time she went. It was such a success! She looked at the chart approvingly, and at the star sticker I also gave her on her hand. Her brothers saw how she was doing on her stickers. It was great. She was on the road to potty training.
Until...
Have I mentioned that the boys have gone back to school? Since they started back, my daughter has completely rejected the toilet. I understand, to a point, that she misses her brothers. And because they are gone, she has less frequent reminders to go. I have backed off on my expectations to give her time to adjust.
However, it has been three weeks and I am nearing the limit on my patience.
Starting yesterday, I began to wage the battle of words, mustering the full force of my persuasive power to get this two-almost-three-year-old to restart her training. I have reminded her of the pretty panties she will get to wear once she's trained. I have explained that diaper rash (hers has been painful at times) does not happen when one uses the toilet. I have talked about "putting away" her business the same way she puts away her toys.
So far, no luck.
Today, we spent time at the boys school while I volunteered. I convinced her to try a "visit" to the girls' room. We went in and she happily explored it. I even got her to sit on the potty for a while. Some "big girls" came in, and she got a kick out of the fact that they were there and everyone washed their hands together.
I thought it was a step. It turns out it wasn't.
I am trying to keep my frustration in the background, but I honestly will be just so happy once we are past this step. I would rather have "the talk" or teach her how to drive or figure out how to pay for college than THIS DUMB STUPID AWFUL PROCESS!
-whew!-
That felt good.
I am hoping that her reluctance will pass and she will eventually train. I don't think I can handle teaching her how to drive if she's in diapers. Of course, the plus will be that I can put off that "talk" -- boys just don't dig a girl who smells like Desitin.
Midwest Mom
Friday, August 8, 2008
Thank Heaven for Little Girls
We are two weeks into school, and while I am missing the fun of having my boys at home, I am loving the flood of "girl-time" I am enjoying with my daughter.
What is it about having a girl that is so different? We communicate differently, we play differently, she (obviously) dresses differently. I relate to her in an entirely different way than I do with my boys. Maybe the difference is me.
I remember feeling like I was having a girl when my daughter was not yet born. My husband and I had made the conscious decision not to find out the baby's gender. We hadn't with any of our children. And with the earlier two, I never had a clear feeling of what the child was. This time was different. Although I didn't share it, when I thought about the baby or talked to the baby, it was always a "she".
On the day we went to the hospital, even our doula said, "You know, I have a feeling this one will be a girl." Nancy, our delivery nurse said the same thing. I just smiled, telling them we would soon find out, wouldn't we?
Sure enough, it was my beautiful daughter, and I cried. I was completely unprepared for the flood of feelings I would have about this new little life, this girl.
I had always been a little afraid of raising a girl. Boys, I told everyone, are so easy. They are straightforward. They are fun. I had the impression that girls were temperamental, over-emotional, and tough to raise. After all, I was one. (And from what my mother has told me, I wasn't exactly pleasant to raise. Yes, the truth hurts -- especially from your own mother.)
But once I had my own delicate, tiny daughter in my arms, I didn't care about tantrums and stubbornness and drama. She just was so overpoweringly beautiful.
I still gaze at her in wonder when she's not paying attention and ponder the unfathomable gift of her. I say my silent thank-yous and try to hold that image of her in my mind to recall at those times when she's being impossible.
So, now that "our boys" are in school, I have all morning to put her, my youngest, in the driver's seat. She can pick out beautiful clothes. I can paint her toenails. We can pick flowers in the garden or water with her plastic watering can. We play dolls. (Don't tell her brothers, but Batman likes to ride around in the Barbie convertible with Polly Pockets... And Polly always drives.) We shop together and go to the playground together. We play soccer with the surprisingly girly Dora soccer ball.
But aside from the games we play and the feminine things like painting nails, I can't think of anything I'm doing differently with her. All the same, everything we do feels new. She is just such a blessing.
I jokingly call her "mini-Me" from time to time. My husband laughs and hugs us both. And I can feel our bond growing stronger. The other day, she put on her feathery pink princess cape, looked at me, and said, "Okay. All set!" She marched into our room and said, "Daddy, will you marry me?"
I thought my husband was going to cry. He said, "Of course, I will, princess!" And he picked her up and danced around the room with her, just like Prince Charming. Afterward, I think his smile lasted all day long.
I think I know just how he feels.
Midwest Mom
Monday, August 4, 2008
On the Road to Raising Resilient Children
Isn't it funny the way toddlers sometimes insist on doing things themselves. My daughter is two now, but from the first moment she could speak, it seemed like "I do it MYSELF!" was a staple of her vocabulary.
I try to view her independence as a good thing. Since I'm parenting three children, it is wonderful that she wants to put on her own shoes, feed herself, or dress herself. I think it is an important part of raising a child to give them the room to try things themselves -- even if it seems like they've chosen a task far beyond their abilities. Quite often, like this morning when my daughter buckled her own sandals, I've been surprised at the results!
But in the process of trying a new task herself, my daughter will sometimes get really frustrated. She will drive at a solution that eludes her. Finally, she will let out a gutteral scream I know comes from the pit of her soul.
When she's at the end of her rope, though, I give her time to feel her own frustration. I like to watch what comes after that point, because it is almost always a leap in development for her. Either she will regroup and try a new method or she will power through her frustration and get the thing right -- like when she finally learned how to ride her tricycle and hollered until she got the rhythm of one pedal then the other.
We have photos of my oldest son trying like crazy to crawl forward. All he could manage was to scoot himself backward. In the photos, his face got redder and redder until finally, he reached for the toy in front of him that was just out of reach -- and got it! What a smile of victory he had on his face! That smile would not have been possible if we had not been willing to step back and let him find his own way.
There are many times when my children are frustrated and they will stop in a quiet moment, look over and ask for help. I try to be present and accessible when they are trying to figure out something new. Sometimes, I will get them started or give them a hint or remind them of the steps they will need to take to accomplish their goal. My middle son needs encouragement if he can't get his seatbelt on right away. "I can't do it!" he will cry in despair. "You can do it. And we will wait as long as it takes for you to do it," I reply. Removing the time pressure usually does the trick for him. He gets it buckled. At the point that my children reach out for help, I think it is important to be there -- not to swoop in and do it for them, but to teach them to solve the problem themselves.
I know many parents never think NOT to help their child. Moms are compulsive, professional helpers, aren't we? But I have made the decision to start early, encouraging my children to make their own choices and to feel the consequences of those choices. I have started with the little tasks my children ask to do on their own.
Why?
When mothers do everything for their children, they are silently saying "I think you are helpless. You cannot do this for yourself." Even if they never say the words, parents who do every little thing for their child are creating a child who will be dependent on them. It can be terribly comforting for a parent to be needed so much. But, isn't the goal of parenting to lovingly raise children who can think and do and decide what is best for themselves?
If a parent never gives their child the chance to be frustrated and possibly fail, they are depriving that child of valuable experience in problem-solving and decision-making. I remember having to make the first hard decisions of my adulthood and feeling paralyzed. I talked to my father about it. "Well, princess," he said supportively, "you need to sit down and figure things out for yourself. I will help you if you need me, but these are your decisions to make."
I know now that those are the best words he could have said to me. Did I have to flounder? Yes. Did I have to wonder if I was making the right choices? Yes. Was there a chance I could fail at what I tried? Absolutely. But when I reached out for help, my Dad treated me like an adult. I was 16 years old at the time. His confidence in me helped me to have confidence in myself.
When it comes time for my own children to be making their way in the world, I want them to have confidence in their own choices. I want for them to have the courage to try new things, even if they might fail. And if and when they do fail or make the wrong choice, I want them to be able to regroup, learn, and change direction.
Does that start with shoe-tying or the tricycle? Maybe it does. Only time will tell.
Midwest Mom
I try to view her independence as a good thing. Since I'm parenting three children, it is wonderful that she wants to put on her own shoes, feed herself, or dress herself. I think it is an important part of raising a child to give them the room to try things themselves -- even if it seems like they've chosen a task far beyond their abilities. Quite often, like this morning when my daughter buckled her own sandals, I've been surprised at the results!
But in the process of trying a new task herself, my daughter will sometimes get really frustrated. She will drive at a solution that eludes her. Finally, she will let out a gutteral scream I know comes from the pit of her soul.
When she's at the end of her rope, though, I give her time to feel her own frustration. I like to watch what comes after that point, because it is almost always a leap in development for her. Either she will regroup and try a new method or she will power through her frustration and get the thing right -- like when she finally learned how to ride her tricycle and hollered until she got the rhythm of one pedal then the other.
We have photos of my oldest son trying like crazy to crawl forward. All he could manage was to scoot himself backward. In the photos, his face got redder and redder until finally, he reached for the toy in front of him that was just out of reach -- and got it! What a smile of victory he had on his face! That smile would not have been possible if we had not been willing to step back and let him find his own way.
There are many times when my children are frustrated and they will stop in a quiet moment, look over and ask for help. I try to be present and accessible when they are trying to figure out something new. Sometimes, I will get them started or give them a hint or remind them of the steps they will need to take to accomplish their goal. My middle son needs encouragement if he can't get his seatbelt on right away. "I can't do it!" he will cry in despair. "You can do it. And we will wait as long as it takes for you to do it," I reply. Removing the time pressure usually does the trick for him. He gets it buckled. At the point that my children reach out for help, I think it is important to be there -- not to swoop in and do it for them, but to teach them to solve the problem themselves.
I know many parents never think NOT to help their child. Moms are compulsive, professional helpers, aren't we? But I have made the decision to start early, encouraging my children to make their own choices and to feel the consequences of those choices. I have started with the little tasks my children ask to do on their own.
Why?
When mothers do everything for their children, they are silently saying "I think you are helpless. You cannot do this for yourself." Even if they never say the words, parents who do every little thing for their child are creating a child who will be dependent on them. It can be terribly comforting for a parent to be needed so much. But, isn't the goal of parenting to lovingly raise children who can think and do and decide what is best for themselves?
If a parent never gives their child the chance to be frustrated and possibly fail, they are depriving that child of valuable experience in problem-solving and decision-making. I remember having to make the first hard decisions of my adulthood and feeling paralyzed. I talked to my father about it. "Well, princess," he said supportively, "you need to sit down and figure things out for yourself. I will help you if you need me, but these are your decisions to make."
I know now that those are the best words he could have said to me. Did I have to flounder? Yes. Did I have to wonder if I was making the right choices? Yes. Was there a chance I could fail at what I tried? Absolutely. But when I reached out for help, my Dad treated me like an adult. I was 16 years old at the time. His confidence in me helped me to have confidence in myself.
When it comes time for my own children to be making their way in the world, I want them to have confidence in their own choices. I want for them to have the courage to try new things, even if they might fail. And if and when they do fail or make the wrong choice, I want them to be able to regroup, learn, and change direction.
Does that start with shoe-tying or the tricycle? Maybe it does. Only time will tell.
Midwest Mom
Friday, July 11, 2008
Adventures in Potty Training
Potty training is one of the most frustrating tasks of raising a young child. I am currently training my youngest -- my little girl -- and am having a very frustrating time! And I know there are other parents that have the same experience. Why is it so difficult to get her to understand what she needs to do? And once she understands, when will she finally have the will to go the right way consistently? And why am I so wrapped up in this?
Maybe that's the toughest part of potty training for me. Sad to say, but I get really invested in whether they are doing everything right. I just want it to be taught, done and over with. (Maybe now that I can sense there might be a day when I actually don't have to change a diaper, I just want that day to be here NOW!)
I remember training my first son. I had infinite patience, compared to the way I feel now. I would read him a book while he was on the potty, he would sit down several times a day. Sure, he had setbacks like any child, and I distinctly remember saying to him, "Okay. You're not ready for this, so I'm going to stop pushing. You let me know when you're big enough to do this." I had the sense to lay off when he needed it. And he trained while we were taking a long vacation weekend. My husband and I looked at each other at the end of the first day and said, "Have you changed dirty pants? No? My goodness, he went on the potty every single time today!" It was a complete surprise.
My second boy was a lot more work. There was no miraculous training day for him. He had always had trouble staying dry overnight, so we knew that he just might have a smaller, well, capacity. We still wake him up during the night from time to time, just to make sure he doesn't have to go. But he had technical issues my oldest never had. He would clog the toilet from using too much paper. Or I would catch him trying to get clean with only one square. It makes me laugh now, but he truly had a process problem. We've worked through it -- he's 5 now -- but it sure took longer and we still have to be watchful.
I remember one thing that really helped both of them was for my husband to "get involved." With our first, he was completely hands off. Potty training was Mommy's work, apparently. It wasn't until my father visited and had a talk with him that he realized only someone with external plumbing can really explain how the pipes work. (My son wouldn't stand up to go. He didn't believe me when I said that's how men do it.) The power of setting a personal example was shown right there on that day. I remember chuckling to myself and thinking, "Well, it won't be the first discussion they'll have about how that thing's supposed to work."
And now I have a little girl. So, there's no husband to step in and bail me out. And, man! Am I having a frustrating time. ... It's not that she doesn't understand how to go. She's got that down pat. And she does have days when she will wear cloth underwear with no accidents. (We still have her in something absorbent at night time, just in case.) But she hasn't fully decided to be trained full-time yet. Yesterday she told me she just wanted to be a baby and wear diapers that day, and she fought me anytime I said it was time to try going to the bathroom.
I don't want to be the one pushing her; I want her to make the choice. And I'm not one to put the diapers or pull-ups away and force her to have accidents. (Because guess who has to clean that up!) But I don't have infinite patience anymore...
Yes, in my mind I'm saying, "please, oh please, let me be done changing diapers!" And why on Earth is my sense of well-being so caught up in this? It's not like she's going to be 20 and in pull-ups, right? (She's not, is she?)
I guess my point is this: If you are the mom of a girl and want to share some tips with me, I sure could use the help! Click on the "comments" link at the bottom of this post or check my profile and email me.
At least reading your hints will keep me distracted until she chooses to train.
Midwest Mom
.
Maybe that's the toughest part of potty training for me. Sad to say, but I get really invested in whether they are doing everything right. I just want it to be taught, done and over with. (Maybe now that I can sense there might be a day when I actually don't have to change a diaper, I just want that day to be here NOW!)
I remember training my first son. I had infinite patience, compared to the way I feel now. I would read him a book while he was on the potty, he would sit down several times a day. Sure, he had setbacks like any child, and I distinctly remember saying to him, "Okay. You're not ready for this, so I'm going to stop pushing. You let me know when you're big enough to do this." I had the sense to lay off when he needed it. And he trained while we were taking a long vacation weekend. My husband and I looked at each other at the end of the first day and said, "Have you changed dirty pants? No? My goodness, he went on the potty every single time today!" It was a complete surprise.
My second boy was a lot more work. There was no miraculous training day for him. He had always had trouble staying dry overnight, so we knew that he just might have a smaller, well, capacity. We still wake him up during the night from time to time, just to make sure he doesn't have to go. But he had technical issues my oldest never had. He would clog the toilet from using too much paper. Or I would catch him trying to get clean with only one square. It makes me laugh now, but he truly had a process problem. We've worked through it -- he's 5 now -- but it sure took longer and we still have to be watchful.
I remember one thing that really helped both of them was for my husband to "get involved." With our first, he was completely hands off. Potty training was Mommy's work, apparently. It wasn't until my father visited and had a talk with him that he realized only someone with external plumbing can really explain how the pipes work. (My son wouldn't stand up to go. He didn't believe me when I said that's how men do it.) The power of setting a personal example was shown right there on that day. I remember chuckling to myself and thinking, "Well, it won't be the first discussion they'll have about how that thing's supposed to work."
And now I have a little girl. So, there's no husband to step in and bail me out. And, man! Am I having a frustrating time. ... It's not that she doesn't understand how to go. She's got that down pat. And she does have days when she will wear cloth underwear with no accidents. (We still have her in something absorbent at night time, just in case.) But she hasn't fully decided to be trained full-time yet. Yesterday she told me she just wanted to be a baby and wear diapers that day, and she fought me anytime I said it was time to try going to the bathroom.
I don't want to be the one pushing her; I want her to make the choice. And I'm not one to put the diapers or pull-ups away and force her to have accidents. (Because guess who has to clean that up!) But I don't have infinite patience anymore...
Yes, in my mind I'm saying, "please, oh please, let me be done changing diapers!" And why on Earth is my sense of well-being so caught up in this? It's not like she's going to be 20 and in pull-ups, right? (She's not, is she?)
I guess my point is this: If you are the mom of a girl and want to share some tips with me, I sure could use the help! Click on the "comments" link at the bottom of this post or check my profile and email me.
At least reading your hints will keep me distracted until she chooses to train.
Midwest Mom
.
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