Some things just boggle my mind

I just had to write this really quick post today, because OH MY GOD, people!

My brother in law and his girlfriend are expecting a baby (YAY!!). So today she and I were talking about baby and pregnancy things and she mentioned she wasn’t sure what to do about a crib or cradle for the baby. I try not to talk to much, because, well, we all know how annoying too much advice is when we’re pregnant and also I epitomize the American consumerism ideal and had both a cradle and a crib for my kids, as well as a wicker basket for when we were downstairs, and I do, in fact, realize how completely ridiculous that is.

So anyway, I told her about the co-sleeper, because they don’t exist in Italy and when I saw it in the US I wished I didn’t already have more sleeping implements for babies than actual babies in the house. And, I told her, if you plan on breastfeeding, or if you’re a basket case like I was, checking to see if the baby was breathing every half an hour (on a side note, why do they have to terrorize new mothers with statistics on sids?) a co-sleeper is a really good idea, you can check on the baby and latch it on whilst practically still asleep. Optimizing sleep, when you have a newborn is really all you want to do anyway.

So I told her I’d send her some sites to check out and I went a-internet-searching, as one does nowadays, and I landed on this site: arms reach please go visit the site and come back, because you have to see this for yourself.

Now, I like animals, I’ve always had pets but for the love of all that is holy I cannot, for the life of me, fathom how you can put co-sleeper beds for babies on the same site as co-sleeper beds for pets. Seriously. What happened to your pooch sleeping on the rug near your bed? And also, I cannot, I simply CANNOT imagine buying a bed for a newborn with the image of practically the same identical bed for a dog. It blows my mind. And I thought the pet stroller was ridiculous enough all on its own.

What, I ask you, is the world coming to?

I need bigger arms

I have two kids, one comfortable lap and two arms, sounds like that should be enough, shouldn’t it? Apparently, It is not. I need bigger arms. I’ve already mentioned the hell that is bedtime at our house; recently the situation has taken a significant downturn with the introduction of a new point of contention: my lap. Used to be that I would hold the girl for a while, sing to her, cuddle a bit while the boy hung out with daddy, brushed his teeth and did secret “man stuff” (I don’t know either, do they wrestle, have burping contests, lie there staring vacantly into space with their hands down their pants?) and then I’d put the girl down and hold the boy for awhile, sing, cuddle and whatnot.

Now for some reason everybody wants to sit in my lap together, like when they were teeny tiny, except now they’re quite large, and wiggly. So now at the tail end of the entire, exhausting, infuriating ritual we have an additional five minutes of pushing and shoving on my lap, of elbows in my ribcage, of heads banging against my shoulders, my chin, and occasionally my nose. Let me just say that it is in no way pleasant or comfortable for anyone involved, but for some reasons they need this further reassurance that I do, indeed, love them the same.

So I need bigger arms, à la elasto-girl, just until they realize that they don’t actually both fit in my arms at the same time and the previous way was better. Which should be any day now cause we all know how reasonable toddlers and preschoolers are, right?

Killing me softly

Bedtime is killing me. Night after night it’s slowly making me lose my will to live. How humanity has survived for thousand’s of years with toddlers and preschoolers and their bedtime antics is beyond me. Every night, every friggin’ night my kids, my sweet well-behaved kids, turn into these tiny sanity sucking monsters that make me want to run screaming for our wolf infested hills. I don’t understand what the universe is telling me with this. Is it some sort of cosmic challenge we need to face as parents to reach nirvana?

So this is what goes down at my house: we have dinner, and everything is normal, a little whining will occur occasionally, maybe a cry for some dinner time tv, but at this point everyone still inhabits their own bodies and my kids are relatively normal albeit a little tired. Then we move on to bath time. Bath time is usually fun, some splashing, a lot of me yelling at them to keep the water into the bathtub and not onto the floor, a few admonitions for them not to drink the scummy bathwater, but all is still right in our world. After bath everyone has a warm drink and teeth-brushing, peeing and clothes picking for school ensues. And as I utter the sentence “ok, last call, bedtime. Everybody get in bed” my kids transform, before my very eyes, into a couple of odious, weepy, whiny, annoying imps that I simply cannot stand.

The Girl will start to cry, doing a weird floppy-legged, bouncing her tush up and down, arm flailing move, reaching out to me, wailing “Maaaaamaaaaaa” like I’m the last thing she sees as she falls off a cliff unto certain death. The Boy, not to miss out on any of the melodrama, starts crying for his binky (that is in his mouth), for me to stay one more minute, for some juice. I edge out of the door, cheerfully calling goodnight, like all is normal in my world. Five minutes later the girl starts flinging herself against the crib sides, choking and sputtering like she’s getting ready to throw up her milk, the boy wails with an ever mounting crescendo “Mama, I want Mama”, like he’s been abandoned in an orphanage in Eastern Europe. I go in, they pathetically ask for water, as if I had ever refused them a drink, so I wipe noses, clean off tears and distribute drinks. I leave, everything is quiet, I’m hopeful. I go shower.

The second I step out of the shower, someone’s calling me, they have to poop, or pee, or have pooped and I need to change a diaper. I get them settled and leave. They cry, they’re dying of thirst, they need water. They drink, I leave.

One’s quiet, the other calls me, he dropped his lovey he can’t sleep. I leave. The other one calls me, she’s got eight hundred stuffed animals in her bed, she can’t sleep. I put them back on the shelf, I leave. And then one needs to be covered. The other one is hot and can’t get out of the covers alone. Then they need water again, but they also need to pee, or a diaper change.

One more kiss, I’m lonely, I need a hug. Mama, can I have some waaaaattttteeeeeerrrrr?

Night after night, they are slowly driving me crazy. How, I ask you, HOW has humanity managed to survive? Because I tell you, running in there and screaming “shut the fuck up and go to sleep” isn’t working, for me or for them (I’ve tried). I’m starting to think that parenting is one of those survival of the fittest challenges, and it’s slowly, slowly killing me.

In fact, as I write this, it’s 11.48pm, they both finally shut up and went to sleep a couple of hours ago and the girl just woke up again and is calling me. She probably needs water. Or a diaper change.

And in the silence of our darkened and sleeping (for the most part) house all you hear is the thud, thud, thud of me banging my head against the wall.

Jewish Penicillin (aka Chicken Soup)

Apparently chicken soup will cure all your evils. Seriously, I’ve been reading up, colds, flu, stomach ailments, bad skin, bad moods, chicken soup will solve them all. Of course I won’t be declaring this under oath or anything, but still, it’s known as “Jewish penicillin” (though why that is is beyond me, it should really just be known as Grandma’s penicillin, everybody’s Grandma makes chicken soup, right?).

Anyway, there’s a catch (of course there is!) for it to work its magical powers you can’t use ready-made store-bought chicken soup, no ma’am. You done have to go out and get yourself a real bird.

I used to make chicken broth all the time when I was weaning the kids and I used it instead of just plain water for the purees (not the fruit ones, do I need to say it?), but it always smelled chicken-y and was too bland and, well, blah, so when I used it for soup I always had to add bouillon, which sort of defeats the whole purpose, you know?

So I’ve been experimenting and what I’ve come up with is divine. For optimal health I’ve read one should have a cup of “real” chicken broth a day, every day (kind of like the apple, it keeps the doctor away), I suggest you just make large quantities occasionally and freeze it. So if you want soup, or catch a cold, or a stomach bug, or just need comfort food, it’s there for you. Although, I do suggest you heat it in a pan, not the microwave, to preserve all the nutrients and stuff.

Please don’t pay too much attention to my pictures, they’re kind of crappy and there’s just no way to make chicken pieces boiling in a pan look good, just trust that the end result will be worth it!

As with most recipes this continues after the jump so click on the link!

Things I want to teach my children

I honestly can’t believe it’s August 1^st. Where is the time going? What the heck happened to July? Partly, I’m sure, it’s the weather’s fault. Seriously, it was 26°C (78.8°F) outside yesterday afternoon and it felt hot, that’s how cool it’s been lately, so no wonder it doesn’t feel like summer’s halfway over, it practically hasn’t even started yet. Anyway, since we must base ourselves on the calendar, it is once again time for me to impart some wisdom to my kids. So here we go, this time I only have one piece of advice for each child, based on their personalities.

For the Girl:

Life doesn’t always need to be so dramatic. I understand that sometimes your feelings are so big that you need to physically display them to release some of the tension, but seriously, can’t we just agree that I do things for your own good and not out of spite or meanness. For example, if I tell you that no, you can’t climb up on the table via the chair and do a little jig up there it’s because it’s dangerous and you don’t need to flop to the ground with your hands on your face wailing. Or even more simply, when I decide that bath time is over because you’re so pruney you look like a shriveled up old lady and I go to pick you up, you don’t need to start crying like I just killed your lovey and go all jelly-legs and jelly-arms on me because the likelihood that I accidently drop you is very high.

A little drama is good, it makes life more exciting and keeps those around you on their toes. I’m sure we can channel your penchant for the dramatic into something productive and not annoying to me, like a career in the arts?

For the Boy:

Some things are scary, I know they are, but if you don’t try them how will you know what you can do? When we come up against something new I see you, looking, taking your measure, sussing things out. Sometimes you really want to do something but you don’t, because you’re scared. I get it, doing new things is difficult, I promise, I get it. What I really want you to learn is that trying something new that you really want to do and failing, is infinitely, undeniably better than not trying at all. Especially since the likelihood of failure is very, very small. There are a lot of new things still to come in your life, and I will hold your hand, go with you, encourage you, and push you for as long as I can, but I want you to learn to take that first step on your own. I want you to always take the first step because I see the joy on your face every time we’ve done something new and conquered it.

I want to teach you that not trying something new, that not taking that first step is not an option, and that there’s no shame in failure if you’ve tried.

Every month when I take a moment to think about this post and what to write I realize that being a parent is hard, but being the kind of parent we want to be is even harder.

Da Doo Dee

Sometimes I think my kids are the cutest. (Of course I lie, my kids are always the cutest). Tonight, after dinner, as I was in the process of trying to turn the kitchen back into something the opposite of a hurricane site, the Boy and the Girl were playing. I had never really noticed that they have started playing together as opposed to just around each other.

Tonight they were running around like whirling dervishes and when I stopped to listen I hear the Boy explaining to the Girl, “Girl, you stand here and count, one, two, three, five, eight, ten and then come get me”. And the Girl, obligingly went to stand with her back against the wall, recited Da, Doo, Dee and then went running after her brother. It appears that they were playing a strange mix of tag and hide and go seek in which the girl was always “it” so had to go stand against the wall, count and then chase her brother around the room.

This went on for a good fifteen minutes. They were pretty tired by the time we went upstairs to bed, so a win all around. Plus the Girl’s learning to count… Da, Doo, Dee.

Park that Baby

It’s kind of funny, but in Italy there’s a kind of private Daycare called Baby Parking. I couldn’t stop laughing when I first heard it. It’s basically a reduced time daycare, where you can take your child in for no longer than five hours a day, they can dispense food but not cook it (they can heat it) and usually they only take kids up to three years of age, though some go up to six which is when elementary school starts here. It’s where you go park your baby when you’ve got other stuff to do.

I started parking the boy at daycare (sorry, can’t resist a pun) when he was a little over a year cause he had started showing evident signs of being bored with my unimaginative entertainment day in and day out and demonstrated a heightened interest in other humans his own size and development stage.

Despite his demonstrably seeming ready, the initial separation was hard on both of us. I spent several mornings crying on the staircase outside the baby parking and he spent several minutes crying inside the baby parking. After a few torturous months (I’m persistent), and a change in daycare to a smaller, friendlier facility, we both calmed down and leaving him became, if not a gleeful time, at least a time in which I managed to do other things in relative calm. And the boy seemed to positively thrive, he learned new things, some good some I would rather have avoided, but such is the consequence of delegating childcare. He became friendlier and started coming out of his shell, a less timid more adventurous boy. All in all the experience was positive, so much so, that last September when faced with the decision of whether to put him in the “pre” – preschool class (something Italian schools are starting to offer) at a much cheaper rate or keep parking him at the more expensive, but familiar, baby parking we decided to let him stay there an extra year.

So when the girl turned a year old, and the husband seemed to be on a definite mend (boy were we wrong there), which resulted in the second Nanny leaving us (sob, sob, we loved her) it seemed a natural consequence for her to start frequenting the same baby parking as her brother.

The Girl, by the way, was always a more outgoing baby than her brother she seemed more independent. Though slightly more attached to me when I was around she was always fine when I wasn’t, and whatever mommy issues she seemed to have where explained away as a consequence of the husband’s illness, absence, and everyone’s resulting tension.

So off I lead her, one sunny February morning, to daycare with her brother… like a lamb to the slaughter… or maybe that was me?

The first day she was fine, I was there the whole time as was her brother, it probably seemed the best place in the world to her, new toys, new friends, old, familiar faces. The second day I went in the other room for an hour. She cried a bit but all seemed to be ok. The third day is when the storm hit me square in the face.

I went to the other room as usual, with the very firm admonishment not to come out even if she cried for a bit. She screamed her bloody, fucking head off for fifteen minutes at which point the teacher came into the other room, where I was silently yet systematically clawing through the door, to get me because she was freaking out all the other kids. And thus it went for a week. At the end of the week I had decided to just forego the whole experiment cause it was turning all of us, her brother included, into bumbling, weepy, neurotic messes and what the hell did I need to take her to daycare for anyway I still had one nanny after all.

But I’m stubborn, which is apparently where she gets it, so on Monday I call them up and say, I’m bringing her in today and leaving directly, I’ll be outside in the car, try to keep her in there for 45 minutes if she’s still crying come get me.

And armed with all the resolve of a US Marine sergeant I take them to daycare, hand her over and hustle out of there at the speed of light (or sound, whichever’s faster) before the scream-fest started.

It didn’t start. She supposedly watched me leave, made a half-heartened attempt at a cry, then allegedly shrugged in a “eh, she’s gone” way and went to play. To play.

Which is when I realized that I, my friends, am a complete moron, a moron who let herself be played by a one year old like a finely tuned harpsichord.

She’s been happily parked several times a week now for six months nary a tear in sight. Lesson learned.

Cluck, cluck...

As I mentioned here I went to Rome last week. It was the first time I left my children, let’s just say it was a learning experience. Really, you learn a lot about yourself when you do something new. I learned a few things about what kind of mother I am. In Italian I’ve often been called a “mamma chioccia” a mother hen. It’s not as common in English (or rather, I never really heard it used), but in Italian it describes a mother who is always around her children, always paying attention to them, on top of them. It’s generally used in a pejorative manner. In a country infamous for it’s mama’s boys and the overbearing mother figure it says a lot about me, or what people think of me.

On my end though, I’ve never thought of myself as an overbearing mother, I let them experience a variety of things, I’ve given them some freedom – though they’re one and a half and three and a half years old how much freedom do they even need? I send them to daycare in the mornings because organizing play dates here is ridiculously difficult and I feel they need to be with other children their age at least some of the time so it’s not like they’re under my protective wing 24/7; although, even if they were, I see nothing wrong with it considering their age. I’ve travelled with them, I’ve upended their routine when necessary, I’ve let them fall and fight and get their scrapes and bruises. Of course I’ve cringed and held my breath and forcibly kept myself from intervening at times, but I assume that’s only natural.

So I never thought of myself as a mother hen, because I never agreed with the negative undertone, I love them, I do my best with them, why should this be bad?

When I left last week I was comfortable that they would be taken care of. The Nanny knows and loves them, and is perfectly aware of and comfortable with their routine, the husband was there to oversee any problems so I left knowing that they were going to be fine.

And yet… I realize what I’m about to say may sound ridiculous to some, but I’m hoping someone, somewhere will understand. You know that feeling like you forgot something important, something vital and your heart starts pounding as you think “oh, shit, where did I put it?” that’s what I felt like the entire time I was gone. It physically hurt to be away from them. I kept looking for them, even though I knew they weren’t there.

I spent two days listening to people tell me to lighten up, that the kids were fine, that I should enjoy my “freedom”, and I did, in a way. Obviously, it was much easier getting everything done, zipping around Rome, in and out of taxis no car seats or strollers to speak of, no diaper bags, juice boxes, crackers or sippy cups of water, no unscheduled, urgent bathroom breaks, no tantrums, no 1,461 whys a minute… all of this felt wonderful of course. Being able to sit in a bar and talk to my sister for an hour, no interruptions, have a drink with no guilt, smoke a rare cigarette, all blissful. I almost felt like an adult free to mingle amongst other adults! I went out to dinner, no worries, not checking the phone every five minutes expecting something to come up to make me go home, I slept all night with no calls for water, binkys, milk or kisses…

No kisses…

I hate and love their neediness. I often think back wistfully to the freedom I’ve lost, but the attachment I feel for them, my own neediness towards them is too strong. The constant, unyielding ache of the distance from them just doesn’t make it worth it.

I guess I still need to sever that umbilical cord but it’s too soon for me. I’m the one with separation anxiety when we’re apart, they miss me, sure, but they’re children they’re supposed to, they’re allowed to, for some reason people think it strange when I express how much I miss them. 

So I guess I am a mother hen… but I refuse to accept the negative undertone.

My children are healthy and happy and I’m happier with them than without them so I guess that if I end up raising a mama’s boy and girl then I’ll just pay for their therapy later. And I won’t apologize for it.

Is conformity really so bad?

I don’t know if you’ve heard of the Canadian family raising a genderless baby, I read an article on their story by chance last week (I can't find it anymore, so can't link!). Since then I’ve been reading interviews and such and it’s given me a lot of food for thought. I’m not going to get into the merits of what they’re doing and I’m not linking to any of the articles I’ve read, because there’s a lot of negativity out there regarding this family’s decision.

Before sharing my viewpoint, I’d like to say that I’m not judging them, I think that as long as they’re doing what they’re doing because they feel it’s in the best interest of their own children and not because they wanted the media attention, then that should be good enough for all of us. But any sort of highly controversial act, as this one, is going to lead to a lot of discussion and thought, which is why I decided to write about it.

Apparently, the parents decided to do this because their oldest child, a boy, doesn’t “fit traditional gender roles”, he likes his hair long and likes dresses and the color pink. Evidently, this boy has faced some hardships due to his preferences and I think the logic is that keeping the baby genderless as long as possible sets an example to their two older children about how gender distinctions aren’t important, or in any case, aren’t as important as looking at the individual without a gender bias.

The following italicized bit is the comment I left on the article, it was my initial gut reaction, which incidentally is still my opinion after having researched the subject further:

This is interesting, and a little bit scary, I think. It's one thing to not "fit traditional gender roles" and another thing to remove the concept of gender altogether, because we are, in fact, characterized by our gender. The older child may have to face a series of difficulties due to the fact that he doesn't fit traditional gender roles, and his parents will have to help him navigate through them. But preventively creating an issue, where one simply doesn't exist - this baby is only four months - is risky. This child, exactly like the older sibling, will have to go out into society at large sooner or later and will be faced with the issue of his gender. But whereas the older child when faced with the very simple and straightforward  "are you a boy or a girl" question can be taught to answer "I'm a boy and I like pink, it's no business of yours" this baby won't have an acceptable answer at all. And by acceptable I mean an answer that his peers and strangers will be able to understand without lengthy, drawn out explanations. I think the risk here is putting this child in an impossible situation. We don't want to stick our children into categories unduly, but not giving a child a category at all is doing exactly that, isn't it? […]

The only thing I really take issue with is something the mother said in a letter she wrote in response to some pretty harsh criticism that they received, this is what she wrote:  “the idea that the whole world must know our baby’s sex strikes me as unhealthy, unsafe and voyeuristic.”

I take issue with this because in my opinion it is neither unhealthy, unsafe nor voyeuristic that “the world” as she says, knows the sex of her baby, no more than it is unhealthy, unsafe or voyeuristic that the world knows her baby is blond with blue eyes. First of all the whole world doesn’t know the sex of your baby unless you put it out there, which they did in a sense, because though we may not know the sex of the baby suddenly it's become a big issue. 
Generally, for non public figures, which the majority of us are (which this family was before all the hoopla), the people that know our baby’s sex can be counted in the hundreds, possibly the thousand’s at most, if you’ve got loads of friends and acquaintances hell, if you’ve got a really popular blog, maybe hundreds of thousands, but with a worldwide population of a little under seven billion it’s still a comparatively small number. And even then, how many of the people that know your baby’s sex actually care, or remember? I have acquaintances I see only rarely that I know have kids but can’t for the life of me remember how many and what gender.

So her kids don’t have gender appropriate behaviors. So what? They must have done a good job as parents, giving their children the freedom and the security to be whichever way they want to be. Their boy wants to have long, flowing hair and likes dresses and colorful fabrics and they supported him and gave him the self assurance to be any way he wants, so as far as that goes Bravo, I say. But, I believe that with this third child they took it too far, because they turned it into a media thing. Now they don’t just want to teach their children the best way they know how, they want to be an example of something to everyone else. They want to “change the world” as they say to a more accepting, tolerant place, a sentiment I wholly concur with, but... changes happen gradually. We are in a far better place today than fifty years ago, and I believe that fifty years from now we’ll be in an even better place – there’s always room for improvement.

I’m just not so sure that becoming gender-less is an improvement. Some people fit gender roles to a T, some not so much, others not at all, and I do believe that all the options must be accepted and respected. All of the options, including the desire to conform to long-standing societal roles. I’m a conformist, when my kids were born I tended to dress my boy in blue and other “boy colors” and my girl in pink, I thought the clothes were cute and the babies were cute in them. It never occurred to me to dress them any other way. As they grow I’ll support and accept any of their choices, as long as they’re happy and healthy, and I’ll help them navigate society if they decide to make choices that are hard to explain or live with. But in my opinion, there’s nothing wrong with conformity as there’s nothing wrong with non-conformity.

I find it very tiring that everything has to be “original”, original is the new cool. And I find it especially tiring that if someone decides to live their life in a manner that goes against the grain they feel the need to make it public, to teach a lesson where none is needed, to face the world with a look at me, this is how it’s done attitude.

Because, “this is how it’s done” is how we get conformity and uniformity to begin with, it’s the opposite of original if everyone does what you do, isn’t it?

So, again I ask, if everyone tries to be tolerant, sympathetic and understanding, if we face the world with an open heart and a smile on our face and take things at face value, differences and all, then is there really something wrong with conformity?

Ten things I want to teach my children RIGHT NOW

As I mentioned in the previous post, I’m a little cranky lately due to being sick as a poor, mangy dog all weekend. Incidentally, I don’t get that expression, why “sick as a dog”, are they somehow inherently sicker than other animals? Anyway, since it’s the first of the month once again I’m going to give the meme another shot. If you feel like participating it’s open all week, just click on the linky at the bottom, add your post and if you feel like it add my button at the end of your post - just grab the code on the left side-bar (scroll down!). 

Ok. So, back to me being cranky, evidently it’s reflected in my choice of Ten Things to Teach my Children this week because I’m not so much looking to the future this time as listing things that I wish they’d learn RIGHT NOW.

Most of these are points I make daily, hoping that somehow they will learn them through the sheer force of repetition. It’s not working so far, but I’m hopeful – or deluded, one of the two. These are all meant for both my children, of course.

1. If Mama says she’s sick, don’t whine, get in her face, or make unreasonable demands because that’ll just make her crankier and you’ll get more timeouts.

2. It’s so much more productive to ask for stuff in a happy voice rather than a whiny voice, whiny voices grate on my ears and trigger the timeout reflex immediately.

3. I am not a referee. Am I wearing a whistle?

4. You don’t need to use up half the liquid soap every time you wash your hands, you’re not scrubbing in for surgery. (Although I do appreciate your newfound love for hand washing).

5. Nighttime is for sleeping, if you wake up during the night you turn around and go back to sleep. You don’t need me to help with that. You don’t need milk. You don’t need a diaper change. And if you want water it’s on your bedside table. You don’t need to call me at night. I can’t stress this enough.

6. Water guns outside are good, water guns inside the house are BAD.

7. Negotiating with me is fine until I give you THE LOOK, once I give you THE LOOK negotiations are over and action is in order.

8. The easiest and fastest way to get what you want is with a smile, a hug and a kiss. How hard is that?

9. We no longer watch tv while eating as I’m sick of feeding you because you’re in a Dora-induced trance-like state, you eat your food then you can go watch tv. Get over it.

10. When I scream at you for dumping a bowl-full of water out of the tub onto the bathroom floor and you do it again a minute later, I’m going to take the bowl away. It’s been like this for two years, why do you always look so surprised?

11. And a bonus bath related one that is a point of contention every night: Stop drinking the bath water, it’s dirty, it’s soapy and it’s very likely at least one of you peed in there.

Gosh, it felt good to get those off my chest! Now all I need to do is figure out how to actually teach them these things… NOW!

If you want to read more things I want to teach my kids you can do so here and here.

Thanks for linking up!

Go the F@#k to sleep

I found out about this book thanks to this awesome blog and I have to tell ya, I’m definitely going to buy it. Apart from all the hype that it’s received from a rogue pdf copy that has been making the rounds of the ether (incidentally, I still haven’t managed to get my hands on it, now what does that tell you about my techiness or total lack thereof) and the insanity of its rise in amazon’s bestseller lists before it’s actually available for sale, have you looked at the title? 

I mean really, I’ve been screaming that same sentence in my head nightly for nigh on four years now, and finally, finally someone’s said it out loud. How liberating is that?

Potty training for lazy parents

A while back I briefly mentioned that the Boy had potty trained himself and I’d be writing about it presently so, here I am writing about it now.

As may, or may not, be common knowledge, I am a first class procrastinator. Truly, I have elevated the practice of “why do it today when I can do it tomorrow” to a fine art, you only need see my desk to believe it. So true to form, though I knew I should get my three-year old potty trained, I just saw no reason to start immediately… and well, for once in my life procrastination actually paid off.

You see, many of my friends had been on my case cause my kid was still in diapers and I was bothered not one bit. He’ll have to go to preschool soon they’d say (they start at three here, and though it’s not mandatory the majority of children go), kids don’t potty train themselves, it’s your job, you need to get a move on… 

It got to the point that even I started feeling the pressure of just getting the job done.

So, a few weeks back I decided that as soon as the weather got warmer I would start the stupid potty training. I figured I could just leave him in shorts all day outside and he’d end up getting annoyed at constantly getting wet so he’d spontaneously learn to control himself. Yes, I’m all about minimizing costs and maximizing returns. I half-heartedly read a few books on the subject, I even got the boy a book for kids on potty training, and I must have mentioned to him in passing that we’d be taking the diapy off “soon” and he’d go pee-pee like a big boy in the potty.

He didn’t seem too interested and I was clearly unmotivated, but he’d be going to preschool in September and I had recently heard of a mother who six months into it still hadn’t gotten her kid to go consistently on the potty and that kind of scared me as I didn’t want the Boy to have to possibly endure a hard time at preschool due to his mother’s  character flaws.

And then, lo and behold, one morning the Boy just looks up at me as I’m dressing him and says: “no diapy today mama, I want Spiderman underwear” (in a mix of Italian and English, I’m simplifying for you). My initial reaction was, god no, it’s still kind of chilly out, I don’t want him to pee on the couch or the carpets. But then the mothering instinct took over (thankfully) and I thought, well I really can’t prevent him from foregoing the diaper if he really wants to, that would be bad. So after ascertaining that he was absolutely, positively sure he wanted to wear his Spiderman underwear and not the Lighting McQueen training diapers I had bought for just such an occasion, and making him go pee on the potty twice (he didn’t, apparently he simply didn’t need to) we left for daycare and that, my friends, was that.

Since that fateful day he has had a grand total of three accidents (none on the furniture I might add) and he now does all his business in the potty, with minimal assistance and prodding on my part. I basically limit myself to reminding him to go potty when we’re getting in the car cause I honestly want to avoid that whole possible mess and that’s the extent of my involvement.

It simply could not have been any easier, or frankly more surprising. Who would’ve thought that my chronic procrastination would’ve worked as a stimulus to my kid to hurry up and grow up already, all on his own.

And, the Girl, who is only eighteen months old, now always wants to use the potty when I change her diaper and half the time she’s perfectly dry and does all her business in the potty too. I mean really, could I possibly be doing any less work here?

All this to say, laziness in parenting is not always a problem, sometimes it’s a blessing and it could teach your children independence to boot. Definitely a win-win in my book!

p.s. he still wears diapers at night, I’m not a miracle worker!

p.p.s. I realize that now that I’ve written all this in a mildly self-congratulatory tone, something will happen to revert this entire situation and come September you’ll find me crying knee deep in diapers. But I guess that’s fodder for a whole ‘nother post on hubris.

p.p.p.s. I apologize for the overly enthusiastic use of italics in this post.

Parenting is hard (i.e. the post wherein I state the obvious)

Parenting is hard. Nobody ever tells you how hard it actually is though. I really wish that before I had children someone had come up to me and said: this is the most difficult thing that you will ever do, bar none, and it will not get easier the longer you do it because the challenges are constantly changing. When you feel like you’ve finally got it down, something new comes out of left field and you have to figure it all out again. And it will never end, because, let’s be honest, we’re still our parents children (if we’re lucky enough to still have our parents around) and we may think we’ve moved on from our parents, being adults in our own right, but more than likely our parents are still sitting there worrying about us and wondering how they can steer us in the right direction. I have endless conversations with my friends about how our lives have changed and will it ever get back to normal and when will we be us again.

But I’m coming to the realization that this is the new normal and we’ll never be the old us again. We’ll never be completely carefree again, because, really, how can we with such massive responsibility on our shoulders. We’ll never sleep as soundly again, because once they’re done with the neediness of babies and toddlers we move on to school and friends and achievement and activities and we’re going to worry about one or all of those things at 4am, and then they become teenagers and there’s the whole sex, drinking, what the hell are they wearing bits that will turn us into chronic insomniacs, followed by college, are they just partying or are they actually studying, and then god help us they get married and have their own kids and how will they ever raise them??

Okay, I may be getting ahead of myself, my kids are just 1 and 3 after all but I’ve seen how fast it’s going already. It feels like just yesterday morning that I was lying in the clinic sore from a c-section with a tiny wailing, flailing, red-faced, cute as a button human in my arms wondering what in the world I was going to do with him. So it stands to reason that in the blink of an eye they’ll be all "growed up", and I’ll be all alone. (Oh, ok, not alone, alone, the husband will be alone with me, let me be a little dramatic, sheesh!)

Basically all I wanted to say with this post is: Parenting is hard, and it’s for life. We have to enjoy every moment, because every moment is fleeting and yet we’ll never stop being parents. Ever. It’s scary and tiring and often overwhelming but it’s also wonderful and amazing and the one thing that brings me joy consistently. It’s the dichotomy of our souls. 

I know it sounds like I just realized the world is round or something, but sometimes the most obvious, mundane things are the ones that no one talks about. And sometimes we really need to stop and acknowledge what we’re doing, and what our parents did, and give ourselves and each other a break when we screw up. There’s a lot of screwing up in parenting, a lot of fixing our own mistakes and a lot of getting things right the first time. It’s a 24/7 job and the only compensation is watching our children grow up and become whoever they’re supposed to be. It’s two parts wonderful and one part terrible and there is no going back from here.

Ok, I'm all done with the obvious today, hopefully my next post will be more enlightened, carry on.

Happiest face ever

Now tell me if this doesn't make you smile:

Happy Sunday!

Traveling with kids, a few handy tips

I figured today was as good a day as any to post a few tips on travelling with kids. First off there are some great websites out there that give informed, expert advice on this very subject and a simple “traveling with kids” search will take you right to them, I strongly suggest you do this because you really get a lot of useful information from them.  I, on the other hand, will proceed in my usual fashion of giving you a few totally inane tips, gathered from nothing more than my own personal experience. So nothing expert about it at all. But, hey, someone, somewhere, may find them useful or interesting (ideally useful and interesting, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves) so here goes:

1.    Be a pain in the patootie.

Whether you reserve your flight, train ticket, hotel or whatever, online or through a travel agent ask all and any questions you may have, even if the answer seems obvious. If it’s important to you, get the information, preferably in writing. Let me give you a practical example: say you’re flying with a child under 2 years of age and you don’t want to buy their ticket, since you may have the option to take them on as a “lap child” (more on why I think you shouldn’t later, but whatever, that’s just my opinion), and say you’re flying internationally or just on a really long flight where one would assume you get the little baby crib that they stick to the wall of the bulkhead seats so you don’t go crazy insane holding a kid in your arms for thirteen hours straight, well don’t assume.

Call the airline and double check that the crib is available. Get them to write you an email. Make sure you understand that you want it. Ask what the weight limit is, cause there is one, so don’t assume just because your kid is under two he’ll fit, more than likely if he’s over 6 months he won’t. Go figure. And when you get to the gate, repeat the above process. Trust me. This also applies if, for example you need to reserve a special meal, or need help with your luggage, have any sort of disability, are travelling with large or irregularly shaped luggage or (heaven forbid) pets.

Don’t take anything for granted, you’ll be happier when you know ahead of time how limited your options actually are.

2.    Be blind, deaf and dumb

If you’re travelling with children your chances of encountering embarrassing situations is directly related to the number of children you are travelling with and rises exponentially depending on the time of day, size of airport (train station, bus depot, whatever) and period of the year that you’re travelling in. If you’re flying there are two sure-fire moments when you will want to shoot yourself in the head and die a bloody, dramatic death: airport security and boarding. These are  the two moments that will open your eyes as to how many assholes there actually are in the world, because you will be wrestling your child from the stroller while simultaneously removing your shoes, belt, sunglasses (bra, iud and quite possibly your soul), and loading your purse, diaper bag, carry-on on the conveyor belt, closing the stroller  and holding your pants up as you keep your toddler from running away and/or your baby in your arms, and nary a soul will lend you a hand. In fact, I’m willing to bet that everyone in line behind you is huffing, puffing and complaining that their flight is leaving whereas you, clearly, are just there for the fun. So I say, don’t get flustered. Be blind to their glares and do your thing calmly and methodically so you don’t end up with your pants round your ankles since you had to take your belt off, be deaf to their complaints, your kid’s screaming in your ear will help with that, and keep your passport and boarding pass between your teeth, your hands are busy anyway and this way you’ll avoid telling everyone around you to eff off. Also, wear flip flops, the indignity of going through security barefoot will be too much for you to bear.

3.    Pretend you are a vending machine

Bring food, lots of it. Snacks for your kids. Snacks for you. And please don’t be ridiculous by trying to think of healthy snacks give your kids chips and yourself chocolate. They’ll find it highly entertaining and you will need the comfort. Also, who the hell has time to peel carrots before a long trip anyway? Remember a hungry kid is a grumpy kid and flights are always delayed! Also, you’ll rarely find milk on airplanes, keep that in mind if you’ve got a small child.

4.    Bring toys, don’t buy out toys r us

You do need entertainment for your kids, but you also need to be able to carry it. Don’t bring anything that’s too small, like little cars, or legos, you’ll lose them. Stickers are great, crayons (not markers), and a magazine with lots of pictures. Remember most planes now have the little individual screens where they can watch cartoons and play games and stuff. (but confirm this before leaving, if they don’t, go out and buy yourself an ipad. You’ll thank me later.)

5.    Relax

It may not sound like it from the previous points  but the more relaxed you are about the whole experience, the happier everyone will be. And remember, the plane does indeed land after a relatively short span of time, so no matter how bad things get it’ll all be over soon. That’s your new mantra, by the way. Also, you’ll likely never see any of the people you’re traveling with again so who cares what they’re thinking, plus think of all the wrinkles they’ll get from giving you the evil eye.

6.    Some things are very different

If the last time you travelled as a child was in the 80’s and 90’s let me point out a few things that are different: there no longer is enough room between the rows for a child to lie down on the floor and sleep; you are no longer allowed to see the cockpit (I know, this is incredibly sad, as this was the number one form of entertainment when we were little); kids rarely get those great fun packets to play with from the airline (you remember, with the colored pencils and the little stuffed airplane); this last one isn’t at all related, but an adult and a child are a really tight fit in an airplane bathroom, so make sure you have a plan as to what to do with your kid in the event that you have to pee if you’re travelling alone and/or with more than one child.

And lastly, as promised, why I think you shouldn’t fly with a lap child. Turbulence. Let’s say that 90 times out of 100 you only experience minor turbulence, there’s still that teeny, tiny ten percent chance that you may experience slightly more energetic turbulence. On a long haul flight I guarantee that you won’t have the presence of mind to be hanging on tightly enough to your kid throughout the whole flight. So your kid could get hurt. It’s a small chance, sure, though slightly higher if you’re crossing an ocean. But if you pay for a seat (usually you pay 50% of the ticket cost for a child under two) you can bring your carseat and strap the kid in. Your child will sleep more comfortably, you won’t have to hold him for the entire trip, and you may actually manage to get a sip of that inflight drink. Just ask yourself this, you’re probably spending a few grand for the trip anyway is a couple more hundred saved really worth your child banging his head on the overhead carryon bins if turbulence does hit?

Now, do you have any travel tips? Please share!!