Lions and Tigers and Beers, Oh My

So I just checked my blog (like I do). And for those of you who have ever noticed the ads running alongside my posts, you should see what's up there right now. I'm trying not to read too much into it, but it's not that easy. Currently there are a total of five ads and each one is related to drinking and alcoholism. In order, they read: Alcoholism Rehab Center, Stop Drinking Alcohol, 12 Step Alternative, Tired of Drinking, and Alcoholism Natural Remedy. So what the kooky marketeers at Google Ads must be saying, based on my posts, is either that I can't conceivably come up with such brilliant blogger crap without first tossing some back, OR that I can't possibly limp through my dizzying oy vay daze without getting my drink on. Now if I can only find that camera...

Another Would-be Empire Vanquished

Yesterday I came across some signs hidden away in my linen closet. What an absolute riot. A few years back I had heard about family behavior codes at a time when I was desperate for a stab at even modest control over my three kids. I grabbed some sharpies and went to town scribbling an all-purpose mantra for daily life defined by GOOD behavior. I remember having a ribbon attached to them and hanging the signs on a doorknob in the upstairs hallway. When things got out of hand (or should I say - several times a day), I would run and grab a sign from the doorknob and start pointing and reading (with ENTHUSIASM) through the list. I don't recall that it helped to change behavior, but it probably helped me a little as a prop. It gave me a script which kept things from going from bad to worse. I had to photograph them so I would always remember how ridiculous this parenting gig can feel at times. The signs will be repurposed, but they will always make me laugh.

All you need is love

I remember collecting wisdom about having children before I ever had children. One thing sticks out in my memory as universal advice (voiced heavily by my parent's generation). I think it's a cliche, but never-the-less, it was something I really latched onto. The advice was this: Just love them, that's all they need.

Really? That's all they need. O.k., I guess loving them covers some ground like feeding them, keeping them close to you in a parking lot, and discouraging them from eating glass. But what about the rest of the crapshoot? I spend way too much energy (and it's riddled with tension like I'm about to explode) on correcting and admonishing behavior - ultimately (and hopefully) molding some kind of useful human being that won't need to be locked up down the road. Honestly, I couldn't begin to list the other stuff that I need to do to in addition to loving them. I guess the message was that the love part is a bare necessity and everything else is icing. Huh?

Let's make Whoopi

Nora needs to start kindergarten. I mean, there's such a thing as too much fun with a whoopi cushion. Together my daughter and I logged in a lot of time with one today and it is with pure delight and admiration that I admit her technique for inflating one is superior to my own. We're now the proud owners of two of them thanks to the clarity of mind that must have possessed our friends. I can picture them striding through the aisles of Party City, when one notices a glowing pile of orange whoopi cushions, deflated and inconspicuous, triggering an aha moment as they both say, "yes, whoopi cushions, our search for party favors is over". Nora and I tried to out-do each other while showboating our flare for farting. Of course, she didn't realize she was in the presence of a master (and I never used to use props). When you spend 85 waking hours a week in the world of a 5-year-old, and she in yours, there's bound to be some cross-over. On any given day, for example, we're both likely to have a tantrum or two. The difference is that the one I'm having is invisible. As luck would have it, kindergarten is a mere season away. But thanks to half day kindergarten, I'll still get to enjoy 71 hours a week in the wacky, wonderful world of the under six set.

The Final Tuck-In

In my house, we have this thing called the final tuck-in. It is the result of many years of failed strategies for getting our kids to bed. Essentially, the final tuck-in is a work-around, buying time for our kids to delay bedtime without consequence. Oy vay. Anyway, final tuck-in works like a charm (most of the time). It goes something like this: Kids dress and groom for bed, parents read stories then head downstairs. Meanwhile, kids are entitled to quiet awake time in their rooms until said final tuck-in time arrives. At the appointed time, husband and wife exchange looks, shrug, wife sighs resulting in wife striding up the stairs, two at a time, to drop the hammer. Kids climb under covers and hugs and kisses are proffered. The best part for dad is that he always gets out of final tuck-in. No matter how tender and present are his bedside renderings, the kids always ask for mom. Again, audible sigh.

Television

I'm a TV kid, born before limiting television could earn you bragging rights. Still, I've always been willing to adapt to the new regime. Ten years ago as a fledgling parent, I nursed my first baby with abandon (in front of the television). As those days waned, I retained a routine which included NBC's Today Show. One day, my husband gently reminded me that the Today Show wasn't a news show per se. In fact, I realized that the Today Show provided nothing more than a video version of People Magazine. Say no more, I went cold turkey, eliminating any form of morning television believing it wasn't a suitable background noise for my kids, present or future. The only TV time that remained on the schedule for me arrived after 8 pm. When the kids go to bed, my husband and I join one-another on the couch for together time. Unfortunately, the networks aren't in cahoots because (in our opinion) TV sucks. Every night, we banish our children to their bedrooms in the event that the networks might deliver sixty watchable minutes (or even 30 for Heaven's sake). The kids don't always cooperate. They creep down again and again to glimpse our program, overtly coveting it. We know that we should expand our world to include our nine year-old (and maybe even our soon to be eight year-old) with suitable family prime-time programming. We are rigidly reticent to lose our precious adult time. Yet we both hear the clock ticking. Like it or not, our TV world will soon evolve to include our children.

Walking on Eggshells

How bizarre it is to feel as if you're walking on eggshells with regard to one of your children. One of my three is currently acting out in a way that needs to be curtailed. Step one, access severity of disturbing behavior. Step two, research and explore curtailment procedure. Step three, execute a livable plan for curtailment. Step four, hold your breath and walk on eggshells everyday until either the disturbing behavior is magically exiled or something more pressing takes center stage in you head.

Reading Cues

What is the deal with my children's complete inability to read the escalation of their parents' emotional cues? It's bedtime. The kids decide for the hundredth consecutive night that 7:25 p.m. is the perfect time for an "impromptu" dance party. Damn those built-in stereo speakers. We let it go, willing to wash a few more dishes while they exorcise their pre-sleep wiggles. Over the course of approximately sixty seconds, a fever-pitch is reached, break-dancing and full-on floor spins end with head-butts into furniture legs. Suddenly, the volume is too much to take. My husband interrupts for the second time, "Guys, time for bed." As the frenzy unleashes some of the most innovative dance moves of the night, it becomes clear that the kids didn't hear their father. He interrupts again, "Guys, that's it, upstairs now". Oh my God, they still don't hear him. He's abruptly loud and angry-sounding, but their faces glow with bliss and ignorance. When will my kids learn to read?

Bedtime Sage

"Mom, I always bees bad at Christmas time, and Santa still gives me presents." This is what I heard from my five year-old at bedtime tonight. What an absolutely perfect commentary on the breakdown of parental consistency and follow-through. It could have been the beginning of a 20/20 special documenting how parents threaten their children irresponsibly - wielding consequences on a whim, and exaggerating for the kind of self-derived amusement parents crave. Spelling out if/then scenarios is one thing, but if you don't have the stomach to deliver the final death blow, be prepared for defeat every time you step into the ring. Shaping kids behavior by dosing consequences with consistency and follow-through isn't radical or new. Hell, it's tried and true. Yet we all know how easily we get carried away, and how squeamish we can be when faced with actually taking television away for a week.

Baby Talk

Strolling outside with my pre-school ladybug, I was struck by something I said. "Oh my God, it's like sunscreen weather." Now forget my Valley Girl lapse for a minute. Instead, think about how focused I was in the moment. A short walk to the bus stop was now about whether or not my daughter needed the protection of sunscreen for the next twenty minutes. It happens a million times a day. The things parents say are forever one-step-beyond themselves - reflecting instead on the safety, entertainment, or enrichment of their offspring. At 8:30 this morning, I was almost rear-ended. Why you ask? I finally spotted the elusive black squirrel while in the company of my youngest child who was desperate to see one. As I applied my brakes and shouted, "Black squirrel, black squirrel. Look left", I was vindicated. All three kids caught a glimpse of a black squirrel playing with two grey squirrels.

Fiscal Responsibility

I just sat with a complete stranger while be doled out an impressive case against my ability to provide for my children. I was asked questions such as, "have you and your husband formulated a plan to finance the college educations of three children graduating within five years of each other?" Uh, nope, not even close. So here I am, musing over homework habits, over-scheduled children, and whole grain snacks via my blog only to learn that the small stuff may not be enough. I tried to sound responsible, thinking hard about his latest question. What if my kids do really well and want to go to MIT? For the first time, I allowed the frightening reality behind the financial planner's questions to take hold. Can college tuition costs continue to escalate unchecked? Will community colleges become the new state schools? Can kids grab some credits online for huge savings? At forty, I feel like an infant - clinging to life's basics because they are all I know. But what if I fail my children because I'm too scared to plan for them, or too scared to fill my financial holes. We may end up relying on loans, refinancing the house, or applying the best bang-for-your-buck criteria when choosing schools for our kids. But when the time comes, we need to have actually thought about all this stuff.

Kids and their Stages

It can be all too easy to think of your children in a certain fixed way. The way they rush through the slalom course between this stage and that one. The youngest of my brood is currently finding her inner-student, begging for homework. My middle son flashes to anger when scolded, then storms into mutiny and eventual unchecked sobbing. The oldest is smart and sassy, and dare I say, intellectual in a way her parents are not. She practices fresh and snappy retorts to her parental overlords, but quickly backs down in response to her mother's less encouraging expressions. Each phase, stage, call it what you will, is du jour, with no promise for tomorrow. It reminds me that parents have to adapt like persevering guppies in old water. The hard part is that sometimes we, as parents, forget to move on to the next stage. Maybe we were at last comfortable with the preceding stage. Or maybe we don't even notice that yet another transition has been initiated. Whatever it is, our job remains like that of a vigilant oracle, ready to anticipate the next new thing.

Greed

I just took four kids to the seasonal ice cream stand in town for a random treat. By explaining that I only had eight dollars and wanted to leave the ATM out of the equation, I hoped to squash rampant requests for upgrades such as milkshakes and cherry dip. Despite my empty pockets and full disclosure, I shook my head to deflect their greedy demands. Borrowing a sentiment from my seven year old, I thought "what the heck?" Number one, it's a sweet treat. Number two, it's free and undeserved. Why is it that entitlement is always in the room (or the parking lot)? Crushed by their bad attitudes, I sat in the car with my slightly under-the-weather five year old to eat my kiddie cone on a perfectly sunny day. I needed a time-out. On the way home, I eavesdropped as the three older kids, smashed together in the back of the minivan, spouted on about the delicious ice cream. Apparently, and I quote, "it was the best ice cream ever".

Switching Gears

As a parent, I feel more like a stick shift than anything else. I move from one mode to another with just a twitch of my emotional gears. One minute, my youngest is screaming that the dog wants to come inside. The next, because I'm actually upstairs finally brushing my teeth at eleven, or maybe I'm taking a shower at three just before racing to the bus-stop, I roll my eyes, rushing to her side to quell the nagging. When I see her, I get into her face, grab her by the arms and with an equally charged response, I mock her saying something like "get off my back you battle-axe". She lights up and explodes with laughter like you've never seen. We hug and laugh, and then I let the dog inside. I love switching gears - what a roller-coaster it is.

Dad's Home

What is this phenomenon where one parent can fly solo while the other is away? You tap into auto-pilot mode with relative ease. To survive, you might dumb the whole routine down a notch or two (or five), depending on how many kids you have. You serve breakfast for dinner one night, nachos another, and take them out to a restaurant. The house may be more unkempt than usual, and the bathtub might be dry as a bone. You lie to yourself about how easy it is, and how you could do this indefinitely. But the minute that spouse returns, your system undergoes a series of shut-downs only akin to a security breach at the White House. You may still be there in body, but you cannot be reached. As you eke out a break to regroup (and maybe use the potty sans kids in the bathroom), you tell yourself that it wasn't half bad. In fact, it was pretty easy and if you had to, you could do it all over again tomorrow. The truth is, it can seem easier to parent solo because you are acting on behalf of only one person (yourself), instead of two.

What makes parenting so extra-challenging is that you NEVER do it in a vacuum. Instead, parenting almost always takes place in front of a huge mirror. Of course, even the most renegade among us check our own reflection occasionally. But when we parent with a partner (that huge mirror I just referred to), everything we do is a little harder because we aren't just trying to please ourselves. We have the dreams and goals of another parent to respect. And those dreams and goals are what our partners want for their children. The only way to win here is to respect, share, listen, repeat (and don't forget to breathe).

Shopping

How many times have you, as a parent, said "I will never ... again!" Well, today I attempted to shop for shoes for the three of them, and was rewarded with such beastly behavior that I wanted to morph into a cyclone right in the middle of the shoe department. My son was such a spaz that I had no idea how to handle myself, let alone him. It presented one of those moments where you just search around, desperate, finally admitting you've got nothing. Thirty years ago I could have hauled off and hit him for everyone to see. Well, apparently I wasn't born early enough. All I could do was grab his hand, while simultaneously over-enunciating a side-bar lecture into his ear, and march him towards the exit hoping to keep him from escalating the trouble he had already started with his youngest sister. The truth is, I probably will do it again. Sometimes you have to take your children to a store. You either find the strength to quietly persevere or impose a strategy to subdue their awful behavior that actually works.

Candy

Neither one of my three children can go to the neighborhood pharmacy without the unrelenting expectation of a candy reward. I can easily recall how this all started and admit my seems-like-yesterday compliciteness. When they were very young, I would get through long-haul errands such as trips to the grocery store, Target and the like, by first grabbing and then ripping open a huge bundle of Twizzlers. As they suckled the strawberry goodness, I told myself it was survival. Now look at us. My kids expect sweets whenever and wherever they want them. My youngest whines and chants for more. Today I gave her a box of mints for no reason, and 3 hours later she had squirreled away all but the last few. When I told her that was enough, she FREAKED out. Surprise! Oh, the damage I reap. Yet I only have myself to blame. Admitting guilt is easy, but breaking the pattern and ensuing damage that I began feels impossible.

Modern Parents We Salute You

Welcome to my very first blog post. My mind's passion is all about raising kids today. Not that kids, themselves, are innately rotten, but we as parents are charting new waters when it comes to raising them. Oh, you can say that everything is cyclical and that today's techno kids are no different than any other generation, but that isn't what this blog is about. My blog is about a generation of parents raising kids, for the very first time, without a cut-and-dry method. For thousands of years, children have been raised as ancillary components of the family unit - integral to the survival of the family - running the farm, sewing the clothes, etc. Modern days have presented parents with a shift. In many families, children are no longer necessary to support the homestead, instead children are born into a role of accessory. People have the luxury of having children just for the fun of it. Imagine that, having kids for the fun of it. In the meantime, starting in the 20th century, parents were stripped of their ability to raise their children with fear and respect as core motivators. Legions of parents were admonished and in some cases shunned, thanks to modern parenting dogma, for employing corporal punishment as a discipline technique. American parents universally began to feel spied upon, and rightly so as neighborhood do-gooders would call the police if they saw a child spanked in public. Now the question remains, and believe me, we're all still trying to figure it out, how do you raise successful, respectful and good children without applying the same discipline tools and techniques used by thousands of years of parents before us? And what are the consequences of raising kids without such a time-honored technique to show us the way? What will our children be like as adults, and how will they parent? Will they be as conflicted as their parents, struggling against manic extremes to keep up outward signs of normalcy. Parenting as we know it is a new frontier, folks, and we are basically fumbling with a clean slate. The first person to figure it out gets an honorable mention.