A Tale of Two Mommies

…because more seems excessive…

Tag Archives: positive child behavior

The Day After the Mosquito Died

The last post was a bad day. My best hope for terrible days often resignation that the day will end, and another will begin anew. It’s usually better, but there are no guarantees. Fifteen-month-old Warrior Queen has a nasty habit of waking by six-fifteen most days. Threenager is in the lovely cycle of sleeping until seven. My children early risers. I’m an earlier riser. I’ve learned to expect any time to my own devices past six-fifteen is borrowed bonus…I live for bonuses. The next morning was an unexpected one, as the bonuses usually don’t coincide.

Little Man woke first at a whopping seven-thirty. I was exercising. I slept in, so expected to maybe clear fifteen minutes, but managed a significant chunk of my routine reading a brilliant selection of smut that almost shifts the story out of the category altogether…but not quite. My son rumbled along down the stairs with his quiet chatter. He’s growing older, and achieved the capacity to actually whisper. His self awareness amuses me; chattering narration of his need to be quiet because his sister is sleeping…followed by his question if I’m exercising. I love it all. His morning greetings always melt me: Are you exercising, Mommy? I love you. Can I have a hug, kiss, snuggle smooch? Obviously I stop mid peddle to deliver such a request.

Once he reached the bottom of the stairs and scurried along out of my sight, I ceased hearing my delightfully boisterous little boy. Fear began to creep as a wrapped up my morning session.

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(MIRIADNA.com can delude themselves all they want; no good comes from quiet when cherubs are awake.)

I don’t see evidence of Mr. Man for a beat, but then I notice the bathroom door ajar and light spilling into an otherwise dark corridor. My shoulders immediately slump; what did he put in the toilet? How much water damage should I expect?

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(Obviously hermes-press knows what I can expect.)

Not quite reaching the door frame I see Little Man stand totally naked on the top of his stepping stool that he pushed in front of the toilet. Immediately he sees me and in all of his birthday body glory announces with arms raised that he went potty in the toilet.

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(Probably the only person who can claim experiencing more excitement than my little man at this particular moment.)

He shifts down the small plastic steps, flushes the toilet, moves the stool, and washes his hands spouting that he has to wash his hands after using the potty.

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(What a preschooler washing his hands entails…This image must be part of a Pinterest instruction manual.)

This type of event isn’t particularly new. He’s been on the cusp of full out potty training, but his willingness to use said toilet is still a bit erratic, and he hasn’t experienced the complete delights of porcelain bowl time occupations.

I diaper him while he washes his hands. Warrior Queen continued to sleep, so we cuddled and read. Little Man prefers to run around the house as naked as he can get away with. He’s grown so much that on such occasions I just stare at every inch of my first miracle…watching the movement of his limbs and his dancing prattles retrieving the random objects he’s pilfered from the recycling bin.

The remaining pieces of the day mostly unremarkable…could have done without his latest overtired expressions of impulsivity…biting his sister. He earned an early nap without a story for that one. But, it’s all…blessedly…just another day.

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Shocking Accolades

It’s been a swirling time in these parts. I continue to be fairly consumed with the hope I will have relief in the next couple weeks, but it’s hard to say. I hope to share a bit more than cryptic commentary at some point, but for now it’s been on my mind the sparse entries of late. I’d love to say I will be able to resume the frequency I’ve mostly maintained for some time, but in all likelihood I won’t have the intellectual capacity for a while yet. I can’t promise anything particularly profound within this post, but an incident happened the other day that compensates for the sheer doucheydom of which Mr. Man is capable these days.

It was a birthday party for another three-year-old. To say he is an acquaintance of my son is generous. Little Man has seen this boy a mere few times in his life; the last was a year ago…at this boy’s last birthday party. The establishment creating the party merriment is good with this type of thing…oodles of stuff on which to play and a formal program that shepherds the children through an hour-and-some-change variety of stuff in which we tired parents can chill in the background, kibitz, and watch our kids combust. Plus, they have a trampoline…Mr. Man loves a trampoline.

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(This has to be how my son sees the prospect of trampoline festivities.)

But, in true fashion, my extraordinarily active son met his fill of the bubble fog…jumping, climbing, and swinging within thirty minutes, choosing to avail himself of the food assortment while his peers maintained a steady flow of ruckus and ruach.

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(Dailymail must have caught a glimpse of my son at the party.)

We cut him off just as he asked for a fourth slice of pizza, but he also ate the entirety of a fruit cup first and without prompt. I think that earns me some kind of parenting award. Interestingly he opted to forgo the juice box. That is often the case, and it surprises me every time. We don’t really give him juice. He adores it, yet passes whenever it is offered outside our home. That should earn me some kind of parenting award as well…or not. After his fruit and pizza, he scarfed an impressive slice of cake. But, to be fair, it was pretty incredible cake…certainly worth ripping a hole in my stomach after consuming delectable homemade Indian food. No wonder my friend’s son refuses to eat anything else, his mommy is an absolutely amazing cook. Warrior Queen also couldn’t get enough of the vegetable samosas.

But, before the dining my family fully enjoyed, there was one activity of note…for a couple reasons. It struck me as odd, but maybe I’m too sensitive…or whatever the correct label would be. It was creative play with a thick rope led by the two young women in charge of the mayhem. A cluster of three-year-olds like my son surrounding them eagerly awaiting what was in store. All of the children were instructed to rub their hands on the carpet in a false attempt to generate static electricity. The express purpose was for each child to grab the rope and “electrocute” one of the women. It just seemed so macabre…maybe scary?Image result for electrocuted woman

(It might be that I have an overactive imagination, but kinda weird, right?)

As each  of the children took their turn, she danced and jumped around, feigning the shock of an electric charge. She, fortunately, was not all that convincing. I halfheartedly urged my son to participate. Immediately from the explanation my sweet boy refused, anxiously shaking his head almost backing away with slight watery eyes. He was under the impression that he would be harming the woman, and couldn’t bring himself to do it.

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(My son would blow Milgram out of the water…)

I don’t know if something like that comes from my influence or if it spontaneously generated from his natural constitution, but I think I’ll go ahead an accept that as some type of parenting award.

Spanks for the Memories

Over the holiday season noticed a disturbing trend on my Facebook Newsfeed; maybe it was the emergence of the season of giving that brought to light certain voids in society. Regardless of the motivation, it appeared that there was an increase in random articles and commentary taking the time to illustrate society’s desperate need of returning to beating children into submission in order to ensure gratitude and respect from them.  This sentiment seems to cross religious, racial, and gender lines; which I suppose in some respect I should feel pleased unifying ideas are still possible despite the rigmarole of divisive atrocities that occur with increased frequency of late.

I, of course, am providing a hyperbolic and flippant characterization of this disciplinary idea passed in mass through social media. And, full disclosure, I almost never read the articles posted, when there are articles; much of the time, out of frustration, I don’t even completely read the status updates.  Really, it’s a cost saving measure because it will be expensive to continuously replace my laptop after throwing it across the room.

As a relatively new parent, I’ve thought quite a bit about the issue of spanking. It’s one of those topics people whisper at family gatherings, along with which relative has cancer or breast augmentation.  As an educator and social worker I decided not to completely decide how I feel about spanking that leaves a teary face and a slightly red bottom for ten minutes.  As someone who cultivated a career working effectively with at-risk adolescents and incarcerated individuals, I know enough to understand child discipline is complicated.  One thing is for certain in my mind, I cannot categorically denounce any parent who has spanked their child a time or two.  While I hope I never have to, knowing it is not my preferred intervention, I’m not so arrogant to think I am immune from the impulse.

What I find disturbing about this trend of disciplinary commentary is the assumption that (a) the past was so dramatically different from today and (b) that the only way to manage a child is through physical force no matter how mild the act of punishment.

In the most severe declarations of the need for mild corporal punishment I’ve read, crime is the crux of their determination. But, crime has been steadily decreasing, for the most part, since the 80s, but media coverage and the glorification of events for ratings have increased.  In my mind there is a link, but I don’t know of a study that explores the relationship.  I do know, however, that there is no causality for crime, only correlations in research; the strongest being societal exclusion and poverty.  These issues I’ve grappled with in my professional work for years; consequently, I’ve developed a bit of immunity from some of the commentary I’ve been reading from random people on the internet from keeping me up at night.

My second point, however, is something that rubs me quite a bit more raw, but I’m not so sure why.  Perhaps it is the perpetual oversimplification of human behavior.  Maybe it is what I interpret as a misunderstanding or an individual’s poor assessment of the issue.  A while back I read an academic article discussing the link between increased usage of media for communication and a decrease of empathy in children and adolescents.  This is not to say that our society is generating future criminals, rather developing people who lack the ability to communicate and relate to others, as well as a diminished conscience.  The article indicated, for example, that adolescents were less likely to see a problem with cheating on exams.  I’m aware that my readers will have to take my word on the existence and discussion of this article, as I can no longer produce it, but if one were to suspend this specific conflict, it is an interesting issue to consider even if it isn’t the entire picture of why “children are so ungrateful and disrespectful these days.”  As I mentioned earlier, this is a complicated issue, and if it were an easy fix with some brainiac possessing the answer, this specific social trend (if you believe it is, in fact, a social trend) wouldn’t exist in the first place.

With my single toddler and one child on the way, I am far from an expert, but I have learned a thing or two that a decade of work in the field never really touched. Discipline is an ongoing conversation with my kid that requires constant diligence.  As a mom who is my son’s primary caregiver during the day, it’s the choice to embrace the difficult path most of the time.  When he is running his laps on the sofa and I’m ready to collapse from exhaustion, it’s standing up to take him off the sofa once again.  It’s praising him for sitting on the kitchen chair the correct way instead of only chastising him for using the chair as his vehicle to dance on the table.  It’s an ongoing battle not for the weak.  Sometimes I’d love to simply plunk him in front of whatever asinine cartoon happens to be on television and nap.  When I have two, I may very well do that from time to time.  But, for me, discipline is about consistency of choice; most of the time I balance between my son playing independently and engaging with him in an activity.  I try to be proactive as much as I can, but I’m not always.  Sometimes I’m reactive and lose my patience, but most of the time I commit to grooming and modeling positive social behaviors I want to see.  It’s too early to know if my tactic will work, and the day may come when he or my growing daughter receive a spanking, but I like to think that spanking is not the only option for raising a good human who contributes positive things to society.

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