Bedtime Battles

Confession time here - I'm crap about putting my kids to bed.  I like to cuddle them to bed.  I just do.  I nursed Sam until he was almost three and a half, and Jessie liked me to sing and read her to sleep.  I just never got in the habit of shoving then into bed, flicking out the lights and dancing out into the living room for grownup time.  But I'm working on it - because at eight years old, my daughter has developed a serious aversion to falling asleep.

Mornings have been impossible with Jessie lately, because she's so overtired.  Yesterday, we had a long conversation about ways that we could improve, and since her health teacher (God bless her health teacher) had recently done a class on how much sleep the average third grader should get (which is at least ten hours), Jessie was completely on board with the fact that she needed to go to bed and get more sleep.  We decided that if she slept from 9:00-7:00, that would be a solid ten hours and life would be lovely.  We also agreed that going to bed at 8:30 would give her enough time to doze off on her own, to ensure that she was actually asleep by nine.

Last night was the first night - and she fought it bitterly.  Just bitterly.  She wasn't angry or weeping, but resigned and resentful that I was enforcing the rules.  She listened to her Sound of Music CD, and was asleep by nine.  And this morning was, as promised, lovely.  This afternoon, I went to the library and got her books on CD, so she has other options to listen to as she drifts off.

Sam is still a work in progress.  He's always been such a good sleeper, so I'm probably going to stick with what works with him - which is for him to fall asleep next to me in my bed and then trek him into his own bed.  Most of the time.  Sometimes, I'm sure he'll just end up crashing in my bed still... and Julianna still nurses at night, and since we've co-slept from the beginning with her (as we did with Sam), I'm in no rush to kick her out of my bed.

Thoughts from a newly freed mother

Mothering is obviously different for each mother and differenter (is that even a word??) for each child of each specific mother.  My experiences mothering is different for each child.  And while my love for each child is quantitatively the same for each one, the level of intensity seems different.  The level of need of each child has been different.

It's a hard topic to write about, because I'm very conscious of the kids, years from now, reading my blog and hollering something to the effect "holy moly, Mom really did love you best" and it's not that at all.  It's not that Sam loves me more than the girls do, and absolutely not that I love him more than the girls.  In fact, I can make compelling arguments that each one of them is my favorite child.

Simply that Sam, from the moment he was born, had a very intense attachment to me.  It was inconceivable that I return to work after he was born, not because I couldn't leave him, but because he was so miserable without me that it would have been awful for him.  He was a colicy mess, with reflux and non-stop nursing.  I remember counting the number of times I nursed him one day, and hit 24 before mid-afternoon.  He spent months nursing, crying and sleeping.  That was his whole world.   Without me, it would have been just straight crying.

I've always been aware of his need for me.  Sam was a fragile child.  Not physically, but emotionally.  Socially. He was not comfortable when he wasn't with me.  And I was always aware of that.  Always wanted to make things easier for him - so I nursed him way longer than I wanted to, and didn't force him to go to preschool or parties without me.  I took him everywhere with me, and was always conscious of his needs. Which isn't to say that I didn't do that with Jessica or with Julie.  But for example, Jessica stopped nursing before she was a year old, and I worked off and on until after Sam was born.  She was okay.  She missed me, but was capable of detaching enough to play and have fun.  Sam wasn't.  Julianna is still nursing at seventeen months, with no sign of stopping, but she's also a complete Daddy's girl.  Sam has never been able to be comforted by anyone other than me.

And now he's a big boy.  I've seen him really grow, in the past two weeks.  He was ready to break out of his shell, literally.  He's thriving.  He's opening up to the world, in a way that's amazing to me.  He's talking to people, interacting with other adults.  I'm so, so proud of him.  I'm so happy that he's learning that he's safe and secure without me there.

I feel... free-er.  I feel... lighter.  I feel like I could go back to work, take up a new hobby.  I could do... all sorts of things.  It's not that I'm not still a mom, it's not that I'm not still a mom of a toddler (stubbornly refusing to toddle, but that's another post...).  It's not that Sam still doesn't need and want me, but his needs are more managable now.   His whole world is bigger than me, and I feel... liberated.

Unloading the dishwasher

I'm somewhat of a laissez-faire sort of mother.   If it doesn't hurt anyone or anything, I'm probably going to let it slide, at least for a while.  This is somewhat challenging for my beloved husband, who's a little more... particular than I am.  Case in point is the toilet paper.  At some point in every child's life, they discover how much freaking fun it is to unroll a roll of toilet paper.  This stage doesn't last long, and I sort of accept it like I do spitting up.  I don't enjoy it - but it's a normal stage they go thru, and the best you can do is just soldier thru and hope it ends soon.  Marc hates it - he keeps trying to take the toilet paper and put it up where she can't reach it, on top of the toilet, the sink... in a variety of places and it inevitably ends up getting knocked into the potty, dramatic sigh.  I just roll it back up and resign myself to wrinkled toilet paper.

Right now - Julianna loves plastic dishes.  Cups, plates, bowls, sippie cups - you name it, she adores it.  I've got a cabinet where I specifically keep stuff the kids can't break.  As luck would have it, it's perfectly positioned for her to go thru it.  She also has a thing about hiding stuff, which is somewhat frustrating, as it takes me a while to realize that I don't ever seem to have any clean bowls, and then hunt them down and find them in the bottom drawer of the stove, along with a set of keys and Jessie's necklace.

But I digress... she's also really, really into unloading the dishwasher.  To be fair, she's also more than willing to load, but she's even worse than I am at stacking things neatly (and I'm terrible at it, just ask Marc :-).  But I let her unload the dishwasher all the time.  It makes her so happy, she gravely takes each plastic item out and stacks them up in some sort of system that makes sense to her.  And it entertains her for at least twenty minutes.  Twenty whole minutes when I can vacuum or fold laundry, or even pee by myself.  It's well worth it.  At least that what I tell Marc when he comes home and is perplexed as to why ALL of the plastic-ware is strewn gleefully all over the kitchen floor :-)

Settling in to the school year

This will come as no surprise to most of you, but I really, really don't like mornings.  And now that Sam is going to school, I have a special dislike of them.  Because he's going to school, and he's SO GOOD about it.  After years of Jessie being angry that she's got to go, Sam's sadness in the mornings is so much harder to take.  I know that it's just that Sam is what's now, and Jessie is mostly (with the notable exception of this morning) so much better now, it seems like his is worse.  But Sam cries pretty much every morning, sadly, with resignation, and goes in every day, and Julie screams and sobs when I get out of the car to bring him in.  Marc drops us off, and I haul Sam's poor butt into school and throw a kiss Jessie's way as she charges off to the third grade area.

I'm the first to admit that I'm a wussy mom in a lot of respects - notably, I don't like leaving my kids crying.  For the most part - if they really don't want to go somewhere, I don't make them.  If they've been invited for a playdate and start crying at the drop-off, I'll take them home with me or stick around and hang out with the mom.  If I've lined up a sitter, and they start crying hard at the prospect of being left behind, if it's possible, I'll take them with me.  I don't leave them crying.  Now suddenly, I do that every morning with Sam.  I make Julie scream every morning.  And I hate it with every fiber of my being.

It's like I have to remain sunshiney delighted all the time to maintain Jessie's enthusiasm and try to bolster Sam's up, and deep down inside, I really just want to sob along with him, let Jessie sleep in, and keep everyone home with me forever.

The upside is that Jessie is pretty happy most mornings to go, and Sam always says he had a wonderful day.  Jessica is obviously thriving, she loves third grade, and Sam is always coming home happy and content.  I know that this is what's best - Sam is learning and growing so much, and Jessie really, really seems to be doing great this year.  So I know that's it's good that they go - but mornings continue to be the worst part of my day.

In other news - we're officially on the hunt for a van.  We're actually looking at conversion vans instead of a minivan, because they're cheaper.  And in some cases, nicer.  One ad claims that if we buy his van, it'll be just like driving in our living room.  Our volvo has performed admirably for the last several years, but it's over fifteen years old, and it's tired.  We've outgrown it - the older three won't sit in the way back anymore, and we need to replace the tires, the power steering hose and probably the pump.  So we're car searching.  Actually, Marc's car searching, as this is somewhat outside of my comfort zone.  I don't know cars at all, and don't really care what we end up with, as long as it'll drive well and be pretty.

Busy, busy weekend here, Annie and Glenny were down, which was delightful, and Jordyn, Sarah and Joshua (Virginia's kids) were here all day on Sunday.  Am putting the house back together slowly... plus Mike Wilder gave me a lawnmower, so that's on my list to do to (the backyard, I already did the front).   I'm finding that I really enjoy mowing the lawn - it's the one chore that I do where the results LAST for a while.  Vacuuming used to be fun, because you could enjoy the results, but with three kids, I could vacuum three times a day and still have a rug covered with blocks and cracker crumbs.  Laundry used to be fun - but now I'm never actually caught up, I've always got a load or two to wash, a load or two to fold and oceans to put away.  But mowing the lawn - that lasts for at least a week or two :-)

I hate back to school

There.  I've said it.  I really hate this time of year.  I like having my kids around all the time, and while I'm fully convinced that it's the best for them to attend school, in my heart of hearts, sending them off to be with other people all day seems as wrong now as it did when they were infants.  They're mine.  I want them with me.
Maybe it'd help if either one of them was in the least bit enthusiastic about it - but they aren't.  Jessie has been a wreck, rocketing back and forth between excitement over getting "organized" (she must get that from Marc, her odd delight in putting things in order) and sobbing because she's dead certain that she's got the meanest teacher in the world and she doesn't like a single soul that's in her class.  Sam is resigned to going, I think.  But he's been a little extra clingy, and all I can think is that this time next week, he's going to be a little pool of Sammy Misery, all tears and heartbreak because I have to send him away ALL DAY LONG.

I hate shopping for school supplies, I hate glue sticks and pencil sharpeners and trying to figure out what's going to "cool" for Jessica this year.  I hate the agonies over wearing sneaker for gym (Jessie hates sneakers and only ever wears them when she's got gym class, and always sobs over it), trying to pick out clothes every morning (and I know we should pick them out the night before, but anyone who says that'll work doesn't have an indecisive, moody eight year old, who will blithely agree with the outfit the night before and then decide she hates it and can't possibly wear it the next morning).  I hate packing lunch, I hate fighting over homework.  I hate making them go in the morning.

All of this is just based on sending Jessica Mary to school.  I can't begin to tell you how much I'm dreading sending Samilicious Boy out the door.  The hardest part for me is constantly pretending that going to school is the best thing since sliced bread, and they'll LOVE it - third grade is the BEST and kindergarten?  Holy moly, kindergarten is more fun that anything!  When the truth is that I don't want to send them at all.  Intellectually, I know that it's the right thing to send them to school.  Temperment wise - Jessica and I would not do well homeschooling, we're too much alike, and I think if I didn't kill her, she'd kill me.  If there was any doubt in my mind, kicking her butt to get the book reports done this summer convinced me.  And Sam needs a little nudge to go out into the world.  He's very shy and antisocial, and I'm hoping that kindergarten encourages him to be a little more social.  Or at least, not so out and out terrified of strangers.  It's not terrified, he's not afraid of people, he just honestly doesn't like people in general.  In specific, he's fine, he loves us, he's got friends, neighbors, relatives, etc.  But in general, he doesn't like people.

Ahh - general grumpiness all over the place today.  Jess has been sarcastic and disrespectful a lot lately, and I explained to her today that I wasn't going to spend the next ten years being treated like crap, and from now on, every single time she was wretched to me, she'd be sent to her room and I'd make her write "I will not speak to my mother disrespectfully again." over and over and over.  It's either that, or I'm just going to start beating her with a stick.  I know she's stressed about tomorrow.   But with her stress and Julianna's teething misery, it's not a good day to be bitchy to me.  That's all I'm saying.

Do any of us REALLY know what we're doing????

Mothering is not for the faint of heart.  I'd say parenting, but right now, I'm going to do a little gross generalization, and assume that what's true for Marc and I is true for all parents.  Because I seem to worry about everything a LOT more than my husband does.  It's not that I love the kids more, because I don't.  I know that they are the very center of Marc's world, and that he cares about them as much as I do.  But I worry and agonize over them a lot more than he does.

I worry all the time about their character, their morality.  I want them to be brave and bold and kind.  Giving, gentle and sweet.  Confident, capable, responsible.  But mostly, I want them to be kind.  I like kindness.  It's sort of my thing.  Some parents want financial success, ambitious kids, some kids want them to follow in their religious shoes, or to vote the same way they do.  I don't care about that.  I want them to be kind.  I want nice kids.  They can be dirt poor, or staggeringly wealthy - I hope that money isn't what they use to define their worth.  They can celebrate Rosh Hashana or Christmas or Beltane, I don't care - I'd like them to feel a connection to the Divine, however it manifests itself is fine.  I don't care if they vote for a Democrat or a Republican, I'd like them to vote and to care one way or another, but which one?  I'm good with whatever.  But mostly, I'd just like for them to be kind.  To be good people, who think about others, and want to make the world a better place.

And when they're not - when I'm forced to confront the fact that they, sometimes, just ARE NOT KIND, but are in fact, kind of mean spirited and selfish and nasty to one another, I can't help but feel like I've failed as a mother.  And I'm baffled by it, how do you teach kindness?  I can teach them to not hit each other, I can teach them to stop throwing temper tantrums and to eat their vegetables and make their beds. I can teach them to use their manners and brush their teeth and speak respectfully to adults.  But kindness?  How does one teach that?   Modelling good behavior isn't working as well as I'd hope - I'm kind.  I'm a nice person.  Marc is, hands down, the nicest person I've ever met.  He's way nicer than I am, and I'm wicked nice.  And sometimes, my kids are just nasty to one another.

Ugh.  Just a bad day overall today.  Julianna is teething, and screamed for a good half hour this morning. Then screamed for another twenty minutes while I brushed Jessie's hair.  And Jessie - man, I adore that child, Jessie was not in the best frame of mind today and was just randomly cruel to her little brother.  Who was innocent and confused, and it just spiraled out from there.  I'm still sick enough to feel like I'd be better off in bed, and everyone's getting anxious and stressed about going back to school.

Definitely not a morning I'd like to repeat.

Still sick, but getting better...

This isn't a bad cold, exactly.  But it's a long lasting one, I feel as though we've been collectively sick forever.  Today, I charged out into the world, taking all three kids down to the mall.  Jessie loves the mall above all else, and so for her, it was a dream come true.  We bought lunch, Chinese chicken and nuggets and french fries, then wandered around aimlessly for a while.  I gave them each a dollar and let them go wild in the Dollar store, and then drove to a playground and let them run around for about an hour.  They had baby swings there, and Julianna loves swinging.  She's such a good girl - when she wasn't swinging, she played happily on the top of the picnic table, going thru my purse.  I had my niece with me, Isabella, and she and my older two bopped around the playground for a long time.  After that, I packed them up and headed to my mother's house.

Sam's hair had gotten out of control long, he looked like Wolfman.  So my sister cut his hair, and it was traumatic for everyone.  He had a knock down dragged out screaming temper tantrum, and then ran in circles, filled with rage, around my mother's back porch after it was done.  My poor mother and sister had never seen a full blown fit before and I think they were both a little horrified.  Sam's a mild mannered kid, really, but when he wants to, he can throw down a fit that's unimaginable.  And since I've got eight years of experience dealing with Jessie's fits, I just stay calm and ignore it as best I can.  Nothing really helps to stop a fit, I've tried just about everything, so now I just let him scream it out.  And on the upside, his hair looks a lot better now :-).

Jessica is outside right now, playing with the neighbor, and Sam's bopping around playing with his army guys.  Poor Julianna is sleeping - a full day doesn't lead to good napping for her.  So she's out cold, and I'm sad about that, as she'll be up all night now :-(

Different kids, different ages, different needs

I planned on having all of my kids.  Which doesn't make me better than anyone else, merely points out that the spacing between them was deliberate and well thought out.  And overall, I like the three to four year gap.  It gives each child a chance to really be a baby, by the time the next one was born, the kid was really transitioned well into the preschooler stage.  And the nice thing now is that I have three very different kids, at very different stages in their lives.

Jessica Mary is eight years old, and about to enter third grade.  She's in the throes of peer pressure, but not in the scary peer mode.  She worries about not having any friends, not about her friends pressuring her to drink or have sex.  Not that it's not hard, I don't mean to minimize it, but it's not scary for me yet.  She's pulling away from me a little, watching television shows that are a little more grown up, and wouldn't be caught dead watching Dora.  I think, for Jessica, because she and I are so very close, and so linked in so many ways, the separation between us is challenging.  For both of us, really, but more so for her, I think.   She's still my little girl in so many ways, still snuggles up to me at night and first thing in the morning, but more and more, I'm seeing her as her own person, dealing with feelings and emotions and challenges that I don't always understand.  Which is, in and of itself, scary.

Sam is five, and about to start kindergarten.  This is such a huge milestone for any kid, but for Sam, having never attended preschool, I feel like it's so much more of one.  After September 4 - a big part of his day, five days a week, is going to be spent with people other than me.  And I'll be honest, I'm sad and wistful and so lonely already.  It's not any easier to send your second child off than it is to send your first, as much as I wished that it would be.  I can't imagine him at school - can't imagine it.  And honestly, can't write too much more about it without getting teary eyed - he's been at my side for the past five years, and I can't fathom what I'll do without him during the day.

Oh yeah - that's what I'll do - Miss Julianna Ruth.  Julie is very much a Mommy's girl, not that she doesn't adore her daddy (because she definitely does - she's much closer to him than either of the other two were at this age), but she's very, very attached.  She's my girl - and she's a part of everything that I do.  Even when I'm not with her, I'm always aware that she's missing me.  She's on the brink of so much - almost walking, starting to talk.  Her world, in so many ways, revolves around me.   It's not that I love her more than the other two, and it's not that she loves me more than they do.  But right now, she seems to be at the forefront a lot, just by virtue of her age.

Jessie's world is so much more than just me.  And Sam's is on the brink of opening up into this huge whole world.  And Julie - so much of Julie is still me.  I'm thinking today about having three very different children, and how each one requires such a different level of parenting.  Jessie is so much more complicated - she doesn't need to be held and coaxed into eating but what she needs is so much more patience and understanding and reassurance.  Julie's needs are so much simpler - but easier to meet, she just needs me.  I don't even have to do all that much, just my presence is enough for her.  Sam is still caught right in the middle - he's not old enough to be a big kid, but so much bigger than a little kid.

Okay - I'm a crappy parent

I try, I mean, I really, really do.  I parent really thoughtfully, I put a lot of effort into it.  I read the books, I carefully consider my decisions re: the kids.  Everything from where they sleep, to where they go to school, how many after school activities to enroll them in.  I have my own little philosophies, I believe in nursing on demand, extended nursing into toddlerhood.  I co-sleep, don't mind artificial flavors or colors, I think buying organic is not necessary.  I believe in child led weaning, child led potty training and I really think that kids should not start formal preschool until possibly the year before kindergarten, and even then, only if the kid wants to go.  I believe in free range parenting, I don't think it's my job to entertain or amuse my kids, I try and give them as much freedom as I can.  I want them to grow up to be bold and confident and able to take care of themselves.

So, in that spirit, I shipped my daughter off for a week camping.   She's with my extended family - but not with me or Marc.  Last year, she went for part of the week, and loved it, so I thought this week would be fine.  But it wasn't.  I dropped her off Saturday morning, and she called Sunday night crying to come home.  Same thing Monday night and when she called this morning crying, I just gave up and sent Marc up to get her.  She was trying so hard, and I could hear it in her voice.  She wanted so badly to be brave and stick it out, but really, she just missed me and wanted to be home.

Intellectually, I can totally see the point of making her stick it out.  She's eight years old, she's with my family, she's safe and loved and should be able to relax and have fun without me up there.  But bottom line, there are only so many sobbing voicemails I can hear, with her beautiful little voice trembling out "Mommy, I just miss you so much."  I'm (well, Marc, really) rushing up to rescue her - and perhaps reinforcing a bunch of bad messages.  Teaching her that her parents will always rush to save her, that she's only safe and secure when she's with us... but then again, the facts are that I can only handle a couple of days of knowing that she's up there, sad and missing me.  She's only eight - she's got the rest of her life to learn self reliance and how to tough it out.  For right now, we'll rescue her - because I miss her more than anything, and can't wait to snuggle her once she gets home :-)

Sleep issues

There aren't that many actual parenting rules that I live by - I think I'm pretty flexible about most things, but one thing I know for certain - it's never a good idea to get used to anything your child does, because as soon as you do, they'll switch it all up.  Case in point, my tiny little Esmerelda baby.  She used to be the easiest child to put to bed.  She'd even gratefully agree that it was bedtime and snuggle up next to me while I nursed her and watched Grey's Anatomy repeats.  It was lovely... but now - now, it's a whole different story.  She fights it, climbs all over the place and fusses.  I have to keep laying her down until she eventually gives up and just drifts off.  She's developed an attachment to receiving blankets (after three kids, I have a ridiculous number of them) and likes to have many, many of them draped around her.  She's got one in particular that she loves, with little fat fairies all over it.

She just woke up from her nap, she slept for almost three hours and is so cute.  She's munching on some hot dogs and water, I tried to give her tuna fish and she was horrified.  Sam is outside playing with Glennys in the pool and eating popsicles and Jessie is out to the movies and chinese food with Marc's mother.

All in all, a pretty perfect kind of summer day ;-)

Empathy - or why I need to work harder at not picking up other people's problems

There was a thing (that's not all that relevant, exactly, to this post) this morning and I found out about it.  It was a bad thing, or probably is, at the very least, something happened to make some people I care about pretty unhappy.  (I apologize for the cryptic nature of this, but it's not really my story, so I'm reluctant to share details).  My point was that I found out about it first thing this morning (one of those instances where facebook is NOT your friend), and it just set my whole day off.  I'm grumpy and unpleasant - and I need to STOP.  Because the facts are that I'm fine.  My marriage is whole and healthy, my kids are happy, whole and healthy.  I need to figure out how to feel badly for other people and not have it impact every thing about my day.  Because not only am I stressed out and unhappy, but that old adage that when Mommy's not happy, nobody is happy could have been written about me and my kids.  Jessie is cranky and fussy, Sam has thrown himself into two different screaming fits and Julianna... well,she's sunshiny delightful, thank goodness.   There's little that seems to throw that one off.

Anyway...

Sam has been a bit challenging as of late.  I'm slightly scared that it's just that he's almost five, and maybe there's a thing where my kids go off the rails a little bit between five and eight.  When Jess turned eight, she had a real personality change, and suddenly got so much calmer and relaxed and happy.  Sam has always been my stable, simple easy child, and it occurred to me that maybe it's just that I'm not great with kids at this age.  Infants, babies, toddlers, even preschoolers are fun for me, and I have to say, eight so far is really fun, but five, six, and seven?  Those were not my favorite years.  I'm a believer in self fulfilling prophecies, so I'm trying not to think too much about it, but really hoping that it's just an off day or two.

Probably it is.  Because it's more that both Jess and Sam have been spiraling into temper tantrums lately - I'm going to blame summer.  We decided to keep Jess home from summer camp this year, and while it's wonderful - it does also mean that there's not a lot of structure to our days anymore.  Julianna's nap schedule is all off too.  I need to figure out a routine and start sticking to it - or I'm going to lose my mind.