Trust Me

I've always known that trust is an essential part of any relationship. And I've always wanted my kids to trust me. Without hesitation.

And if you'd have asked me how I thought I could make that happen, I'd say by trusting them in return.

But lately I'm finding that there is a lot of grey area in that seemingly black and white equation.

My oldest has had her history of little white lies. Reading back over that entry I realized that a couple of years ago I wasn't exactly encouraging her to tell the truth, which is what I have been heavily emphasizing lately. If I punish her for lying there's no telling that she won't just try to get better at lying, rather than start telling the truth. And it goes without saying that if she isn't lying, or that if I don't absolutely know the truth of a situation, and I'm blaming her for it anyway, I'm destroying her trust in me.

So over the last couple years I've been trying to trust her more, so that she'll trust me. At least trust me enough to tell me the truth and not be so fearful of the consequences.

I say that I have been "trying" to trust her more because at times that's a difficult task. This past week has proven so. But it's also proven what will happen if I don't.

We had a couple of little lies this week. The first one was related to a shirt that I found in my daughter's drawer. I was pretty sure it wasn't hers, so I asked her. She just shrugged. So I asked her if the shirt belonged to one of her friends that she is always trading clothes with on play dates. She said she didn't think so. But this time she was suppressing a smile. It was the kind of smile that tells me she's lying.

I asked her one more time and she said "I dunno, maybe" as if this would pass for a decent answer. I very nicely explained that she the best thing to do is to tell the truth and if she was trying to lie to me I was not at all happy. At this point she just shut down a little and said "I guess so" in response to another question about whether or not this belonged to her friend.

I knew that she was lying about not knowing, and I figured it was because she liked the shirt and wanted to keep it. I explained that her friend probably liked it just as much and was missing it. But she still didn't come right out and tell me it belonged to her.

A couple days later when I asked her about the shirt, she readily admitted it was her friends. It was sort of as if she had forgotten she was originally trying to lie about it.

Then later that same day she tried to pull off another little lie. Once again I tried to explain that telling the truth would save her from more consequences than lying would. I still couldn't break through and sell "the truth will set you free" concept.

On Thursday she came home from school and immediately brought me a note that I needed to sign. It was a note her teacher made her write to me explaining that she had kicked a boy in her class because he was "being too loud and not listening to me ten times when I asked him to be quiet."

I asked her what was going on when all this happened, and she said she didn't want to tell me. I said something about it being frustrating when people don't listen to you, and then she just put it all out there. Apparently this boy was teasing her about liking another boy in the class, the aforementioned admirer, and he wouldn't stop saying it over and over to her. So she kicked him a good one.

Now part of me was happy to see her stick up for herself. Don't let the loud mouths of the world keep you down, sister!

But of course I didn't tell her that. I told her the right thing to do was to find the teacher, yada, yada, yada. And then I realized that I was really happy that she just came out and told me the story. No lies, no refusal to explain.

A step in the right direction!

Then later that night we all got in the car to go to our local Farmer's Market. My husband sat in the back with our younger daughter, which means it must have been a full moon on the fourth Thursday of a month starting with "m" because that almost never happens. While back there he found a little doodling on the car. In ink. On the interior of the car.

I was immediately not happy. He seemed to just shrug it off, but for whatever reason this made me really upset. I asked our oldest if it was her and she denied it. But she did get a little smirk.

Aha! I thought I had her cornered so I acted as such.

Not good. Before too long she was in tears vehemently denying it was her.

My husband put the kabash on my investigation, but I had a really hard time letting it go. I figured that it MUST have been her, since she's in that far back seat about 95% of the time when we are in the car, and it was in pen, which she often has in her hands in the car after school, writing notes or lists or what not.

All signs pointed to her. And I was determined to get to the bottom of this.

Yesterday, which was the following day, I went to try to clean off the pen doodle. As I was walking out there I said again that I was upset that she wasn't telling me the truth. My husband very wisely pointed out that we have to trust her if she's going to trust us. I agreed with that, but between me and you, I chalked that up to something I would do after this situation was cleared up. There was no way I was going to trust her with this one, because I knew, without doubt, that I was right about this one.

So I went to scrubbing this little inch or two of ink drawing, that I had thought was an ice cream cone, with an arrow pointing to the cup holder, as if my daughter was labeling what was there. At least that's what it looked like from the front of the car.

But up close I realized that the 'drawing' is much more rudimentary than it appeared from the driver's seat.

Instantly I start wondering if it was someone else in the family.

So while I'm sitting at the car wash with my younger daughter and my son, I casually ask my daughter if she wrote on the car.

Bingo! She says, sweetly and simply, "yes".

I immediately feel the yolk oozing down my face. Remorse starts setting up camp.

I don't react too much and simply say "I guess that explains why you were awfully quiet during that conversation I had with your sister last night in the car". I of course give her a dose of guilt, adding that I'm really not happy with her actions, that it wasn't fair for her to let me keep blaming her sister, and that I expect more from her now that she's five and a half. Which I now realize is a year younger than my oldest when we went through the "Pants on Fire" shenanigans that I wrote of in 2008.

She understands and I leave it at that.

I feel relieved to finally have an answer.

And I begin composing my apology to my oldest.

I tell my oldest later on that day that I'm very sorry for not believing her. I help her understand that I was very wrong and I fully know it. She's happy that I finally know the truth.

Now I have to ask, where are we?

There is just a lot of grey area here. I want to trust my kids, but that trust gets chipped away every time I catch one of them in a lie. I want them to trust me, but that too gets chipped away every time I don't trust them.

This whole 'raising kids' thing can be quite complicated.

Trust me.

The Fast, The Furious, and The Fun

Today is my son's 3rd birthday.

Over the past year he has proven true to his place in the family. The only boy. The youngest of three. Our little prince.

His nature is to be fast, furious and fun.

Everything he does, he does fast. Either he has no patience or he's really in a hurry to move to the next thing. Or both. Whatever the reason, he's remarkably fast. And by that I mean that many people - outside our family - have made remarks about it. From the time he first walked, he started running. And when he ran, he did so at a speed that made people ask me how old he was. His speed often works to his advantage. He can edge out his big sisters in a foot race. And if he's not winning he'll just push them out of the way so that he will win. Did I mention that he's competetive too? What I've come to realize is that we really need a huge room that's completely padded with things to jump off of and into in our house. He really digs that. Too bad for his forehead we don't have that to offer.

Like most two year olds, he has shown his furious side. He can tantrum better than his two sisters by far. He turns on the waterworks, stomps a foot or two, and demands that he gets his way. But I do like to think, when he throws his whole body on the floor and screams, that he is cuter than most two year olds. So at least he's got that going for him. And he's be a bit smarter too, if I do say so myself. He knows exactly when things aren't going to go his way, because he'll often throw in a "pllllleeeeeeeeaase?" and throw himself at my legs just before the eruption. But the plus side of turning three is that he's getting much better at his time-outs. He's learning to face the consequences like a man.

Of course, if you've ever met him, it goes without saying that he is fun. But I'll say it anyway. His imagination has hints of five and eight year olds running through it as he tries to keep up with the big kids. He'll tell jokes that make no sense, he'll dance a little hip hop when the mood moves him, and he always cracks himself up with the word "poop" or any variation thereof. He can get a smile so big that sometimes I feel like I could lose myself inside it. And his laugh is so amazing I truly wish I could bottle it. It brings tears to my eyes knowing that I might not hear it so much one day. At least not with so much gusto and lack of self-consciousness.

Our little guy has one big personality. There's no mistaking it, he's here to live life to the fullest.

So here's my birthday wish to you this year, my son.

May you always use your speed to your advantage, but never forget to slow down and appreciate all that surrounds you, including those that you might be passing by.

May you never stop expecting the most, demanding the best, and wanting it all.

May you never forget that life is fun, and should always be so. Keep your sense of humor and your love for life and you will always be able to laugh with abandon.

Happy Birthday buddy.

Simple Folks

This year for Mother's Day we kept it pretty simple. Well by "we" I mean my husband. And let me just say that simple does suit me just fine.

I know, I know. I dropped the subtle hints here and there that I easily could have slipped out for a massage appointment had he booked one for me. But really, in the end, that spa appointment is not what makes a great day.

And neither is a day free of chores, for that matter. I admit that I spent too much time yesterday checking things off my list. But that's one of the things that makes me happy. Getting things done that have been bugging me or haunting me every time I walk past a certain closet or part of the house. So while I may complain about having to do so much around the house, in the end, a choreless day is not necessarily what makes a great day either.

What does make a great day is spending some time with my family.

About halfway through the morning I decided that I would bring my mother the flowers I had for her and stop over for a little chat. I treated myself to a latte and had a very nice time just shooting the breeze with my mom. Who, after all, also deserves a lovely mother's day visit from her daughter.

Then in the afternoon we all went bowling. Our first family trip to the local alley, and let me tell you, we will become regulars there before you know it. What fun! There just aren't too many activities you can do with three kids, ages 3, 5 and 8, that you all participate in and you all have so much fun doing. And that doesn't involve a TV screen.

We all had a great time, and my oldest daughter was such a great sport. She had the lowest score the whole time because she was the youngest child actually bowling. My other two kids were using the little ramp so they had a bit of an advantage. And I explained this phenomenon to her when she complained about her score.

Of course, it doesn't really need to be stated that we had the gutter guards up the whole time, and let's just say they came in a little handy for all of us at one time or another.

And even though she fretted that she had such a low score, she really had a great attitude. No whining or worrying. She just uttered her complaints here and there, but always had a smile on her face. I explained to her that she was only going to keep getting better now that she was actually bowling on her own.

Then we all went out for burgers and milkshakes afterward.

It was just like an episode of The Simpsons.

Although I have to say the best moment of the day was when I put my son to bed for his nap. I rocked him until he was asleep, and then I just cuddled with him. I knew that I wasn't going to be able to do that much longer. Holding him in my arms and rocking with him was just absolute bliss. I watched his sweet little sleeping face and listened to his precious breathing. I didn't want to let go.

And that moment was further trumped by him today. After his nap he is quite snuggly and wants to be held for a little bit. So we were cuddled up on the coach with a little Dora on for company, and he started lying down. He was splayed across my lap in sort of an awkward position, so I asked him if wanted to sit back up. He proceeded to pull himself up and snuggle right up into my arms and chest.

I hugged him hard, kissed his head, and said "you're the best!".

He then looked up at me with his sweet baby blues and a delicious smile and said "no, you are!"

Now that is when I really feel like a mother.

It's the simple things in life that make me happiest.

Three beautiful, healthy, and happy children and a life full of love and fun.

It doesn't get any better than that.

Sweetening the Deal

Time flies, blogosphere friends.

I think I've finally found something lower on the totem pole than my husband.

Wink, wink, hubby.

For the past couple of weeks I have been struggling with drop-offs for my son. Two mornings a week he goes to a very informal preschool that is run out of our athletic club daycare. And one additional morning we go to the child care center at the club so I can exercise. So three times a week I was being ripped apart as I literally scraped my child off of me and handed him, in all his tear-stricken and snotty glory, over to some very sweet ladies.

One day at the preschool drop off I walked in and another child there was already in tears. So the teacher sort of had her hands full. Plus, let's just say that this teacher is not well-trained in the art of smooth transitions for toddlers. She has a hard time taking control of the situation and often just let's it all play out while she sort of watches. And at times sips her coffee.

Okay, I said it was "very informal", remember? It's just a temporary solution for us until the fall. And she's very sweet and otherwise does a great job.

But that morning I finally got fed up with feeling like I was just dumping my kid on to this teacher and not getting much support with the transition process. I felt like she was starting to dread it when she saw us walk in. So I went down to the day care center office and told them to send someone down there to help her. And I mentioned that she could use someone to show her the ropes when it comes to this stuff.

The next time we were due at school I was driving there thinking that I was going to pull him out of their program. He had a bit of an easier time just going to the day care center, albeit that was starting to get a bit worse too if I had to admit it. But they were much better at moving him through it and using the art of distraction. Plus they offered some more TLC too.

We walk into the school room and he starts to protest me leaving as we open the door. And then the teacher comes over and says "I brought you a surprise! Remember what I said I would bring? Some new books!". Books had often been something we brought with us to help him transition and they were a great tool for the teacher to get him to move on after I left. But this time she sprung them on him right away. And they were "new". That means new to him. And they were about trucks no less. Score one for the teacher.

He went right over to her and got in her lap to read.

I can't express how great this was for me. Of course it was better for him too. But really, I was about out of patience with this whole thing and was worried I'd be in for another long haul with this child, after having finally conquered this whole process with our younger daughter.

But after that nice surprise I decided we'd stick this out a bit longer and see what happened. Now this was on a Wednesday, and his next day back to school wasn't until Monday. That's quite a few days to forget about the new books waiting for him at school.

Come Monday, to help ease the transition even more, I decided to sweeten the deal. Literally. I put two little pieces of candy in his pocket when I sent him in to school. We put them in there as we got out of the car, and he was really excited to see what they were. He even felt the outside of his pocket in anticipation. But he was good and waited until he went into the room before he reached in for the goods. By that time of course he had been greeted with a couple more new books, plus some that we brought, and he was good to go.

He didn't cry. Didn't whine. Didn't ask me not to go.

This is about as close as we get to him saying "don't let the door hit ya' on the way out mom."

The next day I did the same candy trick when I brought him to the child care center. And he went waltzing right in there, not a single protest.

The staff looked at me and commented that he did really well with that send off. Then I let them in on my sweet little secret. They all laughed and said "hey, whatever it takes".

Now we have repeated this process 6 times between both places and had great success every single time. The only exception was yesterday, when I sent him in to the classroom in pants without pockets.

Oops.

I didn't realize it until we got to the club and I was getting him out the car. So I handed the candies to him and he kept them in his hand. But apparently this just isn't good enough. He whined and asked me not to leave, all the while still clutching the candies that he'd apparently forgot about.

I had to hand him over to the teacher in a few tears. And the teacher, by the way, was resting on her laurels and didn't have any new books. But thankfully we brought a couple, and I told him, as I was walking out the door, to show his teacher what color of candy he had that day. This seemed good enough, as he was discussing strawberry and orange flavors and was rather content by the time I left.

Apparently, like most men, he likes a bit of a challenge. He must hunt and conquer. If it's just handed to him it doesn't taste nearly as sweet.

Whatever it takes.