Gr8 Expectations

Long time, no write. It seems I'm not finding enough time in my schedule as I'd like to spend on writing. But alas, that can be said for a lot of things. So I'll just be thankful for the little time that I do get. And you be thankful too, okay?

My husband and I have found lately that we seem to have great expectations for the aging process of our children. We want the children to accomplish so much during their growth, and it seems that these things happen much slower than we'd like. For example, cleaning up after themselves. At least some times. Being kind to their siblings. All the time. Being respectful and thankful toward their parents. All the time.

Perhaps we are asking too much? I think so. We are quite anxious to be liberated from our daily woes, that's for sure. Breaking up arguments, correcting behaviors, urgings to say "please" and "thank you", wading through a sea of kid crap scattered about the house.

The sibling rivalries and fights have become quite common lately. But that's really to be expected. We've been breaking up skirmishes so often that we started to ban the words "stop it" from our family vocabularies. We were saying it so much to our kids and they were saying it so much to each other that it was becoming annoying. We said whoever says it has to put money in the proverbial pot (it's definitely proverbial since we haven't heard any clinking of spare change) and my kids were calling my husband and I on it all the time. I think we owe them a few pizzas.

So the other day I switched to "knock it off".

Pretty good, huh? Of course this induced an out of body experience where I became my mother. I could hear her voice so clearly, even though the last time she uttered that phrase was probably over 20 years ago.

We just want them to all get along. Is that too much to ask? And to clean up after themselves, and follow directions, and be grateful for their plentiful lives.

Okay, I guess that is too much to ask. But we are asking for it anyway, hoping that it will sink in eventually.

And the one who is taking the brunt of most of this is our oldest. Being that she is indeed the oldest of the crew, we expect her to be the one that shows more respect and gratitude. The one that follows directions the first time we ask. The one that actually does clean up after herself. Without asking.

That last one is just not in her DNA it seems. But I'm willing to remind her plenty when her life seems to have strewn itself across her bedroom floor.

And now I'm using the "I expect more from you" speeches. The other day she as in the bathroom with her sister and she just couldn't or wouldn't stop bugging her. I had to step in and point the finger in her face. I'm sure I was turning a shade of purple as I let her have it.

She stomped off and went to her room. I followed her in there and she was under the covers reading a book, even through we were on our way out the door to school. I tried to apologize for being so harsh, and I tried to be empathic with her frustrations. Something must have made her feel better, because even though she uttered the "nobody loves me" phrase that I've been hearing a lot more of lately, she got up and moved through the rest of the morning.

And in case you are wondering, yes, I did tell her that she is very loved. By all of us. And I told her that even when we are yelling at each other we still love each other. And all of that good stuff.

But what I really wanted was to say is...don't you get it? YOU ARE THE ONE. You are the first one that will show us that we are doing all of this for good cause. The one that will light the way for the others. The one that will lighten our load.

But I didn't.

Thank goodness.

And truthfully she is helping us see the wonders that exist in childhood and parenting. She is living proof that we are doing a good job.

So I've decided that we really need to stop asking for so much. We should back off a bit on the lectures. Even the minor ones that just involve a finger in the face and the "I expect more from you" speeches.

She gets it. She knows we expect more. She just doesn't know yet that it's in her to be more.

But we see it. We just have to let her find it on her own, while we offer gentle guidance.

And also increase our own levels of patience.

We will give the occasional lecture too. Lest the value of a good "talking to" be lost.

Juggling Act

Over the last several months I have come to realize why three kids has led to the term "chaos of three" in my vocabulary.

Have you ever tried to juggle? Personally, I tried to learn how to do it when I was a kid. But truth be told, I didn't have the patience to stick to it long enough. You are supposed to start by juggling just two balls, with one hand or two. With a little work, you can get that one down pretty easy. It's when you add that third ball that you loose track of things. Somehow it's much easier when you just have to watch two things flying through the air. Maybe it's because so many things in our lives come in pairs that it's more natural for us. You know, things like your eyes, your ears, most body parts for that matter, and romantic relationships (at least we hope). And the list goes one. Pairs are just natural; evenly distributed and symmetrical. Orderly.

You add a third anything to where there was just two and things get exponentially complicated. Unevenly distributed. Unorderly. Or should I say disorderly.

dis-or-der: a state of confusion

That makes sense. Confused, unable to keep track of it all.

As many of you might be able to testify, it is possible to learn how to juggle. It just takes time and dedication. You have to overcome the disorder and confusion.

And once you master it, going back to just two balls in the air probably seems like child's play.

That's how it is around our house. Nowadays, whenever we have just two kids around we feel as if we are having some kind of mini-vacation. Even my babysitters have noticed this effect. So it's not just us crazy parents that feel this phenomenon.

On Thursday night this week my mom had my younger daughter over for a sleepover. She's been doing this from time to time as the girls have gotten to that age where they are comfortable being away from us and look forward to special time with their grandmother. And being away from their siblings.

The girls have also had times when they have both slept over at their grammy and grandpa's house. At those times we are left with just our son to look after. That's no longer child's play; that's baby's play.

We've also had more occurrences lately when my oldest has been away from the house for several hours at a time. She's getting to that age when she enjoys being with her friends as much as possible, so when she's invited over, she goes without abandon and will stay as long as the invitation is open. Of course the parents of her friends are also benefitting as she helps keep their child very happy and busy. And often times these extended play dates become really extended and turn into a sleepover. Again, we are left with only two kids to entertain and care for in times like this.

It never fails that whenever these events happen, my husband and I somehow feel liberated. Even when we still have two kids to take care of, it seems like something we can handle in our sleep. Or single-handedly. So without fail during these times, we will take turns sort of "checking out" of the parenting and letting the other one handle the two kids. We've never really coordinated this effort, it's just sort of what happens. We just think "s/he can handle the two kids for a while...no big deal". Since really that's what we are doing most of the time anyway. Taking turns with one of us handling two kids and the other has the third. Without the third child taking up that other slot, it's like a little vacation time that we get to swap back and forth.

There's also another aspect that makes things easier during this time. The two kids that are left at home get along better. There is no longer that third coming in and competing for attention or trying to upset a happy duo.

Now all of this is not to say that you shouldn't have a third child. Or that we shouldn't have had a third child.

It's just to say that it takes a lot of time and patience to master it. Just like juggling, when you have three balls in the air, it's easy to become confused and hard to keep track of them all. If you take your eyes off one for just a second, you are likely to drop it. So to prevent that you have to be on your toes at all times. There aren't too many breaks that you can take while you are juggling three balls.

With hard work and dedication, you can make it happen. The rhythm can be found if you are patient enough. And even with all the confusion and chaos, it's fun. It's fun to watch and fun to be a part of.

And tiring.

And demanding.

But did I mention that it's also fun?

It is. I promise.

Short Circuit

So far this year has started off with some nice little adventures.

Yesterday my car battery died. And it was just when I was already a few minutes late to pick up my oldest at school. Ordinarily this would have sent me into a mad panic, calling numbers at the school and putting out an APB for help. But having been through this 2 other times already, in the exact same scenario, I just sort of laughed.

And my younger daughter just said "The car's not working again? So I can keep watching my show?" And back she went to the TV. And luckily I hadn't woken up my son yet from his nap. It's generally the last thing I do after everything and everyone is in the car ready to go.

A quick phone call to my carpooling friend, some bartering of pick up days, and the problem was solved. Then I sent a text to my husband telling him to FINALLY get a new battery for the car. He's been fighting me on this one but I just put my foot down this time and said I'd be taking the car in the next day if he didn't do it himself (which I knew he'd insist on, so I had him in a corner).

A short while later my husband arrives home with a battery that "could power the Titanic" he says. So now I think we have at least one problem solved.

The other problem has a bit more trickery involved. It seems that about a week ago, a wee little field mouse found his way into the wall of our kitchen and passed on to greener meadows. And while this happens all over the world every day, especially around our house which is surrounded by (and built on) marshland so nature's furry and feathered wonders are everywhere, for it to happen in this exact spot is a bit of a bummer.

How do we know he's passed on, you ask? Well there's a bit of a smell. A foul order that I mistakenly thought was just the garbage after we had shrimp for dinner one night last week. But after days of the smell lingering, and me cleaning every nook and cranny of our kitchen, we knew something was amiss. When my husband made the suggestion of perhaps there being a dead rodent nearby, I knew he was on to something.

So now we had to really start looking around. Or should I say, he had to start really looking around. I made myself scarce lest I throw up a little in my mouth at the thought of it all.

The result came in as it being inside the wall, or else under the cabinets, as there is no behind the cabinets.

Quick haste I made a call to our friendly neighborhood exterminator who we keep on retainer.

That statement is quite sad, really.

But the Orkin guy came out and in a very polite way he told us we were screwed. Just gotta live with it. Keep spraying the Lysol he says. Spray it into the wall if there are holes. Which there were, but they aren't in the area where the specimen might lie.

So my husband decides to cut out a little hole in the wall around the existing one, which is there for a plumbing pipe. And while cutting out that little hole, he also cuts said pipe.

Ooops.

Now we have to shut off the water and we can't use the sink. Or the dishwasher. It's the drain pipe, so luckily there was no leaking or flooding when this happened.

But it made the thought of making dinner a bit difficult. And unappetizing considering the smell we were trying to mask with our candles and Lysol.

"Let's go out to eat" I say. So we all pack up and head out to the car to get dinner out.

Oops.

The battery is still dead and the super duper turbo one is sitting on the ground awaiting it's new home. "I can do this in 5 minutes" my husband exclaims, and he starts digging around his tool box.

In the mean time I decide to put the extra carseats in his car and then call him off the project. Just in time as he's starting to get a bit (more than) frustrated at this point, as evidenced by flying objects in the garage.

But this works out well because then he can swing by Home Depot to pick up something to repair the pipe.

After a fine meal at Chipotle and a quick errand done, we decide to splurge on Jamba Juice for dessert. We arrive to see that it seems like they are trying to close early. We soon find out that their cash register is broken down, so they decide to just start doing everything the old fashioned way, adding it up with a calculator and counting back the change. They are very appreciative of our patience during this process.

Hey, we know what it feels like to have things not really go the way you thought, so we are plenty patient at this point.

After that we head home and my husband is ready to begin his evening of being a grease monkey.

I put all the kids to bed and by that time he declares that the good news is he fixed the pipe and all is well again in the kitchen. Except the stink of course.

But the bad news is he has the wrong kind of battery for the car.

So we keep the old battery in there and my husband charges it up and drives it around for a bit, running a quick errand to the grocery store to get more air freshener.

This morning I'm driving the car and I can't even remember what the numbers are to all the radio stations that I like (since the radio has been reset when taking out the battery). Talk about short circuiting.

Happy 2010.

May we always have a back up plan. And plenty of air freshener.

The Memory Game

As we wind up this year, and I find myself only having written two entries this month, one about each of my daughters on their birthdays, I feel compelled to round it out with an entry about my son.

Ahhhh, my son. Here's a good story. After fighting a horrible flu during late November and early December, I got behind on my holiday shopping. When I was finally feeling up to leaving the house, I suggested to my husband to meet us out for a quick bite to eat after I took the kids to a store, and then we could go by another store afterward. Sounded simple enough.

But the store I went to first was TJ Maxx, which has clothing and housewares. I was there looking for clothing for teenage girls that I was donating to a holiday program. Having no idea what to get them, since I don't know them and don't have any teenagers, it was taking me a while to decide. During my attempt at making a decision, my son was getting restless in the cart. So I let him out and told my oldest to keep an eye on him. I too was watching him. So when they went out of eyesight, I followed, listening for her voice telling him to "go back to mama".

I knew I was headed for trouble when he went straight for the housewares department.

And then I heard it.

The big crash of shattered glass.

At that moment all his never-ending movements stopped. As I approached them on the other side of some shelving, I saw him standing over his mess in amazement.

I'm sure he honestly had no idea that when he threw a little cardboard box he had picked up that it was going to land on a glass martini shaker, knocking it off the shelf and causing these shards of blue and green beauty on the floor.

When you think about it, his life is fun and games. And like most two year olds, he thinks the world is there for his discovery and amusement.

And it is.

But at that moment I didn't much care for his view of life.

I cared about mine. About being that mom that lets her kids run rampant in the store, running about breaking things. I've been a mom for 8 years and this was a new one for me. When you combine "3rd child" with "boy" and "high energy", I'm finding that I'm discovering a lot of new things lately.

So I swept up the pieces with my feet the best I could, and then moved on. No one was there to tell me what else to do. I waited, but no one showed up. So we got the few things I had picked out, got in line, and got out of there. With him crying the whole time until we got outside and I let him back out of the cart.

I guess it had been so long since I'd taken him shopping anywhere besides the grocery store, I'd forgotten my usual tricks. And his usual restlessness.

I find that this is a pretty common occurrence. Time passes and we forget things. Especially things not worth remembering. It's the memory game. We forget the bad stuff and we remember the good. I mean who wants to hold on to all those annoying experiences in life, right? Unless it's traumatic, the chances are you will forget about it in time.

Lately I have been forcing myself to remember the tantrums my oldest had when she was 3 and 4 years old. And 5 years old too. They are starting to fade in my minds eye. But I want to hold on to them long enough to be able to say "this is what kids do when they are this age" whenever my other two do the same things. It's easy to apply sainthood in retrospect.

Just ask my mom. According to her, she had the most well-behaved 3 young children any mom could ask for. She even said this week that we didn't whine when we were kids. Or at least not like my kids whine.

But I remember. I remember one time complaining so much and being such a pain-in-the-ass to her that she didn't let my sister and I go somewhere with her. So we proceeded to cry and tantrum. And we were 11 years old at the time. Around that same time I remember getting into fights with my sister that involved throwing household items at each other, like hangers and scissors.

We were not all sugar and spice. The truth is we weren't perfect children. But we were children. And kids do some pretty crazy stuff as they explore the world and where they fit into it.

I've referred to my son as that kid many a time, and he certainly has those traits that put him in that category. But after these holidays, when all I seemed to hear about him was criticism from relatives, or the more gentle descriptions of "special" and "high energy", I feel the need to get my mama bear face on.

He is all of those things. And he's also a lot more. When you spend some time with, especially one-on-one, you see that he's also sweet and loving, very smart, and he can be more of a "controlled energy" type of kid. He has learned to behave within limits; he doesn't run away from you snickering when out in public, he doesn't approach strangers, he doesn't bite or hit other kids (at least not on purpose), he holds hands when crossing the street.

It is true that when he's in a crowd, he feeds off the energy and makes himself heard.

But more importantly, he snuggles and hugs, laughs and smiles, and runs around having fun.

So we'll continue playing the memory game. Knowing that, like many of us, his best years are yet to come.

And he too will achieve sainthood in retrospect.