Mom Flail

Boxed Mac & Cheese. Bendaroos. Mr. Bean. Chuck E. Cheese.

As a mom, I find myself embracing things that I would never have imagined. Things that make my kids happy, and for the most part, are pretty harmless.

As strange as it may sound, fighting is one of those things.

Man, my kids love to battle. They'll bludgeon each other. They'll brawl with their father. They'll play gladiator with their stuffed animals. They beg for swords and dart guns and anything that could be used as a weapon. They do karate and wrestling and boxing and sumo. Kick boxing, street fighting, fencing, and judo.

I tried outlawing it. That was about as effective as a swim diaper.

So much of their imaginative play involves conflict-- good guys vs bad guys. Whether they've invented their own characters and story or they're acting out their version of Harry Potter, Star Wars or Transformers. Enforcing a no-fighting policy would mean stifling their creativity. It would also mean continuous time-outs, a stock-pile of outlawed toys and a long list of things they're no longer allowed to play.

So I'm going with the flow as they say. But wait... this is not the same thing as lazy parenting! (Trust me, I know lazy parenting-- just ask the lady who works the drive-thru window at the local McDonalds.)

There is some structure involved. A carefully constructed plan to ensure the highest level of safety at all times. Often, this plan is what we teachers call "cross-content"-- meaning the kids are also getting educational enrichment across a variety of disciplines. Genius!

For example:

"Will, you need to let your little brother win at least half of the time." (Mathematics at work, people!)

"You cannot hit below the belt, hold, trip, kick, headbutt, wrestle, bite, spit on, or push your opponent." (We Googled the official rules for boxing...technology and athletics... true story!)

"Liam, you can't kick anyone there. Say you're sorry." (Anatomy and manners!)

All kidding aside, it is entirely play. There's no aggression, hate or real conflict involved. When there's real conflict involved, like deciding on a television program or sharing a toy, there's generally only screaming and crying involved. That, and my stellar conflict resolution skills, which range from patient mediation and arbitration to screaming and crying right back at them.

And in all seriousness, there is some learning to be had.

As of late, this has been's Will's weapon of choice:

It's made of foam and it's completely harmless.

Last night, we were mid-battle and I might have gotten a little carried away.

Just a little.

Will was really upset. Inconsolable. Afterall, you know how kids get so attached to their very favorite... weapon.

A few months ago, my mom had gotten this for Will from either a dollar store or the clearance section at Target. Bill and I set about finding a replacement on-line.

But what to Google?

We tried "ball and chain", but we got you know, a ball. And a chain.

And after some addtional investigation, we came up with this...

Not exactly the toy version. But the right weapon nonetheless. And it's name?

A "flail". (You really DO learn something new every day!)

We haven't found one yet, but we're on it.

We can't disappoint our little gladiator.

Comfort Zone

I know that this is going to sound so cliche, but I'm going to say it anyway.

Being a mother has made me a better person.

I wear swimsuits in public and I introduce myself to women with children. I swing and slide and sing and dance. I plan trips and join clubs. I bake and try new recipes. I can function in chaos and can get through a day on a few hours of sleep. I jump on dirty trampolines and wait on long lines to go on rides that spin. I prioritize and multitask. Snot on my shoulder and dust on my floor, I don't take these things too seriously. All this is a far cry from the person I was five years ago.

A few weeks ago, I registered Will for soccer on-line. It was the last day to register. It was 11:45 pm.

Part of the application process required a parenting volunteer committment. Working the snack bar, painting lines on the field, being a coach-- that sort of thing. There was also an option to fork over $30 and skip the 'volunteer duties'.

I checked off the box for coach.

Without knowing how many players belong on the field. Without knowing what 'off-sides' means. Without knowing positions or placement. Without knowing when your supposed to throw it in or kick it in or whatever.

Without ever officially playing any organized sport, let alone soccer.

Last year, I showed up for soccer games with a big cup of coffee and a comfy beach chair. I cheered and chatted. Took pictures and watched. It was fun and relaxing.

Today, I was all anxiety and jitters. Squeezing soccer rules out of my husband, eating handfuls of chocolate chips and checking the website twenty times to confirm the field location and game time. It was a far cry from last year. I was way out of my comfort zone. What was I thinking?

We showed up, Will and I. We got our shirts and I introduced myself to the dad I'd be coaching with. I made some nervous comment about how I know absolutely nothing about soccer. He didn't appear to be amused. He knew what he was doing and he was kind of all business. Within a few minutes, I started to relax and realize that this was a match made in heaven.

He set up the drills and took care of the logistics. I cheered for the kids and doled out high fives. He demonstrated skills and I gathered the kids up and made sure they were listening. I learned their names quickly and called them by name, paying special attention to the kids that lagged behind. I ran up and down the field, trying to usher the kids in the right direction and heaping tons of praise and pats on the back. The kids seemed happy and proud and although it's not supposed to matter, we totally won.

And you know what? I was kind of awesome.

And you know what else? I can't wait for next week.

I want to be a role model for my kids. I want to get out and try new things. I want to be healthy and happy and active. I want to join and volunteer and participate. I want all of these things for myself because ultimately I want these things for them.

In the moment, it may not be the easiest thing-- but I really love how being a mom has pushed me outside of my comfort zone.

Vacation 2010, Part Four

Sunday was technically our first full day of vacation.

Officially, we kicked it off with a bike ride.

Unofficially, I kicked it off by getting up with Liam three or four times after two in the morning and then finally caving and bringing him into our bed.

He gave me my final wake-up call at 6 am. And then Will came stumbling out of his room about a half-hour later. Bill woke sometime after that. Then came breakfast and sunscreen and so forth. We were finally off for our bike ride at about 10 am.

We had built up the anticipation for this ride. In all previous years, we had rented Will a "kiddie cart" where he was seated in a little cart that was attached to the back of our bikes. This year we decided to get him a "tag along". When attached, this basically creates a bicycle-built-for-two.

Two days before we arrived, when we would bring it up, he would say that he didn't want to try it. We reassured him and changed the subject.

The day we arrived, when we would bring it up, he would whine that he didn't want to try it. We reassured him and changed the subject.

The day of the ride, as we were preparing to go, he was crying that HE DIDN'T WANT TO TRY IT. Enter the tears and the stomping and the hyper-ventilating. We skipped the whole reassuring spiel and went straight to bribing him with everything we could think of. We couldn't exactly change the subject as we were headed outside to, you know, ride bikes.

Four hours into vacation and already a meltdown? At this point, I was ready to call the rental company. Bye-bye tag along. Hello kiddie cart. In a case like this, I am generally more apt to let Will take the lead. The thought of forcing him outside his comfort zone is not a pleasant one. I'll try and convince him verbally. Give him the "big-boy argument". List all the benefits of learning to ride a bike. You don't want to try it? Are you sure? Okay. No problem. You'll do it when you're ready. Maybe next year. Maybe when you're twenty. Whatever.

But then, in the back of my head, is this voice. Johnny from his pre-K class is already riding a bike... with no training wheels. He should be riding a bike. You're not going to make him ride a bike? Within two to three years, all the kids will be riding their cool bikes and yours will still be riding his Diego tricycle. You are screwing this one up big time. When he's like fifteen, he's going to hate you for not making him ride this damn bike...

Then Bill comes to the rescue. In a situation like this, he just doesn't take no for an answer.

Will can pull out all the whining and tears and hysterics and Bill stands his ground. Now, if you're anything like me, you'd be wincing through this. And if you didn't know Bill, and what a great dad he is, you'd be calling this parenting-style grade-A-assholery. It wasn't pretty, but he got him on that bike.

And you know what? He freaking loves it.

Riding this bike. Going down water slides. Jumping off diving boards. Riding on roller coasters. Eating weird things like cow tongue. These are accomplishments that have given Will huge swells of pride and accomplishment. And they have really become some of his most favorite activities (minus the cow tongue). These are things that, in the beginning, he was terrified of and swore he would never try.

Who knows if we're doing it right? Forcing him to try new things. Sometimes, we're just looking at each other clueless. Trying to make the decision that will cause the least amount of short and long-term damage. But in this particular case, I am loving the outcome.

Anyone know the best way to defog a lens when going from

68 degrees of AC to 98 degrees and intense humidity?

These foggy pics drive me nuts.

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After our bike ride, we hit these fountains outside the public beach.

This just might be the best cell phone pic I will ever take.

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Afterwards, we hung by the pool for a while and then headed inside for lunch and naps. By the time the kids woke up, there was a huge storm sitting over our area. Lightening, thunder and pouring rain. We spent the entire afternoon inside. I won't bore you with the particulars. This was pretty much it...

Planning on at least a little rain in the next two weeks, we packed tons of toys and art supplies. The kids were more than happy to relax and play in the AC for a few hours. And Bill didn't seem to mind a solid line up of programming from ESPN and the Discovery/History Channel.

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We weren't about to let a little rain keep up from our nightly ice cream ritual, so we kept our eyes on the radar and the skies. During a precious window of dryness, we took a 5-minute bike ride up to the local ice cream shop.

It's truly amazing how a child who refuses to use a spoon for applesauce or yogurt will rise to the occasion when presented with a big cup of chocolate ice cream. He sat on that bench for a good twenty minutes until every last bit of that ice cream was either in his mouth, on his chin or down his shirt. Clearly, Liam's been holding out on us.

Perspective

It seems that I've been giving Will a bad rap lately.

As I've met up with friends over the last couple of weeks, people have said things like, "Oh, I read your blog. How's it going with Will?"

I'd wince internally and have a momentary sense of guilt for slandering my poor child on the internet. But this guilt would be fleeting when he would live up to his reputation. Wild and crazy. Ignoring my directions and beating up his little brother.

For example...

Mischievous smile. Obviously plotting something.

I believe I was saying, "Will, go stand by Liam so I can take a picture."

A tube on the head.

Will thinks this is hilarious. Liam is calm and unaffected.

Will realizes he needs to up his game.

Will steals hose, aims and squirts.

Liam is screaming. Mission accomplished.

Notice the pure joy on Will's face.

And other times, he'd make my posts seem like complete fabrications. Acting calm, reasonable and mature.

"Play on the sprayground? No thanks, Mom.

Instead, I'll just sit here quietly reading my magazine. La, la, la..."

When we brought Liam home from the hospital, people would often ask how Will was adjusting. Was he acting out and trying to get our attention? Was he regressing? Was he being aggressive towards the baby? Our answers to all of these questions were negative. Overall, Will was indifferent. After all, not much really changed for him. He was still the star of the show and he got plenty of attention. Liam just kind of sat there-- with not much of an opinion. His needs simply didn't conflict with Will's. Liam needed a bottle, a diaper, and some cuddling and soothing. He'd sit and watch from the sidelines-- in his bouncer or on a blanket. From Will's standpoint, not much to be jealous of. There was very little competition and almost no opportunity for disagreement between them. Liam was the baby and Will was the big boy.

Now, two years later, there's a new big boy in town.

Note that Will is out of frame, but nearby.

Pouting on the couch because we didn't build the track his way.

All of the "adjustment" issues people warned us about finally arrived this summer. This, of course, makes total sense. Rather than being stationed at separate daycare centers, the boys are constantly sharing the same play space this summer. After spending the year shadowing and observing his big brother, Liam has become his own person.

He wants the Batcave, not the Little People Treehouse. He wants the best Transformer, not the broken one Will used to hand him. He wants to choose the television show, and he's not a fan of Pokemon. They are often in conflict and they're both learning, at different levels, how to deal with it.

When upset, Liam screams and hits and throws himself on the floor in full freakout mode. I try to be patient with him, because he is learning and because he's not even two for crying out loud. When Will does the same, I have absolutely no patience, because he should know better and he's, again with the crying out loud, almost five freaking years old. On a pretty regular basis, they are both grabbing toys, refusing to share and fighting. Liam gets gentle warnings and redirection. Will gets yelled at and sent to time out. I can see, from Will's perspective, how that might seem incredibly unfair. And it makes total sense that this might cause Will to exact a little "justice" (see pool incident above) now and then.

On the upside, we've all gotten a little more perspective on the issue. Will is learning better "negotiation" skills. I'm trying to treat Will with a little more TLC and understanding. And Liam? Well, he's just being two-- for like, the entire next twelve months.

Oh God.

Two

We live next door to a nice couple. They are around our age and in a similar stage of their lives. We are friendly neighbors, but not exactly friends. We wave and make small conversations when doing yard work or bringing in the garbage cans. When I hear a car door slam, I curiously look out the window to see what they're up to. I imagine that they do the same.

Five years ago, we were married young couples about to have our first babies. The curb outside of our homes was lined with crushed cardboard boxes that once held cribs and strollers and car seats. Our cars would come and go, as we were often out to dinner or the movies-- taking the advice of our friends and soaking up our last days of freedom.

After what seems like the shortest summer ever, we each brought home our baby boys.

In the months that followed, you could easily tell which room was the nursery in both of our houses by the soft glow of light that seemed to emanate, off and on, all night long. Instead of dinners out, there was a lot of take-out and delivery. Instead of the movie theater, there was television on the couch. On the chance meetings that we’d have upon arriving or leaving our homes, we’d commiserate about the challenges of raising a newborn. The sleep deprivation, the breastfeeding, the diapers, the laundry, the change in our lifestyles.

Two and a half years later, Bill and I were expecting our second baby. “Wow...”, our neighbors said, looking surprised. They were fine with one baby. Relieved that the ‘baby stage’ was over. Happy to have more independence. Confident that they could give their only son plenty of attention. Certain that, with one child, they would always have enough time and money and energy.

It sounded reasonable and I didn’t judge them. I was happy to be adding to our family and giving Will a sibling.

In August of 2008, we brought home our second baby and I was lucky enough to be able to afford an entire year of maternity leave.

Some days were easier than others, but overall I had my hands full. My three-year-old wanted to do elaborate art projects and build Lego models and play hide and seek. My infant wanted to eat and nap for 20 minutes and eat and nap for 20 minutes… and be held constantly. Add to this the ever-present piles of laundry and dishes and scattered piles of toys. Then toss in the fact that I was existing on 3 – 4 solid hours of sleep each night. Liam cried a lot. Will was frustrated with the things we couldn’t do. The house was falling apart. I was exhausted and fat and feeling incompetent.

In the beginning, I remember peering over at my neighbor’s house. In the late evening and early morning hours, the house was completely dark as everyone was getting a full nights sleep. She’d be gardening or sunbathing and her son would be busy playing. Sometimes she’d chase him or they’d be doing some kind of activity together. I’d see them coming and going—with restaurant leftovers or bags from various stores. In particular, she seemed so well-rested and put-together and content.

Over time, the three of us (Liam, Will and I) found a rhythm. Liam started napping more and crying less. Will learned to be a little more independent and patient. I perfected the art of multi-tasking and got used to living with the minor imperfections of a sink full of dishes or an overflowing garbage can. I discovered ways to spend time with each child, complete a little housework and even (on some days) get a shower.

Here we are two years later. It’s a little before 8 am on a Monday and the kids have already been up for almost two hours. At this moment, there is folded laundry on my dining room table and the breakfast dishes are sitting on the countertop. I’ve microwaved my mug of coffee no less than three times and I’m unshowered, wearing yoga pants and an old t-shirt. There are toys everywhere and I’ve already refereed at least twelve disagreements over who gets what chair and what cup and what television show and what action figure. Our plans for today include going absolutely nowhere—art projects on the deck, a swim in the pool and a carpet picnic for lunch.

Here we are two years later and I still have my hands full— but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

August, 2008

Today.

Outnumbered

For the last few years, we've purchased season passes to a local water park. Throughout the summer, we've been going for an hour or two before closing, when Bill gets home from work.

During the day, when I'm on my own (translation: outnumbered), we tend to stick closer to home. Small playgrounds, the backyard, playdates, little outings. Situations that are fairly predictable and laid-back.

On Wednesday, however, I decided to mix it up a little and take my kids to said water park solo.

I announced my plans to Bill on Wednesday morning, as he was leaving for work, and asked him where the passes were. He had left them on the counter or in the cabinet or in his bathing suit pocket or in the van or the diaper bag or... You see where this is going, right? It took a little over an hour to find the passes (which were in none of the aforementioned places) and to pack lunch, bathing suits, swim diapers, towels, sunscreen and about a thousand other necessities that need to be gathered and carried in order to sustain two small children in a water park for two hours.

Not to be outdone, the boys were equally as busy.

Busy, busy, busy.

Maybe they were looking for the passes too.

No, probably not.

We cleaned up together (Me: 90%, Them: 10%. No. Scratch that. Me: 110%, Them: -10%) and I got them dressed and fed and slathered in sunscreen. Then I wrestled them into their water shoes and put them where they could do no more harm.

It's the old 'belt your kids in the car with movie and AC while you

lug the double stroller and multiple baggage into the van' trick.

We arrived at the park shortly after and I turned to see...

What?! Dumping toys all over the house is hard work.

Unfortunately, Liam is not a happy camper when woken up from a nap. That detail, combined with the fact that the walk through the parking lot and into the park seemed like seventy freaking miles across the sun, had him whining and crying the entire way. This, however, did not sway the security guards from inspecting very cubic inch of our belongings. (No worries though. Our stroller has many secret compartments for Goldfish, fruit snacks and water. Bwahahaha.)

I must admit though, things did improve once we got settled inside the park.

I gave the kids my 'remember what happened to Nemo speech'-- reminding them to stay close and listen. And then we sang the classic 'Stay. Stay. Stay by your Mom' song-- sung to the tune of the Yo Gabba Gabba classic, "Don't Bite Your Friends". Keeping my eyes on both of them is usually my biggest worry.

The kids were pretty well behaved with the exception of the 3,985 splashes Liam took to the face at the hands of his big brother. I wish that I had taken some pics, but having two arms and two kids in a huge crowd makes the camera work a little complicated. (Also, the lockers cost like a bajillion dollars and so I wasn't bringing my phone or camera into the park.)

The hardest part was probably all of the work entailed with getting out of the house and then getting back in. Handling the logistics of packing and then unpacking on top of supervising the kids is not an easy task. But all in all, it was a good experience. One that I will definitely try again with some minor readjustments... Like setting things out the night before, having Bill load the double stroller before work and getting there a little earlier for better parking.

Also, mentally preparing myself for running into my high school students while in a (gasp) bathing suit. As if that's even possible.

Point-Not-So-Pleasant

If you had been in Point Pleasant on Thursday evening, we might have run into each other. If you had been searching for a spot in the municipal parking lot, across from the ride park, then it might have been your lucky day.

At a little after six, I rolled up to another minivan and motioned for the driver to roll down the window. He was a dad with a car full of kids. I said, "Hey, I already paid for six hours of parking and I've got to leave. Want my ticket?"

He looked confused. I don't think he really understood the awesome gift that I was offering him. Thirteen dollars worth of awesomeness. He also might have been taken aback by the screams, kicks and wails resonating from the back seat. I smiled, thrust the ticket at him, and kept driving.

This was a first. A milestone. And honesty, I had seen it coming.

A couple weeks ago, my sweet, polite, well-behaved almost-five-year-old began a downward spiral. "Please" and "Thank you" were replaced by "I want it!" and "NOW!". He was yelling and hitting and grabbing. Standing on the furniture, eating like an animal, lying about brushing his teeth and peeing with the seat down. Attempts at reasoning with him fell on deaf ears and he could most likely be found in time out.

As a matter of fact, he mastered the 'time out' maneuver.

He would be engaged in some unlawful activity-- like strangling his little brother or knocking over furniture. A parent would announce a time out and he would silently go to his little chair. No arguing, no crying. He would sit there quietly, waiting to be released. When time was up, he'd be back at it in a matter of minutes. Throwing toys at his little brother or purposely destroying something.

So we elevated to the 'go to bed early' maneuver.

This seemed a little more effective because he hated it so much more. He would head up to his room, crying and pleading for more chances. Promising to 'not be crazy anymore'. But we stayed the course and told each other it was for the best. That this was going to make a difference.

But the next morning, within 10 minutes of waking up, he was chasing poor Liam around the house. Growling and clawing like a wild animal as his little brother fled in terror-- screaming and crying, tripping over his own feet and wailing. All to his big brother's delight.

So, the other night, we elevated to 'go directly to home, do not see fireworks, do not collect any cotton candy'. In other words, we abandoned our plans for rides, games and fireworks because Will simply would not listen. He was torturing his brother, running around, yelling and fighting with some of the other kids we were with. It was unbelievable, really.

Surely, this would make an indelible impression. He would remember this next time.

So here we are. Tonight. At Great Adventure. On the Carousel.

Ahhh... this is more like it. A nice family outing.

But wait. What's this?

Caught in the act! Attacking his little brother.

My poor husband is going to lose it. Really.

So we're staying the course and waiting out what is hopefully a short phase. We're trying to be patient and firm without flipping out. We are drinking heavily. We are hanging in there.

And if all else fails, I believe that an exorcism may be in order.

Pacing Ourselves

On Tuesday, we celebrated Bill's birthday and we ushered in the busy, party-filled four weeks that lie ahead.

All three of these guys have summer birthdays. We normally celebrate, as a foursome, on the actual day and then we throw a bigger family party on a different date. Add in the fact that Will is old enough for his very own 'kid party' and we've got a pretty big to-do list.

For Tuesday, we (Will, Liam and I) shopped, wrapped, decorated and cooked. We baked up some brownies for Bill to bring to work and we made his favorites (here and here) for dinner. Gifts included some clothes, a premium box of Topps baseball cards and a Wii, which was really more of a family gift. The traditional cake, that Bill requests every year, was a Carvel ice cream cake.

Mmmmm... brownies.

Joint effort.

It was a great night and we're gearing up for a bigger family party next week. Cue the additional cooking, decorating, cleaning, running around, etc...

Oh and speaking of running, ahem...

Tonight we headed to a park for a local running club's race meet-up. Will ran in a couple short races as well as the half-mile, while I ran the 5K.

The kids races were attended by kids of all ages, Will being among the youngest. He did really well in the shorter races.

"The 100-yard Charge"

And then we lined up for the half-mile... letting the kids run in front, while the parents ran behind.

Smallest guy out there.

He took off strong and fast, but about 1/4 of the way through he was struggling. He was red-faced and sweaty and the entire pack had passed us by. He slowed to a walk and started to cry.

He didn't want to be last. He was tired. He couldn't run anymore.

He wanted to turn around and go back. He wanted to quit.

The distance between us and the runners ahead was growing larger and larger.

There was a part of me that wanted to scoop him up and tell him that he had done great. That he had done enough. That it was too hot. That it was too far. That it was okay to stop.

But I jogged alongside him, encouraging him to keep going. Telling him that he could do it. That it was okay to walk, as long as he finished. That it was okay to be last, as long as he didn't quit. That he could do it. (Also, and this is key, that there were ice pops at the finish line.)

It sounds easy, but it's one of the hardest things I've had to do as a parent.

He gathered some energy for short bursts of running with lots more walking and more tears in between. I think it was a total of ten minutes, but it felt like forever.

Once the finish line was in view, things improved significantly. There was an elderly gentleman, who volunteers with the club, positioned at the final turn. He was cheering for Will wildly. Telling him he was doing great. Telling him he was going fast. Telling him to keep going. Telling him he could do it. I love this man. Seriously.

Will was exhausted and broken down. But he pushed and kept going. His face was streaked with sweat and tears, but I could see the corners of his mouth turn upward. He was sort-of-smiling.

Soon, we could hear the voices of Bill and friends and other kind spectators cheering us in. With every step, he held himself a little taller and broadened his stride.

And we finished. And he was smiling.

This is his 'trying NOT to smile eventhough he's wildly proud of himself' face.

He was smiling... notsomuch in this photo and it's the only one I got.

You'll have to take my word for it.

I know that I did the right thing in pushing him to finish. When it was all over, we praised him and told him how proud we were. Telling him how finishing was the most important thing and that there's more to a race than just winning.

And then, to really drive the point home, I came in 65th out of 80 or so in my 5K race a little while later.

But not to worry, that half-mile and 5K course haven't seen the last of us.