BrooklynGirl

Resolved

In 2008 I hope to:

1) Suck up the sleeplessness;

2) Be more adventurous in activities with the kids;

3)  Find a way to make some money;

4) Cook more, eat better, and help my kids do the same;

5) Keep the apartment cleaner--either by figuring out how to do it myself or paying someone to do it for me (see item #3);

6)  Explore other housing alternatives, be they in the city or the suburbs--not necessarily to make a change, but to be aware of the options;

7) Commit to this blog or find another avenue for self-reflection and connection;

8) Incorporate physical exercise into my life;

9) Visit my brother and his family;

10) And last but not least, spend time alone with my husband.

And you?

Ho Ho Ho

Shannon MacElvaine was the one who told me about Santa.  She was older and an object of  fascination for us younger kids , and one day when we were playing in her backyard (she had a great jungle gym), she gathered us up and told us: there was no Santa.

I was in third grade at the time and was pretty devastated.  My mother assured me that Shannon was wrong, told me (and maybe I made this part up) that  Shannon didn't believe in Santa because she  hadn't been very good and didn't get any presents that year.   I still had my doubts, but  I wanted  to believe and so I did.*

At two, The Boy is just starting to be aware of Santa.  We read How the Grinch Stole Christmas and The Polar Express and The Night Before Christmas, and he is Santa curious--if wary.  Since I avoided malls this holiday season, I haven't succeeded in getting him onto Santa's lap for the obligatory photo op, but he's seen Santa around--once at his dad's holiday party at work and once going into our neighborhood bar (!).   

Some of the hipper parents I know have quashed the Santa myth from the beginning.  It's just a story, they say, and of course they're right.  But I still remember what it was like to believe in something as silly as Santa, and I don't have it in me to deny him this small pleasure.

Wishing you all full stockings and warm hearts.  Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.

*Ironically, it was my mother who confirmed Shannon's Santa story a year later when she and I were out shopping, and she commented on the fact that my younger brother "still" believed in Santa,  and I was devastated all over again, not only that Santa wasn't real but also that she'd lied to me about it.

Hell, Defined

You can't leave your apartment because you can't find your keys.    Also,  your  cable  is  out.    

I'm Awfully Glad I Asked

Well, apparently I am the rudest woman in Brooklyn if not the entire parenting world.  I went with Option C and bopped over to the party myself (it was only a few blocks away) to drop off the present and explain the situation. The Boy napped for nearly three hours which he hasn't done since...maybe he's never napped that long. 

I am generally big on keeping commitments, but here sleep trumped commitment--perhaps that's my own exhaustion talking.  Since the teething/no sleeping/writhing in agony portion of the program began the night of the party, I feel I did the right thing in not denying sleep while there was sleep to be had, but I feel lousier about it.  I should have just declined the invitation from the start.

*****

We got a Christmas tree this year, our first since The Boy's birth.  It's been up since Sunday evening and already four ornaments--hearty wooden ones!--have been destroyed.   Alas.   Two funny stories about  this:

1)  We bought the tree at a stand, but when he is asked where he got the the tree, The Boy says, "My Dad got it from somebody's garden."  Tree thieves of the world, unite!

2)  When The Boy's very religious  sometimes babysitter came to the house, The Boy couldn't wait to show her the tree, especially his favorite ornament.  Since his meaty paws were wrapped around it, she couldn't  see it very well so she asked,  "Oh, is that the baby Jesus?"
      "No," I had to explain.  "It's Santa taking a bath with a rubber duck."  That's just as sacred, right?

House of Pain

It seems like she's been teething for months, but The Girl's first tooth finally poked above the gum line yesterday.   It feels like a few more are not far behind.  She is miserable and fussy even when dosed liberally with Motrin.  She's sleeping less than she was before, which is more than not at all, but only just.

Not to be outdone, The Boy's second molars are coming in.  He rubs his jaw, whimpers, and refuses to eat or sleep without a lot of cajoling.

The husband and I are running man-to-man defense and keeping our heads above water, but jeez...a break (or some sleep) would be nice.

*****

Since many of you share my affection for rules, what are your feelings on this:

Your 2 year old has been invited to an older child's birthday party which has been scheduled during your child's nap time.  Your child practically worships the older child and you don't want to deny him the party so you plan the entire day around getting your child to nap early, but when party time rolls around, your child is still soundly asleep in his crib.  Do you:

A) Assume that some nap is enough, wake your child, and bring him to the party;

B)  Call the birthday boy's parents, explain the situation, and tell them you may come late or not at all;

C)  Leave the sleeping child at home with your husband and go to the party yourself to deliver the gift and make your apologies;

D) Avoid the whole situation by wisely having declined the invitation in the first place.

Tell me, oh wise internets, what is a parent supposed to do?

Stepping Out

In the last week I have had two evenings out sans children--once with the husband, once with some girlfriends--and I'm beginning to feel like myself again.  I knew I was in there somewhere.  It's hard, this parenting business, but then you already knew that.

What I was trying to get at in my last post was not so much the snideness of other parents (but thank  you for having  my back on that), but rather my own frustration that, as a person who is so very fond of rules, I still have such a hard time sussing parenting rules out and following them.  I spend so much time feeling like I am doing something wrong and at an utter loss about how to be right.  I do not naturally ooze confidence about most things in my life so this is hardly shocking, but the stakes are just so high.  Please don't let me screw these kids up irretrievably.  Please.

Okay. Enough of that.

Have you seen this particularly loathsome Hooked on Phonics ad?  In it, a mother and her child are sitting in some kind of waiting room, and the child is reading aloud.  All the other mothers turn to gape at the child.  "How old is he?" someone asks.*

"Almost four," the smug mother says.

All of the other mothers look at one another,  instantly sure that they're own kids are stupid or lazy and/or they are terrible parents.

"We've been practicing," the smug mother says.  And then the Hooked on Phonics logo is flashed on the screen.

I have nothing against phonics or reading or smug parents (okay, maybe that last one), but to me this ad is everything that's hard about being a parent today.  It's the idea that childhood  accomplishment  is somehow performative--if a child reads silently in the forest and there's no one there to hear him, are you still a good mother?  It's the all too obvious insecurities of the other parents.  It's the fact that the smug mother coyly says, "We've been practicing,"  instead of telling the other mothers specifically what she and her son had been doing to practice. 

I know it's just an ad, but it just makes me crazy.

*I'm recreating the text from biased  memory