Honing My "Cry-dar"

Since becoming a mother, I've noticed I've developed a pretty good "cry radar" for other people's kids. Like, I'll see a frustrated mother scolding her little kid at the grocery store and think, "yo, Mom, your kid is clearly tired and unsure of the situation and probably just wants a little compassion or a hug or something. Can you just stop for a minute and empathize with him?"

Why is it that when I hear some other mom's kid cry, I immediately know what the problem is, and have an instant solution?

I wish I could emotionally detach enough to have that same kind of insight with my own kids sometimes.

I'm a Failure Because...

Let me begin by saying that this is not going to be a very helpful post. I'm warning you (with peace and love): if you're looking for help of any kind, you're probably not going to find it here. If you're looking for advice or good cheer, you've definitely come to the wrong place.

If you're a person who knows even a little about psychology, I'm sure you've heard of the cognitive distortion called "all or nothing thinking." Unfortunately, that's the way my brain works. Everything is either black or white. There's no gray. There's no half-filled glass. It's either full or empty. That's just the way it is.

And when you're a perfectionist on top of it, you're pretty much doomed (at least inside your own head. I suppose I appear relatively "together" on the outside).

So, the other day, I was going about my business when I heard Prickly Dad upstairs, vacuuming the family room. Granted, I was filled with gratitude that he was helping. I have a wonderful husband. But then the cognitive distortion started:

I'm a failure because my husband is doing housework.

And it didn't end there. The thoughts just kept on coming, one after the other...

I'm a failure because I can't keep up with my chores.
I'm a failure because I'm not the perfect wife.
I'm a failure because I can't get this depression cured.
I'm a failure because I'm always tired.
I'm a failure because I don't feel creative.
I'm a failure because my hair looks like a squid.
I'm a failure because my stomach is flabby.
I'm a failure because I can't find a bra to fit these stupid boobs.
I'm a failure because I ate gluten today.
I'm a failure because I can't get my family on a paleo diet.
I'm a failure because I feed my kids Teddy Grahams.
I'm a failure because my kids' nails are too long.
I'm a failure because my kids need haircuts.
I'm a failure because I'm an American and I think consumerism is dumb.
I'm a failure because I can't get motivated.
I'm a failure because I don't feel like playing with the kids.
I'm a failure because these stupid breakfast cookies didn't get made again.
I'm a failure because I'm too sad to appreciate any of this.

Sadly, trains of thought like this are pretty typical for me. As you might know, I've struggled with mood disorders my whole life, so I'm just used to it. I think my defeatist thoughts and plod along as best as I can. The thing is, that night when my husband was upstairs vacuuming, a novel idea popped into my head at the end of that barrage.

What if I were to stick the word "not" in all those sentences? Wouldn't that make all those hateful declarations a little more truthful?

I'm NOT a failure because my husband is doing housework.
I'm NOT a failure because I ate gluten today.
I'm NOT a failure because my kids need haircuts. 

I have to admit, these revised statements are true. Adding "not" to my black-or-white thoughts doesn't automatically make me a smashing success as a mother or as a human being, but none of the things mentioned above is bad enough to warrant labeling myself as a failure.

It's a baby step, but I took a step. I'll try to remind myself that things can be gray.

Do you feel this way, too? I want to share some resources that might help.

• Cognitive Distortions Worksheets
• The Power of Love (make sure to read the "affirmations" part)

The Three Types of Hugs

My kids have been out of state with their grandparents for the last week. I'm not going to lie--it's been bliss. I've been able to do things like read, sit quietly, nap, clean, and think: things that mothers of little ones can't usually do uninterrupted. It's been a wonderful vacation.

Since yesterday, though, I've been feeling out of sorts, even sad. Of course I miss my boys. But I also know that by tomorrow, when they've been home 24 hours, I'm already going to be counting the weeks until their next overnight jaunt with relatives.

So, what gives?

It's the hugging. And the cuddling. I need hugs to live. This is not an exaggeration. I'll even take it a step further. They can't be just any hugs--they have to be a certain type of hug. For me, at least, hugs fall into three categories:

The perfunctory (socially prompted) hug: this is your run of the mill "okay, Little Johnny, hug your Aunt Mary" or darn it, everybody else is hugging; I'd better hug or I'll look like a tool hug. There are two people with their arms encircling one another to some extent, but there is no connection on any higher plane.

The in-between hug: this hug probably includes some semblance of a squeeze or a pat and sentiments that include thoughts like I really enjoyed seeing you or you matter to me or I feel some kind of kinship with you.

Pie, the Hug-Master General

The Energy Transfer: this, my friends, is the mother of all hugs, the hug that most nurturers can identify; the kind of hug that says, I get you. I love you unconditionally. Just let go, and I will hold on to your troubles for a minute so you can have peace. This is the kind of hug I imagine God gives. God and a very, very small inner circle of people closest to you.

I learned The Energy Transfer from my mom, and in turn, am teaching it to my husband and my boys. I think The Energy Transfer is a magical thing that has to be experienced and learned (I don't know why I think that, I just do.) I remember staying overnight at my Grandma's when I was a little girl and feeling out of sorts. I knew a hug would make me feel better, so I asked Grandma if she would stand up and give me a hug like my mom would. She did...it was physically identical to a hug from my mom, but it was missing something. It was missing the energy. That's when I realized the power of The Energy Transfer, and the fact that not all hugs were the same. I, personally, need The Energy Transfer to live.

And that's why I've been out of sorts the past couple days. I've been missing the daily hugs and cuddles of two little boys who already, at the ages of six and four, are masters of The Energy Transfer. In just a few hours from now, they will both be getting the hugging of a lifetime.

Want more proof of the power of hugs? Check out these links.

• 10 Reasons We Need at Least 8 Hugs a Day
• How Hugging and Kissing Help Your Health
• 8 Health Benefits of Hugging
• 6 Surprising Stress Fixes

Gratitude for Ungrateful Kids

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My initial guess is that this is not going to be a well-received point of view. Especially because I'm about to bring up Dr. Laura Schlesinger.

The other day, a mom called into the Dr. Laura radio show to complain about her ungrateful tween daughter. "She thinks the whole world revolves around her," the exasperated mother lamented. The mom then went on to describe what I think we all experience as middle-class parents. The kids don't appreciate anything: the mound of toys we buy for them, the lessons we pay for and shuttle them back and forth to, the fabulous trips from every festival in town to amusement parks in other states, the meals we meticulously prepare and then and inevitably scrape into the garbage disposal half an hour later.

And then Dr. Laura broke in with her response. They're kids. They don't know anything besides this. They don't have the experience or worldview that we parents do.

Okay, that was unexpected.

I don't remember if she ended up giving the mom any actual advice, but that call really struck a nerve. We all want our kids to be grateful (especially around this time of year). But seriously...we do give them everything they want--and more. They haven't forgone ice skating or ballet lessons because Mom and Dad couldn't afford it. They haven't lived an entire summer eating only canned pork and beans and ramen noodles. They haven't gone without health insurance for a couple years. They havent lived in a rat-, cockroach-, or flying ant-infested house with a broken down furnace.

Don't get me wrong: I want my kids to be thankful. The fact that they are usually not thankful upsets and pains me. Sometimes, when I get really exasperated, I wish I could send them down to the 'hood for a few days to live in a dirty apartment with ten siblings, no dad, and a mommy who didn't even want them in the first place (then I lighten up a little and think maybe we should just go on a working farm vacation over in Amish country).

My point is this: Dr. Laura is right. They don't get it. So what do we do? Make them do a few chores. Make sure they see you doing your chores. Don't serve their food arranged in the shape of a teddy bear. Talk to them about some of the tough times you went through as a kid (my personal favorites are the one where Dad had pneumonia and we had to live on deer meat and welfare cheese for a month, and the sad story about how I asked Santa for the Barbie Dream House* every year and never got it).

They'll figure it out eventually.

*If you're a fellow child of he '70s or '80s and never got the Barbie Dream House either, watch this video. The memory of this commercial will be like a dagger in your heart. I promise.

Welcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

Yes, I Allow the Kids to Do This

This, ladies and gentlemen, is the Obstacle Course 2000, "the greatest obstacle course ever" (according to my six-year-old).

Was I upset when I walked in the house this afternoon and found the couch in the dining room and the dining chairs in the living room? A little. Stuff like this used to make me really, really angry...and I still wish it wouldn't happen...but it does. I just choose not to flip out.

Bug started walking like he was shot out of a cannon at 10 months old, was climbing ladders at the playground at 11 months, and running all over the house at his first birthday party. I'm not exaggerating.

As a new mom (who was also pregnant at the time with Pie), I was beside myself with this little ball of energy. Not long after the day I walked into the dining room to discover Bug standing on the table, about to swing from the chandelier, (which I absolutely did not allow), my mom came to visit. As we sat in the living room trying to have some coffee and conversation, baby Bug, who was probably close to two years old by then, kept climbing on and off the coffee table in front of us. I remember trying to coax him down, distract him, scold him. He wouldn't stop. My anxiety and despair and helplessness was obvious, and my mom commented, "what's wrong with letting him stand on the coffee table? Think about it in the grand scheme of things. Is it really worth getting so upset over?"

We knew how agile Bug was, and knew that he probably was less likely to hurt himself than a kid who was less acrobatically inclined. So I took my mom's advice and chose not to pick that battle. And that's why my first floor is still, on most days,  home to some incarnation of the Obstacle Course 2000. It's not the perfect solution, but for now, it's one that works.

The Mompetition Is Us

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First of all, let me say that I did not invent the word mompetition. It popped into my head the other day during one of those moments when I was doing something totally over the top for my kids (like making an elaborate, gluten-free rolled fondant cake in the shape of an Angry Birds Star Wars pigtrooper that no one outside our family was going to see) just to prove that I am a loving mother.

The mompetition is the pressure we moms put on ourselves to measure up--but to who? The moms of the other kids in our kid's class? Our best friends? Our mothers and sisters? Mom bloggers? Our skewed ideas of what a perfect mother should be doing? Our very selves?

I was in my therapist's office the other day, railing about the fact that it never ends: the whole-class birthday parties that have to be planned and pulled off, the Halloween costumes that have to be made or tracked down, the from-scratch cake that has to be made and hand-decorated because it's a tradition--and this is all on top of the pants that still need to be taken in because your kindergartener has been wearing floods for a month, the laundry that constantly needs to be done, the three meals that no one likes that still need to be prepared every single day.

When I stopped to take a breath, my therapist asked me, "were you required to have the whole class over for a birthday party, or did you make that decision?"

All right..I get it.

Who am I really trying to prove something to? Myself.

Would the birthday boy felt just as special had I served a store-bought cake? Yes. Would he have cared if we had taken two friends to Pump It Up to celebrate instead of having a party? Probably not. Would Bug have felt less loved had I come home with a Darth Maul suit for Halloween instead of a Darth Vader one? No.

Do my kids know I love them? Yes. Do they care if I live up to my unrealistic expectations of the perfect mother? I don't think so. Am I a better, calmer mom if I'm not focusing my energy on beating myself up? Ummm...yes.

So, you know what I think? We, as moms, might want to blame our guilt-ridden misery on the other moms, the mom-blogosphere, Facebook, Pinterest, the media, society, and the like, but the truth is this:

The mompetition is me, and I can choose to drop out. Join me.

Welcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

Here are some of my favorite submissions from last week:

• The Secret Life of a Blogger (Dirt and Boogers). Spoiler alert: Amanda, my esteemed fellow SPP host, reveals a shocking secret...her life is not perfect! My favorite part of her confession is that she Photoshops the background messes out of her photos. High five!
• November Table Topics (Growing Book by Book). Here's a fantastic list of questions to ask at the dinner table to get everyone talking. I love playing Table Topics at adult dinner parties, and this post has a ton of open-ended questions about gratitude and being thankful that my six- and four-year-old would be able to handle (plus, I was just having a conversation with my husband about teaching the boys to be less self-centered and more cognizant of others. These questions are totally apropos).
• The Evolution of a Halloween Costume (The Sadder but Wiser Girl). Sarah is a girl after my own heart: why buy your kid a Batman costume for $35 when you can compromise your sanity and play "beat the clock" on the night of October 30th making one for ten dollars less? (BTW, Sarah, you did a great job. But, like me, are you asking yourself if it was worth it? I go through the same struggle every year.)

I Made It Through Birthday-Ween

Bug hasn't officially turned six yet...and Halloween isn't until later in the week...but the big, whole-class birthday shindig is officially in the books.

Wow. Has it really been six years?

Like this picture, it's all been a blur.

Tripe, Hernias, and Mommy Burnout

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Today's topic is Mommy Burnout. Let us now read a quote from my esteemed mother, Prickly Grandma (who says it happens to all of us):

"I remember when I used to have 'food slumps,' where I would fall out of my making-meals-day-after-day groove. The absolute worst time was when your sister had food poisoning and your grandma came over to watch you guys so I could take her to the hospital. The only thing I had in the freezer to make a meal was something really odd-ball, like tripe or lamb shanks. I tried to instruct your grandma over the phone on how to make that into a meal...and I was just so exasperated. Looking back, I think: couldn’t she have just ordered a pizza?

"It was probably around that time that I wished I could just go to the hospital for a few days to get some rest. As if on cue, I got a hernia.

"So I got a few days in the hospital, but it was a painful recovery (which made housework and chores that much harder).

"The moral here is: be careful what you wish for."

I love you, Mom.

Welcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

Here are some of my favorite submissions from last week:

• Why Do I Homeschool? (Suzy Homeschooler). I, myself, have not ruled out the option of homeschooling once Bug and Pie get a little older. If we do end up going for it, I hope to have many successful school days like the one Suzy describes at the coffee shop.
• The Year 2059 (Finding Ninee). Take note of Kristi's fine illustration of her dreams for the future, which made me laugh out loud. It's totally me, too. I've been subjecting my boys to all-Metallica, all-the-time for the past three weeks.
• Expectations vs. Reality: A Morning in the ADD Household (The Sadder but Wiser Girl). This one also made me laugh out loud. Sarah's kid dressed himself in shorts and black knee-socks. Enough said.

Stop the Birthday Madness

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Bug is going to turn six about six weeks from now, and I know I'm already totally behind the game as far as party planning goes, as Prickly Dad gently reminded me this morning ("umm ... honey ... maybe you can start thinking about Bug's birthday party this weekend ...")

Let me state this at the outset: I'm a very down-to-earth girl. I value and admire humility. I'm all about understated and heartfelt. I had ten guests at my wedding because pomp and circumstance and showiness just for pomp and circumstance and showiness's sake really irritates me (and for the record, my 10-guest wedding was my dream wedding). So you can understand why I'm not all that into the invite-the-whole-class-for-a-$500-party-every-single-year birthday rigamarole we've somehow gotten ourselves into.

Prickly Mom turns 11

I don't know how this happened.

Here's how birthdays went down when I was a kid. You'd wake up in the morning and go down to the kitchen where Mom and Dad would be having their morning coffee and getting ready for the day. There would be hugs and kisses and birthday wishes ... and a pile of presents on the kitchen table, which you'd get to open right away. Next you'd get ready for school, and on your way out the door, Mom would hand you a big metal pan of homemade brownies to pass out at school, where your teacher and the entire class would sing to you at snack time. After school, you'd come home, play with your new toys, and field phone calls from relatives. We'd have a special family dinner -- whatever the birthday kid had requested (in our house, it was usually roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, but I remember my sister requesting a processed turkey roll one year; another year I wanted to have a salad bar). After supper, grandmas and grandpas and aunts and uncles would come for ice cream and a home-made and -decorated cake. We were lucky enough to have three cousins who were the same age as my sisters and me, so there was always an instant party. A couple classmates would usually come over, too. You'd open more presents, goof around with the other kids, and then go to bed. The End. No frazzled nerves. No pretense or showiness. No hours of pre-planning. And certainly no $500.

The thing is, birthdays were somehow still special. I have wonderful memories of them to this day (my sisters, cousins, and our old friends from the neighborhood can be thankful that I don't have a way to digitize our old movies, because I'd totally be posting a circa-1978 Super-8 birthday movie clip right now). The key element, for me, at least, was that I always felt special for the whole day, and I knew everything that was done came from the hearts of the people who cared about me. My husband grew up in urban affluence, so I sometimes feel like he's not "getting" how such simple things still make a kid feel special. But they just do. We've incorporated balloons and streamers and Carvel ice cream cakes into the Prickly Family repertoire, but I still long to keep it simple, because it's something I truly value.

All right. Guess I'd better get planning.

Welcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

Here are some of my favorite submissions from last week:

• Do Not Fear Paint (Little Moments)
• Shaping Our Children's Character: How Much Is Too Much? (Mommy for Real)
• The Mommy Wars, Part Whatever (The Habitat of Meeshie)

The Sunday Parenting Party: I Crack Myself Up

Welcome to The Sunday Parenting Party, hosted by Dirt and Boogers, Play Activities, Crayon Freckles, Taming the Goblin, The Golden Gleam, Prickly Mom, and The Tao of Poop. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, and caring for children, as well as honest posts about the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Links to reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link to posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs. (P.S. By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.)

Here are some of my favorite submissions from last week:

6 Ways I Survived the Early Years of Motherhood (The House of Hendrix)
The 80/20 Rule: How to Get Rid of Mommy Guilt (Dirt and Boogers)
Slow Life Down to a Child's Pace (Happy Hooligans)

The Family "Vacation"

Look at that posture. I look totally dejected.

We just got home from a weekend at the beach, and I feel the need to pose the following question: is a family vacation ever really a vacation for the mother? If the answer is yes, I'm doing something terribly wrong and I need advice (see what my Facebook friends had to say).

It just seems to me that all I'm doing is taking my work on the road (that is, as soon as I've finished with the madness of packing clothes and sundries, trying to forget as few items as possible, and wishing I could measure up to Prickly Dad's idea of the right way to do things, all while attempting -- unseccesfully -- to stave off a panic attack from all the pressure). I'd venture to guess that no matter what your job is, it's going to be especially difficult and stressful to do it in an unfamiliar location and without your complete toolbox with you. Mothering is no exception.

It must get better at some point, right? Will there come a point when I can sit on the beach like I used to and listen to the ocean or read a book without the perpetual intrusion of "Mom! Look at me! Mom! Look! Mom! Mom! You're not looking! Mom! Mom! Mom!" Will I ever be able to have a meal in a restaurant without a kid insisting on crawling under the table or having to be placated with a Kindle game? Will the boys eventually grow out of their compulsion to jump on the hotel beds and, instead, act like civilized human beings?

Somebody just tell me it gets better.

I Need My Village

"It takes a village to raise a child."

When I realized that I actually wanted to write a blog post on this topic, it totally irked me that over the past decade or so, politicians from across the country have turned this pan-African proverb into such an annoying cliche that I can't hear or read it without thinking of Hilary Clinton (and God knows the media is ramming Hilary Clinton down our throats so much lately that I don't need any additional reminders. But, I digress).

It does take a village. We, as moms, need the support.

I've written a lot over the past couple years about my introversion, my problem with yelling, and the respect I have for my own wonderful mother. I've been lately stuck in a cycle of trying to give myself credit for the progress Ive made in becoming a more even-tempered mom, and the "complete 180" of that sentiment, beating myself up for not living up to my unfairly self-imposed standard of being as good a parent as my mom was (note to Prickly Grandma: I know you yelled and got annoyed with us and didn't vacuum every day ... but I'm looking at the whole thing in hindsight. You brought up three successful kids who work hard, love learning, and care for others. That's what I aspire to).

That being said, I think I've done an excellent job creating the best "village" I can to help me in raising my family. Although our relatives visit regularly, we don't live near any of them, so I rely on Prickly Dad's sensible nature and the pleasant company (and hugs) of the wonderful friends I've made, as well as the handful of fellow mom bloggers around the world whose advice has gotten me through many days.

I hardly ever say this out loud, but my boys are the lights of my life -- but it's that "village" of support that helps me regain the proper perspective on those days filled with whining and juice-spilling and sibling fights. The encouragement from friends, the days at preschool, the weekends at the grandparents' are all things that are necessary to me, and probably all moms, to keep us from going completely bonkers (as opposed to somewhat bonkers, which can usually be easily dealt with).

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Here are some great related posts from last week's Sunday Parenting Party:

• Triple T Mum: We Weren't Meant to Parent Alone
• Powerful Mothering: Mom Guilt -- The Silent Joy Stealer
• Taming the Goblin: Sucky Parenting
• Keep up with the Jones Family: The Way the Cookie Crumbles

Welcome to this week's Sunday Parenting Party! Today's hosts are denoted by the word {host} behind their link’s title in the list below. The SPP is place for readers to find ideas on nurturing, educating, developing and caring for children, as well as honest posts on the stresses of being a parent or caregiver. Reviews and giveaways are welcome as long as they are relevant to the topic. All parenting philosophies are welcome with one exception: please do not link posts promoting physical discipline, as this is something we would feel uncomfortable having on our blogs.

PS: By linking up you agree that your post and photos are Pinterest, Sulia, G+ and FB friendly. We will be showcasing ideas on The Sunday Parenting Party Pinterest board.

That's It ... No More Carnivals

It's times like this that make me think of a classic episode of The Simpsons, in which Homer, upon the family's return from their latest disastrous outing, states something along the lines of, "I think we should all agree to disband as a family."

Totally.

Of course, I'm not serious. I love Prickly Dad. I love Bug and Pie. I love this little family we have built. But I have to be blunt about one thing: I can't do carnivals. I, the mom, have a meltdown. Then one or both kids have a meltdown. Then Prickly Dad gets angry. This is the way it goes pretty much every time.

Why does this happen to me? There are too many variables and too many snap decisions that have to be made. Where is the ticket booth? How long is the line? How much are the tickets? How many tickets am I going to need? Do I buy a whole sheet now and risk having a bunch of leftovers, or do we buy a few now and a few later? Why is my 40" tall kid not allowed to go on the swing ride at this carnival when he was allowed to go on the same, exact ride at the other carnival, and how am I supposed to explain it to him? Why does this ride cost two tickets and this other ride cost three tickets? Why are none of the entrances to the rides clearly marked? Where do you line up? Where is the food truck that has plain hot dogs for the kids? How do I tell the boys they can't keep playing the carnival games because they're fixed and overpriced, and we could just as easily stop at the dollar store to get a cheap stuffed duck? Why don't they put lids on the lemonade (isn't this chaotic cluster-eff supposed to be for kids? Kids need lids)? And where the hell are the porta-potties?

On top of all this chaos, my boys, as is to be expected, want to do everything now, now, now ... and I can't respond to them properly because I'm having a meltdown myself.

I'm a "Highly Sensitive Person" (someone who, these days, might be diagnosed with a sensory processing issue). I don't do loud well. I don't do chaos well. I don't do over-stimulation well. I have a hard time making decisions under normal circumstances, let alone amidst the sensory bedlam of a carnival.

Prickly Dad tried to placate me last month at the State Fair with a deep-fried Reese's Peanut Butter Cup on a stick (I have to admit, it was heavenly), and I tried my best to stay calm. (Sidebar: I have to give a major shout-out to Wade Shows, the outfit that ran the carnival at this summer's fair -- they replaced the ticket system with swipe-cards and had excellent signage throughout the midway that clearly showed prices and entrance and exit points for each ride. They obviously understand frazzled parents.)

I wish I liked going to carnivals, but I just don't -- and we're going to have to figure out a way to be okay with that. Prickly Dad can take the kids on his own if he really wants to go. Or if he absolutely needs me to go, I can take a time-out and sit under a tree until I calm down if I need to (I had to do this recently with Bug -- he's been mentioning lately that he doesn't care for carnivals either). Everybody can't like everything, right?

That way, we don't have to disband as a family. Yet.

Some helpful links:
Characteristics of Highly Sensitive People
10 Tips for Highly Sensitive People
Planning a Disney Trip with Sensory Processing Precautions
SPD Kids and Amusement Parks

And now to the Sunday Parenting Party!

Last week was my debut as a co-hostess of one of my favorite blog linkups, and I was happy to discover another great mom blogger, Hannah, from Paint on the Ceiling, who submitted a post called "9 Things I've Changed My Mind About." Chelsea, from Moments a Day (who I discovered through Pinterest a few weeks ago), submitted "10 Life Lessons for Kids," which is also applicable to grown-ups. Thanks for posting, ladies!

An InLinkz Link-up

Why I Banned SpongeBob

Quick note: welcome to my first week as a co-host of the Sunday Parenting Party! I'm truly thrilled to be part of this group of smart, down-to-earth mom bloggers who pull together a collection of highly useful and diverse posts on a plethora of parenting topics every Sunday. If you're a fellow mom blogger, join in and submit your parenting-related posts below.

Last weekend, Prickly Dad, the boys, and I were crammed into a too-small motel room two blocks from the Rehoboth Beach boardwalk. Anyone who has visited an Atlantic Ocean beach in Delaware, Maryland, or New Jersey knows that if you book late (which we did), you kind of "get what you get and don't get upset." As it turns out, a two-double-bed room is way too small for an American family of four, even if you're all small people (which we are). In our first hour there, Bug and Pie had played "magic elevator" in the closet, jumped from bed to bed about six billion times, trapped each other in the bathroom, played "puppet show" in front of a blank TV, begged to go to the pool, whined about not going to the pool, and started a pillow fight, which naturally devolved into a wrestling match complete with kicking, hitting, and screeching.

Naturally, at this point, my dislike of noise and chaos and feelings of claustrophobia kicked in. I started to yell.

Prickly Dad, in an act of desperation, booted up his laptop and found an episode of Spongebob SquarePants on Netflix.

The kids, as usual, were immediately hypnotized. creating a lull in the action that allowed me to calm down enough to start unpacking some toiletries. As I walked the length of the room from our suitcases to the sink, I overheard one of Squidward's familiar, resigned pleas:

"SpongeBob, will you [cut that out/keep it down/stop crying/be quiet]!?!"

And, like every other time, SpongeBob and Patrick did not cut it out, but continued whatever they were doing to annoy Squidward, only sillier and louder.

My sons (now aged 5 and 4) have been watching Spongebob for close to two years now -- but for some reason, this particular snippet of dialogue at this moment in time made me stop in my mental tracks.

O ... M ... G.  My boys are Spongebob and Patrick.

And I am Squidward.

I don't know why all this clicked now. I'm actually a fan of the show: I've sat and watched marathons with my dad, for cripes' sake. It's a smart, well-written show -- for grown-ups (and maybe astute older teens). All of the sudden, it just came to me: this can't be good for preschoolers -- especially for my preschoolers! This SpongeBob scenario plays itself out in my home every single day: the boys get silly and loud, I get upset and ask them to stop, their behavior escalates. Has this show (and similar ones like The Fairly OddParents, for example), been exacerbating the problem?

I can't put the entire blame on the TV shows. As a family, we are loud. We are silly a good part of the time. We laugh a lot. So the kids do get a more-than-healthy dose of these qualities from their parents.

As soon as we got home from the beach, I did a Google search for the effect of SpongeBob SquarePants on kids' behavior. Most of what I found centered around a well-known 2011 study published by the American Academy of Pediatrics in which they found that four-year-olds who had watched nine minutes of SpongeBob before taking a series of tests to measure cognitive skills performed significantly worse than the control groups. They concluded that the frenetic pace and unrealistic scenarios of the show were detrimental to kids that young.

Another researcher, Gwen Dewar, Ph.D., of Parenting Science (I love her blog, so I was happy to see her weigh in), wrote about her opinion that the sarcasm, and irony of the show can be too much for preschoolers, who may tend to take the show at face value and wonder why SpoingeBob, who is actually an upbeat, loyal, hard worker, is consistently being called an idiot or stupid by the other characters.

Finally (and you have to take this one with a grain of salt), in 2012, a Ukrainian commission urged the banning of a wide array of kids' programs for being a bad influence on children. Aside from being accused in the study of promoting homosexuality (the "grain of salt" part I mentioned above), SpongeBob SquarePants was cited for teaching three- to five-year-olds to "pull faces and make jokes in front of adults they don't know, laugh out loud and repeat nonsense phrases in a brazen manner."

My kids do that a lot. And I hate it.

So, for now, the last nail has been driven into SpongeBob's coffin at our house for a couple more years. I haven't been able to tell yet if there is an improvement in my boys' behavior (it's only been a week), but I am glad that they've been watching more of Peep and the Big Wide World on PBS (if you haven't seen this cartoon, it's smart and funny and teaches kids about science) and engaging in more pretend play. Calming down in general may take a bit longer for Bug and Pie, but so far, I'm happy with my decision.

An InLinkz Link-up

Oh Yeah! Is Kool-Aid Really Evil?

I'm the "watered-down juice" mom. My kids don't like water (I guess I should have started them out as juiceless toddlers, but it's too late now), and I refuse to give them full-strength juice because (a) it's expensive, and (b) I'd rather have them eating their calories than drinking them.

(Image courtesy of http://faithfulnessfarm.blogspot.com)

But I've been having a problem with my Juicy Juice lately. I mix it with water in a big dispenser in the fridge for convenience, but I've been noticing that it seems to start fermenting or something after a few days, so the kids won't drink it anymore (which is unfortunate...maybe it'd chill them out a little [and I'm obviously joking, here]).

In trying to come up with a reasonable solution, I've found myself in what I assume many other mothers struggle with: the Kool-Aid dilemma. Do I do it? Do I go over to the dark side? It'd be more economical. I would have control over the sugar and water ratio. I wouldn't care as much when I found an abandoned, half-full cup of it on the counter after the kids went to bed. But then there's the worrisome aspects: I'm obviously against the artificial coloring and flavoring (especially since I have two overactive, quirky boys). I could try the lemonade flavor, which is mainly citric acid, but then they have to muck it up with yellow dye. I could go with the clear Kool-Aid Jammers, but who knows what kind of artificial concoction they're using to flavor it?

Then there's this argument: I remember drinking Kool-Aid all the time as a kid, and probably twice as much during the summer, and I turned out okay. My little sister had a perpetual red or purple "Kool-Aid smile" on her upper lip and she grew up to earn a doctorate. So how bad could it be?

Next up on the parenting crisis agenda: potato chips. I guess it never ends. 

[Update, 7/30/13: THEY DON'T LIKE KOOL-AID!! WTH?!? Lemonade flavor--no. Atrificial coloring-laden blue drops--no. Next up on the to-try list: red berry herbal tea that is supposedly "reminiscent of the red drink of our youth." And as for the potato chips ... I totally went for it. The chips also seem to increase the likelihood that the boys will eat whatever is next to them on the plate, too.]

I Hate Summer Vacation.

I'm going to stick my neck out and say it: summer vacation is stupid.

Think about it...in the United States at least, summer vacation for schoolchildren was created out of necessity. The kids were needed during this time of year to help out on the farm during the harvest. Ma and Pa needed young Johnny and Gertrude to work the fields and pitch in with all the extra canning and whatnot.

News flash: we haven't lived in a mainly agrarian society for a looooooooong time. And I don't know how to find accurate statistics, but I would assume that there are more families in which both parents work outside the home than not. So why do we continue with this summer vacation thing? Aside from teaching, I can't think of any work situation that offers nine consecutive weeks of vacation (the thought is laughable, actually).

Why do we have to force moms and dads to scramble every spring to find appropriate "camps" for the kids and then shell out $200-$250 per week, per kid, to keep them safe and occupied during work hours? It's insane. It's absurd.

Who is perpetuating this nonsense? I know the teachers' unions are powerful in this country, but I can't imagine they're powerful enough to keep holding the rest of the parent population hostage like this.

And it's not like I'm totally against giving kids a break: they're kids, for goodness sake, and they need a chance to play before they have to join us grown-ups in the rat race. But a two-and-a-half month vacation is totally unrealistic in modern society. How about breaking it up into a few three- or four-week blocks or something? I think we could all happily deal with that, right? How do we get this beach ball rolling?

(I still have more to say about summer vacation. Stay tuned.)

Chalk Therapy

My four-year-old, "Pie," is a man of few words, so at times like these when he opens up, it's precious.

He still has a fierce attachment to his lovey, "Baby," ("Bubbles," the orange, expanding Angry Bird) who has become like a member of the family.

Pie and Baby were happily playing out in the backyard the other morning when I went out to check on them. The stone wall at the edge of the patio had been filled from end to end with chalk drawings. "These are all Baby's thoughts," Pie proudly explained.

It was cute--he had drawn his beloved Angry Bird as a crude circle with a big triangle inside for a beak, but I could definitely tell who it was supposed to be. I asked Pie to tell me what was happening in the pictures.

"This is Baby flying fast," he began. "This is Baby exploding [my brother's lovey]."

Hmmm.

There were a few more before the coup de grace: "This is Baby putting [my brother's lovey] in jail." It was an awesome drawing...but that's when it hit me that we seemed to be having an impromptu art therapy session.

Note to self: do more art and pretend play with Pie, and read up on sibling rivalry. And keep tabs on that Baby. I think he might know more than he's letting on.

Tantrums: Am I Part of the Problem?

(Editor's note [the editor being, well, me]: for some reason, the working title of this post--which has taken me over two weeks to write--was "Raising Little Jerks." I can't remember why. I thought y'all would find that interesting.)

I know I've been MIA for a while. To be completely honest (like I'm ever not completely honest), I've been trying to wrap my head around something that is very troubling to me as a mother.

Most of my recent posts have been about the issues surrounding my little Pie (who just turned four) and his meltdowns. He, like me, has an intense and gregarious personality. And he, also like me, doesn't know how to rein it in much of the time. So he's still having tantrums--not only at home, but at school.

After a big internal struggle, I finally decided to take the advice of Pie's school counselor and an administrator, and consulted a child psychologist. When the school staff first broached the topic, I admit my first thoughts were that they wanted me to get a label slapped on my little guy ASAP so he could be held back, medicated, kicked out of school...or who knows what else. I had been thinking he may have a sensory processing issue or, again like me, be a Highly Sensitive Person. I thought I might be able to solve Pie's problems myself with positive parenting concepts or a "Caught Ya Being Good" jar.

As a mother, my number one priority is to never, ever, ever allow my children to feel misunderstood (untreated anxiety and clinical depression totally effed up my childhood). Now, I'm all about acknowledging every utterance that passes their lips, validating every feeling they have, struggling to understand, examine, and rectify any internal battle they may be fighting. My boys will not have their childhoods marred by an undiagnosed or misunderstood cognitive or brain chemistry issue. Period. End of story.

I had been researching attachment parenting/positive discipline and reading Peaceful Parent, Happy Kids: How to Stop Yelling and Start Connecting. I was really digging the "time in" concept and teaching coping skills rather than sending my preschoolers into exile and expecting them to figure out how to deal with their emotions by themselves. I wanted to make sure they knew that I understood what they were going through.

So sometimes when Pie would have a meltdown over not getting his way, Prickly Dad would scoop him up, march him upstairs, deposit him in his room, and shut the door. On some level I was all for this, but I could only hack about 20 minutes of screaming before I would want to swoop in and comfort him and try to validate his feelings. A lot of times I'd go into his room and hold him tightly and whisper soothing words until he calmed down. Sometimes we'd end up playing or reading a story.

I described my "method" to the psychologist (along with the reason I was so compelled to make sure the boys knew I understood their feelings). Long story short...she wondered if I was unintentionally rewarding Pie's behavior. She suggested I consider leaving him in his room and letting him ride it out (coincidentally, Pie's teacher had suggested a similar strategy and recommended I read Love and Logic Magic for Early Childhood).

I'm not going to say I was devastated, but my core was was pretty shaken for the next several days. Could it be that my insistence on validating my boys' feelings was turning them into little monsters? Was I a failure as a mother? (The answer to that question is obviously no, as my own therapist helped me figure out a few days later. I'm big into catastrophizing, all-or-nothing thinking, and sundry other cognitive distortions).

Unfortunately, I don't have an ending, happy or otherwise, for this story right now. I finished reading the Love and Logic book, plan on reading another one, and realize in my heart that no matter what I do, my boys know that they are loved, valued, and respected. That's the best spin I can put on it while I figure out what to do about Pie's tantrums.

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Anatomy of a Transition Meltdown

I had sort of an "a-ha!" moment the other night while I was putting away the dishes.

I don't know about other people, but I have my "way" of unloading the dishwasher. I spray and wipe down the counter to make sure it's clean. Then I unload the top rack first, setting the clean glasses on the counter to my left, the coffee mugs toward the back, and all the straw-cup and Take-and-Toss parts front-and-center to be stacked or reassembled and put back in the cabinet. Then I put the big knives back in the knife block. Sometimes there is a stray, dirty teaspoon by the coffee maker or a still-in-use glass on the counter with the "cleans," but I make a mental note of where they are in relation to everything else. There. Top rack cleared out. Drinkware gets put away, then the bottom rack gets unloaded, stacked on counter, and put away.

While I was performing my dish ritual (I'm sure you can see where I'm going with this...OCD behavior, anyone?) the other night, I was compiling to-do lists in my head. I knew Prickly Dad needed stamps and strawberry Atkins shakes. I was figuring I would have to stop and get gas at some point. I knew I had to go online and decide what we were going to do in Savannah next month, what we were going to do in Virginia on Tuesday, and why our annual state park passes hadn't come in the mail yet. I was reminding myself that it was getting to be the drop-dead hour for ordering a birthday present to be delivered to my sister on time.  I needed to remember to portion out and re-wrap the meat in the fridge and get it in the freezer. Oh yeah, and those red peppers in there n--

"Where is today's mail?" Prickly Dad suddenly asked as he started rifling through a pile of papers that were dangerously close to my perfectly-arranged lineup of dishes.

I wholeheartedly admit it: I kind of lost it at that point. "HANG ON! JUST HANG ON! I'LL FIND IT!" I dropped everything and scurried around the kitchen, stopping at various piles of junk mail and opened envelopes (that should have been thrown in the recycle bin). In that split second, I had become angry and defensive, and felt hurt, violated, dismissed, and misunderstood (plus, I couldn't find the specific pile of mail that had just come in a couple hours before).

Prickly Dad, understandably irritated with my behavior, herded the boys out of the kitchen and upstairs to the family room as I cried, "I'LL BRING IT TO YOU AS SOON AS I FIND IT! I'LL BRING IT UP TO YOU!"

What the hell just happened?

Let me back up a second and talk about what's been going on with Pie (he's currently 3.75 and is in the three-year-old class in preschool). For the past several weeks, his teachers have let me know that they're concerned about his transition-related meltdowns. According to the school staff, he doesn't move as easily from center to center and activity to activity as the other kids in his class. He wakes up from naptime angry, has a fit if he can't zipper his coat, acts defiant and surly if he doesn't want to go outside for recess. On the other hand, he loves painting. He enjoys helping the teacher clean up. He takes pride in being a good line leader or snack helper. He's apparently above average in math. But the teachers tell me the transition issue is a big problem (they want me to take him to see a child psychologist, but that's a whole 'nother post).

Back to my kitchen meltdown. I have been doing a lot of reading lately on transition strategies, the highly sensitive personality, introversion, the "Autism Spectrum," sensory processing, obsessive-compulsive behaviors, and so on (remember, I just recently decided to embrace my introversion/sensory issues and find coping strategies instead of beating myself up or wishing away the traits that God gave me). As soon as I was able to get back to putting away my dishes and, more importantly, my thoughts, I realized that I had just had a transition-related meltdown--probably the very same kind my little Pie is struggling with!

Think about it: there I was, performing a task (putting the dishes away), that required a slight amount of brain power to keep track of what was clean and what was dirty (i.e. there was an order to things in my mind). While that was going on, the majority of my energy was engaged in mentally compiling and organizing a list of things that needed to be done to keep the household running smoothly. Then all heck broke loose when Prickly Dad approached and asked about the mail: I interpreted it as am invasion of my space and my "order" of things...and as a demand to set aside the tasks I was currently invested in (invested enough to be in a "groove," which is generally a good thing) and do what he was telling me to do instead. Sort of upsetting, right? Now think about the same situation going down for a preschooler. I don't know what they do immediately before recess or dismissal, for example (or how transition times are handled in general), but who's to say Pie isn't totally engaged in the physical act of painting (with his tools and media arranged just so), while mentally challenging himself to count to 100, when a teacher suddenly demands he get out of his groove because it's time to put on his coat? I'd get angry too (and feel disrespected and run around aimlessly and yell, as I just described above)! Can you blame him?

Wow...so I think I have experienced firsthand what it must be like for the millions of kids who don't "do" transitions well. Unfortunately, I don't think I (personally) ever learned the appropriate "coping strategies" to get through these situations with my dignity intact, so I obviously can't effectively help my little boy--at this point. The great news, though, is that I had this little epiphany. Now I feel confident that I will be able to find the proper help and best resources so little Pie and I can both figure out the best way to handle transition times without melting down.

In the meantime, stay away from my dishes!

We Have a Mission Statement!

[Note--the main focus of this post didn't turn out quite the way I had planned. It was going to be all about our new family mission statement, but it sort of turned into a love letter to my parents. Mom and Dad, I love you both.]

The other night, Prickly Dad and I were lying in bed talking about philosophical things like the future of humanity (or at least the next generation), what we learned in school and how it helped (or didn't help) us in real life, how we will make sure the boys learn about civics without being homeschooled (we'll have to teach them at the dinner table), and other sundry issues about raising kids.

"Okay...so what is it, essentially, that we're we trying to do here?" I asked, out loud.  "We're trying to raise well-rounded, productive members of society who care about others."

Bingo!

There it was, hanging in the air right in front of me, our family's mission statement. We've all read parenting articles that suggest we work backward, first identifying the end goal in the raising of our children, then basing our parenting methods and decisions on how they jibe with the goal. I, myself, have long thought that was a pretty good idea, but have let it fall to the wayside because it has always been too daunting a task to come up with the "perfect" end goal.

We're trying to raise well-rounded, productive members of society who care about others. I knew it was our mission statement the moment it popped out of my mouth, and I wanted to run out to Michael's to get a slab of wood and some transfer paper to make a cool, type-designed proclamation to hang in the kitchen a-la all the inspirational wall-hangings we've all seen pinned on Pinterest (I'll still do this, although who knows when). These are the values my parents taught me, although I highly doubt they ever voiced them as bullet points or even thought about them in a concrete manner while they were raising their kids.

Now that I think about it, my mom and dad lived these values--they didn't use any fancy, preconceived parenting techniques. We learned by example. I watched my dad leave for work every morning before seven and come home all grubby every afternoon without complaining. My mom took us to the library once a week. We read the newspaper as a family. I saw my parents struggle to quit smoking and eat more healthfully. They had hobbies. They loved doing research on topics like homeopathy or spirituality or even alien abductions (back when you had to--gasp--go to the library and write letters to send away for information). I listened in when my mom would soothe my sister's friends whose own moms was too busy for them. Okay, I could go on and on, but you get the picture.

Here's the take-away: I have my parenting mission statement, I see that my parents led by example, now I need to let up on myself a little bit and just remember to BE the person Mom and Dad taught me to be, and the rest will follow. Yes, we still need some Prickly Family rules and some better organization, but again, I think the train is getting a little bit closer to being on the right track.