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 "Did List"

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My first "Did List"

I'm a perfectionist...but not the "good" kind of perfectionist whose home is spotless and who throws perfect birthday parties for her children, cooks gourmet meals every night, and makes homemade Valentine cards. I'm the "bad" kind of perfectionist who defeats herself daily by thinking, "oh, whatever I do will never live up to my standards, so why even bother trying?"

(That's the kind of perfectionist who still has a couple blood drops on the kitchen floor from cutting herself on a cheese grater on December 29.)

To-do lists don't work for me. They grow and grow, and make me feel more and more defeated when I don't get enough items crossed off them.

I'm sure I'm not the first one to think of this idea--but as I was doing my kitchen chores the other day, the words "Did List" just popped into my head. Interesting! It made me think about all the times my husband has come home from work and asked, "so, what did you do today?" and I would answer truthfully, "I don't remember," even though I'd be exhausted and spent from whatever I had done all day. The "Did List" would be a concrete reminder of the day's accomplishments, and hell, it might even motivate me to get more done in order to make the list longer, right?

So, I've been keeping a "Did List" every day for a week now, and I have to admit, it is a motivator for me. Fellow perfectionists, give it a try!

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.)

Must-Reads from Last Week's SPP

The Importance of the Tuck-In (The Chaos and the Clutter)

You Are Enough (Sparkling Bay)

Tips for a Peaceful Life with Preschoolers (In the Playroom)

To Do: Stop Reading Parenting Books

Can a Mother Give up Caffeine?

No. The end.

(Shout-out to The Monko from Taming the Goblin for suggesting that simple approach!)

But seriously...why am I even asking such a silly question? I've been an avid coffee-drinker and worshiper for two decades. Drinking coffee makes me happy and gets me through the day. Why stop now?

Well, I'm hitting middle age (although you can't really tell from the outside), and I'm trying to take my health more seriously. We've all heard the conflicting reports: caffeine is bad. No, wait, it's good. No, hang on there--it's bad again (my all-time favorite coffee factoid is that is lowers suicide risk in women. That's good). I'm perpetually exhausted, which is why I stick with caffeine--but why do so many health aficionados insist we cut it out? I had to find answers. Here are some good ones:

• Caffeine increases stress hormones (which, in turn, leads to systemic inflammation)
• Addiction to caffeine affects your cardiovascular system
• Coffee's acidity can cause heartburn and mess up your gut flora
• Caffeine may affect serotonin levels, leading to depression, anxiety, and sleep issues
• Coffee can affect liver function, making it harder for your body to excrete toxins.

(It seems there are a lot of implications for those of us with MTHFR gene mutations--if you're in the "MoFo" club, read the entire article from which the above information came. It told me everything I needed to know, including why I need to cut out the coffee itself, not just the caffeine. Damn it.)

So now, let's revisit my original question: "can a mother give up caffeine?" I certainly don't want to, but it looks like I'm going to have to give it a shot (pun alert!). It seems to be helping me get through my day, but if the experts are right, it's actually increasing my stress, affecting my sleep, adding to my stroke risk, compromising my serotonin, and making my body toxic. When you put it in those terms, I think trying to give up coffee is something that needs to be done, pronto.

Wish me luck. Hopefully a healthier mom will be a happier mom.

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 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

If Only We'd Had the Internet...

Al Gore's dilly-dallying had a major effect on my childhood.

Wait a minute...what? Dilly-dallying? Al Gore? Has Prickly Mom finally gone completely cuckoo-bananas?

Let's think about it. In this day and age, the Internet is a major player in any mother's life. We turn to it when our littles have anything from a tummy-ache to a string of temper tantrums. Now, I'm not knocking the library or the brick-and-mortar bookstore (which I still visit regularly), but let's face it: the Internet is always there the instant you need it. It's become an integral part of our lives.

As a little girl growing up in the 1970s and '80s, I had stomach aches all the time. I cried when I had to go to school. I remember being 12 or 13 years old and checking and re-checking to make sure there were no people hiding in my closet or under my bed, even though I was in my bedroom alone with my door locked. For a while there, I was convinced my teeth were falling out. And I continued to play sick or be sick so I could stay home from school. I was still throwing fits at age 14.

Looking back, I'm sure my mom knew there was something wrong with me. She took me to the pediatrician a lot for my stomach aches and filled scores of useless antibiotic prescriptions (our small town had one of those doctors who gave out an amoxicillin script at every visit, regardless of what your problem was). As I entered my pre-teen years, my mom started taking me to a string of social workers who tried talk therapy, and even took me into the city once to visit what I'm assuming was some kind of neurological clinic. Unfortunately, during that time period, none of those doctors was insightful enough to put two and two together: probably because childhood mental illness wasn't even on anyone's radar (think about it--if adolescent depression had been an issue back then, wouldn't there have been a Judy Blume novel about it? There wasn't. Touche).

I know now that I grew up with clinical depression and anxiety (with an obvious peppering of OCD in there with the teeth-falling-out thing).

Dang that Al Gore...if he had just started inventing the Internet 10 years earlier, the medical community could have been sharing information more readily and worried '70s moms like mine could have had access to more research and anecdotal evidence--as well as access to other moms around the globe with the same concerns about their kids. My mom would have logged on to AskJeeves or Dogpile and found that a child's complaints of feeling sick, refusing to go to school, clinginess, sulking, and crabbiness can all be signs of childhood depression (according to this NIMH fact sheet).

Thankfully, things started to come together for us in 1992 when my mom, after probably her millionth semi-futile phone call to the hundredth health-care agency, was put in touch with a psychiatrist who diagnosed my depression and put me on my first anti-depressant. Yes, I was a legal adult by then, and took charge of much of my own mental health adventure from that point on, but it was my mom who finally got me on the right track after wandering down dead ends for decades in search of help.

So later today, when you're Googling "stomachache tantrums behavior" for the zillionth time, say a little thank you to our fore-mothers who had to drive to the library and make phone call after phone call (on a rotary, curly-corded phone) for years on end to figure out how to help their kids. And say a little prayer of gratitude that now we have the Internet to help us.

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.

Featured in The Sunday Parenting Party

Mommy & Me Anger Management

I wish I could let you all crawl inside my head and watch as I replay a scene from this afternoon.

As you may know, my little Pie (almost four) and I have been struggling with anger issues--separately and together. I've been poring over mom blogs and parenting books for the past couple weeks, trying to come up with a plan of action. In the meantime, we haven't exactly been helping each other keep our tempers in check.

I was lying on my bed trying to lose myself in a novel when Pie came in to ask me to read one of his truck-themed board books. I didn't want to, but I did...and somehow he ended up sitting in my lap as I stroked his grubby little palm with my thumb. I kissed the top of his head and asked, "doesn't that feel good? Doesn't that make you feel nice and calm? I like when someone does that to my hand."

A tiny little light bulb went off in my head then. "You know what, Pie? How about when I start yelling, you grab my hand and stroke my palm to try to calm me down. Wanna practice?" He smiled as I started pretend-yelling, then he picked up my hand and ran his little fingers over my palm. My "tirade" turned into an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Oh, I feel so much better, Pie! You really helped me calm down!"

Then we reversed roles. Pie feigned a tantrum, and then pretended to melt into contentment when I stroked his palm. We took a few more turns until he decided to go outside to play with Daddy.

I guess that's the way you're supposed to do this parenting thing: role play whenever you find an innocuous moment and then hope the information sticks. Just keep trying until something works.

In the meantime, I'm going to share some of the information I've found that I think might be useful in our anger-management quest. There's some good stuff here.

• Social-Emotional Skills for Preschoolers: Regulating Emotions
• Positive Ways to Bypass the Grumps
• Printable Anger Management Charts
• Crazy 8: Top Eight Ways to Help Kids Deal with Feelings

(Actually, I could go on and on...go take a look at my Pinterest board on discipline for many more down-to-earth ideas.)

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!

Help for Yelling Moms

[BTW--this is NOT a sponsored post!]

I swear, I have probably Googled "how to stop yelling at your kids" at least 20 times since "stop yelling at kids" debuted on my New Year's Resolutions list back in 2012.

So how is it that it's taken me over a year to stumble upon The Orange Rhino? It chronicles the life of a mom of four boys who challenged herself to go for 365 days without yelling--and she actually achieved her goal earlier this week.

Readers of my blog who have been keeping tabs on my struggles know that even though I'm still stumbling, I've made huge strides this past year toward my yelling-less goal:

• I've identified some of my hot buttons (when my little guy asks for his third scrambled egg, what I hear is, "get up right now and serve me! You're needs are not important!" which makes me yell, the subtext of said yelling being, "YES I AM IMPORTANT!")
• I've accepted that I'm a Highly Sensitive Person and/or have some sort of auditory sensory processing overload issue that can send me into a nasty fight-or-flight tailspin if, say, the TV is blaring, somebody is playing Angry Birds at full volume, both boys are whining, and my husband asks me an innocent question all at the same time
• I've chosen to stop beating myself up for being an introvert (I mean, would anyone berate herself for being an extrovert, or anything else that makes you you?) and finding ways to accommodate my needs.

But back to this Orange Rhino Challenge. I started small (one day without yelling), but I started. The first day, I yelled twice, but caught myself and stopped. Yesterday was about the same...but the important thing is that I stopped myself. What I like about this challenge is that you can enlist your kids' help (they can hold up little stop signs when they sense your temperature is about to rise, or you can ask them to give you a daily grade or evaluation), or train yourself to remember your goal whenever you see something orange (I made a big ol' batch of orange play dough yesterday, and also forced myself to re-focus when I pulled a pair of orange undies out of Pie's dresser drawer).

As someone who likes to laugh a lot (I yell hard, but I do laugh hard, too), I recommend starting with this list of 100 Alternatives to Yelling, which I will print and hang on the fridge today. There are a lot of ideas that make me smile, and you can's smile and yell at the same time, right?

(P.S. I just thought of one more alternative to yelling that I've used in the past...when I feel like I'm about to blow, I sing the theme song from "The Match Game." Yes, even I'm a little to young to remember "The Match Game," but you'll know the song when you hear it. It's so damn annoying you have to laugh at yourself.)

Attachment Parenting for Introverts

I've been thinking a lot lately about Attachment Parenting. I certainly didn't follow it when either of my kids were infants (when I look back, I probably tried way too hard at times to invent Detachment Parenting), and I honestly don't think I'd do it if I were able to relive the boys' baby days. I'm an introvert and I need my daily solitude.

Plus, my kids are so clingy that sometimes I think they're practicing "Attachment Child-ing."

Me and Pie.

Looking back, I see now that because of my constant stress and lack of self-care during the past five years, my boys probably don't have as full a sense of safety and security as I would have liked. I let them both "cry it out" before age one. I've sent them to their rooms for being naughty when I see now that they were most likely acting out because they needed me to help them feel safe and secure. I've angrily sent Bug back to his own bed plenty of times in the middle of the night because I was totally against co-sleeping (even though co-sleeping has been going on since the beginning of time).

So, during a recent Google search, I came across this article: Why Introverts Fail at Attachment Parenting, and this tidbit that jumped out at me--"Introverts require periodic alone-time in order to function properly, so constant connection to their children is simply not reasonable."

It's true: there usually comes a point at the end of the day (sometimes I can stretch it out to a day and a half) when I just can't handle being talked to or touched any more until I can have some "alone time" to recharge my battery. Denying myself my needed quiet and solitude usually results in a crazy woman who flips out on everyone and everything in her path. That's most likely what would have precluded me from practicing Attachment Parenting.

But, do I agree that introverts simply can't be "attached" parents? I'm not sure. I do think that it would take an amazing amount of discipline on the introverted mom's part to clearly separate time with the child and alone time (that would mean no more trying to fit in ten minutes of zone-out time for myself on the computer while the kids are playing next to me. Zone-out time would have to be completely separate from present-with-the-kids time).

In my own case, whether or not I could have done Attachment Parenting during the early years is sort of a moot point. However, I'm coming to the realization that if I could try to integrate elements of Attachment Parenting into my "style" (most notably, positive discipline strategies and determining the true needs behind behavior issues) and make sure to address my alone-time requirement, my kids might become less clingy and attention-seeking (I'm thinking I probably "created the monster" by trying too hard to isolate myself while I should have been fully present with them). It's taken me five years to figure out what the "balance" is supposed to consist of, but I don't think it's too late to fill in the empty spaces in my boys' senses of safety and security. Hopefully there's still time.

Here's some more to read...

• 6 Survival Strategies for the Introverted Mom
• How to Be a Happy Introvert Mom
• 10 Survival Tips for Introverted Parents
• Tips for Introverted Parents Raising Extroverted Kids
• Mothering as an Introvert

 This post has been featured on Taming the Goblin

13 Projects for 2013

Happy New Year!

Even though the boys are out of town with their grandparents and Prickly Dad and I are free to do whatever we want (within reason, that is), we stayed home last night and watched the Twilight Zone marathon (a Prickly Mom tradition that has been going on since at least 2001). So we were up and at 'em early this morning: I'm blogging, and Prickly Dad is over at Home Depot, pressing his face against the glass, waiting for them to unlock the doors.

I've decided against making "normal" resolutions this year, namely, "exercise more" and such-like. I'd like to think that would happen organically, and if it does, wonderful. I'm more concerned about continuing my work on last year's resolution to yell at my kids less. I hate to say I'm still yelling, but I have made tremendous progress on this goal. It's so important to me that I'm going to carry it over to 2013.

So today, I've decided to compile the "13 Projects for 2013": a baker's dozen of tasks, big and small, that I've been meaning to do and would improve my life in some way. Since I actually want to check some of these things off the list this week and even today, I'm going to try to keep it going by adding new items so there are always 13. Let's make it a lucky number!

My Life in Tabs

Is it just me, or do other people keep track of what they need to do by opening up a new browser tab?

It's kind of like a snapshot of my brain...a window into my soul...the story of my life at the moment. But after a while, there are too many tabs to fit on one screen, and some of them have to be closed. So what do I do? Write a blog post, of course (come on...'tis the season for the "roundup," right?).

Here's what's on my plate during Christmastime, 2012...

Natural Stress Relief: I really want to learn Transcendental Meditation, but it's just way too expensive (over $1,000). This alternative method claims to teach a similar technique for $25. I have to get my stress and anxiety under control.

Pinterest | Search Results for "Self Regulation": I recently discovered what is termed "self-regulation" in the autism community--the ability to conduct yourself appropriately in a given situation despite an overflow of emotions. I, myself, never learned how to effectively self-regulate. Now my son is struggling with impulse control and I need some ideas (for both of us).

Sears Home Services: Our ice maker has been dead for a month.

Victoria's Secret Kiss Tees: I have boobs that are way too big for my body (I'm 5'2" and 125 lbs. and take a DD). Who deals with giant hooters better than Victoria's Secret? Their T-shirts are cut in such a way that flatters my figure without making me look like a freak (or a "ho"...or pregnant).

Seasons Pizza: I guess I can close this tab. (BTW, if you're gluten-free and you're ever in Delaware or Maryland, their GF crust is fantastic. Just sayin'.)

Money Saving Mom | How to Develop a Routine that Works--and Stick to It: I'm currently working on her plan. She's all about starting small and building on your successes.

Pendle Hill Retreat: A mom friend of mine recently attended a weekend workshop here and I want to do one, too. I need some restoring...badly. For those of you across the Atlantic, I've discovered through Google that there's also a Pendle Hill in England...that's haunted. I'd like to hit that up sometime, too!

And last but not least, everybody's favorite site, Amazon.com. What are they suggesting for me today? Meditation books for kids...a balance board...a butter lamb mold...Walking Dead comic books...oh dear...I think they've figured out how to mind-meld with me. I'm going to go downstairs now and make myself a tin-foil hat. Happy holidays!

Why Do I Write this Blog?

I hope I'm not the only blogger who has had this thought. I've considered wiping the whole thing out several times after feeling a mixture of personal defeat and narcissism ("our society is getting too voyeuristic, and you're just adding to the problem. Get over yourself!" and/or "how could a basket case like you help anybody?").

I've struggled with chronic mood disorders my entire life (moderate-to-severe depression and anxiety). Being a stay-at-home-mom with two preschool-aged boys has been the biggest challenge I've ever faced (and the mental-health issues coupled with my introversion and injected with an intense personality don't make things any easier).

I'm determined to use my talents as a writer (and artist when I can get motivated) to help the world at large move past the stigma of mood disorders. I mean...our ailments aren't any less legitimate than a physical one...and most of us are productive members of society, right? I write this blog for any mom out there who feels like she's the only one struggling with psychiatric issues and little ones at the same time. To that mom I say: I know how hard it is…and to prove it, let me share my own struggles and triumphs. Hopefully something I say will make your day a little better or give you a little glimmer of hope.

All right then, girls…let's get our Mom hats on and do this thing!

The Power of 100

This all just came together so beautifully. The other day I was cooking dinner, and Pie was whining and demanding I do something right now. "How much I count to?" he asked after I told him I'd help him in five minutes. "Oh, about 100," I replied in exasperation, just wanting to get some food on the table before one of us had a meltdown.

As he started counting into the high 20s, I realized he probably wouldn't remember what came after 29, so I started to count with him: "30...31...32...33...34..." until we made it all the way to 100. And I realized, I was calmer. Calmer because of the joy I felt in seeing my little guy exercising his giant brain (as Daddy likes to say), and calmer because I had successfully shifted my focus to something other than my frazzled nerves.

I've been trying for years to figure out ways to diffuse my ragged emotions in the split second between "last straw" and "screaming banshee." It usually happens so fast, and the standard calming technique of counting to 10 just always seemed to stupid and hokey to make me actually try it more than once. But that's the thing: I guess for my temper, 10 might not be enough to work. My wits might be so far gone that I, personally, need to go all the way to 100.

You know what? Even though it might make me sound like a complete nutcase, I don't care. I found a strategy that kept me from yelling, was educational for my son, and brought us closer together. Score!

(Read more about my ongoing struggle with anger management here: Getting Advice from the Airlines.) 

Getting Advice from the Airlines

Print this and post it on the fridge.

Have you ever listened to the safety spiel they give on an airplane as you're waiting on the runway to take off? No, I don't mean taking in every ninth word an you consider whether you should really order the Miracle Tank Top Bra for $75 from the copy of SkyMall you pulled out of your seat-back. I mean really listen (well, at least to one very important statement).

"Make sure to secure your own oxygen mask before assisting others."

Okay, if you're anything like me (high-strung,  a "Highly Sensitive Person," chronically anxious or depressed, etc., etc.), you know about this piece of advice. However, when my mom pointed it out to me a few years ago, it actually sunk in for some reason. I'm not saying I follow this principle like I should, but at least I know I should.