How Things Have Changed

I took this picture of Anika, almost 10 years ago.  She had dumped an entire bag of Cheerios onto the table.  This was not an accident.  When I came into the room, she was having a great time playing in it.  Little did I know what was to come . . . from all four of my kids.  This was nothing!  

Interesting that I was already taking pictures of family mishaps at that point.

My beautiful girl now--she is so kind and helpful.

Sages

After preschool the other day, I was ecstatic to learn a new tip from the preschool teacher, whose children are now grown, and another mom, who has five children.   If it happens to snow, I'm never quite prepared.  It seems that every year someone's glove has a hole.  Or I don't have enough gloves.  Or someone's glove falls off and fills with snow.

So here's the tip I learned:  Layer a magic stretchy glove, then a rubber glove, then another glove on top.  That way, their hands stay dry and warm.

I kind of like the idea of laying a magic stretchy, a rubber glove, another magic stretchy, and another rubber glove.   I think I'll experiment with that this year!

The other idea they had was to layer a long sock, then a bread bag, then another long sock.

You may be asking why I don't just go out and buy the real stuff from REI.  With four kids and a husband in school, sometimes you just have to cut some corners.

So back to the title of my blog post:  Sages.

When I was a new mom, my husband and I were still in college living in family dorms.  The only people I really spent time with were other new moms.   I'd see them at church. I'd see them at library time for babies.  I did activities with them, such as taking my three-month-old to the museum.

I remember discussing parenting with these other moms.  These phrases were common:    "Have you tried . . . "; "I read in this book . . . ";  "I think that . . . "

It wasn't until my second child went to preschool that I realized I had it all wrong.  That it wasn't mothers like me who I should look to for help.

Our preschool teacher was an experienced mother.  Her children had grown--I think her youngest was in middle school at that point.  And she had truly wise advice.  From her, I learned to set my behavioral expectations higher.

My paradigm shift led me to become a close observer of other mothers.  I quickly realized that even experienced mothers may not have the perfect answer.  But a conglomeration of ideas from experienced mothers might just be successful.  Even now, I watch other mothers carefully and learn from the little things they do.  I learned from one mother how to speak in a kind voice.  I learned from another mother how to get my kids to practice the piano.

Sometimes I learn what I don't want to do also.  I learned not to make empty threats from one mother.  And not to attach labels to children from another (for example, this one is the smart one;   this one is my rebellious one.)

The more kids someone has, and the more successful those kids are, the more sage I consider them.   And the more I spend time looking at how they do it.

Melatonin

Something in my brain changed when I had my first child.  I haven't slept well in 12 years.  The tiniest noise or movement wakes me up, and then I can't go back to sleep.

Every night I read to my youngest two children.  Often, by the end I'm falling over in the chair, saying funny things like, "Goodnight room, goodnight moon, , good night . . . grocery store . . . had to get laundry . . ." Slightly aware of what I am saying, I shake my head hard.

Henry again:  "MOM!  Read my book!"

I continue, with garbled speech, "Good night cow jumping over the moon.  Goodnight red balloon . . . it fell down in the sky . . .  it's at the teacher's . . . . she didn't give you your homework but you can get it at the grocery . . .  ooooohhhhhhh."

Henry here pats my shoulder, "MOM!"

Another shake of my head.  "Ooooo.Kkkkkk. Henry."  Widen my eyes, pat my cheeks.  "And goodnight to the . . . old lady who lives in the room . . . Goodnight stars.  Goodnight air.   Almost done.  Almost done.  I can DO it.  Goodnight everywhere."

Sometimes I pass out at this point.  Head down in front or lolling to the side.  This is so disappointing, because the kids leave my lap, run out of the room and start playing.  I'm vaguely aware, but literally too sleepy to pull my head back up, except to lift my heavy eyes slightly and slur, "Kids . . . come . . . back. . . "

At some point my husband, who is downstairs studying, notices the pattering of their feet, comes in and says, "Why did you let them out of bed?"  It's hard to get them back to bed again.  But he usually sweetly takes over, encouraging me to go to bed.

After I  painfully wake up from that 5 minute nap, I'm miraculously re-energized.   All I can see is work, work, work.  So what would any busy mother do?  Get to work.

Around 11, 12, 1, or 2, I run out of projects or steam, and try to go to bed.  Sleep is restless.  And short.  The day starts again in the morning when the first person wakes up, because I can't sleep past any noises in the morning.  And the first person wakes up around 5:30.

Generally I don't use dietary supplements beyond my daily multivitamin.  But someone recommended melatonin.  I've been taking it for 2 weeks now.  It's a "natural" supplement for something that your brain supposedly makes on its own.  I'm not so sure I believe my brain makes it.

Nonetheless, this tiny pill has changed my life for two weeks now.  Following the directions, I take it 20 minutes before "bedtime"--whatever time that is.  And I melt into my bed for the entire night.  If I happen to get woken up for a moment, I go right back to sleep. 

The other night, I did get woken up once by Jackie.  I don't even remember what she said, but my hubby took a turn to get up and  help her.  For once I didn't lie there awake wondering if he needed my help.  I rolled over and slept like a baby once again.  

My House is Never That Clean

I do know people with houses that are clean all the time.  I've decided that's either important enough to them that they stay home more than I do, or they have enough money to hire help.

During my fourth pregnancy, I did hire help.  My hips became so dysfunctional that I was in pain every time I bent over.  Believe me, I still worked hard when the cleaning help came.  I organized and organized.  Then they came, and three hours later, my house was spic and span.  Even the blinds and light fixtures were dusted.  The oven and microwave cleaned.  It looked like a 6-person family model home.

But that didn't last.  The next year, my husband would enter dental school, and help was no longer an option.  My house was no longer as organized, because rather than spending my time organizing, now I spend it scrubbing toilets, showers, and floors.  

But it's o.k.  In fact, probably better for the kids.  Now I really need their help with picking up.  Every Saturday I give them a list of jobs to do.  And many days, we have picking up races.  I'll say, "Let's see who can be the first to put away 20 things upstairs."   The only job I won't give them is scrubbing the toilets--I'm too afraid they'll splash nasty toilet water somewhere.  I keep wondering what age I'll feel comfortable handing that off.

I'm grateful for the kids' help.   But this week, it's been all me.  Grandma and Great-Aunt came to town today, so I had to clean.  It wasn't so bad, except that it really did take me all week.  One entire day for the piled up laundry. One entire day for straightening--putting everything in it's place. One entire day for mopping, scrubbing, and shining.   I don't think I've ever stayed home so many days in a row.

So here I am.  Grandma and Aunt Coco came today.  If you walked into parts of my house, you might think that being clean is either important enough to me to stay home all week.  Or you might even think I have enough money to hire help.

If you walk into other parts of my house, you would know that I didn't hire help.  Not only that, but you might even question why I didn't spend more time cleaning for company.

Being the best!

I sat down to write this blog post because I overheard a father speaking to his child on the way home from a soccer game the other day.  He said, "Son, if you want to be the best, you have to practice really really hard."  

I turned to Morgan.  "Morgan," I said, thinking a bit about what I was about to say.  "There are a lot of people in the world.  And the probability of that child being the best are unlikely.  But you can always accomplish your best."  Then we talked about accepting that there might be someone better than us, but that we should always do our very best--in work, church responsibilities, home responsibilities, school, sports--whatever we do.

Every parent wants their child to be the best at something.  Or at least that's my perception.  I felt that way too.  I made sure my first child could read before kindergarten, practicing letters and forcing her to learn, even though she wasn't that interested.   It is true that she continues to be an avid reader 7 years later.

But the same goes for my next two kids.  They are avid readers too.  And neither of them could read before kindergarten.  In fact, they didn't even know their alphabets.

That doesn't mean my second two children weren't interested in reading.  In fact, my husband and I read captivating fiction and nonfiction picture books with them every night.  But we treated this as a special, fun time together.

When they got into kindergarten, all they knew was that they enjoyed reading and wanted to learn to do it.  They learned extremely quickly.

This kind of goes hand in hand with my previous post on reverse psychology . . . sometimes it seems the more I pushed a child, the slower she went.

My mother always said, "Do your best."

She also said, "You can do anything, but you can't do everything."  But she said that to my older sister.  I don't remember her teaching that to me before she died.  I could probably have used that quote.   . . . More on that later . . . maybe.

Little Kids and Lies

Now, this may be really going out on a limb, but somehow I'm kind of stuck on the parenting thing.  

I remember when my first child first told a lie.  She was probably two or three.   It was like I had been hit in the face with an icy snowball.  I couldn't believe that MY (perfect) child could possibly be telling a lie.  I'm sure I administered a time-out.  Maybe a spanking.  Then that little lie probably occupied my thoughts for weeks while I worried about how in the world to teach my small child not to lie.

But things change after 12 years of being a mother.  How I handle it now depends on my mood.  Let me give you first the not tired or cranky version.  Let's imagine  Henry kicks a toy down the stairs in front of me, then tells me he didn't do it when I ask him to pick it up and not kick toys down the stairs.    

Me, putting my nose two inches from his and taking his face in my hands: "Henry, I love you.  I know that's not true.  Next time please tell me what really happened."  No lectures about honesty, nothing about lies, no questions, no yelling,  never asking why.

The Mom's tired and cranky version is a little different.  It's more like this.  I pick him up, carry him straight into the bathroom, put him on the toilet, and walk out while he cries, closing the door behind me.  When I let him out, I always take him on my lap and cuddle him so he knows I love him.

Admittedly, rarely there's the Mom's REALLY tired and cranky version.  That one doesn't work very well--I won't share that version because I really don't recommend it.  

In the meantime, every once in a while we have a family home evening lesson on honesty.  And I talk about it whenever I think about it.  Eventually they get it.  Really.

I could yell or spank, but I know from experience that parent-child relationships are better when firmness and love are the driving forces.

Reverse Psychology

So I remember my sister using reverse psychology with her little toddler . . . "Don't get in the bathtub,"  "Don't smile!" and "Don't . . . NO . . . whatever you do . . . don't eat the peas!"

I never thought I would use any reverse psychology myself.  But I've learned that sometimes it really works.

I used to force my oldest to practice the piano.   And I'd force her to do her homework.  And I'd force her to do this or that.

The truth is, there will always be things I have to force my kids to do, right?

But here's some of examples of practicing what I've learned.

I always sit and help my children at the piano.  One of my kids doesn't like it.  The others do.  Jackie (6) only recently started learning to play.  A little wiggly, she has a hard time practicing very long before she gets distracted and starts playing funny things.  She often does this with a little look toward me that yells, "Mom!  How far can I push you."

With Anika, I might have been mad about this.  But, oh, have I learned a lesson!  So here's how I handle it.

Me, sometimes with a friendly smile, sometimes with a bit of annoyance:  "Jackie,  I have a lot to do.  I have laundry, dishes, cooking to do.  When I'm having fun, I'm happy to help you on the piano.  But this is not fun. So . . . " I stand up at this point.  "Let me know when you're ready to practice again."  And I leave, knowing that Jackie really does want me to stay with her.   She often begs me to come back, and our practicing continues without incident.

Here was tonight's, which really is why I wrote this post.  I was trying to get the kids ready for bed late after attending the book fair at our school.  I admittedly have an extremely hard time getting the kids to bed because they know just what to ask that I will give into--more books, homework, etc.  Sometimes it take me a couple hours to get them to bed!!

Jackie has been working on spelling words for her class, and Morgan begged me to find an online list and give her spelling words to practice too.  So tonight, when I was worried about the kids getting to bed, I said with a straight face, "Girls, if you don't get ready for bed, we won't be practicing spelling words.

"Nnnnnooooooo," they both said.

Sometimes the best punishments are not taking away what the child wants, but what you want the child to want.  

Oh Henry!

Today I picked up Anika from middle school, and was driving Henry's preschool friend home.  He didn't really want to go home yet, so I teased him a little bit:

Me, randomly, but sort of along the lines of a Cinderella theme:  "You boys know . . . little boys who are home late turn into frogs."
Henry says emphatically, with a big grin and a pump of his fist:  "Yyyyyeeeesssss!"
Friend, self-assured and matter-of-fact:  "That's no true."
Henry, after thinking about it for a moment:  "Hmm . . . I couldn't talk to you."
Friend:  "Nope."
Henry: "Huh."

Jokes

Jackie, at the dinner table:  "Mom, do you want to know why the people in Veggie Tales are veggies?"

Me:  "Why?"

Jackie:  "Because they're veggies."

Me:  "Hmmm . . . Could someone pass the ketchup?"

A few minutes later:

Jackie:  "Mom, do you want to know why the people in Veggie Tales are veggies?"

Me, with a smile:  "Because they're vegetables."

Jackie, emphatically, drawn out, and with a hearty giggle at her own joke:  "No, because they're VEGGIES!"

I've learned over the years that an important part of motherhood is being able to laugh on demand.