The Terrible Twos and the Evolution of a Mother

As I type this, my 20-month-old-as-of-yesterday is throwing a screaming fit on the floor. Instead of making me feel upset, I find that it's really actually very funny. She's stretched out to the absolute limit of her fingers and toes, lying face-down on the carpet and screeching. Seeing someone so small behave in such a large manner can't help but elicit a snicker or two. I'm sorry, but I can't help it. Chalk it up as a tick mark in the Bad Mommy column.

When Sporty would throw fits like that as a toddler, I would always be reduced to a bundle of nerves almost immediately. No laughs there; believe me. And then, within about 5 minutes I'd be screeching right back at her. Before long, we'd have both reached a fever-pitch and then there would be an almost audible *pop* in the tension level and everything would deflate. Hopefully without any lasting damage to the psyche of my then two-year-old child. To be fair to myself... I was working a full-time job in addition to parenting, so my stress level tended to be maintained at a higher altitude than it does now. And Sporty was a most determinedly vociferous child... actually, she still is, come to think of it. Tick.

Even with Posh, who could hardly be bothered to throw a fit about anything, who was so much easier-going than my passionate oldest child, it was hard to know if I was doing right by her. When your children are like that, you start to feel like you forget about them sometimes (squeaky wheel and all that). Sometimes their needs don't seem to take priority. And then when they do throw a giggy... you react badly because you're not used to the fuss. Tick. Tick.

Now, with Baby... she's sort of an odd mix of the two temperaments of her older sisters. She's very mild-tempered, in general (in fact~ as a newborn, she was so quiet that we weren't really sure she knew how to cry for about 2 months). And when she does throws a fit, it's almost like someone whispered to her that that was what she was supposed to do. So she gives it her all for about 5 minutes, and then she starts looking over her shoulder to see if you're watching her. If you look at her with any sympathy, she goes right back to screaming~ then she'll check again in a few minutes. Stinker. After awhile, once she's good and forgotten what it was she was screaming about in the first place, she just fizzles out. And then she's all smiles again. Today, for example, she was relieved of a mostly-empty Sprite can that she found on the coffee table. For all the bellowing the event elicited, it must have been the worst thing that has happened to her all week. But true to form, she's now perfectly happy and playing with her big sisters. And, yes, I am a rather slow typist. Too busy chuckling to myself. Tick.

There are many joys in parenting... the obvious things like hugs and kisses, pride in your childrens' achievements, bedtime stories etc. etc. I also think that there is great joy in simply wondering what's going to come next. Not knowing who your children will be and how they will be different from each other, and not knowing how you'll react to those differences. It's true that I don't like some of the results that I've achieved along the way (hence the Bad Mommy column), but I still love the journey. I am always trying to be the sort of parent who can do the right thing for each of my children. Even if it's not always the same thing I did for the others. And with each child that's come along, I like to hope that I've been traded in for a new and improved model of myself. One who can handle adversity with more patience, understanding and good humor, and who doesn't need to roar at a toddler to diffuse a very loud situation. But my methods are always being tested against my own rigorous standards, and they'll never live up to those. Oh well. Tick.

"What Choice Had I?"

In honor of the impending National Day of Heroine Worship (aka Mother's Day), I figured it was incumbent on me, as a Practicing Mother, to go on a little bit about My Kind. I know I'm a few days early, but with any luck I'll be so busy being celebrated on the Big Day, that I won't have time to wax poetic about my choice to be a mother.

I'm currently reading Anybody Out There?, the latest offering from Marian Keyes... my favorite chick-lit author. There is a great quote in the book that I think sums the state of Motherhood up very well. After a near-death experience, the protagonist, Anna Walsh, calls her mother long-distance from New York to Dublin to thank her for giving birth to her. Her mother replies, very matter-of-factly: "What choice had I? You were in there, how else were you going to get out?" Mrs. Walsh meant this as a way to deflect her daughter's gratitude, but I think that the statement actually points out the main reason that we have to be grateful to our mothers.

I have no choice. You are part of me. I love you. New mothers are often overwhelmed by this inability to exercise their own will, but they'll get over it. They may not want to get up in the middle of the night to offer the squalling bundle in the bassinet yet more milk, but they do it. Later on, they may not feel like reading Green Eggs and Ham for the 900th time since breakfast, but they do that too. And later still, they may not want to part with 20K smackeroos to pay for the wedding to that jackass with the long hair and the tongue ring, but they screw up their faces, take some great anxiety meds and they do that too. Maybe not without a fuss, but they do it all. Of course, this doesn't mean that we should take our mothers for granted (nor God forbid, be taken for granted) just because they (we) do those things without really wanting to. This isn't an excuse to trod on her (or your) motherly deeds, saying: "My mother does these things because she has to, not because she chooses to."

On the contrary... I believe that mothers deserve even more respect for having surrendered their primary concern for themselves to an all-encompassing need to protect and nurture their offspring (It is, after all, possible to NOT do this~ childbirth does not necessarily a mother make). Especially in the case where protecting and nurturing those offspring means that they have to make allowances for things that they would not ordinarily choose for themselves... the tongue-ring, for example.

Without a doubt, on the day I had my first child, I gained a renewed sense of respect for what my own mother must have gone through, parenting a child such as myself. But there is a level beyond respect that I hadn't yet reached. It's like you have to make a decision to give up, in some ways. You are still YOU (or at least most of us are). However, your status as a mother means that the YOU that's in you has to take the back seat a lot of the time to the MOM that's taking up all the space in the front row. You have to accept this as part of the job and move on. Every child should look at their mom and consider her life from this point of view. I don't expect this for myself yet, as I am relatively green at this whole parenting thing... but I hope that I will be that kind of mom, enough of the time, that my kids will realize all of this too, someday. That will be my reward for a job well done.

To Dog or Not to Dog... Yorkies are the Question

I'm not a fan of dogs in general. I like dogs, and I certainly don't mind being around them, but I'm not all that interested in all the stuff that goes along with having one. But lately, I've been having this sort of alien feeling that I need to have a Yorkie. I was talking about it with some friends last night, and one of them suggested that I go and pick up a dog from the animal shelter. I hope I didn't offend her when I said: "but I don't want a dog I want a Yorkie ". This brings up two important points in this inner battle I'm waging...

1) Do I not consider Yorkies to be dogs?

and

2) What is it about Yorkies that qualifies them over other breeds, to win a place in my heart?

The answer to both of these questions is the same... Yorkies are definitely dogs, but they are so small that they are like an eternal puppy, which is the state that I really enjoy in dogs. Small. And small means small poop, small piddles, small(er) food bills, small doggie slobber. And Cute. I never met a Yorkie that wasn't as cute as all get-out. Now there are other breeds out there that I have a definite fondness for, but I can't imagine choosing to add them to our family. It's all about what you want in a new family member. And that's where dogs have it over humans. Dog breeds have definite personality traits that make it easier for we humans to choose. There's no way to choose the personality of a new baby, but you can start heading down the right path with the right choice of dog. Of course, with dogs (as with babies)... you get what you get, you don't get upset (to quote from Middlest Beauty's preschool class mantra).

All that being said... it is incumbent on all of you people out there in Bloggerville to talk me out of my cute little poochy-poo. This is like a psychotic sort of baby fever for me... but like my dog-not-loving spouse says: "It's so much easier without a pet in the house". I'm with him on that. Really.

But the house is emptier too, if you know what I mean.

American Idol: Parenting 101

I just want to take a moment to talk about Sanjaya Malakar. But from a slightly different point of view. It's the simple truth that he's got minimal talent and just didn't belong on a show like American Idol...even if you remember past puppy dogs like Kevin Covais, John Stevens and Jasmine Trias. There's always one, every year.

However, I've never seen one of them inspire so much controversy as poor Sanjaya. People boycotted the show over him. WTH? For me, I watched every week in fascination as he continued to warble out his cheeseball song choices. And my personal admiration for him grew. At the beginning of the Top 12 competition, my heart bled, not for him, but for his mother. I cannot imagine how hard it must have been to watch him and then listen to the criticism he faced each week. It takes a strong momma to sit back and watch anyone belittle your child for any reason. And she had to watch the whole country turn him into a whipping boy. If it were me, I'd have been begging in my heart for him to get voted off the show.

The thing is though...he outlasted more criticism than any other competitor that I can remember. And he did it with his head held high. It's like the ultimate gauntlet run. On the one side you have the tomahawks and the bolas and whatever other weapons they choose to use. On the other side you've got the ones rooting you on, forcing you through the lineup. And he came out the other end. I'm sure he made his momma proud.

It's a perfect example of what we have to do...we have to let our children live their lives. No matter how hard it is for us. We may know in our hearts that they will fail (but even then they may surprise us). Or we may not be sure, but it's not up to us to make the choices for them. All we can do is hope we gave them the tools to make the right choices.

So, anyway. I say Sanjaya scored one on the masses. And he didn't have to win the competition to do it.

So Much Work, But So Much to Say

I really should be working. This is the refrain heard day in day out all around the world, in offices, homes, schools...you name it. And yes, I'm saying it right now. And I'll admit to a little bit of work today. The dishwasher has been emptied and reloaded. The children are dressed (for the most part). The white laundry is in on "whitest white" setting. Belurp, belurp. And lunch has been picked up off the floor (also for the most part).

But there is something preying on my mind right now, that is causing a huge mental block in my ability to accomplish anything more. It is the tragedy that is unfolding as I type this at Virginia Tech. The University is so far from here, but this feels like something close to home and I am grateful to myself for keeping my children in the nest today. There are no tragedies here (that I am aware of), but to be able to see my children and know that, right now, they are safe, is a huge comfort to me. It breaks my heart to think of all the pain that one person has caused in Blacksburg today. And so much worse...there is no justice to be had by the victims, because the shooter is dead by his own hand. Coward.

But, like so many of us, I can turn this around and make it about me. About my family. It doesn't even relate to me or mine, and yet at the same time, it does. We feed off this kind of news...as a society we can always make the drama about us. And this is drama of the highest order; Pain, death, shocking behavior... what a waste. For me... I want to learn from this. But what can I learn? That the only way to keep my children safe is to keep them by my side for always? That I should never turn psychotic and get my hands on an automatic weapon? I don't see any lessons here. None of this makes sense.

We're bringing up our children in a world gone mad: every generation has said it. And it will continue on long after we're gone. And for every one of us...the drama unfolds, but the work never goes away. And the job of making sense of the madness is at the top of the list.

My deepest heartfelt sympathy to all the victims of this tragedy.