What Happened Last Saturday
There are days when I wouldn't question someone coming into my home and saying, "You're not doing such a great job with this parenting thing and we've got some very nice people who we think can do it better". I would just nod and hand over the babies. Last Saturday was one of those days. Let me start by saying, I am a perpetually tired, working mom and like most moms, I love nap time. Nap time is sacred. If you want us to hang out with you, we have to schedule hanging out time around nap time. If you want us to volunteer somewhere, volunteering has to be scheduled around nap time. Great new restaurant you want us to try? Not during nap time. No sir.
Without naps, babies turn into horrible, angry, exceptionally unreasonable monsters. In addition, through some kind of twisted joke of nature, if babies don't nap during the day, they don't sleep as well at night. Finally, and most importantly, nap time is the time when I can get some cleaning, relaxing, and eating done. Some days, it is the ONLY time I can do those things. When we went from two naps a day to one nap a day, I was very very sad. Very sad. I have recovered from that sadness, but it was a long hard journey to acceptance.
Anyway, last Saturday's nap was a good one. The babies slept for a solid 2 hours and so I got the bathroom cleaned and a short nap for myself. Charlie and I woke up to hear little voices babbling on the monitor and we went in to collect our angels from their cribs so we could all sing and play together for the rest of the day. Walking into the babies' room to get them out of bed is normally an almost high-inducing experience. They are so sweet and cuddly and happy to see you and sleepy. It's so great that Charlie and I have a rule that, if we are both home, we always go in together to get the babies. On this particular day, we were greeted by the smell of poop. Both babies were standing in their cribs, facing each other and smiling. When I approached Olivia's crib and noticed she was holding something. That something turned out to be a handful of poop that she had dug out of the back of her pants. "OLIVIA!" I said. Her eyes went wide and she immediately dropped the handful of poop into her bed . Across the room, Isaac was clutching the slats of his crib. "Oh shit!" He said, "Fuck!" I still maintain he heard those words from the bad kids at day care.
We went to Canada
We went to Canada as a family, in the family minivan. We hadn't taken a real family vacation in a couple of years because of my pregnancy and then the twins being tiny babies last summer. A love of traveling is one of the things Charlie and I have in common and it's one of the things we do much less of now that we have little ones. I knew the trip would be a tough one because I remembered the vacations of my youth. We went on one every summer and, because we were always broke and/or my dad was cheap, we always slept in sleeping bags, on the ground, in a tent. My dad claimed it had something to do with us learning to love the outdoors or some crap. We had a hard time believing that since we lived in the Ozarks, on a farm. We camped and fished near our home every summer, spent nearly all our time at home outdoors, and if we didn't love sleeping in a 105 degree tent, covered in mosquito bites and sand by the time we were old enough to say, "Look Dad! There's a hotel near this national park!" we probably weren't going to.
Looking back I may have been too hard on my parents. It turns out that traveling with kids is not that different from traveling with a pack of wild boars. I found that if you load 4 kids and two adults into a minivan for a 13 hour drive, it is NOT about the journey, it is about the destination-because the journey sucks. By hour 6, the van smelled funny, the big kids were annoyed with each other, us and the babies, the babies were pissed at their car seats and we were pissed at the big kids, and each other. There was some disagreement about the route we were taking and it may or may not have resulted in Charlie and I yelling at each other in the car and then having a, "What I hear you saying is...." conversation in a Burger King in Michigan while the kids ate Whoppers and chicken fries and watched, riveted. They never see us fight and said it was both stressful and interesting. I was afraid to ask them to elaborate.
We stayed in hotels on the way there, and then at the home of friends who are really sweet people and are obviously totally insane. Who, in their right mind invites a crew like ours to stay at their home for 3 nights in a row? To top it off, they have a beautiful home that they have obviously invested time, love and money into decorating. Unfortunately, we hit their house like a tornado of toddlers. The babies wrecked rooms, tossed toys about, lost 4 pacifiers, and broke one nice, shiny statue. That little gem of an incident resulted in me aplologizing profusely and blinking back tears of dismay while our gracious host insisted the statue was a very inexpensive item, and not to be worried about. It was 105 degrees outside, but we really wanted to see Toronto- and it was worth it. Toronto is a beautiful city and everywhere we went people were polite. Of coures, when our hosts were kind enough to guide some sightseeing and we all decided on a boat ride, the babies sweated, cried and fussed, causing Charlie and I to come very very close to totally flipping out and ruining the trip not just for us, but for all the other nice people who had travel vast distances to see Toronto from the water. The water tour was followed by a beer at a nice micro brewery....followed by a cautious laugh about what a horror show the boat ride was.
The older kids were a treat to watch, and really made any road misery worthwhile. They felt like very sophisticated jetsetters because of the international travel. They visited the grocery store and shopping mall, and talked about school with some REAL, LIVE, Canadian teenagers! We visited the CN tower in Toronto, and had a nice dinner there, at the 360 restaurant. It was fancier than the kids were used to, and way more expensive. I explained this to them before we arrived and told them that if they had any questions about the food on the menu, to just ask and not be intimidated. E assured me that she would be fine because she, "went to the Cheesecake Factory, once", which is the kind of comment that makes you want to squeeze them so tight and protect them, so that kind of innocence and sweetness stay put.
On the way home, I lost my keys...maybe at a rest area in Indiana, I don't know. I do know that I was very glad to see our home and put the babies in their own beds. I'm sure it's something the kids will always remember and at the end of the day, I think it's an important experience. Adversity and discomfort breeds...something healthy...I think.
Baby Books
My sister is a master scrapbooker. That woman can take a few pictures from a birthday party or a 4th of July celebration and turn them into a crafty masterpiece. She has several books, filled with the documentation of her sons' sunny childhoods. Both boys also have baby books with blanks diligently filled with dates commemorating their first steps, first haircuts, family tree, etc. I've known for a long time that I'm no scrapbooker. I would love to have a scrap book, but I don't want to make a scrap book. It's boring and you have to have tools and stamps and hole punches in the shape of cute things. I really don't want anything to do with it. I recently discovered that I also don't baby book. I received two baby books when the twins were born. One is pink and one is blue so we don't forget that boys are different than girls and that girls like pink and boys like blue, even as infants who can't distinguish colors. Anyway, I wrote in Isaac's book once. I filled in the family tree (incorrectly) and then a baby started screaming so I had to stop. Honestly, if a baby hadn't started screaming, I would have found something else to do. I had way too much on my plate to worry about writing it all down as it happened, and now it's really too late to go back and do it since I have a terrible memory for dates....unless I make up the dates (which is not out of the realm of possibility). I never even took Olivia's out of the box.
I don't know if the babies will want to know what date they took their first steps. I don't care when I took mine. What I remember most from my baby book is the following passage, written by my sister (age 8 at the time) under the "Your Baby at One Year" section: "Baby Mary likes beer. If daddy leaves a beer can sitting on the table, she will pick it up and try to drink it." Additional entries document that Baby Mary threw a hairbrush into daddy's popcorn while he was eating it and Baby Mary sprayed Windex all over her baby brother's head. My parents were big believers in developing independence in the form of not much supervision. Before you judge too harshly, remember that it was the late 70's-when it was still leagalish to drive drunk, seat belts were a nuisance and leaving an 8 year old home alone was perfectly acceptable.
Instead of a baby book, I have chosen to write letters to each of the twins on their birthdays. I chose letters mostly, because I'm lazy, and writing is much easier for me than filling out forms with totally accurate, detailed, neatly printed information. The letters are about how we chose their names, what we felt when we saw them, what they brought to our family, and what we saw of their personalities in the previous year. There are rough estimates of dates of significant life events, and anecdotes about their development. I want them to know their history and how events and milestones unfolded around them. I want them to know how speical they are to us and how each of them brought something unique to our family. Most of all, I want them to know how loved they were all along the way.
I don't know if the babies will want to know what date they took their first steps. I don't care when I took mine. What I remember most from my baby book is the following passage, written by my sister (age 8 at the time) under the "Your Baby at One Year" section: "Baby Mary likes beer. If daddy leaves a beer can sitting on the table, she will pick it up and try to drink it." Additional entries document that Baby Mary threw a hairbrush into daddy's popcorn while he was eating it and Baby Mary sprayed Windex all over her baby brother's head. My parents were big believers in developing independence in the form of not much supervision. Before you judge too harshly, remember that it was the late 70's-when it was still leagalish to drive drunk, seat belts were a nuisance and leaving an 8 year old home alone was perfectly acceptable.
Instead of a baby book, I have chosen to write letters to each of the twins on their birthdays. I chose letters mostly, because I'm lazy, and writing is much easier for me than filling out forms with totally accurate, detailed, neatly printed information. The letters are about how we chose their names, what we felt when we saw them, what they brought to our family, and what we saw of their personalities in the previous year. There are rough estimates of dates of significant life events, and anecdotes about their development. I want them to know their history and how events and milestones unfolded around them. I want them to know how speical they are to us and how each of them brought something unique to our family. Most of all, I want them to know how loved they were all along the way.
Day Care Revisited
Recently I had another fit of what I like to call, "Are my personal ambitions going to emotionally and/or physically harm my child?". Charlie does most picking up and dropping off of babies, so I don't have much of a relationship with the ladies that care for the babies at the Child Development Center (CDC) daycare. I worry about this lack of relationship because I worry that we will miss some important nugget of information or the babies will suffer some kind of "you're parents are stand-offish" neglect. Totally irrational, but there it is. Sadly, what I call, "building a relationship with the people who care for our babies", Charlie calls "shooting the shit with strangers", and he just doesn't do it. I haven't been much help.
One of the few times I did a drop off, I took Olivia in so I could go to the hospital to be with a very sick Isaac while Charlie came home to nap after his all night shift there. The ladies asked how Isaac was doing and I gave a report on his condition- out of ICU, they still don't know how long we will be there. I had no time or energy for the kids who weren't sick- in fact, the next day was E's birthday, and we didn't have her party together. I was stressed and exhausted and I immediately felt tears welling up at the ladies' display of concern and kindness. Embarassed and in a rush to leave, I turned and accidentally stepped on Olivia's hand. She had crawled back over to me to get some extra good-bye love. She started wailing and I started crying and it didn't do anything to instill confidence in my parenting abilities in either the CDC ladies or me.
Anytime a request or a suggestion comes from the CDC, I immediately worry we aren't doing something we should be. They suggested the babies come in shoes to play outside. Up to this point, we had only done socks. I immediately grilled Charlie, "Are the other babies wearing shoes?" (some of them) "How many?" (he doesn't know). I picture my babies as barefoot hillbillies with ice cold toes, crying while the other babies run around a tiny baby track, in tasteful comfort, provided by lovely, perfectly fitted shoes. The babies seem hungry in the morning and cry until they get breakfast at CDC, can we give them a little something before we bring them in? "How long has this been happening?!" (he's not sure, but they just mentioned it today). In my head the babies have been screaming for months, starving as hunger pains shoot through their little abdomens.
One comfort I have is that since I had the babies, I do most of my socializing at work with, obviously, other working moms. We commiserate and compare. We try to laugh away the guilt that comes with being a working parent.
One of the other moms said she had hoped to ease her son into staying home alone. Maybe start with a trip to Target on her own, or to get gas while he stayed home. Instead, he had to stay home for 4 hours, alone, for the first time while she attended a mandatory training, her daycare was closed and her husband was out of town. She called every 15-20 minutes to make sure he was staying clear of the stove.
A second co-worker confided that when she arrived at preschool with her four year old, they had the following conversation:
Co-worker: "Hurry up and get out of the car, let's go"
4YO: "I can't!"
Co-Worker: "What?! Why, let's go!"
4YO: "I don't have any shoes on! We forgot them!"
All of this makes me feel better. On good days, I think we will have self-reliant kids who are clever and resourceful and are OK with making mistakes and imperfection. Today is a good day, so I think I'll end it there.
One of the few times I did a drop off, I took Olivia in so I could go to the hospital to be with a very sick Isaac while Charlie came home to nap after his all night shift there. The ladies asked how Isaac was doing and I gave a report on his condition- out of ICU, they still don't know how long we will be there. I had no time or energy for the kids who weren't sick- in fact, the next day was E's birthday, and we didn't have her party together. I was stressed and exhausted and I immediately felt tears welling up at the ladies' display of concern and kindness. Embarassed and in a rush to leave, I turned and accidentally stepped on Olivia's hand. She had crawled back over to me to get some extra good-bye love. She started wailing and I started crying and it didn't do anything to instill confidence in my parenting abilities in either the CDC ladies or me.
Anytime a request or a suggestion comes from the CDC, I immediately worry we aren't doing something we should be. They suggested the babies come in shoes to play outside. Up to this point, we had only done socks. I immediately grilled Charlie, "Are the other babies wearing shoes?" (some of them) "How many?" (he doesn't know). I picture my babies as barefoot hillbillies with ice cold toes, crying while the other babies run around a tiny baby track, in tasteful comfort, provided by lovely, perfectly fitted shoes. The babies seem hungry in the morning and cry until they get breakfast at CDC, can we give them a little something before we bring them in? "How long has this been happening?!" (he's not sure, but they just mentioned it today). In my head the babies have been screaming for months, starving as hunger pains shoot through their little abdomens.
One comfort I have is that since I had the babies, I do most of my socializing at work with, obviously, other working moms. We commiserate and compare. We try to laugh away the guilt that comes with being a working parent.
One of the other moms said she had hoped to ease her son into staying home alone. Maybe start with a trip to Target on her own, or to get gas while he stayed home. Instead, he had to stay home for 4 hours, alone, for the first time while she attended a mandatory training, her daycare was closed and her husband was out of town. She called every 15-20 minutes to make sure he was staying clear of the stove.
A second co-worker confided that when she arrived at preschool with her four year old, they had the following conversation:
Co-worker: "Hurry up and get out of the car, let's go"
4YO: "I can't!"
Co-Worker: "What?! Why, let's go!"
4YO: "I don't have any shoes on! We forgot them!"
All of this makes me feel better. On good days, I think we will have self-reliant kids who are clever and resourceful and are OK with making mistakes and imperfection. Today is a good day, so I think I'll end it there.
E and Me and Snooki Make Three
I try very hard to set good examples. We talk about politics at dinner. We talk about feelings when someone is upset. When I came home pissed about an employee who was giving me grief and sass, and saying that I was going to start grooming his replacement in case he couldn't get his act together, Charlie turned to the kids and said, "This is what happens when you're disrespectful in the real world, at a real job. Someone starts looking for a respectful person to replace you." He said that mostly to E who has turned her hate for running in gym class into a civil rights cause (maybe we talk too much about politics at dinner?). She hates running, but does very well during the skating, zumba, flag football and volleyball sections of P.E. Her P.E. teacher is at his wit's end and so are we. She gets in trouble in gym for refusing to run, or for getting bad "times" on her mile run almost bi-weekly. During our last conversation, she said that she thinks it's not fair to separate kids into "groups based on physical abilities" and "it's discrimination to give kids bad grades for not being able to run". I swear to God, she said that. I felt really good about myself because my head didn't explode. I said, " E, you are not obese, or disabled in any way. You just don't want to run because it's hard for you. You're great at math, but other people in your class aren't good at math. Is it fair for you to get good grades while they get bad grades? It's the same principle". I thought that was pretty good parenting, but she didn't seem moved.
As is becoming the pattern in my blog, I feel that I have to give examples of me not being an irresponsible, sailor mouthed parent so that social services won't be called on me for the events I will inevitably share in the second half of my blog.
I am guilty of enjoying reality TV. More specifically, I am guilty of enjoying Jersey Shore on MTV. I feel bad about it and am in no way proud of it, so please save the lectures. It started innocently enough. When Charlie and I were getting up every 2 hours to feed new babies, we would turn on the TV and watch so we didn't fall asleep and drop said babies on their heads. Unfortunately, late night programing is a little spotty, and not being in the market for...well, anything sold on late night TV and having seen every single episode of Law and Order (the only show you can find on at least one channel no matter what time it is, day or night), we opted for MTV and JS. We would watch 25 minute increments every couple of hours. Soon we were recording new episodes to catch up on the drunken escapades of Snooki, J-Wow, Sammi, Deena, Vinnie, Pauly, Mike, and Ronnie. We didn't talk about it, and neither of us wanted to suggest we watch it. We would have a conversation kind of like this:
Me: Want to watch some TV?
Charlie: Sure. What's on?
Me (pretending to look): *sigh* Not much. We have that new Jersey Shore recorded.
Charlie: *also sighing* I guess we could watch that.
Me: Might as well.
Then we would watch gleefully as drunk 20-somethings in tacky clothes acted like drunk 20-somethings who didn't know they were wearing tacky clothes.
All of this would have gone on happily if I had not walked in to the family room to find E watching JS. She said all the kids in her grade love it. Having acted as an irresponsible parent and allowed the JS into my home, I now felt I needed to do the responsible parent thing and watch JS with E, using the show as a teaching opportunity (ruining the fun of it) with (constant, annoying) grown-up observations. When Charlie and I watch Deena and Snooki teeter around during a 2 day bender in super high heels, a leopard print fedora and what amounts to a belted t-shirt, I might say something like, "Holy shit! Those girls are fucked up...they might want to spend that MTV money on some rehabs! Also, who told her to wear that on her head?" (I KNOW cursing is also not mature but, in addition to JS, I do get a kick out of the f-word when the kids who can talk aren't around) When I watch the same episode with E, my comments are more along the compassionate, not judging, but sad and concerned vein. I might say, "Oh my, they're really drunk. You know, they are going to be really sad and embarrassed when they watch this. Poor things could really use some professional help. You know, when it comes to drinking, which is something people over 21 do, two drinks are really too many."
Watching with Charlie while Mike attempts to coerce some poor drunk girl into his bed, I might shout at the TV, "Kick him in the balls and run away!! EW!! He's GROSS!!"
Watching with E, I would comment,"You know, that qualifies as sexual assault. .....He obviously hates women..... I feel sorry for anyone who dates him because he really only sees women as sexual objects and that is just disgusting. *sigh* People like that never have true intimacy or fulfilling relationships...and that is just sad. Also, if you choose to drink as an adult, I think this program makes it clear that 2 drinks are really too many."
As is becoming the pattern in my blog, I feel that I have to give examples of me not being an irresponsible, sailor mouthed parent so that social services won't be called on me for the events I will inevitably share in the second half of my blog.
I am guilty of enjoying reality TV. More specifically, I am guilty of enjoying Jersey Shore on MTV. I feel bad about it and am in no way proud of it, so please save the lectures. It started innocently enough. When Charlie and I were getting up every 2 hours to feed new babies, we would turn on the TV and watch so we didn't fall asleep and drop said babies on their heads. Unfortunately, late night programing is a little spotty, and not being in the market for...well, anything sold on late night TV and having seen every single episode of Law and Order (the only show you can find on at least one channel no matter what time it is, day or night), we opted for MTV and JS. We would watch 25 minute increments every couple of hours. Soon we were recording new episodes to catch up on the drunken escapades of Snooki, J-Wow, Sammi, Deena, Vinnie, Pauly, Mike, and Ronnie. We didn't talk about it, and neither of us wanted to suggest we watch it. We would have a conversation kind of like this:
Me: Want to watch some TV?
Charlie: Sure. What's on?
Me (pretending to look): *sigh* Not much. We have that new Jersey Shore recorded.
Charlie: *also sighing* I guess we could watch that.
Me: Might as well.
Then we would watch gleefully as drunk 20-somethings in tacky clothes acted like drunk 20-somethings who didn't know they were wearing tacky clothes.
All of this would have gone on happily if I had not walked in to the family room to find E watching JS. She said all the kids in her grade love it. Having acted as an irresponsible parent and allowed the JS into my home, I now felt I needed to do the responsible parent thing and watch JS with E, using the show as a teaching opportunity (ruining the fun of it) with (constant, annoying) grown-up observations. When Charlie and I watch Deena and Snooki teeter around during a 2 day bender in super high heels, a leopard print fedora and what amounts to a belted t-shirt, I might say something like, "Holy shit! Those girls are fucked up...they might want to spend that MTV money on some rehabs! Also, who told her to wear that on her head?" (I KNOW cursing is also not mature but, in addition to JS, I do get a kick out of the f-word when the kids who can talk aren't around) When I watch the same episode with E, my comments are more along the compassionate, not judging, but sad and concerned vein. I might say, "Oh my, they're really drunk. You know, they are going to be really sad and embarrassed when they watch this. Poor things could really use some professional help. You know, when it comes to drinking, which is something people over 21 do, two drinks are really too many."
Watching with Charlie while Mike attempts to coerce some poor drunk girl into his bed, I might shout at the TV, "Kick him in the balls and run away!! EW!! He's GROSS!!"
Watching with E, I would comment,"You know, that qualifies as sexual assault. .....He obviously hates women..... I feel sorry for anyone who dates him because he really only sees women as sexual objects and that is just disgusting. *sigh* People like that never have true intimacy or fulfilling relationships...and that is just sad. Also, if you choose to drink as an adult, I think this program makes it clear that 2 drinks are really too many."
How far we have come
Being a parent has made me wonder about the kind of messages media and the products we buy sends to our kids. Before I was a parent, I thought parents overreacted to violent images and sexuality on TV (to be honest, I also thought there should be a "no kids allowed" policy at least a couple of days a week at places like the Shedd Aquarium and the St. Louis Zoo, so I might've been a bit misguided..). As I look around our world, I am quickly changing my mind. Even though it's a new millennium and the media is quick to scream about HOW FAR women have come, I can't help but be discouraged by the products that are offered to little girls.
JC Penny recently recalled t-shirts that said things like, "I'm too pretty to do math" and "Future Trophy Wife" and "I'm too pretty to do my homework so my brother has to do it for me". Wha...? That doesn't even make sense! I have also noticed that there is a disproportionate amount of products out there for girls that say, "Diva" or, "high maintenance". I can not imagine a world where my son would have a sign on his bedroom door that said, "I'm a narcissist and total pain in the ass..isn't that cute?" I think the message to girls is, "If you're pretty enough, you don't have to have a good personality, or be very inellligent or kind or brave (for the record- stripping doesn't count as "brave")....seriously, don't worry about it, just work on the pretty/sexual thing and everything else will fall into place". Along with that is the message that a girl can be fulfilled by pretty things, probably purchased by rich boyfriends/husbands, that good naturedly tolerate childish behavior because of said beauty/sexual behavior. Personally, I think thats bullshit. I don't want my daughter acting "sexy" or like a "princess" at 4 or 11 or 13. I want her doing her homework and learning to be a good citizen and community member. I want her developing her talents and falling off of her bike.
I don't just worry about the girls in this equation. I want my sons to want to have realationships with women who are smart and funny and interesting and genuine. I don't want them to think women like being treated like sex objects with insatiable drives to collect shiny things. Teen-aged boys already think about sex and want an attractive mate. We don't have to teach or encourage that. Teen-aged girls already want to be pretty and find an attractive mate. We don't have to teach or encourage that. Kids are already egocentric, so we really don't need to encourage that either.
Let's encourage our kids to do something that isn't so easy. Let's encourage them to explore thier worlds, to learn everything they can about subjects that interest them, to talk to each other and disagree respectfully, to stand up and say, "that's not right!"- when something is wrong. Then, maybe, some day as an adult, one of those kids will be in charge of buying clothes to be sold at a major department store. If we have done our job, when someone shows her/him a t-shirt that devalues some segment of our population, and he/she will say, "Sorry, no, that's not the message we're looking to send".
JC Penny recently recalled t-shirts that said things like, "I'm too pretty to do math" and "Future Trophy Wife" and "I'm too pretty to do my homework so my brother has to do it for me". Wha...? That doesn't even make sense! I have also noticed that there is a disproportionate amount of products out there for girls that say, "Diva" or, "high maintenance". I can not imagine a world where my son would have a sign on his bedroom door that said, "I'm a narcissist and total pain in the ass..isn't that cute?" I think the message to girls is, "If you're pretty enough, you don't have to have a good personality, or be very inellligent or kind or brave (for the record- stripping doesn't count as "brave")....seriously, don't worry about it, just work on the pretty/sexual thing and everything else will fall into place". Along with that is the message that a girl can be fulfilled by pretty things, probably purchased by rich boyfriends/husbands, that good naturedly tolerate childish behavior because of said beauty/sexual behavior. Personally, I think thats bullshit. I don't want my daughter acting "sexy" or like a "princess" at 4 or 11 or 13. I want her doing her homework and learning to be a good citizen and community member. I want her developing her talents and falling off of her bike.
I don't just worry about the girls in this equation. I want my sons to want to have realationships with women who are smart and funny and interesting and genuine. I don't want them to think women like being treated like sex objects with insatiable drives to collect shiny things. Teen-aged boys already think about sex and want an attractive mate. We don't have to teach or encourage that. Teen-aged girls already want to be pretty and find an attractive mate. We don't have to teach or encourage that. Kids are already egocentric, so we really don't need to encourage that either.
Let's encourage our kids to do something that isn't so easy. Let's encourage them to explore thier worlds, to learn everything they can about subjects that interest them, to talk to each other and disagree respectfully, to stand up and say, "that's not right!"- when something is wrong. Then, maybe, some day as an adult, one of those kids will be in charge of buying clothes to be sold at a major department store. If we have done our job, when someone shows her/him a t-shirt that devalues some segment of our population, and he/she will say, "Sorry, no, that's not the message we're looking to send".
What Hasn't Killed Us...
So I got permission from Charlie to write about us. It's not technically about motherhood, but I think a big part of being a good parent is maintaining a strong relationship with your co-parent.
I've always heard people say, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger". I don't buy that. I think the saying should be, "What doesn't kill you might make you stronger, if handled properly. If not, it will permanently scar you or render you physically or emotionally disabled". It's not as catchy, but it has a ring of truth to it.
I think the same logic applies to relationships. Everyone knows a couple who have been together for 40 years and people say how wonderful it is, when, in fact, it would have been better for everyone involved if they had split up 39 years ago. Any two unhealthy people can cling to each other year after year, but that's not what I'm looking for and it's not what I want my kids to live with. I want a healthy relationship, full of love and honesty and good will. I'm no expert, but I think denial and resentment have brought down many marriages. Charlie and I try to be realistic, to state our needs and to talk through conflicts like adults. This strategy worked wonderfully for us during the first 4 years of our relationship. We just had his kids, who lived with us, but went to their mom's house every other weekend. Also, they could feed and clothe themselves (which I am now able to see is a much bigger chore than I have ever given it credit for). Anytime we had an issue- and with two step kids and an ex wife, plus my personal baggage, we had issues- we would sit down and talk about it. We talked about feelings and needs...sometimes we cried and got mad, but we usually ended up on the same page and we moved on. We NEVER yelled at each other, called names, or took low blows. We agreed that "fighting" respectfully was the way to go, and we stuck to it. That was before we started fighting at 3 am.
The first time I remember us having an issue, (and I don't remember what it was), the babies had been home for a week. I remember Charlie was sitting in the rocking chair, in the middle of the night, with a baby and I threw a blanket on the floor at his feet and told him to, "Stop acting like a 5 year old". Technically, I wasn't yelling...I was more yell-whispering, but outside of that, it broke all the fighting rules. After that, we fought a lot. We were so tired, so sleep deprived and so overwhelmed, that frustration was just below the surface all the time. We fought about who was doing more, who was doing less, who was sleeping more and who wasn't doing what they were supposed to with the babies (there was a particularly ugly incident around why Charlie couldn't remember to use the diaper cream at night. It ended with him yelling, "They don't have diaper rash! I will USE it when they NEED it" and me yelling back, "OH MY GOD! It's a PREVENTATIVE!!!!"). I started talking to my friends and discovered that most of them had similar experiences. Of course, I wasn't always frustrated with Charlie. I was frustrated because everything I thought I knew and loved about my life was different. I no longer got to take 20 minute showers or sleep, uninterrupted for more than 3 hours. I got got sick and there was no resting and recuperating for me, because the babies were sick and they needed care. No more evening wine on the back deck- I hadn't even seen my back deck since the babies were born. My beloved Kindle reader accumulated dust and served as a coaster for bottles on my nightstand. The accumulated loss of my little life pleasures and whatever control I had over my own life resulted in unexpected rage. That anger, in addition to the natural renegotiation of new responsibilities and sleep deprivation was enough to cause us both to boil over. I wasn't mad at the babies, because they were little and beautiful. I wasn't even always mad at Charlie, but he was the nearest adult target. The truth is, there's no talking through sleep deprivation, and there's no way to prepare yourself for the overnight added responsibilities that twins bring.
There is, of course, a gender piece to this- my life changed more than anyone else's in our family when the twins were born. We work hard to have equality in our marriage, but at the end of one weekend soon after the babies were born, I realized I hadn't left the house since Friday. Charlie had done some yard work, gone to to some local stores to pick up some things he needed, and had taken the older kids to their music lessons and friend activities. I had cared for the babies. In short, everyone else had gone about their weekend, in large part as if nothing had changed, except for me. My role, my only role, was apparently now mother. As soon as I pointed out the problem with this, Charlie agreed that it was appalling and we made adjustments, but we do still find ourselves struggling with long held societal beliefs about what we each can and should do that have become second nature, in spite of a conscious effort on my part to avoid them.
We are working through things. We enjoy each other more, and life is getting easier as the babies are less labor intensive. I have read a couple of good books recently, and we sleep through the night at least once a week. We laugh at each other and joke again. Slowly, the twins are becoming a big part of our lives as opposed to the only part of our lives that gets attention. Given our past relationships and experiences, I have no right to think so, but I believe we'll be just fine, and maybe stronger for the twin experience. Charlie said it best and sweetest- I was standing in front of the open fridge, looking woefully at a bottle of wine I bought on a whim on a sunny Friday afternoon three weeks past. "We can sit out back after babies go to bed and chat about our week and have a glass", I'd thought at the time. Unfortunately, we are usually very tired by the time babies go to bed, and alcohol is the last thing we want slowing our response time, so it sat unopened. "I don't know why I bothered buying that bottle of wine", I now said. "Because you're a optimist", said Charlie with a kiss and a smile. I'm shocked to discover that he's right.
I've always heard people say, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger". I don't buy that. I think the saying should be, "What doesn't kill you might make you stronger, if handled properly. If not, it will permanently scar you or render you physically or emotionally disabled". It's not as catchy, but it has a ring of truth to it.
I think the same logic applies to relationships. Everyone knows a couple who have been together for 40 years and people say how wonderful it is, when, in fact, it would have been better for everyone involved if they had split up 39 years ago. Any two unhealthy people can cling to each other year after year, but that's not what I'm looking for and it's not what I want my kids to live with. I want a healthy relationship, full of love and honesty and good will. I'm no expert, but I think denial and resentment have brought down many marriages. Charlie and I try to be realistic, to state our needs and to talk through conflicts like adults. This strategy worked wonderfully for us during the first 4 years of our relationship. We just had his kids, who lived with us, but went to their mom's house every other weekend. Also, they could feed and clothe themselves (which I am now able to see is a much bigger chore than I have ever given it credit for). Anytime we had an issue- and with two step kids and an ex wife, plus my personal baggage, we had issues- we would sit down and talk about it. We talked about feelings and needs...sometimes we cried and got mad, but we usually ended up on the same page and we moved on. We NEVER yelled at each other, called names, or took low blows. We agreed that "fighting" respectfully was the way to go, and we stuck to it. That was before we started fighting at 3 am.
The first time I remember us having an issue, (and I don't remember what it was), the babies had been home for a week. I remember Charlie was sitting in the rocking chair, in the middle of the night, with a baby and I threw a blanket on the floor at his feet and told him to, "Stop acting like a 5 year old". Technically, I wasn't yelling...I was more yell-whispering, but outside of that, it broke all the fighting rules. After that, we fought a lot. We were so tired, so sleep deprived and so overwhelmed, that frustration was just below the surface all the time. We fought about who was doing more, who was doing less, who was sleeping more and who wasn't doing what they were supposed to with the babies (there was a particularly ugly incident around why Charlie couldn't remember to use the diaper cream at night. It ended with him yelling, "They don't have diaper rash! I will USE it when they NEED it" and me yelling back, "OH MY GOD! It's a PREVENTATIVE!!!!"). I started talking to my friends and discovered that most of them had similar experiences. Of course, I wasn't always frustrated with Charlie. I was frustrated because everything I thought I knew and loved about my life was different. I no longer got to take 20 minute showers or sleep, uninterrupted for more than 3 hours. I got got sick and there was no resting and recuperating for me, because the babies were sick and they needed care. No more evening wine on the back deck- I hadn't even seen my back deck since the babies were born. My beloved Kindle reader accumulated dust and served as a coaster for bottles on my nightstand. The accumulated loss of my little life pleasures and whatever control I had over my own life resulted in unexpected rage. That anger, in addition to the natural renegotiation of new responsibilities and sleep deprivation was enough to cause us both to boil over. I wasn't mad at the babies, because they were little and beautiful. I wasn't even always mad at Charlie, but he was the nearest adult target. The truth is, there's no talking through sleep deprivation, and there's no way to prepare yourself for the overnight added responsibilities that twins bring.
There is, of course, a gender piece to this- my life changed more than anyone else's in our family when the twins were born. We work hard to have equality in our marriage, but at the end of one weekend soon after the babies were born, I realized I hadn't left the house since Friday. Charlie had done some yard work, gone to to some local stores to pick up some things he needed, and had taken the older kids to their music lessons and friend activities. I had cared for the babies. In short, everyone else had gone about their weekend, in large part as if nothing had changed, except for me. My role, my only role, was apparently now mother. As soon as I pointed out the problem with this, Charlie agreed that it was appalling and we made adjustments, but we do still find ourselves struggling with long held societal beliefs about what we each can and should do that have become second nature, in spite of a conscious effort on my part to avoid them.
We are working through things. We enjoy each other more, and life is getting easier as the babies are less labor intensive. I have read a couple of good books recently, and we sleep through the night at least once a week. We laugh at each other and joke again. Slowly, the twins are becoming a big part of our lives as opposed to the only part of our lives that gets attention. Given our past relationships and experiences, I have no right to think so, but I believe we'll be just fine, and maybe stronger for the twin experience. Charlie said it best and sweetest- I was standing in front of the open fridge, looking woefully at a bottle of wine I bought on a whim on a sunny Friday afternoon three weeks past. "We can sit out back after babies go to bed and chat about our week and have a glass", I'd thought at the time. Unfortunately, we are usually very tired by the time babies go to bed, and alcohol is the last thing we want slowing our response time, so it sat unopened. "I don't know why I bothered buying that bottle of wine", I now said. "Because you're a optimist", said Charlie with a kiss and a smile. I'm shocked to discover that he's right.
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