We Are Not Lemmings. Are We?

About 2/3 of my mother's family, eight years ago

About 2/3 of my mother’s family, eight years ago, before all my cousins started having kids. Note: some of the kids in the picture ARE my cousins.

Can I just say how annoying I find the American obsession with poll-taking? They’ve become so institutionalized, we have come to regard polls as truth: not a reflection of people’s opinions, but a representation of reality.

For instance, last week I ran across an article about a survey in which parents identified their own stress level. The conclusion? The most stressful number of kids is three. This was not a scientific study–just a survey.

There are so many problems with this survey. A friend blogged a whole bunch of them last week, and did a fabulous job, but I have others.

1. This is completely useless “information.” How does it help anyone to know that people with three children self-identify as more stressed than parents of other numbers?

2. It undercuts anyone who is not in the “most stressful” category. Obviously they should just chill, because their life isn’t as bad as they think.

3. Because we are lemmings, we will use useless information like this to “help” us make important decisions on family size. Obviously we should quit at two children, because if we have a third our life is over. We are doomed to be a bundle of stress all the time. (Yeah, I know. You think other people’s opinions don’t influence you, but be honest. When you see a poll that relates to some decision you’re contemplating, course it weighs into the decision!)

4. There is stress in all stages of family-building.

Those who don’t have kids yet are stressing because they are trying to have them, or trying not to have them, and worrying about whether their decision is the right one: is this the right time? What if I put it off too long? Why can’t I get pregnant NOW?

In short: stress.

When you have one child, you’re obsessively worried about said child. You have to do everything right, and you know for sure if you screw up, your kid’s entire future will be shot, permanently and irretrievably lost. You worry about whether you’re reading the right number of minutes, teaching enough signs and attending the right enrichment programs. Why? Because you’ve never done this before, and it’s a big responsibility!

In short: stress.

When you have two kids, you have to split yourself in two for the first time. All that energy you devoted to one now has to make do for two. There’s guilt, because the older child took a hit in Mommy (or Daddy) attention.

In short: stress.

When you have three children,  you are always outnumbered. At least one of the older kids is virtually guaranteed to be going through some really hard stage while you’re also dealing with the time-intensive baby stage.

In short: stress.

When you have four or more, all the above applies, although you’re used to it. But you get so busy helping older kids with homework and driving them to activities that the youngest gets a paltry shadow of the intensive parent interaction that child #1 got. Kids bicker: there’s the “he’s touching me” “she’s watching me play” bit, the minding everyone’s business but their own, the every time you turn around the thing you just put away is out again, and there isn’t enough of you to go around and you know it’s your own fault that the house is a mess because you’re not willing to take the time to make the kids clean up themselves but for Heaven’s sake, it’s just easier to do it yourself most of the time, because you know what battles ensue in getting kids to do it!

In short: stress.

The point is, it doesn’t matter whether you have no kids or twenty, you’re going to be stressed, because that’s what human beings do to ourselves. Asking people to identify their own stress level, with no further breakdown of situation, is nonsense. Certain stages are more stressful than others, and sometimes it’s a shift in type rather than intensity. All these people have kids of different ages, and a different spread between their kids.

Besides, each person’s unique life circumstances play into the stress dynamic. Your mood on a given day affects how you answer those questions, for crying out loud–to say nothing of job stress, house hunting, kids’ projects, health, whether your kids are having trouble in school or sailing through–even whether toilet training is going well or poorly on the day they asked. To reduce all that complexity to a simple, bald statement like “three is the most stressful number of children”…that’s just a load of crap.

Opinion polls tell you nothing about reality. They tell you only people’s perception of it. I just wish we’d all keep that in mind, instead of running over the cliff of public opinion like a bunch of lemmings.

(Note: yes, I know lemmings don’t actually follow each other over cliffs. It’s a figure of speech.)

Published in: on May 13, 2013 at 7:43 am  Comments (5)  
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Did Mary Suffer From Powdered Butt Syndrome?

Mary

Mary (Photo credit: aphotoshooter)

Financial guru Dave Ramsey often talks about “powdered butt syndrome.” Once you’ve changed a kid’s diaper, he says, you aren’t interested in being lectured about sex or money by said kid–no matter how much of an expert they grow up to be.

I’d hazard a guess it’s not limited to sex and money, though. A parent spends so many years being the authority figure, it must be really hard to let your kids grow, and then let them go, to make their own decisions and, at length, to recognize that they know more than you do on some subject they’ve studied and you haven’t.

Maybe this is why most people are called to the vocation of marriage: because we need to become parents. Parenthood is a constant stretching of the soul, an unending lesson in humility. Who doesn’t need that?

I wonder if Mary had to deal with powdered butt syndrome. It seems almost inevitable, raising God Incarnate. But if she did, she handled it with tremendous grace.

Moms are used to serving, to fixing whatever’s wrong, to being hostess. It doesn’t matter if it’s someone else’s party: if a mother is there and realizes there’s a problem, she wants to do something to fix it.

So Mary goes to a wedding with her grown son and realizes the hosts are out of wine. This isn’t modern New York, where you can just run to the corner liquor store. I’d imagine the bride and groom were pretty much out of luck. Mary’s heart swells in empathy; she wants to fix it, but she’s helpless. So what does she do? She turns to her child, the baby who nursed at the breast and probably blew out a few diapers, who had diaper rash and teething crankiness and got into things, pulled down shelves in the name of exploration, the whole nine yards. (I am not one of those people who believes the child Jesus was exempt from normal little kid mischief. Being human means you have growing pains to get through, even if you are also God.)

Anyway, Mary is able to recognize that her child has far outpaced her in holiness. She turns to him and says, “Honey, they need help, and I can’t do it, but you can.”

I pray that as my children grow, I may be humble enough to admit when they know better than me. When they can do something I can’t. And to give way gracefully when that moment arrives.

Published in: on April 29, 2013 at 8:01 am  Comments (8)  
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First Communion: A Journal Entry

Alex 1st Communion 014Where do I begin to detail a First Communion weekend? Perhaps with Friday morning, when I realize my company actually is arriving that night instead of Saturday afternoon, which means I actually do have to clean my house before dinner. Or maybe I should start with Alex coming home from school, wired and wound up by the thought of grandparents and a cousin coming for a sleepover–and not just a sleepover, but a TWO-NIGHT sleepover! Only he’s strangely lethargic despite his excitement, and I frown at what appears to be the beginnings of a runny nose.

And there’s the ice cream run, and the best mini Chocolate Extreme blizzard ever, and Michael insisting on feeding himself his own ice cream, and deciding at the bottom of the cup that he’s not going to waste any of it, and drinking the dregs. The cup covers his entire face, and when he’s done there’s a big sticky ring around his features. And we’re still waiting for Julianna to finish.

There’s the arrival of the family, an hour after bedtime, and the room full of boys who won’t go to sleep until almost 10:00. And who wake up at 6:05 a.m. on Saturday.

1st Communion Cake

(Incidentally: yes, I am VERY proud of this cake.)

There’s the mowing of the lawn, and the opening of the Google Hangout so Michael’s godparents can see him, and the excitement of going with Grandpa to the store for doughnuts. There’s a hasty trip to the grocery store, and a shower, and a wedding to play in the afternoon, and a cake to bake and decorate. And don’t forget about making schnitzel and noodles–Alex’s requested birthday dinner, which is, yanno, only the most in-depth, time-intensive dinner I prepare. It’s turning into one of those weekends where I can scarcely breathe, and my blood pressure is sky high from stress. Thankfully I have extra hands in the house to help.

By dinnertime, I’m struck by the odd sensation that I’ve barely interacted with my children all day. Alex is well and truly sick–low-grade fever. And I’m thinking, Oh, no! Tomorrow’s his first Communion! What do we do about taking the CUP???? Do I tell him he can’t take the cup? On his FIRST COMMUNION????

(Please withhold comments about how the Real Presence is present under one species. I’m a liturgist. I know this. It’s still his First Communion.)

By the time I roll into bed I’m completely shot. But Michael’s up twice in the night, and the third time, at 4:30a.m., I realize with a shot of adrenaline that the rolls for our luncheon are still in the deep freeze, and we’re going to be gone all morning. I’m trying to work out a timeline for assembling rolls in the shape of a bunch of grapes and having them rise and be ready to bake after Mass, and realizing there isn’t a timeline in which that scenario works. I go downstairs in the dark, trying not to wake my in-laws as I dig through the deep freeze in the dark. I go back to bed because I have to–I have to take my temperature at 5:30. But I know full well I’m finished sleeping for the day.

Bunch of grapes--rolls

(Well, it sort of looks like a bunch of grapes.)

By 5:35, Alex is awake. No longer feverish (whew!) but definitely sniffly, and too wound up to sleep. I do a Jazzercise video and assemble the roll creation and put it under a towel in the refrigerator, and we start getting everyone ready for church. Julianna does not want to wear her gorgeous spangled Easter dress. “Doh! I doh wike ee! Doh! I doh wike ee!” she shrieks, and fights me every limb of the way. I think it’s the netting she doesn’t like.

Alex bored

(You can tell he’s not feeling his best, poor guy.)

Church passes in a hazy blur of trying to make sure everything comes together: choir and family logistics, not screwing up the psalm, which I’m playing and Christian’s singing, getting over to join the family for the First Communion itself without making a spectacle. Alex’s hair, newly cut and thick, is soft under my fingers, and my heart feels so full, it bubbles up and wells up through my eyes. I’m trying to hit “pause” and experience this moment to the fullest, but I know it’s not his first Communion that will be most meaningful to me–there’s simply too much else going on to worry about–it’ll be next week, when we file up in line as a family and Alex receives.

And by the way, I’ve decided the heck with the cold. He’s taking the cup.

Alex bringing gifts

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Alex first Communion*

Alex 1st Communion 041

Alex 1st Communion 056After Mass I get to hear about how my kids behaved. “Nicholas and Elise were the highlight of Mass,” my sister-in-law says. “She sidles over beside him and says, ‘I’m four.’”

‘I’m four, too.’

Looking each other up and down. ‘I go to school.’

‘I go to school, too.’

‘I like your dress. Where’d you get it?’

‘From Liz.’”

And my son and his cousin proceed to share hymnals they can’t read for the duration of Mass. “Seriously,” my sister-in-law says, “are they hitting on each other????”

Well….let’s put it this way: inseparable for the rest of the day. Because: “You’re going to sit there, because you’re four. I’m gonna sit there, too. Because I’m four, too.”

Well, enough Journaling. Nose back to the grindstone, with books being ripped and Tonka dumpers being smacked down. Thanks for indulging me this morning.

Published in: on April 22, 2013 at 8:21 am  Comments (12)  

Poor In Spirit? (TLL Review & Excerpt)

ThisLittleLight_Beatitudes_CoverThis Little Light of Mine: Living the Beatitudes is written for use with children, but it’s also at least as much aimed at forming the faith of the adults who work with them. Today’s excerpt, from Chapter 1: Blessed Are the Poor In Spirit, comes from the section for adults.

Humility is not tolerating circumstances we can’t change while complaining about them through gritted teeth. It is an act of will, a choice to be at peace when our gut reaction is to choke on helpless rage. It means accepting what we don’t want to accept, being gracious when we want to complain, and trusting that God has a plan, even if it makes no sense to us.

And at these times, Jesus says, we’re blessed?

Well, yes. …. Being poor in spirit, learning to accept humbling circumstances without angst, rescues us from self-righteousness and pride. It’s easy to be thankful when I’m on top of the world…at least, for  a while. But soon … I start to forget that everything I have, right down to the very breath of life, is a gift from God. … I act as if I have all the answers. And from there, it’s a short step to judging everyone else’s circumstances based on my own. In other words…I start to regard myself as God.

Just Live It:

4. Think of a specific act of self-sacrifice or service you can offer to a specific family member, coworker or associate. Write the person’s name, the act, or a phrase to remember on a piece of paper. String it around your neck, put it in a billfold or a pocket. For instance, if you are prone to self-righteousness and judgment, you might write, “I do not know anyone’s whole story; it is not my place to pass judgment, only to live my life as I believe God is calling me.”

(Excerpts from This Little Light of Mine, Chapter 1)

Today, please visit RAnn’s This, That & The Other Thing for a review  (and giveaway!) of This Little Light of Mine: Living the Beatitudes.

Published in: on April 3, 2013 at 8:18 am  Leave a Comment  
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How Do You Power Down Your Brain?

Spiralstorm

Spiralstorm (Photo credit: Stuck in Customs)

I’ve said before that I’m obsessed with sleep. This is because i don’t get enough of it, though not for lack of trying. I go to bed at 9:30, I take naps during the day when it gets bad…but I don’t sleep well. In these latter days, I can blame it on kids (last night’s count: Nicholas, 4; Michael, 1; total 5), but the truth is I never have slept well. When I was a kid I used to have long discussions with God, my head wedged up against the screen so I could see as much of the sky above the north pond as possible.

I don’t know if it’s a gift of nature or a learned skill, but my brain just won’t shut down. Ever. In many ways this is a benefit to my crazy lifestyle; my mind is always working in the background–not efficiently, of course, while I’m making grocery lists, cooking dinner or waiting for a child to turn a page–but nonetheless, the gears are always spinning. When I have a moment to work, I’m rarely starting from zero.

But the down side is this constant sense of urgency. I seem to have lost the ability to stop thinking. And so I’m not really living in the moment.

It came home to me this weekend when my sister visited. She loves little kids. She’s so good with them, too. Nicholas lights up whenever she arrives. He’d play with her for hours, and she’d oblige–happily. But me? Well, this weekend we were at last pulling clear of the Infinite Intestinal Virus. In other words: there was a LOT of cleaning to do. And I had this conference call for our Down Syndrome group, so I spent the first two hours of the visit closeted in my room, folding laundry and making beds while I listened to the discussion. (In case you’re wondering, my sister did know before she came that I had to do this call, and how long it would take. I’m not that much of a jerk.)

Later, I watched her play with Nicholas, the two of them obviously enjoying each other. And then it was nap time, and I groused about having to take the time to put them to bed. I had kite string to untangle, and I wanted that job instead, because that I could do while chatting with my sister.

It wasn’t until late that night that all the pieces clicked. Michael was lying across the Boppy, playing with me in between nuzzling the breast. You can’t really call it nursing anymore; he just wants to cuddle. He likes the one-on-one time with Mommy, and he doesn’t want me multitasking. Even my neck stretches sometimes raise objections. He wants me to play with his hand, tickle his ribs, and trade silly proto-words with him.

For once, I was doing it. No reading Thomas Merton, no reading Eragon to Alex, no brainstorming or making mental lists. I was simply there.

And it was fun.

This Lent I’ve been Powering Down along with my critique partner and blog friend Amy. It’s been very good for my writing: closing Gmail, closing Facebook, turning off the internet altogether if the temptation grows too strong. My fiction productivity has soared, and I fully expect this week, when I’m on deadlines, that it’ll serve the nonfiction side of things equally well.

The part I haven’t figured out is the personal powering down. The part where I nourish my family and spousal relationships, and my soul. I can’t simply stop doing everything else. I’ve tried cutting back, doing less work-related stuff, passing off volunteer commitments to others in the local organizations, but somehow the monologue inside my head doesn’t seem to diminish. When I’m with my kids I’m always thinking about how much I still have to do. And not just “me” things, either; some of it is about responsibilities to them. Grr! I still haven’t done homework with Julianna! We’ve got to be better about that! She needs our help to excel! Man! I still haven’t helped the kids finish their dream catchers. Oh, crap! I promised I’d listen to Alex play his festival pieces!

But I can’t turn off Michael, either. He’s always clinging to my leg, wailing if I put him down because I need both hands to use the salt grinder or carry plates with food. (Because I know what will happen if I try to carry him AND the food; he’ll simply smack it and the food will be on the floor.)

This is life with four kids close together.  There’s so much to do, I’ve placed my top priority on multitasking to try to get through as much as possible. But what am I giving up, with my brain powering through every day, all day, and every night, all night? I even struggle when I wake up to use the bathroom, to force it not to start up again.

The answer is: I’m giving up Presence. Presence in my own life.

It’s not an acceptable trade. There’s all the platitudes about kids growing up fast and regretting what you didn’t take time for…but there’s also the part where their overarching memory is of a mom who was never really fully present to them. They are so important to me. It’s time to act that way.

So although I don’t yet know how–the busyness isn’t going anywhere–I now at least know what I need to do. I have to learn to Power Down my brain.

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Published in: on February 25, 2013 at 9:50 am  Comments (7)  
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It’s Here!

Oh, what it takes to get a not-quite-four-year-old to take a usable picture…

books 1

…while the baby invokes his Right To Wiggle All Over Mommy’s Lap Any Time She Sits Upon The Floor….

books 2

*

books 3

*

books 4

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books 6

Oh, there they are!

This Little Light of Mine: Living the Beatitudes, coming soon from Liguori Publications!

The point of this book is to take faith, which we tend to approach from an internal, heart-and-mind perspective, and bring it down to the intensely, mundanely practical level: the actions and the words of the everyday. Are you ever going to kill anyone? Not likely! But that doesn’t mean you’ve got the 5th commandment covered. It has implications for the way we interact with others every day. Unlike my other two books, I really wrote This Little Light of Mine with adults’ faith formation in mind as much as that of their children. During the penitential and high seasons, we’re at least nominally focused on religious topics. The rest of the year is make-or-break time for our spiritual growth. During ordinary times, we’ll either choose to be committed, or we’ll slip into “me first, God when I have the time and inclination” mentality. I wrote this book to help you think about the specific actions that underlie the religious concepts we talk about all the time.

Published in: on February 12, 2013 at 8:12 am  Comments (8)  
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Welcome, Risen Jesus (Giveaway!)

Today I would like to welcome Sarah Reinhard back to the blog to answer everything you ever wanted to know about her Lent/Easter devotional for families, Welcome Risen Jesus.

The last book of yours we talked about was Welcome Baby Jesus, your devotional book for families to use with children during Advent and Christmas. I think everybody knows on some fundamental, gut level that December is badly skewed and that we are in desperate need of resources to help us cling to what really counts. But the same can’t necessarily be said for Lent and Easter. Why is it just as important to take time for devotions during this spring season?

The earth is springing to life all around us (at least here in central Ohio), or we are at least ready for that. And there’s something renewed about me when the days are longer.

I’m an Advent dropout. Every year–and this year was no different–I walk away from Advent as though I have a hangover, and the hangover was a whole season long, and it’s a baby’s fault. Hey! I’ve been through this before!

Every year!

So Lent is almost a palate cleanser. I know I need to do all that stuff I was supposed to do at Advent, and I failed. Again. So here I am with Lent ahead of me. Again.

I’ll fail. But it’s not about what *I* plan, is it? It’s not about what *I* have in mind, is it?

Or that seems to be the lesson I need to learn.

Every day during Lent, you offer a scripture, a reflection (“Think”), and sections titled “Act,” “Fast,” and “Pray.” Some of these “fasts” are really hard-hitting: give your favorite part of the meal to someone else. Give up some play time to do two chores around the house. Be cheerful today, even when you’re annoyed. You’ve really nailed some tough things for kids to do! What’s the key to getting kids to keep a good attitude, so they don’t say, “Oh, no, LEEEEEEEENNNNNNNT!”?

Wait a minute: I have to get my KIDS to do this stuff?

Oh yeah. Riiiiiight.

Well, Kate, truth is: it’s all been a theory to me. This is the year when I put my book where my mouth is. (Actually, I’m going to use YOUR book. I need a bit more distance from my own words.)

I can only tell you what I do for myself: I just buckle down. It’s like exercise: you know you have to do it, but it doesn’t have to be THAT bad. Sometimes the dread of a thing is WAY worse than the actuality.

Most books seem to focus only on the penitential season. Why do you think it’s important to continue the devotions through Easter?

What I love about being Catholic is that we take our celebrations seriously. Like 40 days of partying seriously.

In college, when I thought a party had to come with a hangover afterward, I would have been stunned to consider this kind of serious partying. 40 DAYS! FOR REAL!

Now, granted, we’re not supposed to get sloshed and silly: this is a time to draw closer to God. And what better way to do that than continue those things we were striving to do during Lent–minus the fasting, OF COURSE.

How important is it to do this every single day?

I don’t think it matters. At least, it can’t matter for ME, because I’ll get all obsessive and focused on that. And that is NOT what the focus is to be!

If you miss a day–and chances are, if you’re anything remotely like me, you will!–forgive yourself and pick it up the next day. It’s okay. Jesus understands. And he will be there risen in all his glory for you on Easter. Period.

Do you envision these reflections as self-directed, in other words, for older kids who can read the book themselves, or for younger kids who need the devotions read to them? Since the “act” and “fast” sections are meant to be day-long activities, how do you make sure you carve out time to do them as a family?

The first thing that comes to mind for my family is to do the reflections the night before, perhaps as part of an after-dinner (or even during dinner) discussion. I’ve even thought about making it part of our before bed ritual during Advent.

Then, the next morning, you can just remind each other of what the day’s focus is, maybe pray the prayer together, and out the door you go with your crazy day!

Thanks, Sarah, for taking time to visit with us about your book. Everybody, I hope you can get a sense of the down-to-earth approach she takes to faith. We all need some of that! Welcome, Risen Jesus can be found at your local Catholic bookstore or by going online at Barnes & Noble, Amazon, or direct from Liguori.

AND…..just as we did during Advent, Sarah and I are giving away a set of our books. She’s giving away a set, I’m giving away a set. To enter, leave a comment below (or on Facebook!), and check out Sarah’s post by clicking below.

Lentgiveaway-reinhard-basi

Published in: on January 30, 2013 at 6:00 am  Comments (13)  
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I Got Nothin’

I had two ideas for blog posts to enlighten and enrich your Monday morning, but one of them fell apart as I tried to pull the ideas together, and the other turned out to be so banal I recognized it even before I started writing.

So I thought I’d skim through the most recent batch of picture uploads for inspiration, and the result is a post full of cute pictures of Christmas tree hunting.

Hide n Seek

A Christmas Tree Farm is a great place to play hide and seek.

Up close & personal with creation...even if they are shaped and painted (!), as we discovered this year.

Up close & personal with creation…even if they are shaped and painted (!), as we discovered this year.

Love this shot.

Love this shot.

The Ponderers

The Ponderers. (Les Penseurs?)

And now, to demonstrate a principle of life, namely: You Will Never Get All Your Children To Pose For A Picture At The Same Time:

Illustration A

Illustration A

Illustration B

Illustration B

Illustration C

Illustration C

Cute? Check.

Deep and insightful? Not so much. But hey, I can’t be deep and insightful every day, can I?

Published in: on December 10, 2012 at 8:58 am  Comments (2)  
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On Thankfulness and Chaos, Stream-of-Consciousness style

Parenthood

Parenthood (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

For weeks after Alex was born, I cried every day. I was hormonal, overwrought, and overwhelmed, and every time someone called and asked, “How are you doing?” the faucets turned on.

When Michael was born, six years later, I cried two dozen times a day for over a week, though that was the NICU’s fault. In fact, the only one of my children whose birth was not accompanied by extended periods of crying was Nicholas. (He was saving all his tear-worthy moments for the age of three.)

I’m not really very far removed from those years, but the feel of our home is very, very different than it was when Alex, and even Julianna, were babies. Specifically, it’s a lot louder, more chaotic. Just when I think things are settling down so we can have a peaceful hour or so as a married couple before bedtime, something erupts again: a child with a bad dream, or a baby with a cold. Someone wanting permission to get up and go to the bathroom.

Tonight, as I type, I am losing my voice again, so I put Julianna and Michael to bed and tasked Alex with reading to Nicholas. And since school’s out for Thanksgiving, I let them stay up. I said goodnight and came downstairs, exhaling the tension of another busy bedtime. And then, Nicholas came out into the hallway, right in front of the room where Michael was trying to sleep off his cold, and shouted, “HEY YOU GUYS, WE AHY WEADING A BOOK!”

I lost my temper.

This little vignette illustrates a truth about myself that makes me squirm. Parenthood has taught me patience and forbearance for the big things, but as the number of children has increased, my tolerance for the little things has grown thin. To handle the witching hour in the late afternoon, the time when children bicker and complain and babies cry while I’m trying to make dinner for the family…to handle that with grace requires a long fuse.

I used to have a long fuse. When there were only a couple of them, I was much closer to the memory of how I had longed for children, and how long I had waited for the gift of their presence in my life.

I still love them fiercely, each and every moment, but it’s so much easier to take them for granted these days, so much harder to hold on to that awareness of them as a gift. It’s that awareness that mitigates frustration and allows me to approach things calmly. These days, the fuse is always short; it never gets a chance to recharge. The baby hurling Tupperware lids and emptying the trash can, the three-year-old tattling on everyone in the house, the developmentally delayed child who puts on a great dramatic show of heartbroken wailing whenever her movie ends, and the mess, mess, mess–word cards and marble run pieces and socks and videos and papers everywhere, the mess I can’t keep up with–and how blasted hard it is to force them to clean it up themselves–the constant chaos wears away every incremental gain in my “fuse” almost immediately.

I feel guilty for even admitting it, because it’s more fodder for the “you have too many %^&* children” argument. The chaos can be beautiful, too. The kids adore each other, and there are blissful periods of respite every day when they chase each other around the upstairs, giggling hysterically. There are wrestling matches and Michael toddling along behind his big siblings with hero-worship shining in his mischief eyes. None of this short-term frustration changes my vision of the essential long-term good of having a “large” family. But the short-term is where we live, and it’s not always easy to look beyond. I feel nostalgic for the days when we could actually get done what needed doing before bedtime, and the hour and a half between their bedtime and ours was open for spousal communication, not hamstrung by dishes and lunch making and fixing whatever darned thing is broken now.

These are inappropriate reflections for the days before Thanksgiving, so I’d like the more experienced moms to weigh in. Surely you’ve been here. How do we (because I’m sure I’m echoing other moms’ sentiments today!) shift our attitudes to a default state of thankfulness, of calm and patience?

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Published in: on November 21, 2012 at 9:24 am  Comments (8)  
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Who’s The Expert Here, Anyway?

Document Imaging Man!

Document Imaging Man! (Photo credit: richtpt)

It’s no secret that I have a healthy skepticism of a lot of modern “wisdom.” This often puts me at odds with doctors. I’ve complained before about the waste of time that is a well-child check, unless immunizations are necessary, because it fills up appointments that would better serve someone who is–gasp–sick.

I get particularly snarky when doctors try to overstep their authority. They are not developmental experts; they are not parenting experts. Their expertise is medicine.

At Michael’s nine-month well-child check (one of those appointments that is a complete waste of my time), his doctor brought up bedtime routine, via a discussion of dental hygiene. I made the mistake of admitting that our routine followed a different order, and he admonished me that nursing needs to come before tooth brushing (which makes sense) and book reading (which doesn’t). Because after all, we want them to be able to put themselves to sleep, not have to be nursed to sleep.

I felt my hackles rise. You try putting four kids to bed, I wanted to say. You’ve only got one. Don’t tell me I have to do this a different way. It’s nearly impossible as it is. Michael is so distractible, I can’t get him to nurse at all while other kids are running in and out of the room, giggling, bickering, asking to have their shirts oriented the right way.

Besides, who made him the expert on child bedtime? I nearly said, “Dude. You’re like, twelve. You have one kid. I am a fourth-time mother. Don’t you dare lecture me about proper parenting skills.”

But I thought of my friends in the medical field, who often remind me that our family has greatly benefitted from the medical profession. Which is true. Although those benefits have come when doctors are doing what lies within their expertise, and never, ever when it oversteps those bounds.

Still, I like our doctor, and our bedtime routine already doesn’t work very well. Maybe, I thought, I ought to at least give his way a try.

So after a few days of teeth gnashing, I did. That first night, Christian was teaching, so I was flying solo. We nursed first–with, I might add, great difficulty and frustration (see above); then I brushed Michael’s teeth and read him a book amid the battle of getting the other three through their bedtime ablutions. I put him in bed…and there commenced forty-five minutes of screaming. He was hysterical. In the end, I pulled him out of bed to nurse some more, just to calm him down. After that, he went to bed beautifully.

I tried for almost a week to get Michael to adjust to the “experts’” version of ideal. And then I said, You know what? I know my child. They don’t.

Wow. What a concept. I know my child, and they don’t.

And this, folks, is my point. I am a fourth-time mother who has been through early childhood with boys and girls, both typically-developing and developmentally delayed. I have more than a decade’s life experiences on the doctor who sees my kids, and I have a strong sense of self and a strong vision of how I want my kids raised.

And yet even I felt compelled to ignore what I knew about my children, simply because he was the “expert.”

If I find myself pressured this way, how much more is a first-time mom going to doubt herself based on advice that feels wrong for her child?

For generations–millennia, in fact–people have been raising children without parenting books, without the benefit of research, without enrichment activities and educational apps and closets full of toys. It’s time we stop second-guessing our parental instincts. No researcher, doctor or educator knows your child the way you do. You are the expert. You can call in help whenever you need it, but don’t ever let someone tell you you’re doing it wrong. Because you’re the one who knows, not them.

Published in: on November 20, 2012 at 7:48 am  Comments (17)  
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