My son was five months old when his dad moved out, leaving him outnumbered in a house full of women. The poor little guy was left to figure out on his own how to do “boy things.” There’s no way I could teach him how to make those cool machine gun noises, let alone how to properly throw a baseball.
When it came time to potty train him, I didn’t really know where to start. I’d successfully trained his sisters, but they were girls - and part of their training included watching how Mom does it. That approach clearly wouldn’t work here. So, I began asking friends and family for advice.
Should I start him sitting down or standing up? He’s too short to clear the rim of the bowl, so should I pick him up and point him downward or get a step stool?
Because he was vertically challenged, I decided to start him sitting down. He hated that little guard attachment that came with the potty seat, so he popped it off and threw it away, announcing, “I don’t like it, Mama.”
After a few times of having his pee shoot straight out and down his legs instead of in the pot, I taught him how to tuck it down and lean forward. This worked pretty well, until I noticed his pee was still not hitting the water. Instead it was running under the seat and down the front of the bowl, pooling on the floor.
Now, with the bathroom stocked with Clorox towelettes and flushable baby wipes, we tried a new approach. This time he stood on a stool, with me behind him, holding him steady. He preferred to stand, but not by himself, since being up so high made him feel wobbly.
The first time he peed standing up, it shot upward, like a fire hose, nailing the back of the toilet and the surrounding wall. I couldn’t believe the force with which he peed – especially in the morning. The pressure was incredible.
So, we began to tackle the issue of aim. Recalling advice from a friend, I tossed a few Cheerios into the bowl and encouraged him to use them as a target. Confused, he looked up and told me (with a look of concern) the cereal shouldn’t go in the potty.
“No honey, you’re not going to eat it, you’re going to pee on it,” I explained. He shrugged his shoulders and complied. He tried to take aim by moving his hips from side to side and leaning forward – an approach that was creative, but not effective. Using this style, he hit the water for one, brief instant, and then ended up nailing the shower curtain, vanity and a towel rack as he swiveled his hips.
I knew I had to get him to take hold and take aim, but I wasn’t sure what terminology to use.
Penis sounded too clinical. Besides, it reminded me of story a friend once told me about growing up with her psychologist mother. The woman was strictly against using cutie-pie names like pee-pee or woo-woo to describe body parts. Instead, she insisted they use correct anatomical terminology. She felt that euphemisms were ridiculous and downright embarrassing. Sadly, her plan backfired when one of her daughters fell off her bike and ran into the house yelling at the top of her lungs, “MOM! I HURT MY VAGINA!”
I considered using the word pee-pee, but decided against it because pee-pee is what comes out and I don’t want him touching that.
Another friend (also a single mother) suggested I call it Mr. Winkie. Her daycare provider called it that and her son didn’t seem to have a problem telling Mr. Winkie where to squirt. I tried it out a few times, but it just didn’t roll off the tongue.
Finally, I settled on pee-pee maker. I know it’s a mouthful, but he gets it and I’m not embarrassed to say it out loud – which is good, because I find I’m saying it often.
“Hold your pee-pee maker and squirt it in the water.”
“No, you do it,” he says, folding his arms and piddling on the floor.
“That is your pee-pee maker, not mine. You do it.”
Still, he refused to touch it. I guess he thought he would eventually perfect his fancy-dancy hip maneuver.
After another week arguing over who was responsible for whose pee-pee maker, I finally figured out why he wouldn’t grab on and take aim. One day, after I had to aim for him, he refused to wash his hands.
His argument: “I didn’t touch anything,”
Once I convinced him that he has to wash his hands every time he goes potty, regardless of what he did or didn’t touch, he finally relented. Now, when he goes, he takes hold and hits the water a good 75% of the time, which I call success.
Potty training my son was a long, tough journey, but together, we made it through. He’s even trying to go all by himself, without help, which when he perfects his aim, will be just one more milestone that makes my life easier.
In the end, I won the potty war at my house. My boy is peeing like a pro and shows no hesitation to reach down and take matters into this own hands. In fact, this new willingness to reach down there has evolved into a sort of fondness for it. I caught him a few times just today, “feeling things out”, if you know what I mean.
The more I think about it, I guess I can claim at least partial credit for teaching him one of those “boy things.”
Be careful what you wish for
Due to my ex-husband’s crazy work schedule, I have my kids most of the time. He takes them on one-night visits about once every 7-10 days, which leaves him aching to see them more, and me fairly exhausted by the time one of my “breaks” come along.
I say “breaks” because typically I use those nights to do some pesky chore or run errands that’d be difficult or downright impossible to accomplish with three kids in tow. My friends tell me to relax and take a bubble bath, but more often than not, I’m using that time to scrub a dirty ring from the tub – not soak in it.
So, you’d think that when my ex informed me he has a full week of vacation coming up, and that he’d like to take the kids for 5 straight days – I’d be thrilled. Surprisingly enough (especially to me), the thought of being without them for almost a week makes me nauseous.
Seriously, I feel sick to my stomach just thinking about it.
When you’re solely responsible for your kids 99% of the time, it’s hard to just hand the reigns over to someone else. Don’t get me wrong, I trust my ex completely – he’s a great dad. It’s just hard to turn off being in full-time mom-mode, ya know?
I remember the first few times the kids went away for a one-night stay. At first I thought I would pamper myself by doing my nails or enjoying a glass of wine and a good book. Instead, I puttered around the house, walking from room to room, missing the kids. I felt (and most certainly looked) pathetic.
The next time they went away, I had visions of accomplishing all sorts of errands. I’d do some shopping free from the cries of “Mom, can I have this?” every ten steps. However, in reality, I crashed out on my couch and fell asleep by 6:30 p.m., not having accomplished a thing. I think it was a combination of exhaustion and depression. My body just gave out and I shut down.
Over the last three years, it’s taken me a while to begin enjoying my nights off and actually use that time more efficiently.
So, what am I going to do with a full week off? I think it’s going to shake down like this:
Early in the week, I know I’ll be full of energy and eager to get out of the house. I really need to reconnect with some of my long, lost friends (the ones without kids, especially). And I’m dying to see a movie out in a movie theater. It can be any movie – so long as it’s not animated, or has animals that talk.
And I want to go shopping – but instead of getting things for the kids, I plan to come home with a few little treasures just for me. This won’t be a crazy splurge that I’ll regret later. Instead I’ll get something small but personal, like new perfume. I haven’t bought new perfume – or have had anyone to buy it for me – for years. The other day someone told me I smelled good and asked what I was wearing. Embarrassing as it was, I had to fess up. It was just my Lady Speedstick. Yes, new perfume. Definitely.
I’ll also catch up on some much-needed downtime. This will be a great opportunity to get some decent sleep. As it stands now, at least every other night, someone creeps into my bed due to a bad dream, upset tummy or just because. I have to admit that on one level, I love it – my kids are great snugglers. But on the other hand, sleeping with your kids isn’t really restful sleep. Someone’s always snoring or poking you with their bony elbows. A week without a nighttime visitor may be a tough adjustment, but one that will be well worth it.
This weeklong break will be good for all of us. When the kids return, I’ll be rested and rejuvenated. My batteries will be fully charged. I know I’ll be more patient and will appreciate them more. My desire to cook will return and I’ll be eager to eat some good, home-cooked meals myself.
The more I think about it, the less apprehensive I feel. Instead of a twinge of nausea, I’m beginning to feel a twitter of excitement. Instead of dread, I’m actually looking forward to this.
Still…we’ll see how I feel when I see them drive away in their dad’s white Ford. Seeing my whole life drive off, not to return for almost a week, will surely make me feel sad and lonely.
But I know that their return five days later will bring me indescribable joy. I’ll be elated when they rush me, shouting, “Mom! Mom!”
I can feel myself getting a little misty just thinking about it now.
For me, with my kids in my arms, the planets are aligned and my world is in order. I silently complain that I wish I had more “me time” but I know deep in my bones that my kids are my life and I need them near.
Time away, whether it’s one day or five, reminds me of who I am and what I’ve been put on this earth to do. I’m a mother – their mother – and a damn good one. And it doesn’t matter if my perfume is nothing more than Fresh Scent deodorant.
I say “breaks” because typically I use those nights to do some pesky chore or run errands that’d be difficult or downright impossible to accomplish with three kids in tow. My friends tell me to relax and take a bubble bath, but more often than not, I’m using that time to scrub a dirty ring from the tub – not soak in it.
So, you’d think that when my ex informed me he has a full week of vacation coming up, and that he’d like to take the kids for 5 straight days – I’d be thrilled. Surprisingly enough (especially to me), the thought of being without them for almost a week makes me nauseous.
Seriously, I feel sick to my stomach just thinking about it.
When you’re solely responsible for your kids 99% of the time, it’s hard to just hand the reigns over to someone else. Don’t get me wrong, I trust my ex completely – he’s a great dad. It’s just hard to turn off being in full-time mom-mode, ya know?
I remember the first few times the kids went away for a one-night stay. At first I thought I would pamper myself by doing my nails or enjoying a glass of wine and a good book. Instead, I puttered around the house, walking from room to room, missing the kids. I felt (and most certainly looked) pathetic.
The next time they went away, I had visions of accomplishing all sorts of errands. I’d do some shopping free from the cries of “Mom, can I have this?” every ten steps. However, in reality, I crashed out on my couch and fell asleep by 6:30 p.m., not having accomplished a thing. I think it was a combination of exhaustion and depression. My body just gave out and I shut down.
Over the last three years, it’s taken me a while to begin enjoying my nights off and actually use that time more efficiently.
So, what am I going to do with a full week off? I think it’s going to shake down like this:
Early in the week, I know I’ll be full of energy and eager to get out of the house. I really need to reconnect with some of my long, lost friends (the ones without kids, especially). And I’m dying to see a movie out in a movie theater. It can be any movie – so long as it’s not animated, or has animals that talk.
And I want to go shopping – but instead of getting things for the kids, I plan to come home with a few little treasures just for me. This won’t be a crazy splurge that I’ll regret later. Instead I’ll get something small but personal, like new perfume. I haven’t bought new perfume – or have had anyone to buy it for me – for years. The other day someone told me I smelled good and asked what I was wearing. Embarrassing as it was, I had to fess up. It was just my Lady Speedstick. Yes, new perfume. Definitely.
I’ll also catch up on some much-needed downtime. This will be a great opportunity to get some decent sleep. As it stands now, at least every other night, someone creeps into my bed due to a bad dream, upset tummy or just because. I have to admit that on one level, I love it – my kids are great snugglers. But on the other hand, sleeping with your kids isn’t really restful sleep. Someone’s always snoring or poking you with their bony elbows. A week without a nighttime visitor may be a tough adjustment, but one that will be well worth it.
This weeklong break will be good for all of us. When the kids return, I’ll be rested and rejuvenated. My batteries will be fully charged. I know I’ll be more patient and will appreciate them more. My desire to cook will return and I’ll be eager to eat some good, home-cooked meals myself.
The more I think about it, the less apprehensive I feel. Instead of a twinge of nausea, I’m beginning to feel a twitter of excitement. Instead of dread, I’m actually looking forward to this.
Still…we’ll see how I feel when I see them drive away in their dad’s white Ford. Seeing my whole life drive off, not to return for almost a week, will surely make me feel sad and lonely.
But I know that their return five days later will bring me indescribable joy. I’ll be elated when they rush me, shouting, “Mom! Mom!”
I can feel myself getting a little misty just thinking about it now.
For me, with my kids in my arms, the planets are aligned and my world is in order. I silently complain that I wish I had more “me time” but I know deep in my bones that my kids are my life and I need them near.
Time away, whether it’s one day or five, reminds me of who I am and what I’ve been put on this earth to do. I’m a mother – their mother – and a damn good one. And it doesn’t matter if my perfume is nothing more than Fresh Scent deodorant.
Single mom secrets revealed
The other day, when a new acquaintance learned that in addition to working full time, I’m also a single mother to three young kids, she burst out with shock and surprise.
“Are you kidding? I have one kid and a husband and some days, I think I’m going nuts.”
This reaction is actually quite common. Most people can’t imagine what it’s like to raise one kid, let alone three on their own.
That kind of praise and adoration is extremely gratifying. Working solo means that any kind of feedback – especially that of the positive variety – brightens my day and boosts my ego.
At this point in the conversation, I usually blush and use my favorite one liner:
“I guess I’m like that Nike commercial. I just…do it.”
It’s true. Every single parent finds a way to “just do it” using their own unique system. For me, my system hinges on being extremely organized and pretty darn resourceful.
Naturally, outsiders want to know how single moms juggle everything. And lucky for you, I’m not shy. So, here’s a glimpse into the busiest part of this single mom’s day – the morning.
4:30 a.m. - Up and at ‘em
For me, getting up early is mission critical. After I stumble out of bed and consume enormous amounts of coffee, I do a few loads of laundry, take care of the dishwasher and either defrost something or prepare a crock pot for dinner.
Next, I make bag breakfasts for everyone and pack afternoon snacks. Then, I make sure that all permission slips, book orders and teachers’ notes have been addressed. I do a quick weather check and pick everyone’s outfits.
5:30 a.m. – Get ready
I try to be 95% ready before rousing the kids – and I do it in just 30 minutes. As a result, I’ve learned to streamline my morning beauty regime considerably, without compromising the end result too much.
Getting dressed now would be a bad idea. With an hour to go, a variety of likely scenarios could wrinkle or soil my ensemble. Instead, I select an outfit and set it aside, to be put on just two minutes prior to departure.
6 a.m. - Get the kids into gear
I’m extremely thankful that my school-age kids can read and tell time. With our “Morning To Do List” there’s never a question of what needs to be done. It reads:
1) Get up.
2) Get dressed.
3) Brush teeth.
4) Brush hair.
5) Put on shoes.
6) Load back packs.
In addition, they know they need to have the list completed by 6:50 a.m. and watch the clock accordingly.
The list system works well. Instead of barking orders, I calmly ask, “So, are you done with the list?” The girls know what they have to do and on most mornings do it with little-to-no complaints.
Waking up my toddler on the other hand, is a much more delicate operation. In the morning, he’s particularly fragile – a tantrum time bomb, ready to cry and go limp in protest at any second.
To this end, I’ve added 5 minutes of uninterrupted snuggle time. This allows him to wake up slowly. If I don’t take the extra time, he’s sure to meltdown – which will only end up wasting valuable time.
7 a.m. - And…we’re off!
Once coats are on and we pile into the van, we do a quick check of the time. If we’re all bucked in by 7 a.m., we rejoice and celebrate. If we’re late, we try to figure out what went wrong and how we can get ready faster tomorrow.
And thus, the shuttle departs. I drop everyone off at daycare and the before-school program then head downtown for work. If the planets are aligned and traffic is cooperative, I’m at my desk by 7:45, ready to (get this) begin my day.
Begin my day indeed! I’ve been up for over three hours. I’ve folded laundry, prepped dinner and got three kids up, dressed and out the door in less than an hour.
I think it’s actually time to call it day, don't you?
~ ~ ~ ~
The secret’s out
So, there you have it. There’s no magic behind how single parents do it. All it takes is organization and a little creativity.
Well, that and a sense of humor.
Getting your kids to work together as a team is a clear challenge. So maintaining a good attitude is crucial. In my house, positivity inspires cooperation and negativity breeds rebellion. I’m pro cooperation, so keeping everyone's spirits up (including my own) is essential.
So, the next time you see a single mom, express your amazement and ask her how she does it. You’ll give her a much-appreciated “atta-girl” and possibly learn a few tricks that’ll help your household run more smoothly too.
“Are you kidding? I have one kid and a husband and some days, I think I’m going nuts.”
This reaction is actually quite common. Most people can’t imagine what it’s like to raise one kid, let alone three on their own.
That kind of praise and adoration is extremely gratifying. Working solo means that any kind of feedback – especially that of the positive variety – brightens my day and boosts my ego.
At this point in the conversation, I usually blush and use my favorite one liner:
“I guess I’m like that Nike commercial. I just…do it.”
It’s true. Every single parent finds a way to “just do it” using their own unique system. For me, my system hinges on being extremely organized and pretty darn resourceful.
Naturally, outsiders want to know how single moms juggle everything. And lucky for you, I’m not shy. So, here’s a glimpse into the busiest part of this single mom’s day – the morning.
4:30 a.m. - Up and at ‘em
For me, getting up early is mission critical. After I stumble out of bed and consume enormous amounts of coffee, I do a few loads of laundry, take care of the dishwasher and either defrost something or prepare a crock pot for dinner.
Next, I make bag breakfasts for everyone and pack afternoon snacks. Then, I make sure that all permission slips, book orders and teachers’ notes have been addressed. I do a quick weather check and pick everyone’s outfits.
5:30 a.m. – Get ready
I try to be 95% ready before rousing the kids – and I do it in just 30 minutes. As a result, I’ve learned to streamline my morning beauty regime considerably, without compromising the end result too much.
Getting dressed now would be a bad idea. With an hour to go, a variety of likely scenarios could wrinkle or soil my ensemble. Instead, I select an outfit and set it aside, to be put on just two minutes prior to departure.
6 a.m. - Get the kids into gear
I’m extremely thankful that my school-age kids can read and tell time. With our “Morning To Do List” there’s never a question of what needs to be done. It reads:
1) Get up.
2) Get dressed.
3) Brush teeth.
4) Brush hair.
5) Put on shoes.
6) Load back packs.
In addition, they know they need to have the list completed by 6:50 a.m. and watch the clock accordingly.
The list system works well. Instead of barking orders, I calmly ask, “So, are you done with the list?” The girls know what they have to do and on most mornings do it with little-to-no complaints.
Waking up my toddler on the other hand, is a much more delicate operation. In the morning, he’s particularly fragile – a tantrum time bomb, ready to cry and go limp in protest at any second.
To this end, I’ve added 5 minutes of uninterrupted snuggle time. This allows him to wake up slowly. If I don’t take the extra time, he’s sure to meltdown – which will only end up wasting valuable time.
7 a.m. - And…we’re off!
Once coats are on and we pile into the van, we do a quick check of the time. If we’re all bucked in by 7 a.m., we rejoice and celebrate. If we’re late, we try to figure out what went wrong and how we can get ready faster tomorrow.
And thus, the shuttle departs. I drop everyone off at daycare and the before-school program then head downtown for work. If the planets are aligned and traffic is cooperative, I’m at my desk by 7:45, ready to (get this) begin my day.
Begin my day indeed! I’ve been up for over three hours. I’ve folded laundry, prepped dinner and got three kids up, dressed and out the door in less than an hour.
I think it’s actually time to call it day, don't you?
~ ~ ~ ~
The secret’s out
So, there you have it. There’s no magic behind how single parents do it. All it takes is organization and a little creativity.
Well, that and a sense of humor.
Getting your kids to work together as a team is a clear challenge. So maintaining a good attitude is crucial. In my house, positivity inspires cooperation and negativity breeds rebellion. I’m pro cooperation, so keeping everyone's spirits up (including my own) is essential.
So, the next time you see a single mom, express your amazement and ask her how she does it. You’ll give her a much-appreciated “atta-girl” and possibly learn a few tricks that’ll help your household run more smoothly too.
Mom, the marketing genius
Everyone knows that moms wear many different hats. As a mother, you naturally assume the roles of teacher, nurse and cleaning lady. They just come with the job.
I knew this heading into my first pregnancy. I was prepared to kiss boo-boos, spend hours explaining long division and wash endless loads of laundry. But what I didn’t expect is how my professional experiences in the business world of sales and marketing would be an essential asset at home with my kids.
They say the best salesman could sell ice to an Eskimo. Well, how about selling last night’s leftovers to a 6 year-old? I suppose I could force my kids to sit at the table until their plates are clean, but honestly, at 7 p.m. with homework and baths yet to do, I simply can’t spare the time.
And so, at dinnertime, my marketing skills come in most handy.
My kids are suspicious of all vegetables, most casseroles and some of the different ways chicken can be prepared. Thus, I’ve become an expert at successfully “selling” meals through creative packaging and a well thought out branding strategy.
At my house, my Southwest Salad (a blend of peppers, black beans and corn) is called “Mom’s Yummy-Time Rainbow Delight”. And one of my breakfast dishes, fried eggs in toast (you know the one -- cut a circle in a slice of bread and fry an egg in the center), is known as “Pretty Princess Peek-A-Boo Eggs”.
Additionally, I’ve found that a creative dinner presentation can turn picky little critics into your biggest culinary fans.
My kids cheer when I serve your run-of-the mill pork chops – diced and on toothpicks. (Truth be told, they gobble up anything on a toothpick.) And serving dinner by candlelight hides the two cups of shredded zucchini baked into my veggie lasagna, which by the way, is called “Garfield’s Favorite Lasagna”.
I’ve even managed to jazz up boring bag lunches by packing “Sandwich Sushi”. (Just flatten the bread with a rolling pin, slap on a little PB&J, then roll it up and slice the whole thing into pinwheels.) Heck, throw in a couple of chopsticks from last week’s takeout and they’re in heaven.
Yes sir, peace and harmony reign at dinnertime when you’ve successfully marketed an otherwise suspicious meal.
Though...it's important to not get cocky and take things too far.
I know from personal experience that it is impossible to hide peas inside shell pasta. It’s an extremely labor-intensive process and is hardly worth the effort. Not to mention the fact that it simply doesn’t work – the peas keep falling out. (Trust me on this one.)
So, when marketing to your children, remember this:
Your kitchen is a lot like a used car dealership. Don’t try to sell a lemon. If you get caught, you'll lose the sale end up with a bunch of sour customers.
I knew this heading into my first pregnancy. I was prepared to kiss boo-boos, spend hours explaining long division and wash endless loads of laundry. But what I didn’t expect is how my professional experiences in the business world of sales and marketing would be an essential asset at home with my kids.
They say the best salesman could sell ice to an Eskimo. Well, how about selling last night’s leftovers to a 6 year-old? I suppose I could force my kids to sit at the table until their plates are clean, but honestly, at 7 p.m. with homework and baths yet to do, I simply can’t spare the time.
And so, at dinnertime, my marketing skills come in most handy.
My kids are suspicious of all vegetables, most casseroles and some of the different ways chicken can be prepared. Thus, I’ve become an expert at successfully “selling” meals through creative packaging and a well thought out branding strategy.
At my house, my Southwest Salad (a blend of peppers, black beans and corn) is called “Mom’s Yummy-Time Rainbow Delight”. And one of my breakfast dishes, fried eggs in toast (you know the one -- cut a circle in a slice of bread and fry an egg in the center), is known as “Pretty Princess Peek-A-Boo Eggs”.
Additionally, I’ve found that a creative dinner presentation can turn picky little critics into your biggest culinary fans.
My kids cheer when I serve your run-of-the mill pork chops – diced and on toothpicks. (Truth be told, they gobble up anything on a toothpick.) And serving dinner by candlelight hides the two cups of shredded zucchini baked into my veggie lasagna, which by the way, is called “Garfield’s Favorite Lasagna”.
I’ve even managed to jazz up boring bag lunches by packing “Sandwich Sushi”. (Just flatten the bread with a rolling pin, slap on a little PB&J, then roll it up and slice the whole thing into pinwheels.) Heck, throw in a couple of chopsticks from last week’s takeout and they’re in heaven.
Yes sir, peace and harmony reign at dinnertime when you’ve successfully marketed an otherwise suspicious meal.
Though...it's important to not get cocky and take things too far.
I know from personal experience that it is impossible to hide peas inside shell pasta. It’s an extremely labor-intensive process and is hardly worth the effort. Not to mention the fact that it simply doesn’t work – the peas keep falling out. (Trust me on this one.)
So, when marketing to your children, remember this:
Your kitchen is a lot like a used car dealership. Don’t try to sell a lemon. If you get caught, you'll lose the sale end up with a bunch of sour customers.
My proudest parenting moments
Just in case you’re planning to nominate me for mother of the year, I’ve compiled some of my greatest motherly moments for your consideration.
Forget great report cards or winning goals – they pale in comparison to these little gems:
~ Fire drill at day care ~
I’d just enrolled my 3 year-old twin daughters in a new day care center. During their first week, as they were standing in line waiting for a drink at the water fountain, one of them saw the fire alarm and pulled it. The entire center evacuated onto the playground as the fire department and several squad cars arrived on the scene.
At the end of the day, the director told me all about the incident. I stood there, apologetically shaking my head and stammering,
“I’m so sorry. So very, very, VERY sorry.”
The director was actually quite nice about the whole thing.
“Really, it’s okay,” she assured me. “We have to do fire drills periodically. And, today we learned that we can evacuate the entire center in less than four minutes – even during nap time.”
~ Notes from teacher ~
Though my twins are identical in appearance, their personalities couldn’t be more opposite.
One is very type A. She’s organized and efficient. She’s the kid who raises her hand in class every time a question is asked, regardless of if she knows the answer or not. This girl mails Santa her Christmas list in July, “to make sure he’ll get it in time.”
My other daughter is very much a free spirit. She’s the kid who likes her hair long, loose and “crazy-looking.” She sings all day long, not caring that she’s off key. And she doesn’t see the point of sitting quietly in class, learning things, when she could be outside right now riding bikes.
Ever since 4-K, I’ve received notes from Little Miss Free Spirit’s teachers regarding her lackadaisical behavior at school. My favorite note came from her second-grade teacher. It read:
“J---- was doing ‘the worm’ during research writing time.”
The only way I could’ve been prouder is if she’d been able to work in a shoulder roll-head-spin combo and ended in a hollow-back freeze. Oh well, it’s something to work on, I guess.
~ Queen ~
I love all kinds of music and like to play my CDs when we’re driving in the van. This means my kids are exposed to songs by artists that aren’t typically played on Radio Disney. An added bonus is that I don’t have to endure too much Hannah Fontana, or whatever her name is.
I pick songs from all genres and we have fun singing along. We’re like a modern day Partridge Family, only without Reuben, instruments or any real talent.
Once, when the girls were four, I could hear them singing in their room. They didn’t have a radio or CD player, so they were singing a capella, trying to recall lyrics by memory alone.
For some reason, their sweet singing erupted into shrill fighting. Then a series of bangs and booms could be heard through the ceiling. How had we suddenly gone from a happy musical number to a full-blown WWF event?
When I went up to investigate, I learned they were arguing over song lyrics – lyrics they learned under my watch.
Specifically, the lyrics to Fat Bottom Girls by Queen.
Oooh, are you gonna take me home tonight?
Oooh, down beside that red firelight;
Are you gonna let it all hang out?
Fat bottomed girls,
You make the rockin' world go round.
The very next day, I added Radio Disney to my presets.
Forget great report cards or winning goals – they pale in comparison to these little gems:
~ Fire drill at day care ~
I’d just enrolled my 3 year-old twin daughters in a new day care center. During their first week, as they were standing in line waiting for a drink at the water fountain, one of them saw the fire alarm and pulled it. The entire center evacuated onto the playground as the fire department and several squad cars arrived on the scene.
At the end of the day, the director told me all about the incident. I stood there, apologetically shaking my head and stammering,
“I’m so sorry. So very, very, VERY sorry.”
The director was actually quite nice about the whole thing.
“Really, it’s okay,” she assured me. “We have to do fire drills periodically. And, today we learned that we can evacuate the entire center in less than four minutes – even during nap time.”
~ Notes from teacher ~
Though my twins are identical in appearance, their personalities couldn’t be more opposite.
One is very type A. She’s organized and efficient. She’s the kid who raises her hand in class every time a question is asked, regardless of if she knows the answer or not. This girl mails Santa her Christmas list in July, “to make sure he’ll get it in time.”
My other daughter is very much a free spirit. She’s the kid who likes her hair long, loose and “crazy-looking.” She sings all day long, not caring that she’s off key. And she doesn’t see the point of sitting quietly in class, learning things, when she could be outside right now riding bikes.
Ever since 4-K, I’ve received notes from Little Miss Free Spirit’s teachers regarding her lackadaisical behavior at school. My favorite note came from her second-grade teacher. It read:
“J---- was doing ‘the worm’ during research writing time.”
The only way I could’ve been prouder is if she’d been able to work in a shoulder roll-head-spin combo and ended in a hollow-back freeze. Oh well, it’s something to work on, I guess.
~ Queen ~
I love all kinds of music and like to play my CDs when we’re driving in the van. This means my kids are exposed to songs by artists that aren’t typically played on Radio Disney. An added bonus is that I don’t have to endure too much Hannah Fontana, or whatever her name is.
I pick songs from all genres and we have fun singing along. We’re like a modern day Partridge Family, only without Reuben, instruments or any real talent.
Once, when the girls were four, I could hear them singing in their room. They didn’t have a radio or CD player, so they were singing a capella, trying to recall lyrics by memory alone.
For some reason, their sweet singing erupted into shrill fighting. Then a series of bangs and booms could be heard through the ceiling. How had we suddenly gone from a happy musical number to a full-blown WWF event?
When I went up to investigate, I learned they were arguing over song lyrics – lyrics they learned under my watch.
Specifically, the lyrics to Fat Bottom Girls by Queen.
Oooh, are you gonna take me home tonight?
Oooh, down beside that red firelight;
Are you gonna let it all hang out?
Fat bottomed girls,
You make the rockin' world go round.
The very next day, I added Radio Disney to my presets.
TO DO: Write To Do list
Last Saturday started like any other. With my coffee in hand, I sat down at the kitchen table with my special notebook, prepared to start the weekend To Do list.
It’s a ritual. I make so many To Do lists, in fact, that no little scrap of paper will do – I have a bound notebook with a pretty floral cover for this sole purpose.
I know this says something about my psyche. I crave organization. I have a need to feel a sense of accomplishment as I cross each item off the list.
Most of the time, I’m not overwhelmed by the sheer size of the list. Rather, any anxiety I feel is based on the fear that I might forget something. God forbid I forget to get the oil changed in the van or sew on the latest Brownie merit badge.
If it’s not on my To Do list, it probably won’t get done.
I recently filled up an entire To Do list notebook. On the final list on the last page of the book, I’d written:
- Buy a new notebook.
So, I packed up the kids and we headed to the store. We made our way to the stationary aisle so I could find a suitable replacement.
I studied the selection. Admittedly, I’m picky about my To Do list notebooks. The cover design has to be simple and somewhat stylish and it has to fit nicely in my purse so I can keep my list at the ready, prepared to add or cross off tasks as needed.
Often the content of the To Do lists is unpleasant:
- Clean the toilet bowl.
- Mop the kitchen floor. (Ew! Sticky!)
…so I like to pick a notebook that is aesthetically pleasing, at least.
As I surveyed my options, my 7 year-old daughter asked if she could get a notebook too. Assuming she wanted it for drawing, I suggested a large tablet of plain white paper – after all, she’s constantly stealing sheets out of the printer at home.
“No,” she said. “I need a notebook like yours. I need to get organized.”
Hmmm. You’re seven years old, I thought. You need to be organized? Anyhow, I obliged and she picked out a notebook with bright pink flowers on it and an elastic band to cinch it closed.
For the rest of the day, that notebook never left her side. She walked around with a pencil wedged behind her ear and every once in a while, would dutifully jot down something.
I glanced over her shoulder to see that she’d listed several tasks, each with a little box next to it, awaiting a check mark of completion. When she noticed I was straining to see her list, she pressed it tightly to her chest and announced that it was not ready yet.
Well, all righty.
I turned my attention to my To Do list instead. It read:
TO DO:
- Plan meals for the week / prepare grocery list.
- Go to the store.
- Fill out permission slip for field trip.
- Laundry. (We need clean undies!)
- Schedule hair cuts for kids.
- Scrub the bathtub.
I didn’t use the check-box system, but through the day, I crossed off a few items, which felt satisfying.
Later that afternoon my daughter approached – still clutching her notebook to her chest. She told me she’d finished her To Do list and wondered if we could work on a few items together.
“Definitely,” I said. “Show me your list.”
She handed over the notebook. On the cover she’d written: “PRIVATE PROPARDY.” (A clear warning to her brother and sister.)
I opened the book to the first page and began to read.
TO DO:
- Clean my room.
- Watch a movie.
- Eat popcorn.
- Have a pupit show. (Puppet show)
- Play sharads. (Charades)
- Pillow fight.
Her list made me smile. For one, I was pleased that she intended to clean her room without any prompting. But mostly, I loved how she scheduled fun activities.
That night, we worked on completing the items on her list. From room cleaning to pillow fighting, we crossed off each and every “task”. Afterward, we collapsed on the sofa, side by side, glowing with accomplishment.
After I put everyone to bed, I reflected on the day’s events.
I realized that I’d taught my daughter a useful life skill (organization) that she would carry on into adulthood. Hopefully this skill would be useful during her college years as she learned to stay on top of her studies, juggle a full social calendar and care for her first apartment – all on her own. Maybe someday, when she’s in her 30’s with a family, she’ll use these skills to run her house as efficiently, if not more so, than I.
I pulled out my own To Do list to review my progress. I’d crossed off a few items, but didn’t make as big a dent in it as I’d hoped.
While I’d taught my daughter how to organize the details of her life, she taught me to remember to schedule the fun. I grabbed a pencil and added a few more items.
- Paint my toenails.
- Watch a movie (one for grown ups).
- Call a girlfriend.
So now I always try to add at least one fun item to my To Do list. Scheduling fun is just as important, if not more, as scheduling chores.
This week's To Do list, for example, includes:
- Clean out the fridge. (Ick!)
But it also lists, in equal importance:
- Build a snowman.
After all, it’s like I always say, if it’s not on my To Do list, it probably won’t get done.
Mean teacher
My 7 year-old daughters have entered a stage where they bicker and fight almost all of the time. They disagree over nearly everything. Which show to watch on TV, who gets to use the computer first and even what to wear. (I expected arguments over clothes to wait until they were at least 12 years old.)
However, my girls are in strong agreement on one thing: Miss Donna is mean.
The girls are in an after school program where they can do homework, play games and have gym time before I pick them up after work. The program is run by a woman who is soft spoken, but extremely firm. She runs a tight ship – and she has to. She’s responsible for nearly a dozen kids ranging from first to fifth graders.
Miss Donna expects the kids in her care to speak with hushed voices, sit still when instructed to do so and engage in quiet activities such as drawing, reading or playing board games.
Personally, I don’t think these are unreasonable expectations, so when my girls started coming home complaining that Miss Donna was mean, I assumed they were overreacting.
My girls are typical 7 year-olds. They’re talkative and bubbly, and would rather dance and twirl than sit still for too long. So naturally, I figured they were just getting scolded for giggling too much or being too chatty. I told the girls to follow Miss Donna’s directions and they shouldn’t have any problems.
And we didn’t have any problems – for a while.
One evening, as I picked up the girls, Miss Donna approached with a solemn face and told me there was something she needed to discuss with me. We stepped to the side, slightly out of earshot from the kids. My girls sat and stared at us, knowing Miss Donna was delivering a bad report. They looked frightened.
To be honest, the stern look on Miss Donna’s face scared the hell out of me. Her voice was low and serious; indicating that one of my girls had done something awful – shocking even. Did she steal something? Did she hurt someone? I braced myself for the worst.
“Today, your daughter said a bad word,” she began. “She said a very bad word.”
Before I continue, I need to confess something: I have a very bad mouth. Though never in front of the kids, I tend to pepper my language with what I like to call, “sentence enhancers”.
I’ve always loved the English language and am a self-described ‘Word Nerd’. And as such, I’m simply fascinated by the versatility of the F-word. It’s the perfect word. It’s a noun, a verb, an adverb – it’s incredible.
I love the F-word and like to use it. However, I use it sparingly because I know that not everyone is as fond of it as I am. I never use it at work, in the company of my mother, or in front of my children. I know better than that.
Miss Donna’s expression indicated that my daughter had said something terrible – and I could only guess that it was pretty effing bad.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, preparing to say the word herself. She leaned in and whispered, “She said…the D-word.”
I stood there, stumped for a few seconds. The D-word? What the heck is that? D? Which one starts with D?
“Oh! You mean, ‘damn’,” I volunteered, a little too loudly and causing some of the kids to look our way.
“Yes,” she said in a hush, “and obviously that kind of language is not allowed.”
I assured Miss Donna that words like the “D-word” were not permitted in my home either. Frankly I was a little relieved that the hubbub was only about swearing. She hadn’t done anything dangerous or defiant. She’d only said one little bad word – and not even one of the really bad ones at that.
I told Miss Donna that I’d speak to my daughter about it and motioned for the girls to get their things together. Miss Donna stared me down and didn’t budge. Her demeanor suggested she expected something more from me. I felt a little like a kid at the principal’s office. At her nonverbal prompting, I added,
“And there will be consequences for her behavior here today,”
This seemed to satisfy Miss Donna. I realized that during our brief exchange, the woman had somehow cornered me against a wall. I edged my way past her, waiving my kids over to the door. They quickly grabbed their coats and backpacks and scooted through the doorway. We all were relieved to step outside.
Without a word, we piled into my van. My daughter, the one that said the offending word, sat with her eyes cast downward, afraid of whatever punishment I was about to bestow. The other one knew better than to act up, so she sat quietly, watching me in the rear-view mirror, awaiting my reaction.
I could now see how my girls thought Miss Donna was mean. She definitely put me on the spot. But despite the fact I felt she had overacted to what in my mind was a minor infraction, I needed to support her.
It’s important that parents support their children’s teachers and caregivers. I have friends who teach and tell me that it’s common for parents to side with their children on disciplinary issues. They question the teacher’s authority and don’t support their classroom decisions, which is wrong.
When parents teach their kids that they don’t have to listen to authority figures, they’re setting them up to fail as adults. What’s that kid going to do when he’s got a boss who’s demanding? Call his mommy? Life is full of difficult people. Learning how to deal with them is probably one of the most important life skills a parent can teach their children.
I needed to put my own impression of Miss Donna aside and support her. I don’t know what it’s like to wrangle all of those kids for 3 hours every day. She’s got to do what she’s got to do to keep things running smoothly – and that means squashing even the smallest infractions. I couldn’t undermine Miss Donna’s authority.
I turned the key in the ignition and announced the punishment. My daughter cried when she learned she wouldn’t be allowed to play on the computer that night. I asked if she knew it was a bad word (she did) and if she knew bad words weren’t allowed (she did). I explained that she had to be punished for doing something she knew wasn’t allowed. It was that simple. She seemed to understand.
That night, watching TV, I saw a 22-year-old girl perform in a singing competition. She was awful. While she looked like a hip, pop star, her singing was off-key and sounded terrible. Anyone with ears could tell this girl was a bad singer.
The judges delivered the bad news. “Sorry sweetie, but your voice isn’t strong enough to be a professional singer.” Instead of accepting the bad news with any kind of grace or dignity, she blew up.
The girl accused the judges (each a music-industry expert) of not recognizing good talent. She went on a tirade, cursing and carrying on. Finally, she flipped the judges the bird and left. The cameraman followed her out into the lobby, where her mother was waiting with open arms.
“Oh honey,” her mama said. “They’re crazy – you’re great!” The girl sobbed into her mother’s bosom. “You’re going to be a star someday, really, you will,” her mama said, stroking her florescent pink hair.
The show put the whole situation into perspective. We can’t shield our kids from so-called, mean teachers – and we shouldn’t even if we could.
One little bad word today could lead to a televised tantrum tomorrow.
However, my girls are in strong agreement on one thing: Miss Donna is mean.
The girls are in an after school program where they can do homework, play games and have gym time before I pick them up after work. The program is run by a woman who is soft spoken, but extremely firm. She runs a tight ship – and she has to. She’s responsible for nearly a dozen kids ranging from first to fifth graders.
Miss Donna expects the kids in her care to speak with hushed voices, sit still when instructed to do so and engage in quiet activities such as drawing, reading or playing board games.
Personally, I don’t think these are unreasonable expectations, so when my girls started coming home complaining that Miss Donna was mean, I assumed they were overreacting.
My girls are typical 7 year-olds. They’re talkative and bubbly, and would rather dance and twirl than sit still for too long. So naturally, I figured they were just getting scolded for giggling too much or being too chatty. I told the girls to follow Miss Donna’s directions and they shouldn’t have any problems.
And we didn’t have any problems – for a while.
One evening, as I picked up the girls, Miss Donna approached with a solemn face and told me there was something she needed to discuss with me. We stepped to the side, slightly out of earshot from the kids. My girls sat and stared at us, knowing Miss Donna was delivering a bad report. They looked frightened.
To be honest, the stern look on Miss Donna’s face scared the hell out of me. Her voice was low and serious; indicating that one of my girls had done something awful – shocking even. Did she steal something? Did she hurt someone? I braced myself for the worst.
“Today, your daughter said a bad word,” she began. “She said a very bad word.”
Before I continue, I need to confess something: I have a very bad mouth. Though never in front of the kids, I tend to pepper my language with what I like to call, “sentence enhancers”.
I’ve always loved the English language and am a self-described ‘Word Nerd’. And as such, I’m simply fascinated by the versatility of the F-word. It’s the perfect word. It’s a noun, a verb, an adverb – it’s incredible.
I love the F-word and like to use it. However, I use it sparingly because I know that not everyone is as fond of it as I am. I never use it at work, in the company of my mother, or in front of my children. I know better than that.
Miss Donna’s expression indicated that my daughter had said something terrible – and I could only guess that it was pretty effing bad.
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, preparing to say the word herself. She leaned in and whispered, “She said…the D-word.”
I stood there, stumped for a few seconds. The D-word? What the heck is that? D? Which one starts with D?
“Oh! You mean, ‘damn’,” I volunteered, a little too loudly and causing some of the kids to look our way.
“Yes,” she said in a hush, “and obviously that kind of language is not allowed.”
I assured Miss Donna that words like the “D-word” were not permitted in my home either. Frankly I was a little relieved that the hubbub was only about swearing. She hadn’t done anything dangerous or defiant. She’d only said one little bad word – and not even one of the really bad ones at that.
I told Miss Donna that I’d speak to my daughter about it and motioned for the girls to get their things together. Miss Donna stared me down and didn’t budge. Her demeanor suggested she expected something more from me. I felt a little like a kid at the principal’s office. At her nonverbal prompting, I added,
“And there will be consequences for her behavior here today,”
This seemed to satisfy Miss Donna. I realized that during our brief exchange, the woman had somehow cornered me against a wall. I edged my way past her, waiving my kids over to the door. They quickly grabbed their coats and backpacks and scooted through the doorway. We all were relieved to step outside.
Without a word, we piled into my van. My daughter, the one that said the offending word, sat with her eyes cast downward, afraid of whatever punishment I was about to bestow. The other one knew better than to act up, so she sat quietly, watching me in the rear-view mirror, awaiting my reaction.
I could now see how my girls thought Miss Donna was mean. She definitely put me on the spot. But despite the fact I felt she had overacted to what in my mind was a minor infraction, I needed to support her.
It’s important that parents support their children’s teachers and caregivers. I have friends who teach and tell me that it’s common for parents to side with their children on disciplinary issues. They question the teacher’s authority and don’t support their classroom decisions, which is wrong.
When parents teach their kids that they don’t have to listen to authority figures, they’re setting them up to fail as adults. What’s that kid going to do when he’s got a boss who’s demanding? Call his mommy? Life is full of difficult people. Learning how to deal with them is probably one of the most important life skills a parent can teach their children.
I needed to put my own impression of Miss Donna aside and support her. I don’t know what it’s like to wrangle all of those kids for 3 hours every day. She’s got to do what she’s got to do to keep things running smoothly – and that means squashing even the smallest infractions. I couldn’t undermine Miss Donna’s authority.
I turned the key in the ignition and announced the punishment. My daughter cried when she learned she wouldn’t be allowed to play on the computer that night. I asked if she knew it was a bad word (she did) and if she knew bad words weren’t allowed (she did). I explained that she had to be punished for doing something she knew wasn’t allowed. It was that simple. She seemed to understand.
That night, watching TV, I saw a 22-year-old girl perform in a singing competition. She was awful. While she looked like a hip, pop star, her singing was off-key and sounded terrible. Anyone with ears could tell this girl was a bad singer.
The judges delivered the bad news. “Sorry sweetie, but your voice isn’t strong enough to be a professional singer.” Instead of accepting the bad news with any kind of grace or dignity, she blew up.
The girl accused the judges (each a music-industry expert) of not recognizing good talent. She went on a tirade, cursing and carrying on. Finally, she flipped the judges the bird and left. The cameraman followed her out into the lobby, where her mother was waiting with open arms.
“Oh honey,” her mama said. “They’re crazy – you’re great!” The girl sobbed into her mother’s bosom. “You’re going to be a star someday, really, you will,” her mama said, stroking her florescent pink hair.
The show put the whole situation into perspective. We can’t shield our kids from so-called, mean teachers – and we shouldn’t even if we could.
One little bad word today could lead to a televised tantrum tomorrow.
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