There have been a number of significant break throughs on the parenting front. More due to an aging child population than any specific parental genius, but I'll take my small victories wherever I can.
I no longer have to do up anyone's seatbelt. (I did say small victories - small but significant shifts in the fabric of our lives). For years the back seat of the car has been a minefield of straps and buckles, with up to three different apparatus to lock, position, wrestle, and close. Then you had to negotiate/manhandle the actual child into it. Sometimes the thought of getting everyone in car seats was enough to put me off venturing into the world. For days on end. But, no more. Now I sit in the front and wait, blocking my ears to the arguments.
We also have graduated to a people mover vehicle. That is nothing at all to do with parenting, but it does allow us to transport others outside of our family of 5, and introduce them to the joys of car conversations, games and arguments. Yesterday when we were bringing Grandad home, Little Miss opened the conversation.
'Grandad' she called out, 'Grandad!'
'Yes dear?'
'Grandad - you're old'.
"Grandad, you are old.'
Grandad, you are SUPER old.'
It was a one way conversation, but then, that is her speciality.
Another change is the loss of knowledge superiority. It's not a total wipe out, but in certain areas of knowledge they have passed me. This means our car games of 20 questions and I-spy have progressed to something of an intellectual challenge. We have categories of colours, real and visible, real but in my mind's eye, and full-on imaginary. Which is ok assuming I have a greater knowledge base than the kids, and we are on a really long car trip.
Big Brother - "I spy with my little eye something that is green."
We were driving through the King Country at the time so I thought it was a shoo-in. Everything is a kaleidoscope of green, so I went through the list. Not grass, not tree, not leaf, and eventually I gave in. Apparently, Big brother the botanist had spotted a single specimen of muehlenbeckia, 40 kms back.
'Ohh' said Little Brother, knowledgeably, 'Good one'.
'I don't even know what that is!' I cried.
'It helps grow sand dunes'
'You should have gone to our school, Mum.'
Thursday, May 15, 2014
Shouty Shouty
Oh how I wish I was one of those Mum's who serenely steers the ship of calmness through the choppy waters of family life. I would like to say I am the master of my inner shouty monster, but I would be lying.
Listening to the kids when they are playing nicely I feel happy to claim some credit via the role modelling I have done. However when it goes to custard, and things get all Shouty-Shouty, I am forced to admit I probably had a primary role in modelling that behaviour also.
Little Miss is a particularly faithful copier of my behaviour and perhaps that is it's taken me so long to notice my yelling. The boys simply ignore me and I yell louder. Then they ignore me more and I yell louder. (when I put it like that the cycle becomes quite obvious).
But these days when I have to shout to be heard, Little Miss immediately shouts back at me, then turns to the boys and repeats the instruction over and over again. She increases the effect by getting steadily louder and moving right up infront of them until she is yelling in their face. The boys yell back simply to be heard over the cacophony. It's like living in a cavern system with digital enhancement.
She also copies my tone of voice, or anything the boys say that gets a reaction.
'This dinner looks like snot' Big Brother says
One look will effectively shut him up, but Little Miss, the piranha of attention, goes into repeat mode.
'Snot, Snot, I don't like snot. This looks like snot. I don't like eating snot. Why do I have to eat more snot than the boys. It's not fair!'
By that time I hit the decibel chart right up top.
'It's NOT SNOT!'I yell, then add quietly attempting too late to be graceful ' It's frittata.'
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Into battle I go
Parenting 101 - Choose your battles, I keep reminding myself. Unfortunately the battle that keeps choosing me is Little Miss vs swimming lessons.
It started with the trickle down effect. Big Brother had a scare when he was little and didn't want to put his head under. He got it within a few lessons. Little Brother watched Big Brother performing and decided that putting his head under was not going to happen. He took half a term for the teacher to crack and now spends more time under the water than above it. Little Miss 4 years old, watched both boys resist, though, and has been following their example for 3 terms now. I cant decide if she's actually worried about water, (hard to believe that when she waves gleefully as soon as she's actually in there) or maybe she's just extremely perverse. I fear it is the latter. There is an innate resistance to being told what to do.
It might be to do with my inconsistent battle plan. At times I have been taking the positive reinforcement tack, 'Well done, darling, you put your little toe in! amazing!'. Other times I've gone hard core 'If you cry I will sit outside'. I've tried explaining the 10, 000 hours to be an expert theory. I've been good cop 'Just do what you can', and I've been bad cop 'If you dont get in that pool I will pick you up and put you in.' ( FYI, bad cop only induces masses of parental guilt, I can't recommend it). I've begged, bribed, removed Peppa Pig privileges, given the boys lashings of chocolates. I've told her she needs to be able to swim if she wants to come with us on our sailing trip around the world. Its put your head under, or boarding school. I'm embarrassed to read back and remember these things, but there it is, proof I'm no expert at parenting.
What's also hard to admit is my motivation for wanting her to bloody-well-get on with it. Is it that I just want her to hurry up and learn so we can move onto clashing about something else equally unimportant in the scheme of things? Is this the blueprint for our relationship - driving lessons, me giving gruff advice on her future partner and parenting choices? I certainly don't want our relationship to develop into the epic recurring world championships of me vs. her.
Perhaps it is that I am tired of coaxing children into the swimming pool, considering I've been doing it 1,2, sometimes 3 times a week for 5 years. Spending two hours a week beside a pool is not what you dream of when planning the nursery.
Perhaps it is because I absolutely love swimming, and want her to share the joy/pursue the Olympic career of my dreams (Tiger Mum alert!) There's not many Gold Medals given out for doggy paddle.
Back to Parenting 101, though, my analysis and conclusion is this - I really need to chill out. It is not my responsibility to push, cajole and harange her, encourage or persuade, inspire and teach her - not while she is in the pool, anyway. Thats what I pay the teacher for. He will get her there, I have full faith. I need to choose my battles more carefully. Next week I'm taking my reading book and letting her get on with it. Even at 4, she needs her autonomy and space to make her own decisions, and pushing her will only result in her pushing back. Better save my energy for bigger battles.
It started with the trickle down effect. Big Brother had a scare when he was little and didn't want to put his head under. He got it within a few lessons. Little Brother watched Big Brother performing and decided that putting his head under was not going to happen. He took half a term for the teacher to crack and now spends more time under the water than above it. Little Miss 4 years old, watched both boys resist, though, and has been following their example for 3 terms now. I cant decide if she's actually worried about water, (hard to believe that when she waves gleefully as soon as she's actually in there) or maybe she's just extremely perverse. I fear it is the latter. There is an innate resistance to being told what to do.
It might be to do with my inconsistent battle plan. At times I have been taking the positive reinforcement tack, 'Well done, darling, you put your little toe in! amazing!'. Other times I've gone hard core 'If you cry I will sit outside'. I've tried explaining the 10, 000 hours to be an expert theory. I've been good cop 'Just do what you can', and I've been bad cop 'If you dont get in that pool I will pick you up and put you in.' ( FYI, bad cop only induces masses of parental guilt, I can't recommend it). I've begged, bribed, removed Peppa Pig privileges, given the boys lashings of chocolates. I've told her she needs to be able to swim if she wants to come with us on our sailing trip around the world. Its put your head under, or boarding school. I'm embarrassed to read back and remember these things, but there it is, proof I'm no expert at parenting.
What's also hard to admit is my motivation for wanting her to bloody-well-get on with it. Is it that I just want her to hurry up and learn so we can move onto clashing about something else equally unimportant in the scheme of things? Is this the blueprint for our relationship - driving lessons, me giving gruff advice on her future partner and parenting choices? I certainly don't want our relationship to develop into the epic recurring world championships of me vs. her.
Perhaps it is that I am tired of coaxing children into the swimming pool, considering I've been doing it 1,2, sometimes 3 times a week for 5 years. Spending two hours a week beside a pool is not what you dream of when planning the nursery.
Perhaps it is because I absolutely love swimming, and want her to share the joy/pursue the Olympic career of my dreams (Tiger Mum alert!) There's not many Gold Medals given out for doggy paddle.
Back to Parenting 101, though, my analysis and conclusion is this - I really need to chill out. It is not my responsibility to push, cajole and harange her, encourage or persuade, inspire and teach her - not while she is in the pool, anyway. Thats what I pay the teacher for. He will get her there, I have full faith. I need to choose my battles more carefully. Next week I'm taking my reading book and letting her get on with it. Even at 4, she needs her autonomy and space to make her own decisions, and pushing her will only result in her pushing back. Better save my energy for bigger battles.
The Joy of the Upper Hand
Parenting is a tight rope walk, balancing the adoration of unconditional love with the sheer inconvenience of being utterly and totally responsible for another human being, or three. The job description - a blue line - is fiercely inadequate, inbox is fathomless, there are precise requirements for what goes in to what comes out, responsibilities cover from what and how organic/trendy it's clothed in, to how functional it's internal parts are, status of emotional well being, and whether you're banking on a Hutt Valley High, or Harvard. Even when these children aren't immediately in the vicinity of your being, they constitute a constant worry. They are a whop-arse can of hassle.
Many, including myself, would say it's worth it, of course, for the love. The joy, the love, the way they snuggle into your innermost heart and stimulate a flood of love-a-mones from that primeval set of neurons set to recognising and adoring a miniature yet cooler version of yourself. For the egotistical, there is always the small possibility, the chance, the far flung idea that your reconstituted set of genetics and nurturing attention to organic reusable nappies and omega-3 may just bring forth the next Mandela/Sam Morgan/Lorde.
For the vestigual child in me, though, there are times when it's just so good to get my own back. Even with my own children. Those little victories that remind me that I still have the upper hand, that the slave is also the master. Some examples?
I guess banana mixed with avocado mush food for a baby was one of my first small twinges of joy. Huh! Spot the veges in that! (That's for keeping me up all night.)
Confiscating their Halloween sweets (too much sugar for those precious teeth) and then scoffing them all in the bath after they've gone to bed at night.
Convincing them that the TV only works on rainy days.
As they get older they learn about electricity grids and suchlike, but that only increases the challenges of maintaining the percieved upper hand. I'm not unkind or autocratic about it. I love and respect their autonomy and ability, right from the start, to be masters of their own destiny, and people in their own right.
However I was rather thrilled the other night with a small victory in this miniature and imagined arena - I'm still patting myself on the back while chuckling at my slyness. For it is the stuff of legends - I am she, the Mum who convinced her happy children that desert consisted of a chocolate treat when it was also, and actually, a worm tablet.
Many, including myself, would say it's worth it, of course, for the love. The joy, the love, the way they snuggle into your innermost heart and stimulate a flood of love-a-mones from that primeval set of neurons set to recognising and adoring a miniature yet cooler version of yourself. For the egotistical, there is always the small possibility, the chance, the far flung idea that your reconstituted set of genetics and nurturing attention to organic reusable nappies and omega-3 may just bring forth the next Mandela/Sam Morgan/Lorde.
For the vestigual child in me, though, there are times when it's just so good to get my own back. Even with my own children. Those little victories that remind me that I still have the upper hand, that the slave is also the master. Some examples?
I guess banana mixed with avocado mush food for a baby was one of my first small twinges of joy. Huh! Spot the veges in that! (That's for keeping me up all night.)
Confiscating their Halloween sweets (too much sugar for those precious teeth) and then scoffing them all in the bath after they've gone to bed at night.
Convincing them that the TV only works on rainy days.
As they get older they learn about electricity grids and suchlike, but that only increases the challenges of maintaining the percieved upper hand. I'm not unkind or autocratic about it. I love and respect their autonomy and ability, right from the start, to be masters of their own destiny, and people in their own right.
However I was rather thrilled the other night with a small victory in this miniature and imagined arena - I'm still patting myself on the back while chuckling at my slyness. For it is the stuff of legends - I am she, the Mum who convinced her happy children that desert consisted of a chocolate treat when it was also, and actually, a worm tablet.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
Questions and Answers of the year
'There's only one toilet and ..... I don't like the look of it..' Miss 4 years old announced of the bach's perfectly functioning worm composting toilet.
'Why doesn't Santa have a car?' she asked when we tried to explain the whole sleigh, reindeer, chimney facade at Christmas. Something about that situation just didn't add up for her. What is the point of horses with horns , as Little Brother described them. She is fond of the practical details.
She likes counting her fingers, often ending up with eleventy, which is disturbingly close to ten, but just doesn't ever sound quite right. Better count again.
'Do the worms stand up when you are doing wees ?' - another question on the composting toilet - not that she is having a bar of it - she found a potty in the basement and decided to do it old fashioned toddler style, still not really liking the look of the one toilet, even after a week. At least these days she empties it herself.
And today, a full eight days after christmas she comes up to me and says 'Mum, I think I know what santa did. '
'Really? ' I asked, a little worried. 'what do you think he did ?'
'Well, Santa must have gone to our house and gone into THAT box under your bed, and got out those two tennis bats and ball, and then put it in his santa bag, and then brought it to me (at our bach) and then put it into my stocking!'
'He is amazing, isn't he? ' I agreed, ' I think you are right! Thats probably what santa did.' [Urgent note to self - find a new location for stockpiling presents.]
I have no doubt the questions and observations will just keep on coming this new year. Her mind is wide open and sucking in the information wherever she can find it. School seems a long way off, but I am sure it will also be here in the blink of an eye. I hope to catch and answer as many of these amazing questions this year, before she starts asking a teacher instead.
Welcome to a New Year, Farewell to an old one. Here's to new questions and new answers, the discovery of new types of toilets, relocation of present boxes, and trying to keep one step ahead of my daughter
'Why doesn't Santa have a car?' she asked when we tried to explain the whole sleigh, reindeer, chimney facade at Christmas. Something about that situation just didn't add up for her. What is the point of horses with horns , as Little Brother described them. She is fond of the practical details.
She likes counting her fingers, often ending up with eleventy, which is disturbingly close to ten, but just doesn't ever sound quite right. Better count again.
'Do the worms stand up when you are doing wees ?' - another question on the composting toilet - not that she is having a bar of it - she found a potty in the basement and decided to do it old fashioned toddler style, still not really liking the look of the one toilet, even after a week. At least these days she empties it herself.
And today, a full eight days after christmas she comes up to me and says 'Mum, I think I know what santa did. '
'Really? ' I asked, a little worried. 'what do you think he did ?'
'Well, Santa must have gone to our house and gone into THAT box under your bed, and got out those two tennis bats and ball, and then put it in his santa bag, and then brought it to me (at our bach) and then put it into my stocking!'
'He is amazing, isn't he? ' I agreed, ' I think you are right! Thats probably what santa did.' [Urgent note to self - find a new location for stockpiling presents.]
I have no doubt the questions and observations will just keep on coming this new year. Her mind is wide open and sucking in the information wherever she can find it. School seems a long way off, but I am sure it will also be here in the blink of an eye. I hope to catch and answer as many of these amazing questions this year, before she starts asking a teacher instead.
Welcome to a New Year, Farewell to an old one. Here's to new questions and new answers, the discovery of new types of toilets, relocation of present boxes, and trying to keep one step ahead of my daughter
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)