No News is Writer's Block Gary Gnu

Lately, I sit at my laptop and stare at a blank screen, often for up to an hour before finally closing the screen, resigned to another day without writing. For me, I can only write when I've been reading and reading regularly. It's been a few weeks since I've read with any sort of regularity, instead getting sucked into stupid online games or games on my iPad. Granted, some of the games are Boggle and Scrabble and Words With Friends, so they at least have a few redeeming qualities in that they make me use this puddle of mush that used to be a brain. But I admit most of the games are those mindless games like Farmville and Cafe World. So I'm taking a step back from the games. I'm not ready to delete them entirely, but I am limiting the time I waste on these. I planted no crops on my farm tonight.

This will be liberating I'm sure.

I've thought about doing a similar de-tox with my kids and television. Does anyone remember when they had the "TV Turn-Off Week?" I'm thinking I might have to tell the kids that there still is such a thing and just do it. It would be good for all of us. We would have to find other things to do! We might actually do all the things we always SAY we want to do but never seem to have "time" for.

But that's a little tangent that was not at all what I was trying to write about. I was trying to write about not writing. Before I started blogging (more than 4 years ago...wow!) I wrote in a journal. My writing there was spotty at best as well. Life got in the way of writing. Being a first-time mom was not conducive to writing. It was exhausting and, in hindsight, a little depressing, but also exciting. On a related note, being a new mom is not conducive to reading either, which, as I said before, for me is related to writing. If I don't read what others have written, I'm not inspired.

So I force myself to write, here, about not writing. It happens every year, at least twice, that I write about not writing. It's similar to my "every 3-4 years fall down the stairs" which, incidentally, I did on Friday night. (FYI, not so fun to have a big bruise on your right butt cheek.)

It's nice that I'm predictable.

To be inspired as a writer I also need to do. Just do. And it's not that I've been sitting at home doing nothing for weeks, but I haven't done anything I haven't done a million times before so I suppose that is the problem. However, the calendar is filling up, as it tends to do after a small lull (if we're lucky) so adventures (or misadventures...because we all know those make the best stories) await.

I hope.

****
P.S. Anyone know the reference in the title?

Overwhelmed

Now starts the time of year that days shrink seemingly to a mere 3 or 4 hours, not because the days are that fantastic that they fly in a blur, but more because I have 268,892 things to do in addition to the normal 27,736 that were already on my to-do list.

The thing about that to-do list is that the majority of the things on it are not really necessary to do. They are things I'd like to do if I had the time at the exact same moment that I had the motivation and the energy. Rarely do the elements align that are needed to make things disappear from the list.

Instead of ticking off the items already on the list, I often add new items. Sometimes I add items I've already done just so I can cross them off.

The things that really, truly need to get done, always get done. I can think of very few times that I have failed to meet a concrete deadline.

Sometimes I need a push. My husband is good at nudging me along. Sometimes just the threat of him doing something for me (that I want to do in a certain way) is enough to get me rolling. I grumble about it sometimes, but I know he's only trying to help me. And I really do find lead in my butt more often than I should.

So as Christmas approaches and the days drive on at warp I will feel increasingly overwhelmed. But everything will get done. Except for the things that don't get done. But I'm not going to tell you about those things.

So Then We Get to IKEA

We decide to eat lunch once we get to IKEA, seeing as it is already one o’clock and my children usually eat lunch closer to 11:30. Whoops!

My mom sits with the baby while I take the older two through the cafeteria line. This is almost always a circus act, because the people who are doing the serving always think I am done ordering after I have ordered two meals so I stand there for an extra 5 minutes waiting for them to acknowledge that YES, I AM STILL HERE. Besides that, the kids can never make up their minds, or M asks for 14 different things when I know she will only eat maybe one of those things. The trick is to figure out which thing she is going to eat today.

So K got chicken strips and fries, I got meatballs and mashed taters and M got mac and cheese and a side of mashed taters. D eats a bunch of my mashed potatoes. M eats her macaroni, a few bites of mashed potatoes and 2 of my meatballs. K eats one bite of his chicken and a few fries before he declares he is done and, shockingly, has to pee.

I take him to the bathroom, where we both use it, then wash our hands. We discover the “car wash” style hand dryers and agree they are quite awesome. I’m surprised K does not declare he has to pee again for the rest of the time there just so he can use the hand dryer again.

The kids want to play in the Smaland play area. I also want them to play in there. We stand and wait 20 minutes. Well, I stand. M more or less stands too. K pretty much jumps and climbs on every surface in the area and my blood pressure rises accordingly. Once they are finally admitted to the playroom my mom, Baby D and I run for it.

The hour the kids are there passes serenely. It is beautiful. I want to marry it.

Once out of their cage play land, they immediately start fighting over who gets to push the cart. My mom and I tell them they have to take turns and M goes first. K cannot leave her alone so this is clearly not the best solution. Once it is his turn to push he runs into two people and nearly runs into two displays. Of glass. So his turn is cut short. He protests loudly.

Grandma appeases him by offering to buy him a desk lamp. He is happy for a few minutes.

As we approach the checkout, K starts tossing the lamp in the air and catching it.

You’re going to break it Bud.

Toss. Crack. Broken.

No light for K. A major meltdown ensues. I need Jo Frost to stand there and tell people “it’s just a kid having a meltdown, carry on” like she does on SuperNanny and then roll her eyes back at those people.

I WANT MY LIGHT! I WANT MY LIGHT! I WANT MY LIGHT! I WANT MY LIGHT!

So, how are you today? the smartass friendly cashier asks.

Oh just WONDERFUL, I reply.

I drag my son through the line to where my mom and M are waiting. I tell my mom of my fantasy of leaving him there.

She, instead, picks him up and carries him out of the store. He immediately stops screaming when she does this and I realize the boy is supremely tired. I start to realize that I am not feeling the greatest either.

I wonder why I ever attempt to do things like this.

Sometimes Chilling is Extra Hard

So, Sunday wasn't that great. I twittered that it started out good, was craptastic and it ended okay. It was probably a case of trying to do too much in one day.

The kids had their Christmas program at church. It was a little different than it had been previous years, which was nice for a change. M and K were "extras" in the performance, which obviously most kids have to be since there are approximately 8 key roles in the whole birth of Jesus story. Ms. D should have been Baby Jesus in my opinion, but there is a boy who is 6 weeks younger than her who snagged the role. Never mind that he started out being born early and teeny tiny, and that now he is bigger than D. Oh well. She is famous anyway because of her beauty and sunny disposition.

The kids did great in their program. We've been hearing "Go Tell it on the Mountain" for months around here. Of course the battery was dead in our video camera so we don't have video. Note to self: You are not taking enough video footage of the kids.

After the children's Christmas program, the Cherub choir had to sing at the second service. It was the same way last year and I expect the organizers think they're doing the parents a favor by not requiring the kids to be there 2 weeks in a row but what really happens is the kids are there at church for something like 3 hours and it's just too much.

But they sang beautifully again.

Then they were to go to a birthday party. I had the option of dropping M and K off, which I did, because I have 5382 things to do and no time to do them in. D and I went to Tarjshay Boutique because I needed pit stick and other stuff. Then we headed home and she nursed for the first time in several hours. She had just finished nursing when the phone rang to inform me that there was an incident at the birthday party.

I will not disclose the details of the incident here, partly because I was not there to witness the incident and therefore do not really know what transpired, and partly because I feel that my choices in allowing my children to attend said birthday party were probably not the best choices since my kids were tired, hungry and I was not at the home to supervise.

Lesson learned for mom.

I believe that my child has been disciplined. I have seen the offended party who looks unscathed. It is my pride that has been hurt since it is quite humiliating to fetch your child from a party early.

I wish I knew all that happened, but I don't. I have issues with the wording of the offended party's parent. Perhaps I am too sensitive. But I have doubts about any of my children maliciously hurting another child. What I have been told about the incident, no adults were present and it sounds like several children were in a room unsupervised.

Again, probably my fault for just dropping off, perhaps the hosts were overwhelmed.

Anyway, we planned to go see the holiday train, but with the events of the day and the tired kids we had to miss it this year. I'm hopeful the train will return to our city next year and that we will be able to attend. K especially loves trains, but both of them would have loved it, as, I suspect, Mom and Dad and D would have.

The holidays are so stressful. I am hopeful that we will have holidays of peace and joy.

Chill Out Time

Sitting in the car waiting for my son to emerge from his preschool building, I pushed the lock button on the door with a satisfying clunk. I sighed heavily, sank back into my seat and allowed my eyes to close for a few moments.

I usually bring along things to do in the car while I’m waiting for my children at their schools, sometimes a tutu, sometimes a notebook to pen potential blog posts, sometimes supplies for cards that I’m working on. It’s rare these days that I just sit in the car without my hands working on something.

It was nice to let my mind drift a little, at least at first. In my mind’s eye I could see my baby girl tucked securely into her car seat, that baby girl who has such a sunny disposition the majority of the time. The baby girl that I almost stopped dreaming about.

I realized how lucky I am, while sitting there in my warm car with that beautiful baby slumbering behind me.

As soon as I registered the fact of my good fortune, I thought of my other two children. They are just as treasured and I am just as lucky that I have them, yet lately I imagine my children are not feeling as lucky to be my children. If there were a tape recorder (I know, I am a dinosaur) recording my interactions with them what would I hear upon playback?

My tone is often impatient, clearly conveying my displeasure with whatever they are doing. Sometimes all they are doing is giggling together and I find myself shushing them. What is wrong with me? They are obviously cheerful, happy children. Why do I seem to want to stifle that?

When we were kids, my brother and I played messily. We had 436 Matchbox and Hot Wheels cars between us and when we played with them we had every one of them out. Our miniature car cities stretched across the back of the davenport (for my mom), drifted into the hall and spilled into our bedrooms. I don’t remember my mother ever yelling at us to get it cleaned up. In fact, she often let us leave our cities out for days if we were still playing with them.

When my kids get a bunch of toys out I start to get tense and immediately remind them that they’ll have to clean everything up the minute they’re finished playing. I don’t know why I expect them to clean up so much since I have my own crap laying around everywhere. They must be so confused.

Sitting in my car, thinking about these children that I’ve been blessed with, I resolved to change things. Things will not change overnight, but little changes will eventually become big changes.

I’m going to try to get my own crap put away and organized. Perhaps purge some things, difficult as that is for me. I’m going to watch my tone when speaking to my children and let them giggle more. I’m going to let them play with the toys without harping on them before they’ve even begun to play that they’ll need to clean up.

I’m just going to lighten up a little. Life is good. I’m lucky. I should be acting like I know this, because I do.

It's not REALLY about politics

I've told myself that I would keep politics off this blog. I have several reasons for that decision, but the biggest reason is that this is not a political blog so politics don't really fit here.

However, I was again struck by a local candidate's commitment to his job and to the people he represents. Representative Andy Welti is running for re-election in my district. He's a relatively young man, intelligent and personable.

You might wonder how I know that he is personable. Well, I've met him and talked with him several times over the last several years. He stops by our house at least once every year, usually in the summer time. He stands with Craig and I and asks us what we are concerned about and what matters to us. He wonders if early childhood education continues to be important to us.

Yes, I realize he looks at his notes before he comes to our door. That's beside the point.

The point is, he comes to our door. He takes notes. He listens to us without seeming to be in a hurry to get on to the next house.

Yesterday afternoon the telephone rang and the caller ID announced it was "Welti, Andy" on the line. Normally I just hang up on those political calls because it's just a recording most of the time. Not so with Mr. Welti. It was him on the line, asking if I'd come any closer to making my decision on who I was voting for next week.

When he visited our home this summer I was perhaps more vague than I should have been. He asked then if I'd made a decision who I was voting for and I said I wasn't quite sure. So he'd noted that and was making a follow-up call.

He has now earned (confirmed?) my vote because I don't know that I've ever met or spoken to his opponent. But that's not the only reason I'm voting again for Mr. Welti. I'm voting for him because he seems to genuinely care about his job and the people in his district. (And it doesn't hurt that he supports things that are important to me.)

I'd guess there aren't many politicians out there that do as much to connect with their constituents as he does.

Safety Lessons

We spent some time last night practicing safety with our children. I am hesitant to call it stranger safety, because often it is people who your children "know" that could potentially be the most danger to them.

Not that I worry a lot about someone taking my kids. I know that statistically the odds are quite low that something like that would happen to my kids, but I still know that we need to equip our kids with some tools to keep them safe.

We have established the safe words. Our kids know that they are not to go with anyone unless that person knows the safe words. So even if someone M knows comes to school and says "come on, your mom said you should come with me" if that person doesn't say something like "and your mom told me I should tell you 'x'" then M knows she shouldn't go with that person.

We also gave our kids some things to yell if someone tries to take them forcibly. "This isn't my Dad!" or "I'm not allowed to go with you!"

I gave them permission to be rude. M didn't know that she could yell and scream and kick at someone if they were trying to take her or hurt her. She thought she'd get in trouble if she treated someone that way.

These things are so confusing for kids.

What things have you taught your kids to say or do to keep them safer?

Redefined

I'm not who I thought I'd be.

It's not really bad that I'm not that woman, but I do sometimes wonder where she is.

I've made choices that easily changed the course of my life. I didn't go to college far from home. I didn't seek a job in my field far from home. I took a starter position in my field almost a year after college graduation that ended up going nowhere.

I graduated Summa Cum Laude from the college I chose to attend. I didn't work particularly hard for the degree. I chose to minor in speech communications which forced me to speak more than I was (and still am) comfortable with. That was probably the hardest part about college, academically, and I brought it upon myself. Truth be told, even that wasn't that difficult.

Even in high school though, I thought I'd be important. I suppose that's a common ideal. I thought I'd be a journalist after college. A writer. Well-known in some way.

I suppose that's my confession for today. I thought I'd be somebody important in the world. I'm not.

I am somebody important in this small world, however. The world of my family and friends. Perhaps that is more important than anything.

K and the potty are not friends

So here it is, the post I told myself I would not write. The post where I confess that I’m stressing about that-which-I-told-myself-I-would-not-stress-about.

You see, I stressed about my daughter learning to use the potty. It seemed like all of her peers had mastered the use of the potty. I knew that my daughter was just as brilliant as the other kids and wondered what I was doing wrong that she wasn’t “trained” yet. The moment I stopped stressing, she used the potty consistently to pee.

It’s the poop. Poop is another story altogether.

M wouldn’t poop in the potty. She finds the whole process distasteful.

Even as an infant she was a home-pooper. No matter how long we were out of the house on errands, fun, whatever, she would wait and poop the moment we got home. More than once, in anticipation of leaving the house, she would have an explosive, outfit-changing, poop just to get the business done quickly before we left for the day.

However, when it came time to poop in the potty, she refused completely. She simply didn’t poop for days. Then, when the pressure got to be too much, she’d poop a baseball. Not even kidding. It was amazing that she could get something that size out of her little butt.

I’m certain that I contributed to her poop anxiety. As I said, I was stressed about her learning to use the potty. I know that I put pressure on her. With her independent spirit, it should have come as no surprise to me that she showed me that I had no control over her toileting.

So here I am. Wanting K to use the potty, trying to be encouraging and not pressuring him, but getting slightly sick each time I have to change his pull-up. Let’s face it, preschooler poop is not the same as baby poop.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he were a once-a-day pooper. K is a three-to-five time a day pooper. Of course as an infant it was sometimes up to 8 times a day so he’s really cut back.

Honestly, I’d like a month or two off from changing poopie pants.

I have had the talk with him:

K, it’s time. You’re a big boy and it’s time to use the potty for pee pee AND for pooping.

Okay, he’ll answer. Usually he will poop in his pull-up approximately 5 minutes later.

I’ve put him in big boy underwear. He’s been able to keep it dry, but he will even poop on Lightening McQueen. I don’t particularly care to spend my days washing poop out of underwear again.

I’ve tried bribes, promises of new and exciting toys, swimming lessons. Nothing is worth the hassle of not pooping in his drawers.

I know everyone says that no one goes to college wearing diapers, but seriously, I’m starting to wonder.

I put him in the car to go somewhere and sniff something unpleasant.

Did you poop K?

No.

What’s that smell then?

So, I ask of you, oh wise Internet, what can I do? Am I destined to have 2 kids in diapers again?

Poop. You’re soooo not my friend.

Dear Miss M,

Friday, November 9, 2007
9:30 a.m.

Dear Miss M,

As I drove you to school today you began to tear yet another piece of paper from one of the many notebooks I have given you in an attempt to eliminate the 4 million scraps of paper that we have in the car and around our house.

I have asked told you many, many times to not tear the papers from the books. I don't know why this drives me so insane, but it does.

So I yelled at you Stop tearing the paper out of your notebook!

Immediately, your face crumpled. The tears flowed. Your face turned blotchy.

Did I stop? Unfortunately, no. Don't cry about it. You've been told not to do that many times.

What is wrong with me? I have these high expectations for you that are so unfair. Yes, you are older than your brother, but you are still only five years old.

We arrived at your school as you were still trying to get the sobs under control. I stopped in the drop-off lane and told you to have a good day, and that I love you.

You started to get out of the car, then turned back for a hug. You started to get out again and climbed back in to tell me you didn't want to go to school today and to get another hug.

Yes, I know why you didn't want to go to school. You didn't want to leave me feeling bad about me.

I told you things would be okay and that tomorrow you wouldn't have school. We hugged one more time and you got out of the car. You stood with the door open and blew me a forlorn kiss before you closed the car door.

I watched you walk toward the school with your backpack in front of your face.

It made me cry.

I'm so sorry.

I wish I didn't have the power to make you feel so badly. I wish I could control my words better. I wish you had a better mommy.

The whole drive home I thought about how I would feel if something happened to one of us and that was our last interaction. It didn't make for a proud feeling.

I love you.

Mommy


4 p.m
Dear Miss M,

I am happy that our disagreement this morning affected me more than you. When you got in the car with the smile on your face and said "I cheered up at school!" I felt like the sun had returned to my life. Everything was as it should be again.

I love you.

Mommy

Already?

Miss M decided that today was the day to write her letter to Santa.

This year, she is asking for 3 things.

1. A ski boat (A real one mind you.)
2. A radio
3. A tool box

I have warned her that Santa will likely not be able to fit the ski boat in his sleigh so she may be willing to accept some Rescue Heroes instead.

The secret revealed

I've gone back and forth about this. Writing about this, that is. On the one hand I shouldn't write about it yet; it's too soon. On the other hand I want to write about it, because there are a million things that I'm thinking about and I need to write about these thoughts. I want people to tell me that I'm normal. I want people to tell me that everything will be fine.



Of course no one can give me that guarantee, but just the words of reassurance might help even a little.



Because it's taken 2 years to get here. And I'm afraid that it's all a dream.

So there are 2 of the 3 tests that I have taken. I took another one today because I haven't really felt crappy yet and that made me start to worry more. So I took another one (a cheap Dollar Tree one) and it had 2 very dark lines.

So that made me feel a little better. I never thought I'd look forward to feeling like crap, but there you have it.

To celebrate, sometime soon, I will host a "party" here at my blog, complete with giveaways...so be sure to check back...

Giving

Our local television station held a drive for items like cleaning supplies, toiletries and non-perishable food for the people affected by the floods last weekend.

I wanted to contribute something mostly for karma. I hope that I never need this type of help, but if I do, I hope that there will be people willing to help my family.

I took this yesterday:


Then went back today with some food.


As I drove through the drop-off site and noted the many cars that preceded and followed mine, I teared up. I frantically searched for my sunglasses to hide my emotion. It's a wonderful thing to see so many giving to strangers.


At the same time I felt supremely inadequate. Is this why people DON'T donate? You drive up and offer your contribution...maybe it is small, as my family's was...and I felt a bit silly handing over my one or two bags each day. I saw on the news people driving up and donating trunk-fulls of goods. We can't offer that. But we did contribute, in our small way. The diapers we donated will diaper a child for a week or so. 11 people will have a toothbrush. A mom will have some wet-wipes to clean her kids' hands before a meal, or after. A woman will have some women stuff for her next cycle.


It is something.

At the same time it is somewhat intimidating to offer up your small contribution face-to-face to someone who might be judging your support as too small. There was a Dateline (I think) on tonight. A rerun, and I've watched it every time it's run. It asks the billionaires of the world why they don't contribute more, and shows that the people that give the most are those who are very poor or very wealthy. The middle class doesn't give as much.

I think the middle class doesn't give as much because they are afraid to be judged as not giving enough. So, they just don't give.

The thing is, the people who are receiving the donations don't know who gave how much, and they don't care if we gave very little. The people that receive my family's small contribution will be grateful because they can brush their teeth and wear deodorant.

We do what we can and hope that we help in some small way.

Decision Training?

I was at my last ECFE class with my kids last Tuesday when a parent brought up a particular child in her neighborhood who is not as well-behaved as most of the other parents in the area would like. This parent went on to say that the mother of the child does little to discipline him.

I sat in silence during most of the group time, feeling uncomfortable as the other parents lobbed judgemental tisk-tisks and made suggestions like telling the mother that everyone in the neighborhood thinks she's a rotten parent (or something slightly more tactful) or simply removing her own child from the boy by retreating into her house every time this kid is outside.

While driving home from the class, it hit me what was bothering me about the conversation.

Everyone was focused on the rotten kid with the rotten parents who did nothing. They never once thought that their child will ever be seen as unruly or undisciplined. They thought things like simply banning the use or even touching of toys like squirt guns would ensure that their children will never act aggressively or bratty.

The thing is, your kids are going to meet rotten people all their lives. I know we all want to protect our kids but I am beginning to see that this sheltering could really be doing them a great disservice.

Why not give our own children the tools to make things better for themselves? The reality is, we won't be there to protect our kids at all times. Nor should we be. I'm willing to bet that our kids will be the ones that another parent is shaking his head at more than once. Kids will pick up on less-than-desirable things from a variety of sources --including their own parents.

Perhaps instead of isolating the rotten kids we should simply teach our own children the "right" way to behave and let them decide for themselves that they don't want to be with kids who act inappropriately. Once they are teenagers and met with kids who smoke or use illegal drugs or the host of other things no parent wants their kids to engage in, they will be secure in their abilities to stand up for their values and choose to not partake.

My kids are smart enough to learn these things but they won't learn if I don't give them the tools and opportunity to practice when the consequences of choosing to "hang" with the "rotten" kids are small.

I'm not saying to let the rotten kid beat up on our kids. I'll be the first to step in and tell the kid not to hit --even if his parent is nearby and within earshot. I have no problem parenting someone else's child if they either didn't see the incident or if they simply chose to ignore it. No one hurts my kid and gets off scott-free.

But if the kid is just saying naughty things or playing with toys we don't particularly care for, I think there is some value in letting our children hear and see those things while explaining that our families value different things. Our kids will likely make choices that we wish they wouldn't make at first, but with enough practice and enough reinforcement of our values, the message will still get through. And in time that the big decisions are easy to make, and choose the "right" choice.

At least I hope so.

Pride or prejudice?

There are the standard times in life when you expect a swell of pride and happiness; the day you graduate from high school and/or college, the day you get engaged, the day you get married, the days your children enter the world. There are the days that aren't so monumental, but you still feel that pride and happiness; when you pass a test, get invited to a party, lose a few pounds, win a contest.

What I wasn't prepared for as a mother was the way my children's accomplishments would make me swell with pride and ridiculous happiness.

Oh there are the usual accomplishments that parents tend to get giddy about; the first steps, the first words, the first toileting in the toilet; but the accomplishments that seem to really make me so happy I cry a little are not the biggies.

The first time my kids rode on a carousel brought tears to my eyes. Each rode for the first time was when each of them was 1 year old. M spent the whole ride saying "wow!" which was a favorite word of hers at the time. The parents standing around the carousel would have seen a little blond girl having the time of her life while her mother held on to her, trying to not let the tears break from the corners of her eyes.


K was terrified initially, but laughing at the end and signing "more." That time I was fighting back the tears because he was so scared about something I knew he'd really love. I felt terrible putting him on that horse when he was so against it, but, we'd already paid...we were going, darn it!

I love that they both rode the same horse for their first ride.

Other times I've felt insane pride and happiness for my kids:

• Watching M sing with the cherub choir. Every. time.
• Listening to K sing songs. He knows almost all the words to even "mommy's" songs.
• Hearing M ask any kid, anywhere, anytime "Hey, can I play too?"
• Feeling K's little hands hold my face and plant a kiss on my lips, followed by "Lub you Mommy!"
• Realizing M can read a few words.
• Cheering for K now that he can reach the pedals on his bike.
• Seeing M float and swim by herself. (she swims better than I do)

There are a million of them. Isn't it great?

Expectations

Are my expectations for my children’s behavior set too high?

I am so tired of telling my kids not to touch something and 30 seconds later they touch it anyway. My kids start jumping off the couch? I start by calmly telling them to stop. They ignore me. So, my voice gets progressively louder until I’m essentially screaming at them to stop. They will then stop for about 5 minutes, then continue on as though I’d said nothing to them. I can’t even tell you how many times I have told them to not touch their nightlights, or to not try to plug anything into the outlets. Obviously this is a really dangerous practice, but I don’t know how to instill that fact in them.

My expectations:

I expect that I should be able to tell my children to stop doing something and they will stop. I expect that I will only have to tell my children something is dangerous 10 times before they heed my warning and I no longer have to worry about that danger.

I expect more from Miss M. I expect her to stop sooner than her brother. I expect her to not get as carried away so easily. She’s 4 ½ (almost).

Therein lies the problem. She’s 4 ½ and I think she should know better. But as I type 4 ½, I see that so clearly. She’s ONLY 4 ½. Fewer than 5 short years ago, she was still growing in my belly.

At the same time that I realize I have set my expectations too high, I think, well, expectations should be set high, to motivate children to rise up to those expectations. Except most of the time they don’t.

Clearly this is my issue.

What am I doing wrong? This parenting thing is apparently too difficult for me. I have too many questions and too few answers. Moments of clarity when I know just what to say or do are few and far between.

My son is in the process of giving up naps, but when he doesn’t nap he is so tired that he has major meltdowns. I just let him finish what he needs to do, (scream, cry, hit me) while I’m holding him (if we’re not in public). I tell him calmly that he may get down when he is ready to be pleasant again. These are major tantrums, people. He’s had them in stores, in the hallway at church, home, wherever. In public, he throws himself to the ground and shrieks as though I’m stabbing him. Or, if he’s confined to a grocery cart, he’ll throw his body as far back in the cart as possible—to the point that I worry that he’s going to flip out of the seat. People look at me, and him. I feel their judgmental stares and mostly don’t care. But sometimes, when I’m tired, those looks just make it worse.

Input from others:

Parents with older kids say things like “You think it’s hard now, just wait!” Yeah, your kids are older than mine are, I get that. But how is it helpful to say condescending things like that to me? I really try to not say things like that to people, but instead say something like “you know, having 2 kids really got easier once the baby was about 5-6 months old.” You know, a glimmer of hope.

There’s a woman at my church, who, as far as I know, has no children. So, she has no idea what it’s like to try to chase a 2-year-old around the halls while his big sister is in choir practice. But she wants the parents to stay on-site. I’ve requested that the nursery be opened so that he can play in there for the hour, but it’s never open when we get there.

There are just some things you can’t expect kids to do. They’re kids, after all.

Which brings me back to my expectations.

I don’t think it’s too much to ask that my 4-year-old doesn’t hit people. I’ve told her that they won’t allow it in Kindergarten and that when people grow up if they hit someone they have to go to jail. Too much? Maybe. But it still isn’t sinking in. She’s teaching this hitting to her brother, and that drives me insane.

I expect my kids to say please and thank you. I just do. If they want something from me or anyone else they need to say please. If they forget, I prompt them.

I expect my kids to hold onto my hand in parking lots and streets. At the very least, Miss M must hold on to whatever package or bag that I’m carrying that’s preventing me from having another free hand. Once in a while she doesn’t have to hold on, but she must stick to my side like glue. I know, a no-brainer rule, but M has run out of buildings and into parking lots without me. Her zest for life is commented on by strangers constantly, and it is also a constant source of fear for me.

So what do I do?

Do any of you have some solutions for me? I’m looking to those of you who are currently in the trenches with me with at least 2 preschoolers. Not that the rest of you don’t have advice, (and feel free to tell me how terrible it has yet to get) but I’d like to hear from those who are feeling my pain right now.