Get a Parenting Award!

My friend, who I love dearly has created this website...

http://excellence4everyone.wordpress.com/

And I love it. And I think you may as well. And I'd encourage you to go create yourself a parenting excellence award, whatever it may be for.

Don't Make Mommy Mad

I just read this. It's a New York Times article about how we shouldn't yell at our children. I read and it and I thought "well, duh." We know this. The only time yelling is really acceptable behavior is at sporting events (except golf, because apparently those people need absolute silence to be able to hit a ball that is sitting perfectly still). People yell because they've lost all ability to fix a situation. They don't usually plan to yell. We're already not allowed to spank, now we're being castigated for yelling? This is why I usually don't read parenting stuff. It makes me want to scream.

Go ahead, read the article. Do you see a portion in it anywhere with clear-cut, no-fail instructions on what to do when this is the scene ? -

Mommy: Sarah, go put your shoes on we have to leave now.
[Silence]
Mommy: Sarah, please put your shoes on, we're going to be late.
[Sarah pulls a toy off her playroom shelf]
Mommy. Sarah. Go. Put. Your Shoes on. Now.
[Sarah relocates, but not toward her shoes]
Mommy: Sarah. Shoes. Now.

Let me tell you something, Mr. Child Rearing Ahole, the other option I've embraced, when trying not to yell, is to scoop up the non compliant 3-year-old and her shoes and place all of them in the car myself. This generates as much wailing (yes, wailing, as if she'd had boiling water thrown on her) as yelling at her does. Either way, the 3-year-old still isn't the one putting on her shoes and we're still late. So fix that, jerkface holier-than-thou parenting expert. I SAID FIX IT!!!

Feeding the Masses

It's finally time to go home. Road trip after the family vacation. We're at my in-law's, where I'm packing lunches. Ham and swiss sandwiches for me and the Gingerbread Man. Jelly sandwich for Samuel.

"Will, do you want a ham sandwich or peanut butter and jelly?"

"Just bread."

"Ham in a bag to go with that?"

"Yes."

"Ok."

So I pack up two ham and swiss sandwiches and one jelly sandwich, then put the jelly knife in the sink, the ham and cheese away, the bread back.

And forget to pack anything for Will.

Oops

Today was Ben's 4th day of elementary school. He has done fairly well but has experienced some anxieties, particularly about the bus routine. Just to throw some wood on that fire, I was not at the bus stop this afternoon so the bus continued on without dropping him off. (It is protocol-PRAISE GOD-that kindergartners can't be dropped off unsupervised.) I wasn't there because the bus arrived 15 minutes earlier than it had been the previous days and I wasn't home on time.

From my pedicure.

For WTHS.

Discuss among yourselves.

***************
PS. Ben is fine. I accosted the bus at the neighborhood across the street by running out in front of it and waving my arms like a chick in an action movie. I think I should earn an extra kid-humiliation point for that. The bus driver and Ben never even realized he didn't get off at his stop. I'm thinking that's probably not a good thing...but who am I to throw stones?

Morning Do-over

Each morning, the high school bus goes by at 7:00 am, notifying us that time is passing. The alarm goes off at 7:50 (hey, we both are working at our computers until midnight--cut us a little slack for our late arising), we get Samuel up, dressed, breakfasted, packed, and out the door for his bus at 8:35.

Except on Thursday. We missed the significance of the high school bus (I was dreaming that I was dancing at the inaugural ball with President Obama--really), and the alarm didn't go off. When the Gingerbread Man sat straight up in bed and asked, "What day is it?" I tore myself away from my ball gown and fox trot to consider the day of the week.

"Thursday!" I shout triumphantly.

"It's 8:30!"

"Shoot!"

I ran to deal with lunch and breakfast issues, the Gingerbread Man ran to get Samuel dressed.

In five minutes flat, he was out the door, gagging only a little bit on the piece of bread we shoved into him.

Feeling guilty the rest of the day, we promised ourselves we wouldn't do that to him again.

Until Friday. When the high school bus went by and I was dreaming about rock-climbing...

The phone message

"Hey, Heather, it's Fred. I just saw Lauren walk by...by herself...well, not by herself, actually...she's with these twin boys* that look about her age, but you know," he laughs nervously,"without an adult. And they were crossing the street. I asked her where she was going and she said that one of them had to go potty so they were heading home," another nervous laugh, "so probably by the time you get this, she'll already by home. Hope everything's ok...talk to you soon. Bye-bye."





*Karen's not-twin son, ages 8 and 10.

ETA: another friend's son, age 4, was returned earlier in the day by an Orthodox Jewish mom who didn't speak to him (because, she explained, she didn't want to make him talk to a stranger), and made the boy lead her to our house despite his protests that he and Karen's eldest boy were playing Manhunt.

A Safe Spot to Sit

Aunt Jo Jo is going to pick the girls up from school today. They've known this all week, but when they see the carseats in the entryway they get really excited because they know with certainty it's an Aunt Jo Jo pick-up day.

We were up front where we keep the shoe basket (thank-you Lady E) that is now overflowing with footwear attempting to find a left and right shoe for each kid when they spied the carseats. "Aunt Jo Jo is coming!" they sang out and began piling all the stuff they thought they should have this afternoon in the seats so Aunt Jo Jo would know to bring it with her.

Having found shoes and, as usual, running awfully late, I headed back to the kitchen to shove some food in the mouths of the children before rushing them out the door with smudged little faces. As I cut Kate's waffle into the specified "lots and lots of pieces" Sarah was calling to me from the front room. "I said a lot of pieces" Kate was saying as I yelled "Sarah, I can't hear you if you want to talk to me you need to come in here!"

Sarah continued to yell some unintelligible stuff that was gaining in a tone of urgency. "SARAH. I cannot hear you! Come in here." I called to her, putting cereal in the requested purple bowl with green rim and the new spoon not the old one for the kid who wouldn't come to the kitchen. The clock glared at me judgementally. I finished up a few more tasks while Sarah continued to yell at me.

"Mommy! I need your help!" she yelled. Finally, irritated, I gave up and stomped up front to snatch her up and plop her in her seat at the table. That's when I realized she'd buckled herself into her carseat and could not get the latches undone again. Then I laughed. "Hold on a second" I said as she wriggled and looked at me pleadingly. I ran and got my phone.