Motherhood Uncensored

Speak Your Truth

I've been decoding my daughter's cryptic messages for months now.

"I'm wanting something cold and tasty and sweet" she'll say, boring holes through the freezer with her little brown eyes. At dinner she'll often tell me she has a stomach ache when faced with the prospect of having to eat our token "two more bites."

It disappears the instant she's excused from the table.

"Do you want ice cream?" I'll say firmly, telling her to just ask for what she wants. Every time she has a "belly ache," I tell her it's okay to tell us that she's full.

But lately, it's picked up - her roundabout ways of asking me to read her more stories or her new "fuzzy throat" that just so happens to require chocolate milk at dinner time. And I find myself continually telling her to say what she means, particularly when it comes to us, her parents that love her completely and unconditionally.

It scares and frustrates me. Because for the first time, I realized that I'm parenting myself. A smaller, probably smarter version of me.

She wants so much to be right, and struggles deeply with the feeling of being wrong or unliked. She desires approval and harmony and will go to great lengths to get it.

She wants everyone to just be happy.

I used to blame my inability to say what I mean and mean what I say on my parents. I'd snake my way in and out of everything, mostly to avoid the wrath of my alcoholic father and my unpredictable mother.

I quickly learned how to ask for what I needed and get what I wanted by doing various dances. I'd spin when they wanted me to spin, and I'd jump when they asked me to jump - mostly to protect my own fragile ego from being damaged any more than it already was.

It became a choreographed life of lies.

And while my husband is not a drunk and I'm fairly predictable, I can't help but fear for my daughter what was often a difficult existence for me. And still is.

But as I'm learning, much of it is branded on our souls, to be molded and shaped by our circumstances, and not so much the other way around.

So when I tell my daughter to speak her truth and accept the consequences, I realize that I need to tell myself the same thing. And my frustration with her just not getting it, has a lot to do with feeling the same way about myself.

The tightly lipped "I'm fine" followed by random blow ups aren't working. The brush offs by acquaintances, family, and whoever else that I seethe about for weeks even months should be handled with a phone call or email.

I'm learning that parenting is like talking into a mirror. Except now there's someone watching to see if you're actually listening.

5 Months - Margot and her Beaver

Courtesy of Her Bad Mother
[Damn those Canadians give weird baby gifts]

Apparently I'm making quite an impression

Me: Who's your favorite mommy?
Drew: Daddy

Me: What will happen if you make bad choices?
Drew: You'll put me in the trash.
[what I threaten to do to toys when he doesn't listen]

Super Nanny - Eat Your Heart Out

Yesterday after asking my daughter with whom she was having a full on conversation, I discovered we are no longer just a family of five.

"My be-tend friends,"she replied.

Now I should say that our adopted daughters Kinsa and Rosha have been around for a few years now, scaring the shit out of college kids at the grocery store. But they've never done more than ride in the back seat of our car or get blamed for spilling juice on the brand new carpet.

Messy ones, those invisible friends.

They've never been worth their weight in imaginary snot, which is fine. I can deal with the extra not real mouths to not really feed and all, but it would be nice if they carried their load around this place.

The invisible toilet doesn't clean itself, you know.

But now with my son's new friend "Monster," we've got more than a houseful live and imaginary creatures. And they're darn well going to earn their keep.

At first, Drew was complaining about the scary monster chasing him through the house and taking his toys, which requires way more time and energy from me.

I have three kids. I don't need to be putting an invisible monster in time out every ten minutes.

But then I figured it out - the most brilliant "you can't sell it but really wish you could" parenting plan of the century. Or probably week, but don't burst my bubble just yet.

Because as it turns out, my little bright eyed two year old, who has taken to using the word "no" like a Guido and his hair gel and has decided to torture us to death with whining, listens to Monster.

And so guess what? Monster has been telling him to finish his sandwich. And clean up his toys. And be nice to his sister.

And Monster keeps him company at bedtime.

[Side note: Where can I get a "monster" for my husband?]

So I'm thinking that Monster is going to have to tell him to use the potty, particularly for the two year old poops that should not really ever see anything but the inside of the toilet bowl.

Seriously, I hate to pat my back and all, but you've got to admit that this is just a little taste of genius right here.