Motherhood Uncensored

Rocket man

Growing up, it was all ballet, drama, and violin for me, so when it comes putting my son in some sort of extra curricular activity, I'm pretty much stumped.

Now I'm perfectly cool with a 3-year-old boy dancing, mind you, or playing the violin, however, I've actually taught 3-year-old boys to play violin, or really, attempted to teach them, and I can firmly say that there are way better and more cost effective outlets for their energy than screeching out a few notes on a teeny, tiny and quite fragile instrument.

But considering I'm behind the power curve when it comes to this parenting gig - need I remind you of my recent discovery of multi-sized Ziploc bags? - and my husband travels a lot, I'm pretty much at a loss for what to do with him, save somehow attaching him to the wagon and having him pull Margot through the neighborhood in order to burn a few calories and tire his little tail out.

And it doesn't help that I'm a total activities slacker mom, possibly because I was involved in way too many activities myself as a child, but also because I loathe Atlanta traffic, particularly when three little children are along for the ride.

So even Quinlan, who is a perfect candidate for all sorts of awesome things like ballet class or art class or cheerleading (ha!), has only done about three months of an activity before I accidentally-on-purpose just stop taking her.

[Let me add here that if she begged to go and was devastated to miss a class then I'd absolutely get her butt there, but suffice it to say it was a battle getting out of the door every single time and she never ever asked about it once, so at this point in her life I'm not going to force the child to slide into a pair of pink tights and a leotard and march in a line like a roaring lion to Mozart which let's face it she can do around the house and I don't have to endure the $70 costume and 4-hour long recital].

But Drew needs something. Or maybe it's that I need something because Drew is driving me slightly insane and running him on the treadmill is just not a socially appropriate option right now. Plus, it would be nice for him to get worn out while acquiring some sort of skill.

So with the weather changing, I decided it was time to clean out our garage of useless wheeled toys that no one ever rides because they suck in the hopes that inspiration would hit me.

Boys like speed. Boys like wheeled things. Is it possible for me to come up with any more gender stereotypes right this very moment?

Sadly, yes.

And well, I figured if I could find him a fast, wheeled, stereotypical toy it would allow me to avoid actually having to take him to an organized something or other for 3 year old boys because in the back of my mind I just can't imagine my son doing some sort of organized thing.

So, there I was, in the garage full of misfit wheeled toys, mostly because we can be impulse buyers (Cheap! Ride-on! Toy! That is cheap! For a reason!) but also because we have family that like to send us wheeled things that they have no clue how they work but they've got princesses and spidermen all over them so they must be awesome. 

Ugh.

And so, I splurged on a couple of awesome kid's scooters, and a handlebar for a scooter we already had, and after all of two seconds it took to put them together he was out riding around like he was a dolphin who had been kept out of water for all his life and was being let free to swim.

Seriously, the kid glided down the street like a little speed racer and hasn't looked back since.

Bedtime antics - completely gone.

No cruel taking away of the precious blanket. No donut rewards required.

And every time he careens down the hill towards me and zooms by, he smiles - his little head firmly packed inside a helmet, his feet planted firmly atop his little orange scooter, and my entire nervous system grasped firmly in his grubby little paws.

God help me.

Added: If you're looking for the Kickboard US Mini kick scooter, it's on sale at my affiliate Amazon (with free shipping) and it is so freaking miraculous I'd marry it.

In the company of men [and women]

I can't tell you the last time I had an actual birthday party, let alone a gathering comprised completely of adults.

Or at least ones that are legally adults, anyway.

But on Saturday night, a few friends and I gathered in a restaurant, hidden to most passers-by on the 2nd floor of a random office building in New York City, to eat the best chicken wings I've ever tasted.

In fact, I'm pretty sure calling them "chicken wings" is an insult.

There were rosemary fries and corn on the cob smothered in some creamy sauce and a magic avocado salad. 

I'm not sure why the salad was magical, but for me it was because I was cramming it down my gullet next to, across from, and caddy-cornered with adults that I love dearly.

We ended the night (or morning, rather) singing our hearts out to what might be considered a bastard, reject DJ playlist in a small, cold karaoke room with cheese balls and smuggled-in booze, the likes of which got us kicked out and flung into the streets.

No Karaoke For You! 

Okay, so we weren't actually flung out into the streets. But when someone rudely interrupts your extremely rousing duet rendition of "Like a Prayer," it feels like you just got thrown out on your ass.

Thankfully, karaoke is quite a popular pastime in Korea-town, NYC and so we gathered ourselves and walked about 50 feet across the street to finish what we had started - belting out the likes of Bonnie Tyler, Britney Spears, and the Backstreet Boys while the words flashed in front of weird scrolling images of Prague and some island full of very white swimsuit clad tourists.

And those were only my song choices. *CoughMom101'sJourneyMedleyCough*

There were many pictures.

And video - the likes of which I'm sure would be more embarrassing than any sex tape I may or may not have made.

But more importantly, there was laughter.

And absolutely no children.

And it was good.

Raising millenials

The headlines "Social Media! Helicopter Parents!" caught my eye on the airline magazine the other day and since I'm intrigued by both these phenomena, I decided to take a peek, finding a long, interesting article about the new generation of job seekers in our country - the millenials. 

Apparently I'm completely out of the loop because I thought we were still doing "Generation insert letter of the alphabet" and didn't realize that there's a term for the people many of us are raising.

And while I'm pretty sure by the time my kids get to the work force they will be referred to by an entirely different moniker, I still found myself aligned with what had been found about how the parenting of these kids had influenced how they approached job seeking and existing in society. 

I braced myself for a strong criticism of what has been coined as helicopter parenting, with the parents hovering over their child's every move often driven by fear, anxiety, and a desire to make sure their life pathways were paved in padded, non-slip eco-friendly materials.

But instead, they highlighted how these products of hovering parents actually offered a slew of positives to their potential employers.

That's not to say that helicopter parenting can have negative effects, although one could argue that any type of parenting is going to have some negative effect on children. No one is perfect, after all, and our imperfections will undoubtedly manifest in one way or another in how we raise our kids.

It seems like much of our job as parents is to ensure that our kids have a fresh, new life experience that's not tainted by our own failings and shortcomings - rather informed and made better by them. Or at least, that's what I hope will happen.

And I'm the first to admit that I could easily be accused of helicoptering, more frequently perhaps than I'd like I'm sure, but I chalk it up to the world being a completely different environment than it was when I was a kid - in many cases, a not so safe environment. I also think that parenting has changed and kids get away with a lot more shit than they used to, which only means that I need to keep a better eye on my own children.  

But for all the knocking of the helicopter parenting that goes on, even still with my own generation of parenting colleagues, I was pleased to see that there are some positive benefits to hovering - in my case balanced with a hearty injection of free range parenting when it's appropriate.

And so, as a result of their upbringing, millenials happen to be more collaborative with their colleagues, as well as their bosses, and seek out opportunities to work together with them as opposed to working for them or on the flip side, telling them what to do.

They also strive to find meaning in their work and passion for what they are doing, which can be a challenge during hard economic and financial times, but overall will provide them with more job and life satisfaction.

Now I don't think this means that we all run out and install video cameras around our house so we can keep an eye on our children. Nor does it mean that we make our kids "our bffs."

But it appears that a little parental over involvement isn't such a bad thing after all.

Middle aged

On the first day of my internship at the now defunct St. Luke's Medical Center in Cleveland, I was required to take a perception test - an informal way to show how our perceptions might affect our clinical therapy work with hospital patients.

And so, when I was asked what I considered middle aged, this young just-turned-20 college graduate said 35. Hell, I couldn't even buy alcohol or get into a club without some bouncer writing a gigantic "X" on my hand, so 35 seemed pretty damn old.

But as I turn 34 today and am soon-to-be surrounded by some of the youngest looking 40 year olds I know, I feel like a baby.

I've never had an issue with getting old, mostly because I spent my life always being younger than anyone else. I remember dying to be 21, just so I could go back to my college homecoming (where everyone else was at least 22 or 23) and actually get into the bars instead of be the designated picker up of drunk boyfriends.

And I have to say, that while my 20's were great, I spent much of them finally ridding myself of the many chains and shackles of my upbringing.

So I'm proud to be 34. Sure, boobs are a little droopier and I can use my nipples as measuring tapes.

But hell if I'm anywhere near middle aged.

And if someone twerpy college student wants to think otherwise, I'm very happy to show them how fucking hot and sexy middle aged can be.

It's about what's to come.

On Saturday night, I did the unthinkable and took away my son's bedtime only security blanket as a punishment for him getting out of bed for the 2nd time. It's not the first time I've threatened to do so. His now week-long bedtime issues are completely out of hand, with him staying awake well past 9pm and coming out of bed at least twice - not just making him tired in the morning, but keeping his sister (with whom he shares a room) awake as well.

So for the last few nights, I remind him that if he gets out of bed once, I'll turn off the bathroom light (their night light). And if he gets out of bed again, then I'll take away his blanket.

And usually, the loss of the night light is enough to keep him in bed.

Except for Saturday night.

Now whoever said moms and sons have this weirdly amazing connection is completely right. It's hard to explain or quantify, but it's there, usually with me wearing a big huge, invisible "SUCKER" sign that only he can see.

Truth be told, he can drive me batty, and he challenges me as a parent much more than either of my daughters did and do, at least right now at the lovely demon-possessed age of 3.5.

I never really yelled until he came along. And I've lost my cool with him more times than I care to remember.

But I could, at any given moment, or at least at any given moment when he's not whining, screaming, or begging me for food exactly 10 minutes after I just fed him a three-course snack, wrap him up in a tiny ball and stick him in my pocket forever because he's just so freaking cute.

And somehow he knows this, and so, even though I reminded him twice about the loss of "rockets," he got out of bed anyway.

I've never actually had to take away the blanket. We're pretty consistent with 1-2-3 Magic* which works extremely well for those small, annoying behaviors (like whining, backtalk, etc.) that don't necessarily warrant a huge punishment (time out, loss of toy, loss of major privilege) but give us some way of keeping them under control.

And if I do take something away, I'm pretty careful about what it is - dessert, television shows - things that will be effective but not mean. Or worse, will not make my own life a living hell.

No TV for a week? Ha. Yeah no way.

But alas. He got out of bed twice. And I said I was going to take away the blanket, and so I did.

And oh did it pain me.

The terrorizing, torturous screams didn't help the situation. And I did my darndest to figure out a way to give it back to him without looking like a complete doormat.

But there was no other way.

To my surprise, he fell asleep pretty quickly, unharmed, at least for the moment, by the blanket trauma. Of course, I, on the other hand, couldn't stop thinking about it, and suddenly realized that all the stuff we think is tough on the kids is much tougher on us.

But in the end, I know it will do us and our relationship a world of good. And that's really what matters. 

It's not about now. It's about what's to come.

*This is an Amazon affiliate link, which means I get a small kickback if you order through that link. If you prefer not to do that, then just order directly through Amazon.com. Either way, it's a great book, and I was not paid or asked to say so.