More on Chores

Earlier this week I wrote about Children and Chores. As I work towards including my children more in household chores, I’ve been thinking about how parents can set the expectation that everyone helps out in the home. It probably isn’t realistic for kids to always be compliant and cheerful about doing chores, but nagging and whining shouldn’t be the norm either. 

Over the past couple of years, I’ve received some good advice from teachers and parents about what kind of chores are appropriate, how to introduce new chores, and how to make these chores part of the daily routine. I thought I’d share their wisdom.

Ms. Christine advised us that birthdays are a good time to introduce new chores. Kids are excited about growing up and giving them the responsibility of a new chore is a nice way to acknowledge their change in age. When Katherine turned five she took on clearing her dinner plate. Of the few things we ask her to do chore-wise, this is the one she rarely fusses about. Maybe it has to do with how we introduced it?  I’m sure she’ll eventually catch on that a birthday chore is not exactly a birthday present, but for now we’ll take it!

There are the standard chores, like setting/clearing the table, taking out the garbage, and putting clean clothes away in drawers, but this year we’ve incorporated some more creative chores, most of which Katherine brought home from school:

• Polishing, which is really a fancy word for dusting. In Katherine’s classroom they “polish” the toys every Friday.
• Cobwebbing is another hit in Katherine’s classroom. Wrap a small towel around the end of a 4-5 foot long stick and run it along the ceiling and the wall corners to remove cobwebs.
• Sweeping. Siblings can also enjoy fighting over who gets to sweep and who gets to hold the dustpan.
• Washing windows using a spray bottle. I’m pretty sure kids will do anything if it involves a spray bottle.

My kids like doing all of these things… once in a while. When they feel like it. But I’m interested in how to make chores an automatic part of the daily/weekly routine.  People recommend a keeping a schedule: Monday is vacuum day, Tuesday is clean bathroom day, etc., but for me that is easier said than done. On nice days I’m more than willing to sacrifice a clean bathroom so we can spend more time outside, or if I’m in the mood to bake, I’m sure to choose chocolate over window washing!

Maybe I need a more official looking schedule. It is currently crayoned in on our breakfast schedule (which is failed attempt to bring more variety to breakfast… all mom wants to prepare anyone wants is cereal.)

Modeling the work you want your kids to do and/or working along side them is ideal. Clara is much more inclined to help straighten up if I am doing it too, and it is much nicer to work together than to nag over and over from across the room. 

Books can also help when introducing - or enforcing- chores. A favorite in our home is Ox-Cart Man, and I just started reading Little House in the Big Woods to Katherine. I think she is impressed with how Laura and Mary help Pa and Ma… Hopefully that will play in my favor.

Even though I know these are all good ideas that would help the children-chore situation in our home, some are hard to implement in reality. Having Katherine and Clara help isn’t the most efficient way to a clean house, and it is easier to shoo them out of the kitchen than to find ways for them to contribute. As far as making it part of the routine, I don’t always want to be tied to “polishing day,” and find it hard to stick to the schedule.

Tell me, what types of chores do your kids do? How do you implement chores in your home? What was it like in your home when you were a kid? I’d love to hear your suggestions…

Children and Chores

Spoiled Rotten, Why do kids rule to roost?, is a great article packed full of information, observations, and cultural comparisons. There are a lot of points made about parenting in general, and specifically about parenting in the U.S., but one in particular hit home: the typical American kid does not (willingly) help with household chores. Since reading the article, I have been listening to the requests I make of the kids, how many times I make a request, how often the request is met, and the mood and tone (i.e., joyful, fussy) it is met with. 

Katherine and Clara usually meet my requests, but I have been unpleasantly surprised by their mood and tone: some resistance, a lot of fussing and “I don’t want to”s, and even the dreaded, “I don’t have to.” Stepping back, it isn’t all that surprising. While I am pretty consistent about stating requests (Katherine, please brush your teeth and comb your hair.) rather than asking (Katherine, will you please brush your teeth and comb your hair?), I did notice that I frequently convey the message in my response that they are doing me a big favor by doing what I have asked:

“Oh thank you, Katherine!”

“That was really helpful, Clara, thank you!”

“Thank you for putting on your shoes!” 

I do believe in acknowledging a child’s hard work, but the tasks I thank my kids for doing are all standard, routine things, like putting on shoes, clearing their dinner plate, cleaning up the basket of spilled crayons. I don’t want to feel - and express - gratitude when they complete these tasks, I want them to just happen without comment or fanfare. If they feel they are doing me a big favor by clearing their plate, it’s no wonder they feel it is within their right to tell me, “I don’t have to.” 

But communicating excessive gratitude for simple, routine tasks is only one component of the problem. It also occurred to me that all I ask of Katherine and Clara are simple, routine tasks. I could and should be expecting a lot more from them. I’m not talking about loading them down with chores so I can sit and read blogs all day, as tempting as that may be. I am talking about giving them real responsibility that genuinely contributes to the functioning of our family. For example, it could be Katherine’s role to fill the water glasses every evening, and Clara’s role to fill each salad bowl with lettuce and vegetables that she has cut up. These tasks would be challenging for them, but more importantly, they are meaningful tasks that are necessary in order for the family to eat dinner. Katherine and Clara would probably accept these tasks as a prestigious responsibility, and hopefully this would be enough to quell the fussy, resistant, attitude.

Of course this all sounds great, but it will no doubt result in a few broken glasses, lots of water spills, and some pretty big chunks of carrot in our salad… in other words, it will most certainly create more work for me, which, by the way, is cited in the article as a reason why American parents don’t include their children in household tasks. But if I make time for them to participate in a meaningful way, and just accept that we will sacrifice a few glasses, it will serve our family well. The kids will participate in household chores, I’ll have real opportunities to express my gratitude, and maybe in a few years they’ll be the American equivalent of the Matsigenka of Peru, and bake me brownies over an open fire.

Training Katherine and Clara to bake brownies; an important responsibility that contributes to the functioning of our family.

Happy 4th!

For the 4th of July, Katherine decorated the flowers with a flag, two gnomes, and a fairy.

Telling Time

Auntie M asked me to write a post about why I don’t want my kids to learn how to tell time. Others have also wondered about this, asking if it there is some Waldorf philosophy around it. Part of it does relate to a general Waldorf philosophy about keeping kids in the present, but I have to admit that I also don’t want them to tell time for my own convenience. 

Having my kids be able to tell time would make my life more difficult. Right now, bedtime is when we say it is bedtime. Nap time is over when we say it is over.  “Time to leave the park” is when I feel like leaving (usually for good reason, like to go home to eat lunch before there is a major meltdown). If Katherine could tell time, it would be the end of my flexibility when it comes to adjusting the schedule based on my the kids’ needs. Sometimes I really need nap/quiet time to go until 3:15 so I can finish up a work email… sometimes Dave and I need bedtime to be at 7 instead of 7:30 because the kids are exhausted, or we need that extra half hour to just sit and eat dessert by ourselves. I can just imagine Katherine calling us on that: “It’s not bedtime, it’s only 7! Bedtime is at 7:30.” That is not what we need at the end of the day. 

However, there is good reason (other than my own convenience) to hold off on teaching young children to tell time. Waldorf teachers often talk about how important it is for children to stay present in the moment. Knowing what time it is does not benefit them, it takes them out of the present and prevents them from sinking into their play. It can also add an element of anxiety. I believe it is the parents’ job to worry about the time (i.e., getting out the door on time, getting to bed on time), and this burden should not fall on the child. As I’ve written before, one of the wonders of childhood is to not be burdened with time. I would like to preserve that wonder for as long as possible.

I have no doubt Katherine is capable of learning to tell time, and it would probably be fun to teach her, and she might even get some satisfaction out of it… but then what? After the novelty wore off she’d be stuck knowing what time it is. I see no benefit in that for her, especially since she would still have a 5-year-old concept of time - meaning she would be able to tell time from a clock, but she would not really know what to do with this information. If she saw it was 8:05am and knew we needed to leave at 8:15am, would she be able to figure out that her current pace was not going to get her ready in time and then actually move faster to accommodate running behind? Probably not. Even if she could, especially if she could, I would not want to place that on her. At least not yet. I’d rather give her as long as possible to enjoy not being tied to time. Soon enough she’ll be racing against the clock to get her homework done, wishing for time to pass quickly so she can go get her driver’s license, trying to slow time down when she realizes her children are growing up too fast… 

For now I’d rather she just play happily and not worry about how much longer she has or what is coming next and when. 

A Car Rental Rant

This past weekend we went to visit my family. It was our first time traveling with three kids and based on time constraints, convenience, and other basic logistics, we decided it made the most sense to fly and then rent a car along with three car seats.

We made the car rental reservations months in advance and three days before our trip I called Budget to confirm. I made a point of (1) speaking to a human, which is a feat in and of itself, (2) confirming our reservation, and (3) emphasizing that we needed three carseats and a car big enough for three car seats to be available upon our arrival. The human assured me a minivan along with three car seats would be waiting for us. He even read our reservation back to me word for word. I thanked him and crossed “confirm car rental” off my list.

You can guess what happened. We arrived at O’Hare, walked the mile to baggage claim, waited 10 minutes in 95 degree heat for the Budget shuttle, and stood in line at the Budget counter for 30 minutes. I actually didn’t wait in the line, Dave did. I found a nice little corner, fed the kids a snack, took Katherine and Clara to the bathroom, and changed Alexandra’s diaper, all of which also took 30 minutes. Then I was ready to get in the car and be on our way. But Dave was still at the counter talking to the woman. Ten minutes passed, then fifteen, then twenty… Budget had neither a minivan nor three carseats. The woman didn’t even see carseats on our reservation. My pointing out that I had confirmed our reservation - complete with carseats - just days earlier did not help. It took an hour and a half for Budget to locate a “car of equivalent size” and three carseats. When we dragged the kids, bags, and carseats across the parking, we found an SUV with one backseat row that wouldn’t fit three carseats.

By this point we were well into naptime, melting in the heat, and at a loss of what to do next. No one was in a good place, least of all me, because not only do I lack patience and have a hard time dealing with incompetence, I really don’t care for SUVs.* We pleaded with a Budget guy in the parking lot and he eventually found us an even bigger SUV with a third row. We installed the carseats, loaded the kids, and got out of there.

An image of the monstrosity, showing the inaccessible third row, nonexistent trunk space, and lack of handy sliding door.I’ll just take a moment here to explain why I don’t care for SUVs. First of all, we are a small car (as in Nissan Versa small) family and committed to remaining that way. Second of all, if we were to be a big car family (which I admit may happen someday), we would go for a minivan, not an SUV. The monstrosity we ended up with, like a minivan, had three rows, but it was impossible to get to the third row without folding down one of the second row seats, which of course wasn’t possible when there was a carseat in it. We weren’t about to uninstall and reinstall a carseat every time we needed to get Katherine into her third row seat and we couldn’t put Clara or Alexandra back there to free up a second row seat because we couldn’t fit either of their carseats past the second row. There was probably some better way to do it, but standing there in the heat with three hungry, tired kids, we weren’t about to figure it out. In the end we had Katherine climb in through the trunk and over the back of her seat. A minivan doesn’t have this problem. It has three rows, a lovely sliding door, and a convenient aisle so everyone can get to their seat with minimal, if any, difficulty.

But all’s well that ends well: the kids held it together at Budget (more than the parents did), having to climb in through the trunk and over the seat was the highlight of the trip for Katherine (she’s still talking about it and asking why we can’t always have that “nice car”), we made it to my parents’ house and had a relaxing visit, and Alexandra took revenge on Budget on our behalf with a mighty blowout. Of course we had to clean it, but it was quite gratifying to see her poop running down the carseat and onto the seat.

Anyway, this isn’t exactly a post on parenting, but it happened while I had kids with me, so that is close enough. I try to keep in mind that as a parent my behavior should always be worthy of imitation. This can be very challenging, especially in situations like this, when I am beyond frustration and feel helpless when it comes to solving a problem that shouldn’t even exist. This time I failed, I was definitely not worthy of imitation at the Budget counter.

*Except for Sarah’s because I associate it with our weekly play date.

Princess Post

When I was little I loved Cinderella and Snow White: the helpful mice, the pumpkin coach, Sneezy and Grumpy, even the harsh but appropriate punishment for the wicked witch after Snow White is revived… these fairy tales were magical and the far away land where they took place was very real to me. But now as a parent I find myself in the anti-princess camp. I get annoyed when Katherine admires all the Cinderella costumes at Halloween and excitedly points out the Little Mermaid stickers at the doctor’s office. What is it about the princesses, who were a wonderful part of my childhood, that now irritates me to the point of not wanting to share them with my children?

Maybe you’ve seen on Facebook the picture of the princesses with the mocking statements identifying each story’s anti-feminist message. If you missed it, here it is:

That’s why they irritate me.

But I don’t really believe these messages characterize the true fairy tales. Rather, they are an unfortunate consequence of the commercialization of the princesses. The original fairy tales are complex and reflect the inner qualities of human nature. They are a great way for kids to process and explore good and evil. For example, the characters in Snow White symbolize the pure (Snow White), the evil (Wicked Witch), and the will (Dwarfs) that reside in all of us. The story presents a struggle between them and in the end, a resolution. But somehow the richness of the story has been lost to an obsession with the princess. The focus on the struggle within the self has been shifted to a focus on a two-dimensional character in a pretty dress.

How did this happen?

The fairy tale books I had as a child offered beautiful artwork of a few selected scenes, the rest I had to fill in with my imagination. Today, children watch the Disney movies in which the entire story is presented visually, leaving nothing to the imagination. Furthermore, we are bombarded with the commercialized princess images: we see them on backpacks, children’s clothing, bedding, lunch boxes, notebooks, etc. Despite having never seen a Disney movie or owned any Disney paraphernalia, Katherine knows all the princesses* and she’s only five! Even worse, she only identifies with the princesses who resemble her. Just today she noticed the picture above on my computer screen and proceeded to tell me, “I can be Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty because I have yellow hair like they do. But Clara has to be Belle because she has brown hair.” Katherine has no chance to create a picture of Belle that she can relate to.

The lack of a child’s imagination when it comes to Disney princesses is probably pretty common these days. I remember hearing of a teacher who conducted a mini-experiment in her class. She told her grade school students a story in which one of the characters was an old woman. At the end of the story she asked the children to draw the old woman. Each child came up with a unique and detailed picture. The teacher then told the children the story of Cinderella. At the end, she asked them to draw Cinderella. Each child drew the exact same image.

If children don’t need to do any imaginative work, are they able to process the story deeply and in a way that allows them to relate it to their own world? Or are they stuck on the pre-made, shallow (and unrealistic!) imagery of mass media? What is lost when we don’t engage a child’s imagination in a story?

I will read the princess stories to my children. But I wonder if they’ll have the opportunity to make the stories their own, or if in Katherine’s mind, Snow White already wears a blue and yellow dress and a red hairband in her brown hair.

*When I asked her how she knows who they are, she replied in her snarky ‘duh’ tone, “I just do, mom.”

Gun Play

This post on weapon play inspired me to finally put down my thoughts on this topic. With three girls, gun play isn’t a huge issue in our home, but it does appear from time to time. For example, a few weeks ago Katherine started building toy guns out of legos and called them “shooters.” She engaged Clara as well and the two of them went around shooting things for a few days. It was pretty clear that the play came from school - with 10 boys and 6 girls in Katherine’s class, gun play is inevitable. I think she was just trying it out at home because she wasn’t quite comfortable joining in at school. It went on for a few days, then they abandoned it. I struggled with letting them be and was grateful when it disappeared.

Although my own experience with gun play has been limited, it is a common topic among parents.  Based on discussions with Katherine’s teachers and her classmates’ parents, I have formed a few opinions. Of course it is easy for me to have opinions when it is not something I really have to deal with, but I’ll share them nonetheless.

They even make beautiful wooden toy guns. Who knew?!Generally speaking, children play what they need to play in order to process their world. Most children are exposed to guns through a variety of sources, such as t.v., movies, the news, other children, and toys. Some children have parents who have to keep guns in their home because of their job, and children of military families are exposed to guns, especially if they live on a base. Whether we like it or not, guns are very present in our lives. It makes sense that children need to process this aspect of life and doing so through play is healthy.

I think it is important to also keep in mind that gun play doesn’t have the same meaning to children as it does to adults. I am horrified at the idea of my five-year-old going around pretending to shoot people. But that is based on thirty some years of experience and a mature understanding of murder and death. To a five-year-old, it is nothing more than an escalated version of tag.

As far as allowing it in my home, I follow the guidelines Katherine’s teacher uses in his classroom. I try to be aware of the effect gun play is having on the children playing it and the children nearby who are not playing it. If someone feels threatened, I intervene, but if no one feels threatened, I’ll let it go. When I do intervene, I’ll tell the gun player that the gun may not be pointed at people and I’ll try to redirect the play. Often I’ll suggest they hunt a dragon or some wild beast in the forest. Sometimes I’ll turn their pretend gun into a pretend water squirter and request that they cool me down. This usually works, but I have it easy because the girls usually lose interest pretty quickly anyway.

For parents whose children don’t lose interest so easily, I think it is possible to embrace the need for gun play. One parent I know enrolled the whole family in archery lessons. Every weekend they went into the woods together to practice their skills. They enjoyed shooting targets out in nature in a safe and healthy way. I think this approach is brilliant - it treated her son’s need and desire for gun play positively and with respect, and it brought the whole family into it in a way they could all enjoy.

As with any issue, parents need to find their own comfort level while considering their individual children. One child may really need gun play, while another child may be stuck in a gun play rut to the point of missing out on other important kinds of play. One child may play guns in a way that negatively affects others while another child may play in a way that is non-threatening. How a parent decides to deal with gun play is personal, and may change with time as the child changes.

I have to say, though, despite my views that gun play is generally ok, I still bristle every time it comes home. It will probably always be difficult for me to balance my knowledge of guns and their role in society with the need my kids have to process their world through play.

What it says about society that our kids play guns is another matter…

Mental Crowding

In typical Type A fashion, I tend to take on more than I can handle and then get great satisfaction out of organizing my schedule to accommodate the overload. It’s a fairly predictable cycle. I’ll be floating along, busy, content. Then I’ll start to get a little restless and look for something to add to my plate. Sometimes it’s something small, like a sewing project, sometimes it’s big, like joining the board at Katherine’s school. I often feel slightly, but happily, overwhelmed for a period of time, then I find a new balance and start the cycle again. But with a new baby and now transitioning back to work, the balance has been all out of whack. I’ve been more than slightly overwhelmed… and I can’t get all the pieces to fit together.

In an attempt to manage all the pieces, I’ve determined there are the “must-dos,” (e.g., getting Katherine to and from school, making dinner, fulfilling my work commitments), which absolutely have to happen each day; the “should-dos”(e.g., cleaning the bathroom, updating the kids’ closets with summer clothes, scheduling that doctor’s appointment); and finally, the “want-tos,” (e.g., finishing Mockingjay, writing this post, going for a run), which really could be put aside, except that I look forward to these things and get grouchy when I don’t have them. So my solution is to stay up really late to try to do it all for as many nights as I can before I crash. Then I temporarily abandon the should-do list while I catch up on sleep. By the time the house gets so gross that I can’t stand it and my kids are wearing long sleeves in 90 degree weather, I’m better rested and can go back to staying up really late again. It’s not ideal, but it is working for now. And I am on my way to accepting that this is the new norm with three kids.

The part I don’t like is the mental crowding. No matter what I’m doing my mind is jumping around to the other tasks on my list, preventing me from enjoying the thing I’m actually doing. I’d like to be able to sing Wheels on the Bus to Alexandra without thinking about getting to the computer to respond to that one work email, and I might actually enjoy making dinner if I didn’t start worrying about what I’m going to do with the rotting CSA vegetables every time I opened the fridge. I don’t like when a whole day has gone by and I feel I missed out on half of it because I was always thinking about how I could have been doing something else.

It’s easy enough to turn off the technology, or at least designate time for email, blog reading, IMing, etc. so that it doesn’t invade my day (actually, this isn’t easy at all, but I could do it if I decided to). But other than that, I can’t figure out what to let go in order to clear mental space. Everything on the list seems necessary - either for general family functioning or my own sanity. I suppose something will eventually give, or it will be one of those things that works itself out.

In the meantime, I’m going to call upon the two places where I have always felt completely at peace. Places whose vastness creates a stillness and silence that puts everything into perspective (especially the above first world problems).  

Mont Sainte Victoire (view from Bibémus outside of Aix-en-Provence)

and the Sonoran Desert, outside of Tucson.

I can’t travel to France or Arizona, but even the pictures bring me a feeling of calm. And when their effect wears off (after all, they are only pictures), there is always Alfred Cat. Nothing like a furry friend to reduce stress. (Plus it’s about time he got his picture up on this blog.)

Slowing Down

My kids are from Planet Slow. It takes us a ridiculously long time to get ready for a simple walk to the park. On the kids’ end, they only need to pee and put on shoes, but these two simple tasks take forever. Getting out the door to go to school in the morning is even worse. The more I try to hurry them along with phrases like “hurry up!”, “we’re late!”, “we’re running out of time!”, the slower they move. Probably because they’re trying to figure out what the heck ‘running out of time’ means. Even the ultimate threat, “if we don’t move faster you’ll miss circle time!”, is met with a blank stare and a marked slowdown.

I often find myself frustrated that I can’t make Katherine and Clara move faster.  I take pride in my efficiency and punctuality; the ability to power through my daily to-do list is a major source of job satisfaction. Kids are a direct obstacle to efficiency and punctuality, and their sloth-like tendencies can drive me crazy. Nevertheless, I love that they are not tied to the clock, always aware of what time it is, always looking ahead to what needs to be done next. It is one of the wonders of childhood, to not be burdened by time, and I want to preserve it for them.

But how? How do we balance this aspect of childhood with efficiency, and quite frankly, practicality? We have to keep a schedule, get to school on time, move at a reasonable pace. If we spend 30 minutes walking two blocks to the park, Katherine and Clara don’t have time to run and climb before we have to come home for dinner. And they need to run and climb at the park, because if they don’t, they’ll just do it in the living room and on the furniture when we get home. How do we coordinate our time constraints, which are perfectly valid and necessary, with a child’s (nonexistent) concept of time?  

The standard answer is better planning. “Leave extra time so you don’t have to rush,” everyone says. But in my experience, this is not sufficient. I don’t think it is possible to leave enough time for Katherine to tie her shoes at her own pace. She could probably spend most of the day tying and retying her shoes to perfection. As usual when I struggle with a parenting challenge, I consult our local experts (aka, Katherine and Clara’s teachers). They recommended the simple solution of slowing down. Here are the specifics of what I’m working on:

1. Move at half-speed. This is counterintuitive as I often think if I move faster, the kids will move faster. But frantically trying to get everything ready and calling out instructions from across the kitchen while filling a water bottle projects a sense of urgency that just distracts them. Taking my time as I get ready helps them focus on their tasks. If I slow down, they speed up.

2. Make requests slowly. When I stop what I’m doing, look Clara in the eye, and speak a request simply, slowly and deliberately, “Clara, you may put on your shoes now,” she usually does it right then and there. Magic.
 
3. Set aside time for activities with absolutely no agenda. Planning outings with no final destination gets me more cooperation on outings that are about getting somewhere. For example, I can say to Clara, “This is a park outing. You can stop and count every single flower petal on the entire rose bush on our walking outing tomorrow,” which is much nicer than “Let’s go! We don’t have time to stop.” Plus Clara knows she will get a chance to count every petal because walking outings are part of our routine.

Although these strategies are straightforward and effective, I admit they don’t come naturally and can be  hard to implement. Half-speed, slow and deliberate, no agenda… these are concepts that threaten my daily productivity. But when I make the effort to slow down, I achieve a better balance between my schedule and their pace. I even find myself appreciating their pace. It is freeing to let go of the rushing about, and when I get into the groove of slowing down, I find myself relaxing into the day and enjoying all the slow moments with the kids. Moments without the burden of time.

Katherine’s morning shoe routine.

8:05am

8:09am

8:11am

8:13am

8:16am

8:20am

Bedtime Battle

Over the last few months our bedtime routine has slowly deteriorated into a frustrating hour of crowd control (yes, three kids qualifies as a crowd). There is yelling involved. And threats. Most of them empty because it is the end of the day and what can we take away at that point? Looking back, it pretty much started around the time Alexandra was born. The conspiracy theorist in me is pretty sure the kids have advanced strategic planning skills and they took advantage of our exhaustion and our unstable, compromised routine to take control of the evening hours. Perhaps I should be proud of their capability.

Here is what has been happening. Around the middle of dinnertime, the big sisters start to get wound up. The bathroom words creep into conversation and before we know it “pee” and “poop” are flying freely. That is phase one. Phase two involves Katherine climbing the bathroom door frame while we try to get her to brush teeth and Clara unrolling the toilet paper all over the bathroom floor. In phase three, both girls are running away from us, naked and soaking wet as we call out a mix of empty threats and pathetic bribes: “You’re using up your story time!” “Girls who put on their pjs will get two songs!” But they are beyond threats and bribes. That’s when the yelling starts. By the time we finally get them tucked in and quiet with lights out, we’re exhausted and grumpy.

We need to reestablish a bedtime routine that is calm and enjoyable. To get this back we’ve come up with a plan: separate and stagger. As soon as dinner is over one of us takes Katherine up to brush teeth, take bath, put on pjs, get into bed, read book, sing song, lights out. Clara stays downstairs to help clean up. Once Katherine is in bed, Clara comes up to brush teeth and take bath. But Clara gets her pjs, book, and song in our bedroom. Only when she is ready for sleep does she get into her bed. The lights are already out and Katherine is calm and hopefully drifting off. Two girls in bed. Quiet.

We’re still working out the kinks, for example, we haven’t quite figured out where Alexandra fits in. She needs to be bathed too. Does it happen after both big sisters are in bed? Or before? We’re not sure. But so far the new routine seems to be helping. The kids are much calmer and it doesn’t feel like a battle. We also get to enjoy time alone with each kid, which is probably what they need - and what we need. So maybe they weren’t conspiring against us. Maybe they aren’t a two-person tactical team. Maybe they were just trying to tell us it wasn’t working. And hopefully now it is.

The big sisters

Happy Mother's Day

I am the worst at acknowledging special days like Mother’s day, anniversaries, and birthdays. Even if I remember, it’s rare that I get it together to do something for someone. In my defense, I am this way about my own important dates. I’d just as soon skip my birthday, and last month I had to ask my husband the exact date of our marriage for a form I had to fill out.

Naturally, Mother’s Day is here and I’ve done nothing. So in desperation, I thought I’d post a list of some of the wonderful things my mom has done for her children. And since she is one of my three (wait, I may be up to four) readers of this blog, I’ll count it as my “card”. I’m pretty sure this is cheating, but it beats my usual.

My mom is a wonderful role model. Her patience, her acceptance of who we are, her genuine love of all ages and stages, her creativity… But what really makes my mom amazing is that she did all this without having had a positive role model of her own. My job is a hundred times easier than hers was - all I have to do is think about what she did. But she came up with all this stuff on her own. She’ll probably try to tell me she learned from her German host mother, but really, that was only one year when she was in college and couldn’t possibly account for all she did for us when we were children.

This list* is incomplete as there are many wonderful things my mother has done with us and for us. But here are a few of my favorites. Some were little, every day things that just made life really nice and others had a significant influence on my life. I hope to be able to do these things with my children. Except for drop shot drills at 6am, I don’t think I’ll do that. Or bologna and mustard sandwiches, because that is actually pretty gross.

Thank You Mom.  Happy Mother’s Day!

*Since this list is probably only interesting to my mom and my sister, other readers (both of you) should feel free to go here (my favorite blog) to read something more interesting.

The List

Riding on the back of your bike down, down, down to Tower Road beach.

The googly eye stickers on your bike seat.

Getting picked up from preschool with Bee cat in the back seat.

Riding to preschool on a sled in the winter.

Bologna and mustard sandwiches cut out with the gingerbread man cookie cutter.

The Mugo plant in the Rosewood garden.

Riding toddle downtown.

Half birthday parties with shiny invitations made from tinfoil.

Long bike rides.

Family dinners.

Egg custard with “medicine”.

Sending me to summer camp and to Sweden.

Drop shot drills at 6am.

Driving me all around the Midwest for tennis tournaments… and listening to my music the whole time… and liking (or pretending to like) it.

Making me take French (bet you never thought I’d thank you for that one!)

Getting me out of chemistry.

Chocolate malts… and now lattes.

Making quilts.

Introducing me to When Harry Met Sally, then watching it with me dozens of times, then listening to me recite it on road trips.

Always being so kind to my friends.

Giving me just the right amount of freedom during the teenage years to keep me safe but allow me my independence (how did you ever find that perfect balance???)

My wedding flowers (I don’t remember the date but I do remember the beautiful flowers).

Six weeks in DC so I could finish my dissertation.

Reading my dissertation.

Coming with one week’s notice to help with #3.

Hand written letters.

And many, many more things.

Miscarriage, Years Later

I just read this post on miscarriage. Every time I come across someone’s story of miscarriage, it is painfully familiar…

Seven years ago I went in for my 10 week appointment, excited to see my baby’s heartbeat, a little life already so loved. But instead of pointing out a flickering light on the screen, the doctor started asking questions. When exactly had I taken a positive pregnancy test? When was the first day of my last cycle? Had I experienced any cramps? A cold silence came over the room. No one spoke as the doctor continued to search the screen. I waited, knowing with each passing second of silence that the pronouncement of loss was more and more likely. But still, I hoped against it, even as he said the words. No heartbeat. Empty sac. Missed miscarriage.

For six weeks I believed I was pregnant. Every future point I had thought about during those six weeks - my upcoming dentist appointment, presenting a report at work, the start of the new semester  - included my pregnancy. But instead of sharing my good news with the dentist as I declined x-rays, the appointment was characterized by thoughts of how I would have been 16 weeks pregnant… Every aspect of my life was tinged with this loss, I could not escape it. The sadness lasted a long time. And even now, after three children, I have not forgotten the first.

But my perspective has changed over the years. At the time, I would have given anything to have my pregnancy back. Now I wouldn’t undo the miscarriage. Partly because of the children I have today that I might not have had if that first pregnancy had worked, but it extends beyond that. The miscarriage has greatly shaped the mother I have become. When Katherine was a newborn, no matter how exhausted I was or how frequently she wanted to nurse (every two hours day and night), I felt grateful to have a baby to nurse. How would I have handled the difficult newborn days if I had not been through a miscarriage? Would I have felt irritation towards my baby instead of gratitude? When she was a little older and had to be rocked to sleep for an hour and would still start screaming as soon as I set her down,* the frustration would well up inside me. But then I’d remember how I felt when I didn’t have a crying baby to soothe and my frustration would melt away.  Would I have been able to savor rocking her to sleep if I didn’t know the devastation of miscarriage? Today, years later, I still call upon that loss to put my parenting challenges in perspective. The miscarriage does not give me infinite patience and compassion, but it does remind me that I really, really wanted to be doing this.

Now when I hear of a mother going through the grief of a miscarriage, my heart aches for her. But my own feelings of loss are gone. Only the memory of the loss remains, and it is a memory I am grateful to have. I think it makes me a better parent.

*Never take sleep advice from me.

No-need Time

I don’t enjoy playing with my kids. I know, it’s one of those things you aren’t supposed to feel, let alone admit, but I don’t. I used to feel guilty about this, that I felt restless and bored whenever I sat down to play cars or dolls. I would see other moms having so much fun playing with their kids… surely they loved their kids more than I loved mine, or at the very least they were better moms.

Then at a parent evening at Katherine’s school, while a bunch of parents were trading stories about all the wonderful play they enjoy with their kids, I felt a wave of irritation, no doubt stemming from a sense of inadequacy, and blurted out that I don’t like playing with my kids. To my surprise, the teacher smiled and nodded, as if this was quite common. “That is because you are not two years old,” she said. As this soaked in, the teacher went on to say it is ok to not enjoy playing with your kids and more than that, it is ok to not play with them. They don’t need us to play with them; being present doesn’t mean being their age-equivalent playmate. Relief washed over me. I did love my kids! I was a good mom - or at least not a bad mom due to not wanting to play with them. This revelation was very freeing for me. I didn’t have to spend my days making traffic jams, diapering dolls, and coloring. I could enjoy not playing with them.

Don’t get me wrong, I love spending time with my kids. I love listening to their chatter. I love seeing what they create. I love watching them play. As long as I am peripheral. In fact, I think my being peripheral changes the nature of their play in a good way. Remember the joy of being totally absorbed in a make-believe land? Dressing up and playing house in a fort built out of couch cushions and blankets? Or gathering grasses and weeds to mix into a muddy concoction that was really a stew to feed your baby bunny (aka, your little sister)?  Remember how there were no adults watching (sometimes unfortunately for your little sister)? I remember this freedom, the space to create a land that only a child can create. A land adults cannot be part of. Staying peripheral gives my kids this space.

But just because I had made peace with the fact that I didn’t have to play with Katherine didn’t mean she had made peace with it. She was used to my half-assed participation in building traffic jams. I had to reset the standard. Her teacher suggested I set aside some time each day where neither of us needed the other. No-need time. At first, no-need time only lasted 10-15 minutes. But slowly Katherine got used to it and we had longer and longer stretches. Now no-need time is part of our daily rhythm and both Katherine and Clara seem to appreciate it. We can spend a morning together, each of us doing our own thing, sometimes coming together in order for me to try a sip of pretend chai that has been prepared in their kitchen, or to change the murky paint water. It is relaxing, fulfilling time together. It is peaceful.

If you happen to be thinking, wow, independent kids who are capable of going about their day with only minimal effort on my part, I assure you that is not the case. I do dress them, feed them, clean them, take them on outings, and all the other standard stuff. And, I’m still envious of those parents who genuinely like playing with their kids… they share something with their kids that I don’t and relate to them in a way that I can’t. But at least now when my kids try to get me to play with them, I can say no. Guilt-free.

(Sometimes this happens during no-need time. But never ever in the late afternoon hours when I need to make dinner.)

Toys for Thought

I am a snob when it comes to toys. The worst kind of snob, because not only am I one of those I-only-let-my-kids-play-with-wooden-toys parents*, but I make sure everyone around me knows it. I am sure I offend, or at the very least, irritate a lot of people with this attitude. But snobbery notwithstanding, I have given a lot of thought to why I insist on wooden toys. If my attitude stems from well thought-out opinions, even if others don’t share those opinions, then it’s (I’m) not quite as annoying, right? So here is my attempt to share why I feel the way I do about wooden toys.

The first reason has to do with a connection to nature. In my opinion, our culture puts up walls to separate us from nature, from structures that keep out wind, sun, and, rain, to appliances that neutralize natural temperature variation (i.e., my house growing up was always 68 degrees, no matter what the weather outside). I feel we are disconnected from nature. Wooden toys (or toys from any natural material - wool, cotton, etc.) offer contact with our natural environment. It is a way to bring nature through the walls we’ve built and into our homes. Plastic toys feel like another component of the barrier between children and nature.

The second reason comes from an explanation a teacher once gave during a parent discussion group. She made an analogy between toys and food. Food is nourishment, it allows us to grow and develop. The more natural and wholesome the food, the more nutritious it is. The more processed the food, the less nutritious it is. Toys are the same, nourishment for the mind and imagination, with natural toys being healthier than processed, artificial toys.

That is not to say I am anti-plastic. Although I do like bringing natural materials into my home for the whole nature connection thing, there is another component that tends to go with plastic toys, and that is complexity. I love the expression, “Toys should be 10% toy and 90% child”, meaning, children should have to do the work of making a toy what it is. For example, a red fire engine with a ladder, flashing lights and a nice, loud siren can only be a fire engine. It leaves no room for imagination. A simple block on wheels can be a fire engine, a police car, a roller skate, a doll sled, and on and on and on. In other words, the more a toy does, the less the child does. Plastic toys tend to be quite complex. I don’t really have anything against simple plastic toys.

I don’t know if any of this matters; children find a way to play no matter what they have or don’t have. But at the very least, I do know that sticking to wooden toys makes for a much quieter house, and for me, quiet house = sanity = better mom. That alone is reason enough to deprive my kids of noisy, plastic toys.

*I don’t actually only let my kids only play with wooden toys. Legos. Magna-tiles. Bath toys. Balls. And more. I guess that makes me an even worse kind of snob: a poser snob.

One kid, two kid, old kid, new kid

Since Alexandra arrived, people have asked me what the transition from two to three is like, if it is the similar to the transition from one to two. In my experience, the transition to each child has been different.

When Katherine was born, I had no idea who she was and it was a complete life change to have a baby in our home. I loved her even before she came out, but it was a primal type of love, an overwhelming need to protect her and care for her. It was only looking back after a few months, a year, two years that I realized the “new-born love” was different from the love that had deepened so much over time.

When I was pregnant with Clara, I wondered if I would truly love her as much as I loved Katherine. I knew Katherine, I had no idea who this new baby would be. Of course I loved Clara right away as I loved Katherine right away, but being the second child, it was different. Katherine was so familiar to me and she was also all I knew when it came to babies. And Clara wasn’t Katherine, so Clara seemed unfamiliar. Again, though in a different way, it took time for our bond to grow, but it did. However, an aspect of going from one to two that I was unprepared for was the sense of loss of no longer having an only child. My close bond with Katherine was disrupted and I wondered if we would ever find that closeness again (we did). On top of that, I felt guilty that I felt a loss with the arrival of the new baby. I suppose there is something very special about the first baby, something a mother doesn’t have time to savor with subsequent children. But seeing the relationship Katherine and Clara have as sisters far outweighs the sense of loss I felt at the beginning.

The transition from two to three has been entirely different. Having been through wondering if I would love #2 as I loved #1, I never doubted that I would love #3 just as much. I also didn’t feel any sense of loss, I knew the big sisters would (eventually) love having a new sibling. I had strategies for dealing with sibling jealousy. And I trusted that #3 was meant to be a part of our family in the same way Katherine and Clara were meant to be. With those uncertainties out of the way, Alexandra has eased right into our family. The challenge this time has been almost exclusively logistical. How do we do bath and bedtime with three kids and two parents? How do I prepare lunch for two hungry kids, change a blow out, nurse a screaming baby, and break up fights between the big sisters all at the same time? And why does the cat chose this moment to puke up the rubber bands someone must have left out on the counter? What do I deal with first? These paralyzing moments are my challenge now.

I have heard that any big family transition takes one year. I would say that is true. So by next February I should have the three-kid thing figured out.