Tag Archives: Parenthood

Playdates are for suckers

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Today I arranged a playdate for my oldest daughter with one of her beloved friends from preschool, who goes to a different kindergarten. I have realized lately that if my daughter is going to maintain friendships outside of school, it is incumbent upon me to make it happen. She doesn’t chat with her pals on the phone or Facebook yet, so it’s not exactly like she can do it herself.

Orchestrating playdates is kind of a pain in the tush – I struggle enough making and keeping my own friends – but my kid loves her peeps and I don’t want her to lose touch with them. So I have been on a mission to do right by her and play the role of Pee Wee Social Chair.

I offered to host this playdate for three hours, including lunch. These girls play well together and are great at keeping busy, plus my husband and daughter had two science-y projects they wanted to do, so I figured it would be a snap. Time would fly. No problem-o.

Sometimes I am so wrong.

Things started off OK, but the wild card I failed to anticipate was that our neighbor, and her sister, both came over to visit at one point. So for at least an hour there were 5 little girls, who all seemingly drank a Red Bull for breakfast, in need of entertainment and/or management in order to avoid infighting and total destruction.

My husband and I spent three hours running around, playing board games, supervising horse play, tending to injuries from horse play, and pulling out every craft supply we own, including paint – NO NOT THE PAINT.

We also flushed the toilet several times because apparently there is a rule in the Universal Playdate Playbook that says you must never flush your own waste – even if you go #2 – when you are at a friend’s house. Seriously is this a common thing or does my child just befriend wild animals? I can’t believe how many times I’ve had to flush for her playdate pals. No thank you. (in all fairness I’m sure she reciprocates at their house, so we’re even)

My daughter had a fabulous time, but my husband and I were counting the minutes until it was over. I am exhausted. I’m also starting to think maybe friends are overrated.

Making friends is hard to do

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Close friends are a bit of an elusive thing for me these days. What a surprise! said no one, as they read her 10th consecutive day of talking to her computer.

When I quit my job nearly two years ago, I lost most of my day-to-day friends. I knew that was going to happen, but I didn’t realize quite how isolating this stay-at-home gig would be. (For the record, I have loved the chance to be home with my kids and would do it again in a heartbeat.)

It’s not that I haven’t tried to make new friends. Last year I joined a local moms group. Small talk with strangers is not my jam, but I thought the play dates would be a good way to entertain my kids, and maybe I could meet a few friends too. I paid $25 to join. Unfortunately I think I’ve gotten maybe $4 worth of friend-ish interactions out of it.

Befriending other moms at the park is not very realistic. I lack the social skills needed to accelerate a conversation from “Cute shoes!” to “Do you want to hang out sometime?” in the span of a playground visit without sounding like a creeper.

I’m also not the type who chats up the person next to me on the treadmill at the gym. Partly because I’m never at the gym.

So I’ve spent the past two years talking mostly to myself, my kids and strangers on the internet. Oh – and my husband. We usually get a chance to speak between 9:00-9:30 on Sunday mornings.

But I had heard that when your kid starts kindergarten, it can be an introduction to a whole new social circle. I was mildly excited about this prospect but wasn’t holding my breath for fear of disappointment. Two months into it, and my elementary school socializing has been limited to hallway chatter, but that’s about it.

Then today I spent some time with another mother on the playground after drop-off. Her oldest son is in my daughter’s class, and her younger son is the same age as my youngest. She quit her job when #2 was born, just like I did. We commiserated about how disconnected we have become from other friends and ‘real world’ activities, how nice it would be to have our income again so we could take a vacation, and how we both tend to wear the same clothes every day because who cares? Yet we both agreed we wouldn’t trade it.

I also really liked her sneakers.

So I guess what I’m wondering is, is it too soon to ask her to be my BFF? Or should I just play it cool and give her my phone number on the back of this photo?

BFFs

Paging Frank

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This is a conversation I had with my 5-year-old the other day:

5: [describing her day at school] “….and then I had fun with my friends at recess. I am Frank.”

Me: “What? You are Frank? Who is Frank?”

5: “No. I am Frank.”

Me: “What? I don’t get it. Oh – are you acting? Are you pretending to be someone named Frank?”

5: [visibly bothered] “NO! I am FRANK!”

Me: ….. [cautiously aware that Frank seems very bothered at this point and I am not sure what the hell is happening] ….”I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Can you use other words to help explain who Frank is?”

5: [about to burst into flames of frustration] “I. AM. FRANK.”

Me: …….

5: Grumble grumble grumble

Me: …..”Oooh wait. Do you mean you are ‘being frank’? Did you hear someone use that expression?”

5: “Yes.”

Me: “Do you know what that means?”

5: “No.”

I then launched into a 20-minute explanation that Frank is a name – she doesn’t know anyone named Frank and had no idea – after which point I tried to explain that, however, Frank is not a name in this scenario – hello, confusion – and then I tried to give her examples of how and why people would ever say they are ‘being frank.’ I’m pretty sure I lost her about 5 minutes in. I’m also pretty sure she’ll never want to be frank again. Or Frank.

It’s revolutionary up in here

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I am scrambling to squeeze in a post today – I failed to write early this morning, my kid is refusing to nap right now, I need to go pick up the other one at school soon – and my brain is dry and empty. In need of help, I turned to today’s NaBloPoMo prompt, which was this:

Prompt #6 (Nov 8)
We all work with social media and when we first started experimenting with it, social media was disruptive and threw each of our careers and professional lives in a new direction. But what was new then has grown old. So tell me about the last time something blew your mind. What’s the last truly revolutionary idea, experience or thing you encountered?

Uhhhh. Uhhhh. Uhhhh. Let me think…the last experience that truly blew my mind would have to be…childbirth. Or was it a new app on my iPhone?* No, no. I think childbirth wins.

Ok fine – I realize that’s probably not what the prompt creator had in mind. So if I had to think of another, I would say…breastfeeding. I had no idea that milk came out of multiple holes! Or that my boobs would leak all over my shirt when a baby cried. Any baby! Not just mine!

Ok, ok, you can do this, Amy. Tap into your former career self. It’s only been two years – she’s in there somewhere. They are probably looking for some kind of product here. In which case, I would say…the breast pump? Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be able to feel like cattle at a dairy farm, with modern day machinery sucking milk from my teats, enabling me to feed my child AND do a conference call from my office at the same time.

It probably speaks volumes about my current life stage that my brain could not get beyond anything related to children and parenthood for this one. I read things like this and am reminded how far away I am from my old life, where my job required me to think about technology and pretend like I had a passion for it, when all I wanted to do was get home to see my kid. I’m so grateful for the change.

Which leads me to one last thing that really does blow my mind – isn’t it amazing how much life can change in just a year or two?

————-

*I actually have an Android phone. I just said iPhone to sound cooler.

Disease-free at last

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I’m alive. I’m alive! I don’t want to be dramatic, but my house has been submerged in a sea of sickness and germs, and at one point I feared I might not make it out alive.

Almost two weeks ago my toddler came down with the charming childhood disease known as Hand, Foot and Mouth. Seriously – how disgusting is that name? Where is the creativity? It’s not like we call the flu ‘Nose, Throat and Butt Disease.’ I’m disappointed with the medical community and would like to suggest a few alternatives:

  • Bleeding Mouth Blisters
  • Can’t Eat, Won’t Sleep Disease
  • Zombie Transformation Stage I
  • Not Foot-and-Mouth Disease But The Other One
  • Not Hoof-and-Mouth Unless Your Kid is a Cow
  • Probably Not Mad Cow Disease
  • XVII Disease (if we are expected to know Roman numerals, let’s go ahead and start using them more often)

For more than a week I slept sat in the rocker in my child’s room for an average of 2-5 hours per night. I am not a chair sleeper. I am a bed sleeper. Unlike my husband or sister, who both possess the annoying ability to sleep anywhere, anytime (they both fall asleep on an airplane BEFORE IT EVEN TAKES OFF), trying to sleep in a chair is like torture for me.

So there I sat. Rock-and-rock-and-rocking, counting the minutes, patiently waiting for my child’s breathing to reach that slow, peaceful place where she had clearly hit a deep slumber. I would carefully stand, tiptoe to her crib, place her ever-so-gently inside, hold my breath and freeze every limb of my body to see if I stuck the landing, then slowly – S.L.O.W.L.Y – sneak toward the door to make my getaway, and WAAAAAAHHHHHHH NO PLEASE NO she would wake up screaming and we’d do it all over again 7 bazillion times.

But we survived the wrath of HFMD, as we experts like to call it, and I didn’t die in that chair as I feared. So on Saturday I celebrated this achievement the only way I know how – I got a haircut. SNIPPETY SNIP. Time to re-enter the land of the living with a coiffure that is short and sharp…high and tight…business in the front and even more business in the back. Also known as “Your hair looks terrible,” according to my daughter. Things are off to a good start.

My children are fluent in English, Gibberish, and Screamish

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My kids are almost four years apart – 5 and 17-months – so to date, their relationship has mostly entailed my older daughter trying to poke, hug, squeeze or pick up her baby sister until we stage an intervention. All in all, it’s been pretty manageable.

But now we are entering a phase where they are starting to play together more, which is of course awesome and so enjoyable to witness. However I am realizing there is a new parenting skill that I have yet to master – which is the ability to understand the international language of siblings, also known as CONSTANT AND UNNECESSARY SCREAMING.

Seriously. What the hell.

I’ve noticed this never-ending ROAR whenever I’m around my friends who have multiple children. It never ceases to surprise and amaze me how the screaming is like white noise to them. They just carry on like nothing is happening, while the kids are seemingly screaming bloody murder in the background. No big deal.

But when you only have one kid, or one + a baby, the Sibling Scream phenomenon is foreign and can be truly jarring.

Last weekend we were at the home of friends who have a 4- and 6-year-old. My 5-year-old had a blast tearing around the house with them, unleashing her inner wild animal. I have no idea what they were doing, other than what sounded like a non-stop game of Who Can Scream Loudest.

At first I found it hard to relax. Are they injuring one another? Should I go check on them?? But I noticed that our friends seemed totally unphased by it, so surely this must be the norm.

Then the children came running upstairs like a herd of elephants and raced into a bedroom. I saw the 6-year-old standing outside the door screaming like a banshee – what’s new? – so I continued to sip my cocktail and chat. Suddenly my husband launched out of his chair and ran over to the boy, realizing that in fact his finger had been shut in the door, and his scream was one of HOLY MOTHEREFFER I AM IN PAIN.

I seriously had no idea that this scream was any different from all the rest. I couldn’t help but wonder if my virgin ears are not yet attuned to the screams of play vs. danger. Is one piercing, and the other more guttural? Is one higher-pitched? Longer maybe?

Either way that poor kid probably thinks I’m a heartless monster the way I just sat there doing nothing as he writhed in agony.

I just learned that this kid actually broke his finger that day. Well done, Amy. Sit idly by while innocent children shatter their bones in your midst.

The whole scream thing was on my mind after this incident, but then the next day I let my kids play downstairs while I tried to get a few things done. This is a relatively new thing for us – letting them play together without parental oversight in the same room.

Every other minute someone was screaming.

At first I assumed the worst and raced down the stairs expecting blood, injury or death. DEARGOD WHO HAS BEEN HARMED?! SHOULD I CALL 911? I DON’T KNOW HOW TO MAKE A TOURNIQUET!!

Turns out they were just tickling each other. While screaming. Back upstairs.

The next time it was a toy-related altercation. Which now happens constantly. Back upstairs.

And so on. I went up and down the stairs 6 times in the span of 10 minutes. Part of the challenge is that the little one only babbles. So I never know what the hell she’s saying anyway, let alone when she starts yelling all the time. Are you enjoying yourself? Is that a scream of pain? No clue. It was just an endless barrage of noise, always turned up to 11.

LET’S PLAY WITH THIS TOY! NO! STOP! DADDADOODEE WHERE IS MY SOCK MAMMA MEH MEH GIVE ME BACK MY SOCK BA BA BA NO! OWWW! I JUST ATE A BOOGER YOU JUST ATE MY BOOGER WHOSE BOOGER IS ON MY FINGER.

Is this now my reality? Will I always be on red alert, or will my blood pressure eventually come down while they play? And does anyone know where I can purchase some earplugs?

The neighbor kid

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Our former, possibly murderous, neighbors finally sold their house. Woot! And the people who bought it have two daughters about the same age as my daughters. Double woot!

Over the past several weeks my 5-year-old has been playing with one of the new neighbor girls. She is two years older than my kid, so of course that gives her instant credibility and cool in my daughter’s eyes.

I have been watching their interactions to see how well they get along, and admittedly to gauge if this kid will be a good or bad influence on my daughter. Everyone knows there is a catch-22 when it comes to neighbor kids. They can be a wonderful source of friendship, camaraderie and entertainment for your own children. But they can also be incessant door knockers who hang around driving you crazy while teaching your kid how to smoke pot in the bushes. There is No Way Out if those little buggers go sour on you.

Here’s a rundown of recent events thus far:

Interaction #1: Neighbor child and my kid discuss their respective interests. Neighbor child says her favorite thing to do is play chess. +20 points

Interaction #2: Neighbor child comes over to visit and shares highlights from her day at school. She is very proud that she completed three tests in record time and got excellent grades. +25 points

Interaction #3: Neighbor child knocks on front door, says her 3-year-old sister wet her pants and needs to use our toilet to poop. (Unclear why she cannot go home to poop.)She then proceeds to wipe her sister’s butt (poorly) while they are both standing in the middle of my white bathmat. -25 points

Interaction #4: Neighbor child knocks on the front door and invites my kid over to make a pine cone bird feeder. +10 points

Interaction #5: Neighbor child reveals she has none of the supplies needed for the bird feeder, so she’ll need to borrow it all. Also? She decides it would probably be better if they make the messy, sticky, feeders at our house instead of hers. -20 points

Interaction #6: Neighbor child enters our front door with her arms full of pine cones and drops them on my rug. She then immediately begins to scream at the top of her lungs when she sees a zillion hairy bugs crawl out of the cones – all over my entryway. I scramble to get rid of the bugs, but not before I see one crawl into my favorite shoe, where it apparently burrowed into a secret hideaway because I could not find it for the life of me, despite several attempts.  -35 points

Interaction #7: Neighbor child is playing with my kid in our basement when I hear her inform my child that it is “totally possible” to get pregnant when you are only 18. -50 points

Interaction #8: Ten minutes later, as I sit a few feet away, I hear my daughter say to neighbor child, “I heard you fart. You just farted.” Neighbor child defensively replies, “No I didn’t! I did not fart!” She then lowers her voice (but not low enough) and states matter-of-factly, “It was your mom. Your mom did it.” -150 points

I mean, what kind of demented creature has the balls to so boldly lie and blame her new friend’s mother – an innocent bystander AND AUTHORITY FIGURE – when she passes gas?!?! Sure, she may be a good student and chess player, but she is also a deceitful fart dodger who does not respect her elders, so I’ve got my eye on her.

I’ve got the kindergarten krazies

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The other night I opened a letter from the school where my daughter will attend kindergarten in the fall. It had information about upcoming orientation meetings, as well as a list of supplies she needs to have for Day 1:

  • Color pencils/markers
  • Plastic pencil box
  • 1 B/W cover Composition Book
  • Box of 12 glue sticks and 4 oz glue bottles

And the list goes on. I felt like I was going to puke. How is it possible that my child is old enough for this? Where did the time go? And why the hell do they need so much glue??

I have so much anxiety about this kindergarten transition. If I’m being honest I think it’s part of the reason I haven’t been able to blog or finish any other task lately (remember when I said I’d write 5 posts in the past week? Such a failure.). I have been in the throes of the school enrollment process for months now, and I’m struggling to find peace with the fact that my daughter will attend a school that was not my first choice. But deep down I think I’m also just struggling to find peace with the fact that she’s going anywhere at all.

A big part of me is truly excited for my daughter. I know she is ready for something bigger than preschool, and I can imagine she will thrive in a new setting, with more academic challenges, more structure, and diverse social interactions.

But then there’s part of me that is fearing the worst. Will she fit in? Will she make friends? Will she scowl at everyone because she’s in a mood or uncomfortable and be mistaken for a bully? Or will she get bullied? Will she become friends with kids who teach her terrible things that I cannot undo?

Generally I’m a *relatively* laid back parent. I tend to go with my gut and don’t spend a ton of time researching parenting strategies and techniques. Call me old-fashioned (or uninformed and clueless).

But in the past week I’ve purchased four parenting books. FOUR. It’s like I suddenly feel a need to implement new parenting practices, fix all of my daughter’s behavior issues, equip her with the skills to avoid any and all real world dangers, and ensure a seamless transition for all of us.

I’ll also go ahead and solve the hunger crisis while I’m at it.

I know I need to chill the eff out. In part because I don’t want my daughter to sense my nervousness and start to freak out too. I am trying. Really. I have moments of clarity when I am calm, optimistic and ready for this new phase.

But then I drive past the school and start crying like a baby. Or I watch the news and hear another school-related disaster story, and start crying like a baby. Did it always seem so harrowing to send your kid off to school?!

I need to get my head into a place of acceptance and optimism, and stop letting my emotions get the best of me. Note to self: this was probably not the best time to start a new hormone-infused birth control pill. So. Much. Ugly. Crying.

So here’s to moving forward, clearing my head, getting some stuff done, enjoying the summer with my kids, and figuring out a way to freeze time so they will stop growing up and stay like this FOREVERANDEVERANDEVER.

IMG_20130513_141632

Ok fine, FINE. I’ll let go of the last one. Sheesh.

 

Conversations to avoid in front of your kids

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My daughter is taking a musical theater class and her final performance is this week. They sing two Mary Poppins songs and it will take about five minutes. But you know, it’s still a pretty big damn deal around here.

We were all talking about it in the car yesterday, and I jokingly made a side comment to my husband that we should get her some of those fake teeth that those beauty pageant kids wear.

Me: “We should get her some of those flappers.”

Him: “What?”

Me: “Or is it flippers. Flappers? Flippers.”

Him: “What is that?”

Me: “You know – those things they put on for beauty pageants.”

Him: “Pasties?” he asked, clearly amused with himself.

Me: “WHAT?!!!” *guffaw laughter* “Ohmygod no. Flippers. Fake teeth.”

Him: “A dental dam?”

Me: “WHAAAT?!?! NOOOOOHMYGOD…” laughing too hard I cannot finish speaking before he does the following:

Him: In a muffled voice, as if he has a mouthful of cotton: “Hello. I’m wearing a dental dam.”

Me: Laughing so hard I am crying, in part because I am unsure if he realizes there is a different, R-rated use for a dental dam.

Him: Thinking he is hi-larious, does it again, in the same cotton-mouth voice. “Hello. I’m wearing a dental dam.”

Me: Gasping for breath, “No, honey – stop. Seriously.”

Four-year-old daughter, from the back seat, in the same muffled voice. “Hello. I’m wearing a denda dan.”

Thankfully she didn’t understand the exact words. I changed the subject immediately.