A Word from the Experts

I attended a parenting seminar today.  I wasn’t sure what to expect.  I mostly went so I could write about it for our church newsletter.  I’m nota perfect parent by any stretch of the imagination.  However, I do think that my husband and I get it right pretty often.

Anyway, it started off fine.  Lots of stuff defining parents, making sure that the kids are in on the house rules, talking about what respect really means.  So far, so good.  Then we entered Dangerous Waters.  The people leading the seminar started talking about the big D: Discipline.

This is something I just don’t understand about many of my Christian brothers and sisters.  Why does it seem like so many people view parenting as and “us against them” proposition?  Our kids are certainly not the enemy!  Many Christian parenting “experts” seem to employ a rather punitive style of discipline.  A classic example is the kid who crayons on the dining room wall (yes, speaking from experience here…a great story, one for another time).  Little Joey draws a picture in red crayon, he has to clean it up.  Nice and simple, right?  Not so with these James Dobson groupies (sorry to any fans of Dr. Dobson).  Not only must Joey clean up the crayon marks, but he must serve some other kind of sentence, such as jail time (time out) or community service (extra chores).  The experts have assured us that this is to make certain that our children experience pain–otherwise, they are liable to do it again.  I fail to see how inflicting pain really helps anyone learn to behave.  I think it mostly just serves to enforce to them that they shouldn’t get caught next time.

I’m not sure what I was hoping for, but whatever it was, I don’t think I experienced it.  I think I’ll stick with trusting my instincts, making some mistakes, and hoping that the kids turn out pretty much ok in the end.

They Grow Up So Fast

Well, it’s official:  My 5-year-old is no longer a little boy.  We went to visit my husband at work this afternoon, after he was done teaching for the day.  His student teacher was also there, surfing YouTube.  He found a pretty cool video and was showing it to my son.  He wanted to see it again, but we had to leave.  I told him we could find it again at home.  We did, and he enjoyed watching it.  I went to the kitchen to get some chores done.  When I checked in with my son, he was doing his own surfing–finding all sorts of neat videos to watch.  Of course, I immediately had mom radar going, to make sure he wasn’t stumbling on something inappropriate.  But he was able to find all kinds of kid stuff, from Hot Wheels cars to Thomas the Tank Engine to marble chutes.

When did my baby get to be old enough to surf the web on his own?!

I think I need a nap.

Being a parent is tiring.  I think the tasks of parenting are a lot like having a dam in your living room.  The dam has holes in it and you have to stop them up with your fingers.  The problem is, there are 11 holes.  So you have to keep switching fingers and hope that you stopped the flow long enough that you can stop a different one for awhile without flooding your carpet.

The latest one for us seems to be having the 3-year-old give up naps.  When our now 5-year-old stopped napping, it was easy.  One day he just didn’t take a nap; now he only sleeps if he is extremely tired or he’s sick.  But our daughter wasn’t really ready to give them up.  She has had a long loveaffair with naps.  Lots of kids resist when you tell them it’s time for sleep; not our girl.  She would practically run to the bedroom and leap into bed, pulling her special blanket up to her chin.  She would always be out in less than 5 minutes, leaving me to spend some quality time with her brother.  Unfortunately, we reached a point where she was not able to get to sleep at night.  It would be 9pm and she’d be asking for another movie…or snack…or story…or a trip to the zoo.  We realized Something Had to Be Done.  That Something was eliminating afternoon naps.

Once she stopped sleeping during the day, our daughter became fairly easy to settle down at night.  Unfortunately, this magical fairlyland of Easy Bedtime has its price.  Our sweet little girl gets to bed time and she turns into Queen of the Grumps.  She is cranky, stubborn, irritable, fussy, and generally unpleasant.  Tonight, we had the great War of the Pajamas.  Stage 1: Yell a little about how Mom picked the wrong pair.  Stage 2: Insist on picking another pair, but refuse to enter the bedroom alone.  Stage 3: Take 15 minutes deciding whether to wear trucks, kitties, or rocket ships.  Stage 4: Refuse help getting undressed and into pajamas, then cry because it’s too hard.  Stage 5: Finally accept help, but complain that the pajamas are too tight, too hot, itchy, or just “don’t feel right.”

In fairness, I should mention that she has some sensory integration issues.  So probably her pajamas didn’t feel right.  However, the problems are mostly just magnified by her exhaustion.  At any rate, we did resolve the problem and she was off to dreamland in just a few minutes.

I’m sure that as she grows, all of this will sort itself out.  Inthe meantime, though, I sure could use a nap myself.

When You Grow Up

The other day, my 5-year-old was playing on the playground.  All of a sudden, he came to me and said, “When I grow up, I’m going to be a teacher, just like Daddy.”  I asked him what kind of teacher he wanted to be.  He said, “A science teacher.”  We’ve been joking with him that he’s going to be an electrical engineer because he’s so fascinated with how things work, in particular anything having to do with power or electricity.  But this was the first time he actually had an idea himself about his future.

A couple of nights later, he couldn’t sleep and his dad was at a late meeting.  So my son and I put on “Dancing with the Stars.”  I thought he’d be kind of bored (the idea was to bore him to sleep).  But since he himself is a dancer, he was actually interested.  I asked if he thought he’d like to do those dances someday.  He said, “Yes.  When I grow up, I’m going to be an electrical engineer and a science teacher and a dancer.”  I’m glad that for him, the sky is still the limit.

Is There Something Wrong with This?

I took my kids to a field trip this morning.  Afterward, they wanted to stay and play on the playground with the other kids.  So I hung out with the other parents, sneaking periodic peaks at my kids to make sure they were okay.

At some point, a couple of women somewhat older than our group showed up with their grandkids.  Everything seemed fine, until one of the women came storming over saying that one of the “big boys” had thrown a plastic chair and it nearly hit her grandson.  It wouldn’t have been hard to deal with it, except that she came over and accused the entire group of not properly supervising our children.  She claimed that she had “repeatedly” spoken to the kids and asked them to play in a less “rough” way, but that it was finally “out of control” and we needed to do something.

I asked the woman why she ahdn’t come to tell us that there was a problem sooner, and she said that it didn’t matter, we should have been watching the kids.  From where we were (about 10 feet away from the kids), we didn’t see anything inappropriate going on.  It seemed to come from nowhere that we were put on the defensive.

My question is this:  Why do perfect strangers feel that they have any business telling my kids (or anyone else’s but their own) what constitutes appropriate behavior (aside from outright aggression)?  I certainly approve of someone telling my kids to stop if they’re hitting/kicking/biting or otherwise displaying intentionally mean behavior.  Otherwise, I prefer that people let ME know that my kids are doing something they don’t like.

I guess the reason this gets my dander up is that I think people have very strange views these days about what is or is not age-appropriate behavior, and they feel free to tell people they don’t know how to parent their children.  Sorry, but I don’t need that kind of help.  When I want advice from a complete stranger, I’ll ask for it.

As a result of today’s experience, I have now instructed my kids to let me know if an adult they don’t know has told them what to do or not do.  It’s a completely different story if they know the other adult–my kids are instructed to listen to their friend’s parents or other trusted adults.  I have no problem with other adults giving behavioral correction to my kids; I just expect strangers to alert me, not directly speak to my children.

Clove Apples: A Very Bad Idea

This being Apple Week at our homeschooling house, we have done several fun activities.  We picked apples, we made apple pie, we even had a special lunch.  This included turning broccoli into apple trees using M&Ms for apples.  It’s been lots of fun.

The one activity that didn’t go so well was the clove apples.  For the record, I don’t recommend anyone try this craft a) outside a Girl Scout meeting or b) with kids under age 7.

First of all, it requires enough whole cloves to choke a chipmunk.  I had no idea that cloves were so expensive.  We opted to make one very small apple together so that I could still afford to send my kids to college.

Second, it’s really boring.  After putting in one clove, both my kids were off doing other things.  I couldn’t blame them.  The excitement of doing something new wears off once you realize that you have to keep doing the same repetitive task.  The kids would periodically check back in with me, stick in another clove or two, and say, “Are you still making a clove apple, Mama?”  It took about 45 minutes to complete the project.

I don’t feel too bad, though.  After all, how will I ever find the good stuff if I don’t take a few risks?

Time to go read with the kids, maybe some apple books from the library.

Parenting an Alien

Our church just started a new series, “The Creature from Another Planet.”  It’s all about parenting.  In honor ofthe new sereies, I’m starting a new blog.  Just to illustrate the point of kids being like alien life forms, I will now transcribe a recent conversation I had at dinner with my 3-year-old:

3-year-old (pointing to my plate): Is that your snake?

Me: My what?

3yo (pointing): Your snake.

Me: My snake?

3yo (giggling): No, snake.

Me: Snake?

3yo (a little frustrated): Snake! Snake!

Me: Snake?

5-year-old (translating for his sister, clearly exasperated): She meant is that your steak.

Me: Steak?

3yo: Yes!  Your snake!

I’m usually pretty good at speaking preschooler.  For some reason, the way she was speaking was just unintellgible.  Fortunately, when I get in a real bind, my son can easily translate for my daughter.   It helps to have an interpreter when landing on Planet Kid.