Tenderhearted Jerks

27 Dec 2012 Leave a comment

by Natalie in Parenting Battles, What's a mom to do?

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I am living with a couple of tenderhearted jerks.

Each and every day my two older boys beat up on each other. And each and every day it brings them to tears. Not because they get hurt, but because they can’t believe they have been so mean to their sibling.

“I feel like such a jerk,” “I think I am being so mean,” and “I am bad,” are just a few of my favorite phrases to come out of one of their sobbing mouths recently.

I don’t know where this is coming from.

Don’t get me wrong, I get after them when they pinch, kick and annoy the crap out of their brother. But it shocks me that they end up feeling so sorry for what they have done that they can’t stop crying and I have to send them to their beds where they continue to cry into their pillows until they can calm down.

It’s weird. Yet it’s sweet.

A month ago I took my baby in for his 4-month-old check-up and immunizations. I left my boys in a room with my mom while I went to get the nurse to fill out his immunization record. When I got back, my two oldest boys were bawling.

They kept saying, “I’m so sorry,” while hugging their baby brother. They hated that he had to get poked. He stopped crying long before they did and then stared at them curiously.

Last week my oldest son came to me apologizing profusely while tearing up because he “missed” the toilet and peed all over our bath rug. I don’t know what 6 year olds are normally like, but I would imagine some 6-year-old boys would have wadded up the rug, tossed it in the corner or flipped it over so that I wouldn’t have noticed.

Instead of getting after him for his poor aim, I ended up consoling him because he was so upset that he had done something wrong.

The other morning while I was riding my exercise bike (yes I was actually working out) my oldest accidentally head butted my baby. I ended up holding the poor little 18-pound guy while I rode the bike because he was crying.

But he wasn’t the only one.

My oldest sat there crying too. I didn’t even dare get mad at him for hurting his brother because he already felt so bad. Even though deep down I was super mad.

Recently while I was cooking dinner our baby was screaming and I couldn’t get to him until I put our food in the oven. My oldest kept coming into the kitchen asking me to help him cut out a paper snowflake.

I snapped at him and screamed that I couldn’t help him because I was busy.

Not only did I feel bad for not helping him make a simple snowflake, I felt miserable when I saw the apology note he handed to me after dinner.

“I am sorry that we got in a fite. I love you,” he had written in his cute first-grade penmanship.

Talk about tenderhearted. I could learn a lot from these kids.

I hope I am not the cause of their oversensitive emotions.

I want my boys to be kind, loving gentlemen. But I hope they don’t live in fear of me.

I don’t want them to grow up thinking they can’t ever make a mistake, or that they shouldn’t ever get upset.

And I definitely don’t want them to think they are “bad.” I tell them all the time that they are not.

I’m going to have to come up with a no-one-is-perfect pep talk to give to them during these pity parties.

Heaven knows I don’t want them to stop feeling sorry for antagonizing their siblings, but I don’t want them to feel as if they are going to be damned because of their actions.

And I definitely don’t want them to think they are jerks. Any 4 and 6 year-old who would cry harder than their brother did over his shots, or write an “I’m sorry” letter all on their own after their mother just yelled at them, could never be a jerk.

Thoughts on Newtown

20 Dec 2012 Leave a comment

by Natalie in From My Heart

Like most parents around this country, the shooting in Newtown, Connecticut at Sandy Hook Elementary School last Friday has really impacted me.

My heart breaks for those parents who no longer have their little babies to hold. I can’t imagine what they are going through.

The town where 27 innocent lives were tragically taken is more than 2200 miles away from my home. Yet I have a sinking pit in my stomach when I truly contemplate what happened and accept the fact that things like this can happen to anyone, anywhere.

Life is so fragile.

I’ve been thinking of Luca a lot lately. Although I realize that my 37-week stillborn son’s natural death in no way compares to losing a child to horrific murder, his death two-and-a-half years ago made me realize that life is so short.

I’ve been thinking a lot about that again lately.

So many of us think that there will always be a tomorrow; that we can give our best next hour; that we can show our love next time.

Sometimes there is no next time.

It was torture packing up and putting away the small stack of baby items we purchased for Luca – little onesies, binkies and pajamas that would go unused. I can’t imagine going through my older kids’ things. What would I do with the wrapped presents that sit under my Christmas tree waiting for them to open Christmas morning?

Yet there are dozens of family members left imagining that very thing this very week.

For those families I am going to try with all my might not to take my three living children for granted.

I have been guilty far too many times of snapping at my boys. I have shed tears late at night for losing my cool and not showing them more love. You would think that since I lost a baby I would appreciate my boys more. But life gets busy, crazy and stressful and it is so easy to become impatient.

I have been thinking a lot this week of my oldest son who is in the first grade. Many mornings I drive a little too fast to get him to school on time after I have hollered at him for more than an hour to get his clothes on, breakfast eaten, teeth brushed, etc.

It’s crazy at our house in the mornings.

I have once again vowed to myself to calm the heck down. Getting to school before the tardy bell rings is not worth losing my cool and nagging my boys all morning to hurry up.

I have hugged my 6-year-old extra tight this week before letting him walk into his classroom.

I love my boys with all my heart and am scared to death of losing another one.

Life is short and death comes for all of us.

That is why there are some things I have changed since we lost Luca. I try to savor the small things I might have taken for granted before.

Things like the smell of my boys’ hair after it’s just been washed, or the sound of their breath going in an out while they are sleeping.

I love the way my two oldest both stick their tongue slightly out when they are concentrating and my heart melts each time I see my baby’s toothless grin.

My children eat much more candy, watch much more television and get far more toys than they would have before we lost Luca.

When they beg, I let them play “one more game,” eat “one more treat” or steal “one more (slobbery) kiss” from their baby brother. For all I know, the three musketeers will grow old together, but life can be unexpected. You never know how many chubby kisses you have left.

That’s why I sneak extra kisses after they have fallen asleep at night — even if I risk waking them up. And I read to them one of my favorite stories “Love You Forever” — even though they laugh at its chorus.

And I tell them I love them over and over and over again — even though they roll their little boy eyes at me and say, “I know mom. You tell us that all the time.”­

Gingerbread Trap

13 Dec 2012 4 Comments

by Natalie in Cooking/Attempting to Cook, Failed Housewife, What's a mom to do? Tags: , , ,

 

I am never making another gingerbread man. Ever. gingerbread-man-hi

I tried to do something nice and fun with my kids and it backfired.

Apparently I promised my oldest son that I would make gingerbread cookies with him Saturday night. The same night my husband was gone to a church meeting, my boys were going to a basketball game and I had to speak at a local event.

Somehow that promise had slipped my mind. So I found myself trying to whip up some last-minute cookies to keep him from flipping.

First of all, let me say that the ingredient list for gingerbread cookies is not for the amateur chef. I’d like to know who has molasses, ginger and cloves readily on hand.

Let’s just say that I don’t.

My neighbor doesn’t either. But she had something even better. A Betty Crocker gingerbread cookie mix.

One egg and ¼ cup water later and we were ready to roll. We threw several “men” into the oven and they were finished just as we were ready to leave for the night.

My boys didn’t get home until late and went straight to bed. Magically, in the middle of the night, two of the gingerbread boys disappeared.

The next morning I thought they would be thrilled that their creations had come to life, but my 6-year-old was far from thrilled. He was horrified.

First of all he was mad at me that I let the gingerbread escape. As if I had any control over it. He wanted to run the streets of Roy searching for him.

Secondly he was even more upset that part of his gingerbread (he thinks a leg, I think a head) had fallen off when the little guy “hopped” away. Somehow part of him was lying next to the pile of crumbs on the cookie sheet.

How part of that gingerbread boy got left behind, and how he could run away without his “leg” or “head,” I will never know.  Oops!

My oldest spent all of Sunday afternoon searching for footprints in our yard and building a trap to catch the remainder of the gingerbreads – A trap that required string, tape, fabric, etc. – A trap that tied to my oven and left a big mess in my kitchen – A trap that I made him take down.

I tried to convince him that the gingerbreads that were going to escape had already escaped.

We compromised. Now I have a pyrex glass container filled with gingerbread men sitting on my stove, covered with two bandanas tied extra tight.

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I tell you, you try to do something fun with your kids and it backfires. My son couldn’t be excited that we made magical dough. He had to turn into a gingerbread hunting, killing machine.

It turns out, we don’t even like gingerbread cookies at our house. I don’t know how long those little men will sit trapped on my stovetop.

The only reason my oldest wanted to make the stinking things was to see if they would escape. Go figure.

Grownups Come Back???

06 Dec 2012 19 Comments

by Natalie in Parenting Battles, What's a mom to do?

life-lessons-finalHas anyone seen the new kid on the PBS block, Daniel Tiger?

He’s the cute little brown-and-orange striped tiger that took over for the late Fred Rogers on the hit PBS show Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood.

Now it’s called Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood and overall I really like the show. My four-year-old has watched it a few times and he likes it too.

But recently I really didn’t agree with one of the episodes.

At the beginning of the show, Daniel’s parents were heading out on a date for the night and he was nervous to be at home with a babysitter. So, the tiger couple talked to their son and told him that grownups always come back.

They even sang a catchy little tune with the lyrics: “Grownups come back.” And sure enough at the end of their date, when Daniel was in bed almost asleep, his parents came back and tucked him in.

Then later in the episode Daniel’s father was taking him to preschool. Daniel was nervous about being dropped off at school and wanted to stay with his dad. His dad broke into song, reminding his son that, “Grownups come back.”

I couldn’t help thinking, what if a grownup doesn’t come back?

My children have all had serious problems with separation anxiety, and I have had to get creative on how I help them cope with their feelings, but I don’t think I would ever sing them a song about grownups always coming back.

Maybe I’m a pessimist, but what if things don’t go according to planned and a grownup doesn’t come back?

Now I’m not saying that it happens very often, but what if you tell your child that grownups always come back and then there is a car accident or medical emergency that makes it so that a grownup can’t come back. Or worse, what if, a grownup simply chooses not to come back?

Or, on a less serious note, what if you tell your child you will always come back and then get stuck in the grocery check-out line, or hung up at a doctor’s appointment? Maybe you want to come back to pick them up, but are delayed.

What if you have promised your kid you will be there but end up having to send grandma, or the neighbor to pick them up instead?

I remember when I was pregnant with my fourth baby, having lost my third at 37 weeks gestation, my oldest son kept asking me if we were going to get to take our new baby home this time. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him yes. What if I told him that everything was going to be all right with this baby, and then it wasn’t?

I guess my past experiences have made me wary about making promises I don’t know if I can keep.

Maybe I’m reading too much into it. Maybe it’s cute that Daniel’s parents crafted a little jingle to help their son deal with a stressful situation.

But I still don’t think I’ll use the “grownups come back” phrase with my own children. I think it’s an exaggerated blanket statement that could occasionally lead to more stress or heartache.