When one person wins, you both lose

Just another usual Sunday. Waking up with all sorts of hope that some scrap of sitting iwth a coffee and reading the NYTimes might happen, only to end up with a kid in her room in time-out because she was kicking me after I took her away from the table after she shoved her cup and plate across it, after I told her she had to mix juice with water if she wanted any juice.

One of those golden moments in parenting that never seem to make it onto any mother's brag list the next week. Sheesh, how did we get here again?

Time out (two of them actually) over, in the living room now, and this time it is M coming up with 10 reasons I shouldn't start building the IKEA shoe cabinets until I know 100% for sure which ones have to be returned (two of the three I bought have a slightly - 2cm - different height listed on the box, probably due to some phasing in of a new design under the same barcode), after telling me earlier this week that the thing he hates most are the moving boxes we are currently using for shoe storage in the hallway. Now I'm on the receiving end of the lose, and it is clear to me why this tactic sucks. At least, being on the receiving end. And that is where A was this morning. I was winning and so we were both losing.

Winning an argument through logic often leads to alienating the person you "won" against, and that isn't the end of goal of most relationships. Not an easy lesson, especially for an academic (either me or M) who keeps seeing logic held in the highest esteem in daily life. Academics can really suck at cooperation and giving in. Turns out, we bring it all too easily home to the breakfast table, too. And then the living room, the bathroom and a handful of other places where it is the last thing we should be emphasizing.

Given how I felt after M won and I put the pieces of the dresser I'd chosen to build back in the box, no wonder A was kicking me earlier this morning.

Better angels, beatin' up some cranky angels: the parenting pay-it-forward challenge

I'm reposting most of what I just wrote to some friends, because I'd like to keep it on record, and have a place for comments for people to contribute.

Time to start giving each other props for moments we should be proud of as parents.

I just saw a mom alone weather a massive tantrum calmly in the grocery store. At rush hour. While all judgy eyes were watching her. Bought her chocolates and candy and found her upstairs and gave them to her and told her what an amazing job she just did and how hard that was. I didn't get her candy as a present, so much as for a jolt of sugar, which is what I would have been needing at that moment. 

And although I could tell she was surprised and touched by my gesture of carbohydrates, the statement of how well and calmly I thought she did, and in front of all those people, seemed to touch her more. She smiled and said, "wow, I didn't think I was doing that well." Her friend (or whoever it was she was talking to when I caught up with her) was kind of stone faced, which I'll just ignore. Anyway, as I walked away to jump on my tram, I was the one in tears. I guess because that could have been me and I don't always manage to ride out the entire tantrum without raising my voice. Or because it felt a bit good to see another kid behaving as out of control as mine does sometimes, and see it from outside, that it is the situation and not the parent, making things worse. 

It takes so little in the way of staring, scowling others to stop us from listening to the better angels of our nature when it comes to difficult parenting moments. So many people have so little faith in our best intentions. And yet one person, sitting on a plane next to me and my squirming toddler, or on the playground, telling me they understand and that they don't mind, that all kids go through that or that I'm doing well, to give me that extra bit of resolve to keep calm, not yell, not get self-conscious. Or a smile during a tantrum that implies "I've been there."

There is a "pay it forward" crafting post going around Facebook, that I love. So in that vein, I'm challenging myself (and anyone else who is up for it), to tell ONE parent or caretaker "good job" this month, when you see them struggling but doing a good job. Because lawd knows those screaming kids aren't going to tell them. And neither are the scowling people who'd probably be hitting those kids in the same situation.

I'd love to hear some experiences that people have in doing this. Please post in the comments, and let me know if that isn't working. 

"Oh no, only one, we aren't grown up enough to handle more"

It is 9:30am and I've just finished all the dishes. We're talking a full kitchen of dirty dishes from the last 4 days. Pots of crusted-on oatmeal, wooden spatulas that have to be scrapped, dishwasher emptied and restocked and running. And the last thing I knew, it was 8:30am.

Anger may be undesirable for most things but it sure does make for a clean kitchen. Good thing I had such big load, otherwise I'd be currently matching socks in the middle of the bedroom floor. And that doesn't really take enough physical activity to process anger.

And boy was I angry. Mixed with being sad, once the anger subsided.

We were trying to get dressed for school. And said little person needed to poo. And that took a while. And that was fine. But as soon as that was over, little A wanted to play at the sink, instead of wash her hands, and I said "no." And all hell broke loose.

One attempt by me to put underpants on a kicking, flailing screaming child. Two time outs from me. (And for me, let's be honest those things are for parents almost more than for kids). And then M had to step in, because A just wasn't going to calm for me at that point. Insert my first pang of "shit how do single parents do this because I'm scared of who I'd be if I didn't have back-up." And then the second pang, the one that turns all this in on me - that I can't handle even one kid. I can't get one kid dressed and out the door in the morning. She's screaming for her pacifier, and I'm so ready to take a blowtorch to the thing that keep getting lost in her bed and waking us up, and commented on by people across the world. Americans included...Hertz rental car van driver, you so did not help by commenting - after a 10 hour flight and jet lag and an extra bag scan for the apples that we ate on the plan, and exhaustion and worry about getting a bum luggage trolley to move as car seat kept falling off the pile - that your grandson gave up his pacifier at 2 years old. It may be a month and a half late, but, bite me.

And so I retreat to the kitchen. I'm in tears, sobbing, trying to keep the boogers at bay so I can just see a pan or pot. I feel deep down inside so unfit to handle this, wanting to just become an authoritarian and get rid of this kid's spirit, turn her into someone who listens when I say no. And there is no way I can see myself to justifying another child at this moment, I who have lost it. I who can't even think about tomorrow morning and how that is going to be, much less the next 18 years. I'm so disheartened by these moments, and the fact that I have all of this time, like with the first time we tried to get pregnant, to keep thinking about whether or not it is a good idea. I have time to reconsider constantly.


In the end, M and A were finally ready to go to school, 20 minutes late, with a pacifier in her mouth (that I said yes to, while dreaming of dropping it into liquid nitrogen and smashing it with a hammer), and I was still upset. And sad. And somewhat angry. About a lot of things. I managed to get it together enough to go give a little, quiet goodbye kiss on her cheek, and to M. I managed to not do it with a passive aggressive bent. I didn't manage - I let myself not manage - a bright cheery "bye, have fun, see you later!" I went back to the kitchen quickly because the tears were coming again, and for the moment, I'd decided she might get more upset about me crying.

From the hallway, just as the door was closing, she said "I'm sorry, Mama." I came out of the kitchen because I hadn't heard what the words were, and she said it again. "I'm sorry." I hadn't asked for that apology. I don't try to force her (after the first month we started time-outs) anymore to apologize. I let that one go a while ago in some moment of trust that it would eventually work out okay. And this morning, it did. She apologized because, I think, she felt there was something unresolved. And it allowed me to wish her a good day. And that kind of feels authentic, that I didn't force myself to be cheery when I really wasn't, and that it happened out of the blue, and that I wasn't trying to engineer it. And it really did make things better.

And yet, I was left sad. Still furiously scrubbing the pots, going to get another tissue, and feeling the weight of parenting on my shoulders this morning. Feeling so unfit for this job, so undone by this morning, and not sure how I will make it. Followed by the reminder that I've even been considering a second child and feeling so silly for that. I guess it is going to be a bit of a sad morning. And I'd like to be okay with that, and not let it take over the whole day.

Oh, hey, I should go email in my US presidential election ballot now.

How old was your dad when you were born?

It is date night here at our house, which means the babysitter is coming and we're heading out to celebrate the end of M's exam week and almost-end of the work week with dinner in the Old City and a movie. Probably "What to Expect When You're Expecting."

Because it has that American-ness to it that we're both craving a bit right now. It doesn't have to be awesome to be comforting.

I keep calling it "What Did You Expect?" or "What Were We Thinking?".  I didn't much like the book of the same title when I was expecting because, as many before me have pointed out, it has that "sad you, who can't live off of no caffeine and fruitjuicesweetened-practically-everything when you are pregnant - you must not really love your unborn child" quality to some of its suggestions. It could be a playbook for out-earthmothering your fellow pregnant ladies. But I do expect some easy laughs from the movie.

And at just the right time. Because the hottest thing on the NYTimes right now is this article about increased risk of a child with autism or schizophrenia with advanced age of the father. This just days after I finished reading this book on a family whose autistic daughter has beaten a lot of odds to communicate with a computer with grace and eloquence, wit and insight, about autism itself, and the rest of the things a teenager thinks about. That is the life-afirming part of the book. The description of the exhaustion, sadness and burnout that the family lives with, and still uses respite care to help combat, is the part that prompted me to start talking with M about why we want another child.

Just to be a companion to A? We have enough crap of our own we're still working through that maybe we are better off teaching her to make close friends, spending some extra money on serious charity contributions that also leave a legacy (instead of looking for an embodied legacy in another child), and just keep working on our own issues.We could donate to places helping families who are already struggling. We could try to make a difference in this world in a different way.

And what if we were to have an autistic child? The book was already in the process of being read when this question came up and almost drowned me. What if all the things that have gone wrong with getting pregnant and giving birth and having a miscarriage, what if they all actually point to some reason we shouldn't try for another child? What if my body, which is almost 40 years old, is trying to tell me about my chances with the next child, and to just stop here?

Then the article came out. Well, gee, that sure helps the picture. Although, I have to say it is nice to hear anything that for once tells the menfolk they too are not untouched by reproductive aging. That it isn't just my biological clock ticking away, it is his, too. I mean to be gloating in a general, I-represent-all-womanhood sort of way, not to imply that I'm thrilled for M to have to think about all of this now. I mean, we're both old - double whammy.

And as a nightcap to all that, A had her first exorcist-level meltdown, which I only navigated with so much grace (heck, yeah, I'm proud) because of how much I've worked on myself, and the fact that a close friend's kid had a similar one a few weeks ago. I could chalk up 25 minutes of screaming, thrashing, running in random-including-the-street directions if I put her down, kicking and wailing to a developmental phase. I was one cool customer, even on the bus part of the program. I was exhausted afterwards (and A is now sleeping it off), and amazed at how randomly it passed. And feeling a profound sadness for lives where that continues to be a daily occurrence even for older children and adults. I could get through it because I knew it would pass (today, and in some months).

For tonight, though, we're going to go see What You Didn't Expect You'd Be Expecting, or something like that. And, hopefully, it will be good for a few laughs.

Pish time on the iPone

A likes my iPhone. Actually, she calls it my "ipone," on which her favorite toddler game right now is Fish School (which she calls "pish!"). We used it in Mallorca and then Milan in the car to help get over tired, cranky times. And on the trams or buses here, to help get over tired, cranky time. Or at a restaurant, to keep her at the table for more than 2 minutes when shes...you guessed it, tired, bored or cranky. That is correct, I use an iPhone as a babysitter for 5, or even 10, minutes!

But as tired and cranky time seems to be getting longer, and more enthusiastically cranky (ok, let's just say tantrum), I went back into child raising literature and found an idea that is working really nicely. In the book, the example was actually about an 8 year old girl and computer time, but it works with our little one, too. The concept that lack of structure is frustrating translates to A asking for "pish" almost anytime she realizes she is bored, and my having to decided on an instance-by-instance basis whether I say yes or no. If I say no, she protests. A lot. Loudly. And I was really sick of having to decide based on some unknown rules, or make some up, constantly. Anyway, the book suggests to schedule in an activity like this, and for us it has coincided very nicely with helping A get ready to leave the house in the mornings. We are trying to give her more structure to help ease tantrums, and now, 5 minutes before Mama or Papa are leaving to take her to school, she gets to play on the iPhone. She has to have her shoes and sweater on, or at least allow them to be put on, and be in her stroller. And after the first 2 days of toddler protest with the taking the iPhone away when the stroller is leaving the apartment with said parent, today she was fine with it. Now she knows there is a time for "pish" and we get a more cooperative little person, ready to leave for school.

All around win.

By the way, the app is called Fish School, from a company called DuckDuckMoose, and so far I love all their apps. Especially the music and sounds - I have yet to want to throw the phone across any large distance after hearing the same song 50 times. Well done, DuckDuckMoose.