girls and boys

Many years ago we got some fine socks for Babs, with grippers on the bottom, that stayed up, were just the right weight; frankly, I loved them. While they are "girl" socks, with their scalloped edges, cupcakes and butterflies designs, they are not pink with glitter. I almost didn't let the boy wear them, even though they were in good condition, until I thought, I would have totally put my girls in boy socks that were still usable. Let's be fair here.

And given his older sisters, the boy loves Anna and Elsa (Frozen), barbies, and dolls, and has no problem with pink. He may, but not yet. (He also loves cars, trucks, and "hulk smash." He just came that way.)

I spent effort with the girls making sure they were exposed to things that society labels as for boys or girls. It is actually harder to be equally mindful for my son. At least now I am expected to tell my girls they can be anything. The expectations for my little man are not as wide.

The other day I found myself shying away from a book to read to him, concerned that he wouldn't enjoy it because the main character was a girl. WHAT?!? my brain shouted, you've never worried that your girls couldn't relate to a boy! and so I read the book anyway.

I am frustrated that despite my best efforts through my life, that these stereotypes of what girls and boys can do have sneaked into my mind anyway. I carefully walked a tightrope today to maintain his interest in the fireman rainboots, not the pink flower rainboots. I refused to use as an excuse "those are for girls." (That would have been extra ironic given that I had just bought a set of spiderman boots for her older sister.)

I just want them to be able to be who they want to be (ideally that would also be who I want them to be).

family home evening success story

(Note the title is singular, I'm not anticipating this again any time soon.)

After yet another disheartening night of Babs being crazy while we tried to read scriptures as a family, and this sending her parent off the rails, when all was quiet my husband and I brainstormed how we could change things. Although we made no decisions, I mentioned I thought we should use a paper Book of Mormon (as opposed to the digital ipad version) so we could point to the words and Babs could follow along.

On Monday, we finally sat down for FHE at 7, which is yes, bedtime. So I wasn't expecting great things. But we got them.

First my husband led a discussion about how we keep the Sabbath Day holy. My favorite moment was when he reminded them that we don't go to stores or restaurants on Sunday. He asked them why not. Babs was sure she had the answer.

(I paraphrase, but not much.) It's to show Heavenly Father that we are thankful for what we have. We show him we don't need more food and we don't need more things, but that we have enough so we don't go get any more.

Wow. We both told her what a great answer that was.

Second, after the lesson we read scriptures. We pulled out a paper Book of Mormon, and sat Babs on her daddy's lap. She read most of her portion by herself. She even read the word "vineyard." (Yes, we're in Jacob 5. And will be forever.) And then she read for part of my turn.

Finally, as she was getting ready for bed, I had her kneel down to pray. She started on her own, giving thanks that she could finally read the Book of Mormon by herself.

things our parents do for us

We had the sister missionaries over for dinner last night. As part of their spiritual message, they asked our children what their parents do that make them happy. Babs said that we play with her. (As infrequently as we can get away with, but yes, we play with her.) Kiddo answered without guile, "They give me chores. Helping out by doing chores makes me happy." Ironically, chores do not make her happy. (Do they make any one happy?) It is in fact the quickest route to tears and shouts of "it's not fair!" Even the easy chores, the actual fun chores, are hard and left undone without some encouragement. But she believes in her heart that she wants to do chores all day long. Except that she doesn't.

***

Today Babs shouted to me "It's not fair!" about some injustice of parenting. (I believe I wouldn't let her watch TV, after she'd already watched a bunch.) I looked her in the eye "Have I ever told you life was fair?" No. "Has Daddy?" No. "Did you learn it at preschool?" No. "Good. Because life isn't fair. I need you to know that." My follow-up thought, that I'm sure she's not ready for, is for us, that's a good thing, because we have a lot more than we deserve.

***

Kiddo lost her next tooth! I pulled it after the dentist said that her three current loose teeth were all ready to go (I haven't pulled the next two yet). She has a slight missing tooth lisp. This one does not have an immediate tooth following in, so there is actually a big gap, which I'm enjoying. She luckily doesn't think about it much, because the night I pulled it, she looked in the mirror and said "Oh, this is terrible. My smile is terrible." It's not. It's adorable.

happy birthday to me, from my four-year old

On Monday, coming home from preschool, Babs and I discussed my birthday. "What will I get you for a present?" she wondered. I suggested, love me, be nice to her brother, and she rejected those ideas. She wanted to get me an actual present. Seeing how on Saturday her dad offered to take her to the store to buy me a present, and she said no, I didn't feel like I needed to help her much.

But, on Tuesday, we needed two things at the grocery store, and she's always more compliant when she thinks she's getting something, so I told her we were going to buy my birthday present from her. "But we need to get something I can share with you!" she reminded me.

I showed her one snack I like, "no." Then another, then another, both rejected. Then I told her I would only give her five choices, and then she'd have to decide, or we just wouldn't get anything. For choice number four, she counteroffered. "How about if we get this instead?" "But I don't really like those..." I replied. She also rejected my fifth choice, with another suggestion. "This is about me," I reminded her. "Oh yeah, oh yeah..."

So she decided, then said "Now close your eyes!" and pulled it off the shelf, then handed it to me.

"Surprise! Happy Birthday!"

I hope they call me on a mission

Did you know that sometimes blogger just can't figure out how to turn pictures correctly? This is one of those times.

This is my boy, wearing his awesome shirt-tie (age: 2 months). (He wore it once, because by the time we took him to church, he had outgrown it. It's not buttoned to the top, his neck was too big. But still awesome!) I never expected to have a boy. Oh, well, maybe when I was young, because having only brothers for a long time, I figured I knew about boys, but not about girls. But then in college I realized that I would have girls, because I was good at being female. I knew how to balance the art of nurturing and helping with ambition and smarts. (Now, if I could only do my hair and make-up then I would be truly amazing, but luckily I have friends and family who can help with that.) I expected I would have girls. And I did. By the time child number three was coming, I just expected more of the same.

Plus we were good at girls.We had lots of girl clothes, and lots of girl toys, and lots of pink, pink, pink everywhere. So when the ultrasound technician announced it was a boy, there was some silence on our part.

So now 10 months after learning I would have a boy, as he's approaching six months of age, I am still wrapping my head around this concept. He doesn't whine, he growls. He doesn't look at toys, he bangs them. We have a baby toy with leaves that go in circles, he tries to pull them off. He is clearly a boy (although a boy who rarely pees when his diaper is open, huzzah!) and I keep realizing that this means that he will be parented differently - largely because he will be different. (Not that the other two don't need vastly different parenting styles...) Maybe I really mean he will be taught differently, that his future holds different expectations.

Kiddo is old enough to talk about what she will be when she grows up. She used to want to be an artist, but now she wants to be a mom. (Babs of course has always wanted to be a mom, with six kids, I believe.) I encourage her in this desire. But I also want her to think about what additional things she will do. Motherhood is paramount, but there is a need for an education, or a trade, her other passion.(Did you know your mom has an advanced degree? I used to be a teacher?) Motherhood is enriched by having more experiences than just being a child. And motherhood often doesn't come on our timetable. And although I hardly believe it right now, there are other seasons of our life... Perhaps a mission for them too?

I will tell my son about the priesthood, and honoring it. I will talk to him about his upcoming mission (only 18 years away). I will explain about supporting his family, taking care of his family, but taking care will mean something quite different to him than it will to the girls. I am overwhelmed by this, because this is not the life I lived. Thank goodness I can point him to his father, and his grandfathers as examples of men who magnified their responsibilities as men in the Gospel. There are people in his life who understand his story.

I want them all to know we all have our roles and responsibilites. And I want them to be prepared to fill them.

understanding her time out

Between snow days and sick kids, the three kids and I have been in the house all week long. We made it this long with our sanity intact because being sick slowed Babs down, but she is back to herself again, and there was some friction between the girls.

As I explained to them, I was entirely unclear whether I was more exhausted from Babs' pushing (both literally and figuratively) Kiddo around, or Kiddo wailing each time it happened. But then there was hitting; Babs smacking Kiddo for one reason or another. (Had it been the other way around, it's entirely possible I would have ignored it.)

By round two, she had an immediate time out. By round four, Daddy was home, and he enforced the time out. After Babs was let out, he asked, "Now, do you understand the difference between hitting and playing?"

She immediately replied, "Punishment."

long time ahead

There is supposed to be actual snow tomorrow (not an inch of snow, covered by ice, like we got on Sunday), so after school, I dragged my three little people to Target to buy snow pants for Kiddo. So with the Boy in his carrier in the cart, Babs hanging off the back, and Kiddo "helping" me push, we moved from the parking lot to the store. I am very sensitive to the fact that kids move at their own pace, and I put a lot of effort into not stopping right in the entrance or exit of a store, or any other place where flow is important. I am often thwarted by Babs, who seems determined to stop in those exact places (yet is content to run like a banshee every where else).

Today was typical, I had finally pushed all three of them into the store when I have to stop suddenly so I don't run over Babs who has gotten off the cart. I strongly encouraged her to get back on, so we can get out of the doorway when I had to pull the cart to a quick stop again. This time it was to avoid running into the people ahead of us, who were also disrupting the flow.

It was a mom and her three kids, except her three kids were two teenagers, and one preteen (tween?). She was not shepherding them, just walking, assuming they would follow. The kids were laughing and talking in that non-guarded way that tells you they are friends as well as siblings, and have forgotten momentarily that their sworn duty as teenagers is to be cooler than their family.

I had a few thoughts at that moment: So this problem of stopping in front of others will never go away. That is my future. I want my kids to still like each other.

My three are so small, but they won't always be. I know that, but I'm not sure I understand that. Today was a good reminder. 

priorities

This is my boy. He weighed 14 lbs at his last check-up, two weeks ago. He is 97th percentile height and weight. So the fact that he refuses to sleep in his crib, except at night (thank goodness for that), and needs to be rocked to sleep either in my arms or my new Ergo carrier (thanks to my grandma for the money for it!) cramps my style. At least he smiles like this at me. And coos a lot. He likes me, but I think I deserve it.

In addition, I have two girls. One is largely self-sufficient, especially since she is at kindergarten for most of the day. But, there is an intense hour in the morning trying to get all of us out the door so she will be on time, and then a rigid end time where I have to be there again to get her home. (Whoever said 'never wake a sleeping baby' clearly only had one child - possibly two, but definitely not three.)

The other refuses to potty train, and two mornings a week attends preschool. For reasons that can only be described as personal revelation, it is a preschool I am running. (Although thankfully I only teach every three weeks. There is a reason I am not a preschool teacher.) 

In addition we have this house. I spent all my free moments, and many of my non-free moments, for two weeks cleaning it, in preparation for the visit of family for the Boy's blessing, then a semi-annual brunch we host. My visiting teacher and friend even came over two days to help me clean. You cannot tell that I did that... Well, maybe if you squint you can, we're slightly better organized, and thanks to my dad the good will stuff we had is gone.

My point is that I have no time. My "free time" is spent nursing a baby, or playing dolls with my three-year old, or perhaps sleeping just a bit, or feeding myself, so I can feed my baby. Am I poorly organized? Am I unrealistic in what I should be doing? Have I forgotten that all I really should be doing with an infant in the house is cooing back at him? I think so.

"He's coming!"

My son was born a week ago today. It was both my longest and most exciting labors. He checked in at 8 lbs 11 oz, and 21.5 inches long. This makes him "large for gestational age" (born at 40 weeks, 1 day), so he had multiple blood pricks in his first 24 hours to make sure his blood sugar levels were appropriate. It should be noted that he is skinny, like all my babies, because he is ridiculously long to go with his "great" weight.

After approximately 8 hours of contractions (both my other labors could have fit in this time frame), some at home, and some at the hospital, we decided to break my waters so I could finish up.

As I stood to move to the hospital bed, my water spontaneously broke. I felt a huge pushing contraction, yelled "he's coming" and out came his head. (It sounds so simple. It was not.) In retrospect, I keep thinking it's miracle this happened when the midwife, nurse, and medical student were all in the room. I wonder if my husband realizes how close he was to having to catch the baby. But the midwife was there, and he (literally) caught the baby as I pushed the rest of him out. It was an intense two minutes. He emerged face first, thus the bruising in his first day photos. But, as we were deciding to break the waters, I turned to my husband and told him I was anxious to be done, but was scared about the pushing that still needed to happen. Then it finished so quickly, and that was a blessing.

They gave him to me, and labor was done. Now the real work begins.

***
Two postscripts:

A. I labor without drugs. But I labor with my husband's support, help, and presence. What I do would be impossible without him there. I'm so grateful for him. I'm sorry about his shoes though. As I continued to labor with an intact bag of waters, I kept worrying that they would break at an inopportune moment, and get my husband's shoes all wet. That fear was realized. (But the pushing fear was not, so I feel I got the better end of the deal.)

B. As the contractions kept coming, I often called up this picture in my head, of Babs after she had fallen asleep in my bed the night before the boy came:

Remember to be relaxed like Babs, I would remind myself. It helped a lot. (Not as much as  my husband helped me though.)

experiencing vs. watching

Last year for Mother's Day I asked for a pair of rain boots. How was I supposed to enjoy rain puddles with my kids without rain boots? And I got them. In the last year I've taken my girls out in the rain exactly twice.

Today was time 2. It's been raining solidly all day. And I've been grouchy with my kids all day. I hoped taking them outside would get me out of my funk (then I could feel like a good mom). But, I don't have a rain jacket, so I had to be mentally prepared to get really, really wet.

I did, and they did too. We live on a hill, so there is a solid stream down the street all the way to the bottom. We walked it three times. They loved it. The last time, they walked back up in their feet, without rain jackets or umbrellas. But with complete joy on their faces.

I convinced them to come in with promises of a blanket and the TV. (So there they are, wrapped in a blanket, mostly without clothes.)

Because I was also out in the rain, I didn't take a picture. I wanted to be there, not worried about the camera getting wet or dropped. But will I remember the look on Babs' face, soaked from head to toe, with her stringy wet hair, as she smiled at me, sharing the fun of the puddle in her feet? Will I remember Kiddo's laugh of surprise when I jumped right next to her, and splashed her from head to toe? (I'm not that mom. But I tried it out today.) But would a picture help me remember it any better? I have no idea. But I know that I was there with them today, and that's important to me.

thoughts at the end of the week

How do I convince my half-potty trained child that "making brown" is as valuable as "making yellow"? The other night we were trying to talk it up, and mentioned that everyone makes brown. "Not me!" she insisted.

We got McDonald's today for lunch. I meant to eat there, but we didn't, because as I was paying Babs threw up at my feet. She is sick again. She was heartbroken that we couldn't eat there (not that she would have eaten, she hasn't eaten all day). I think she is just tired, tired, tired, and this is how her body copes. (Does this mean we cancel our pre-conference brunch? After I went to all the trouble of inviting people over?)

I'm having some mother angst right now. What is my role as a mother to two, almost three, little people in the kingdom? How do I help them? What do I teach them? How do we balance all our competing needs? This is all much less clear now than it used to be, when I just let them grow on their own. (Argh! I just said that parenting this age is harder than the last, when I abhor people implying it's easy when they're little!)

I spent more time the week before Easter talking about the true focus of Easter than I ever have before (see note about kids being older). I'm not sure either kid learned anything accurate, but Babs did spend much of this last week singing about being in the tomb and our body and spirit coming together again, so I can call that foundation work - right?

Kiddo has a definite preference for listening to Primary music, and reading her church books (illustrated scripture stories and Friend magazine). She tells me that they make her feel peaceful. I'm grateful this happens, and that she recognizes it. She has such a sweet, sensitive soul.

irony

My husband was explaining what a teenager is to Kiddo today. My husband continued, "When you're a teenager, you'll disagree with most everything we say."

"Well, I will not!" Kiddo insisted.

girl just wants to have fun

We refer to Babs as "our strong-willed child" because getting her to do anything is just a little (or a lot) harder than it was with Kiddo. She doesn't really like to come to dinner with us. She refused to be potty trained. She often runs with you ask her to 'come here.' She pushes her sister. She hits her dad. She often won't participate in Family Home Evening or family scripture reading. And she wails "I HATE IT!" when we enforce the "one-bite" rule at dinner (after she's decided to come).

And everything's gotten just a little worse recently. She's a little more combative. [Related story: We have a gospel-centered Quiet Book for church. There is a page on the Lamanites burying their weapons of war. I glance over at my kids on Sunday to see Babs "fighting" Kiddo into the corner with her 3 inch felt spear, and Kiddo trying to protect herself with her felt shield. We pulled Babs away, and took her weapons too.] She's a little more running. And she's spending a lot of time in time-out.

In response, we've been praying: How do we direct this precious little girl, protect her big sister, and help her interact appropriately with the family?

I don't know. But the first thing that happened was I remembered a question I asked often when Kiddo was this age, and I thought I was experiencing parental angst with some of her choices. I often asked: how much of this needs to be corrected, and how much of this needs to be lived through because she'll outgrow it?

And yesterday I had another light bulb. The majority of this behavior is about having fun. There is nothing she loves more than a good laugh, and a good tease. Playing with toys is so much more fun than eating. Pushing your sister might make her chase you, which is fun (but not very smart, because Kiddo rarely chases, she usually just wails). Yet some of the behavior is just plain bad, stemming from frustration of not getting her own way.

So mostly we just hope that eventually, we'll get through this. Either she'll grow up some, or we'll finally convince her that our rules and expectations are not unreasonable, even if they don't exactly match what she wants to do.

knee deep in the chaos

I read an article today that talked about sharing parenting responsibilities equally between two parents. It said that although it sounds good in theory, in practice, most parents will tell you its chaotic and stressful.

I thought: you think that parenting in a more "traditional" sense isn't chaotic? isn't stressful? I'm not sure what they're expectations are, but to think that chaos and stress are separable from any kind of parenting seems like wishful thinking to me.

So I'd like to report that we're knee deep in the chaos.

But I can also tell you that parenting is fun, funny, and worthwhile.