It's a Day, or not even, it's only A Morning.

I'm feeling nervous about the decision to put The Second born into a 2-day all day program at the Waldorf Charter School.  Probably because today we had an epic morning.

It began with angry elder sister, pick-pick-picking on little sister, while I sang loudly my operatic "Be Kind or Be quiet!" aria.  Then about 4 minutes of timed bickering (probably longer, but once they heard the "$1 a minute!" jingle I improvised, it got quieter). I'm holding the $4 ($1 or 1 household contribution per minute bickering fee) until they get contributions done.

It's a fairly cold, snowy morning, diamond dust in the air, and champagne powder on my truck, so we're already late. But I'm surrendering to the flow of the morning, 'cause I don't wanna make the crazed rush only to be stuck in traffic.

Everyone fed, and getting ready to leave, the Middle One begins her lament about some random item that was or was not seen, or worn, or toted.  Shortly prior to this, she, in the same breath, shared about what she likes at school and then proceeded to whine "puwheease take me out of dis school, momma".

I kept breathing, kept moving forward. Of course, this new development of crazy from her little sister budged Miss Monkey to swing back into sweet-and-helpful mode.

The Second Born proceeds to scream in her trademark screech about how her legs are cold (she chose to wear a long skirt with long socks), but when offered her coat or pants, she screeches again in response.  Her tragedy is most definitely waking neighbors.

We've embarked the vehicle, finally, when I feel I simply cannot drive with her screeching behind me.  I pull over into the empty, snow covered, parking lot of the park directly across the street.  I remove her from the vehicle, lovingly, firmly inform her that I cannot drive safely with her screaming and caterwauling behind me, help her with her coat and hat, "Scream out here all you want. You are welcome back in my car when you're done making that noise."

I keep breathing and recall yesterday when it was time for baby to nurse and rest, I resorted to locking myself in our bedroom to avoid a more serious conflict with her.  It had been a busy morning, back from the gym she had launched, unprompted, into a caterwauling lament about how she wasn't tired and wasn't hungry.  There's a pattern here, and I'm the common thread. Remove myself and alter the pattern, though maybe not as compassionate as I intend (yet), it's all I can muster sometimes.

Back in the snow, 2 minutes or less outside, some impressive lungfuls of air from her, and she calms. Asking for a hug, I'm happy to comply, and then she's eventually back in her seat and we're on our way.

But that's not all...

upon arrival at school, there's more tragedy, most likely trickle down from dramas earlier in the morning. Then hugs, and I'm off, but only to contend with the baby boy hollering fiercely all the way home.

I'm off to crock something for dinner, fold masses of laundry, and maybe get a 1/2 hour or so to sit atop my bike-on-trainer and lift something other than baby weight.

Happy day!

workin' through stress

I made the phone calls I needed to, including a couple to friends. The eldest is reading downstairs, the middle and third are sleeping.  Left to myself I know there are a multitude of things to do in order that the house is cared for, workouts to get in, crafts backed up in my little room---feeling overwhelmed a bit I know I need to sit down and write.  It's January again.

I've decided I like January, it's quiet, simple. No major go-do-gift holidays, it's nice---mostly.

As I was losing my temper with the 3yo today, I watched my reaction occur. She didn't want to nap, and history shows that the resistance to said nap is directly proportional to the necessity of the nap. She was having her standard fit about it, and I didn't handle it as well as I have in past times.  When I don't catch her initial energetic down turn, it's difficult to get her to quiet time.

Maybe it's 'cause the baby wouldn't sleep either, maybe it's 'cause I didn't get to start the errands early as I planned, maybe it was the disappointment of not getting to the gym (baby had a random fever last night)...combination of many things.  I yelled, loudly, aggressively, with intent to frighten.

And I'm sick about it.

Though I handle it better than I did with the firstborn at three, in my heart I know I can act better.

Random lamentation, caterwauling is a trigger for me. There's a memory of emotion, feeling out of control and being taught, through fear and threats, feelings needed control at ALL cost.  Slapped, slapped again and again and again, into silence.

I observe this urge to hit them into silence, until they learn to shut up, because my anger is more important than your being---it's a memory of me as a little girl.  I've realized that my hurt from the incident(s?) is the basis of the trigger.  [I remember one incident clearly: my maternal grandmother threatened to slap me with her sandal unless I stopping crying right that instant...years later she, and my mom, deny that that could've every happened, causing me to question my memory, my reality.]

I don't hit my kids, I don't want to hit my kids. When I'm depleted emotionally, physically, spiritually....The Bully in me comes out.  This bully doesn't care about feelings, doesn't care about talking, doesn't care that others have needs. This bully only cares to hurt those around her because she's forgotten how to love her self.

{---dead pause---there's a baby crying, then the doorbell rings, and my process is brought to a standstill, to be continued another day, others' needs before my own...But I'll add this silly poem I wrote}

I want to be somebody else's mommy

someone grateful and kind

someone quiet and sweet

A ghost of a child than the real one I got

I want to be somebody else's mommy

where tears don't stain our cheeks

fusses and screams aren't part of my week

where I'm not stretched to my limit of personal growth

where frustration and anger are more a bygone joke

I want to be somebody else's mommy

you are too much like me

there's so much that needs change

I'm too too imperfect you see

You deserve better than me

And I forget to be grateful

for those everyday pains

Forget that others would gladly trade spaces

Yet some days, still,

I want to be somebody's else's mommy.

And after all that, at the end of this day or any other, all I really want to hear from anyone, is "Me, too."

The Other Half Lives

clap happy at the pick up line

It's been two weeks now.  Back and forth, to and from, lunches in and out, over and over and over.

I struggle to understand how people actually choose this method. To say the least, I'm stretched getting used to it all, at most I'd say it suuuuucks. I would much rather homeschool in my ideal vision than truck around town 2x daily ....which led me to the novel thought, "I wonder if we really were doing it for her?"  But decisions have been made, and there are carpooling options developing.  

There have been interesting improvements in her consideration of us, especially with Second Born.  She's more affectionate to me, which, sadly, is surprising as I've become so used to being at odds with her. Given her behavior toward me I would expect she'd be ecstatic to be free of me, but that's not the case.  She's at once forcefully clingy and almost desperately affectionate in fierce short bursts.  I'm mindful to be accepting of this and gently responsive to her.  

I feel crappy that it doesn't seem to come naturally to me in my relationship to her, I don't understand this trend and am consciously attempting to heal and release it.  I could surmise it is an inherited pattern, and I'm unwittingly re-creating my childhood family dynamic as it's the only one I'm accustomed to act within.

It's difficult knowing that I (some "we," as in he too) am 49-51% the cause of her behaviors, there has to be a balance between taking total responsibility and understanding that the other half(ish) is simply in her nature. I can't tell which on a moment to moment basis, and when I've tried to keep track it drives me insane as I trend toward "it's-all-my-fault and I'm-a-sh*tty-mom".

My self-loathing knows no bounds.  Parenting an other while RE-parenting one's self is a formidable, strenuous challenge.  Some facets of this personal mirror only refract long after the fact, compounding frustration and confusion for me.

The best I can do is remain of service in love to my family, with lots of meditation, prayer, and support I know this is possible.  I helped create them, so The Divine must be challenging me to learn from them.  Do the next right thing, just keep moving forward.

Lately I'm mostly learning surrender and acceptance, or acceptance and surrender.  I hate that our lovely idyllic plan didn't pan out.  I hate that poor Miss Monkey has imperfect parents that have made so many changes in her short life it's become difficult for her to process properly.  I'm tellin' you: First-borns get the crap-end of the stick with parents that barely know what-the-frack they're doing.  

I will really enjoy one full year (minimum) with just plain life happening, no births, no deaths, no moves, and no bankruptcies/tax problems.  Come to think of it, I think she's only had one full year without major change, it was at the northern suburb house, which may explain why she has such nostalgic attachment to that place.

So, I learn. So, it goes. Gratitude, I suppose.

"We be the best we can be in the moment. And we live with grace." 

~ Rachelmartin.blogspot.com

Post-Kenpo, soccer uniform pick up, a line of people in the waning heat of late summer, mostly accompanied by children, who, given the hour, may or may not have eaten dinner.  The kids group about, two games of tag are being played, then one Duck-Duck-Goose! and one Tag.  Chatting amicably with a young nanny, baby's falling asleep in the sling.  My turn at the table, I call my child over to try on a jersey, at first there's a lite resistance as she was playing intently...then IT begins, because there are only 10 girls on her team, and her only choice is between number 23 or number 12.

We'd had a discussion about color, team colors are green and white, only green and white.  There had been a brief discussion about numbers, that she wouldn't get to pick a number as we hadn't pre-ordered.

Apparently it wasn't enough.  

But really, who would predict that a discrepancy of numbers would send a 7 year old into a raging fit?

I can't even remember everything that was said.  The hate-filled ugliness screeching from her mouth, confusion about how team uniforms are numbered exacerbated by lack of food, and a long active day.  I eventually ran out of verbal tools, gratefully it was the same time I completed writing out the check, I called the Second Born and we moved First Born drama short distance to the parking lot.

I am grateful I didn't do anything to feel ashamed.  For me, her behavior was somewhat embarrassing, though I've come to care less and less about what others think.  At some point I mentioned she was embarrassing herself---a flicker of doubt crossed her face, but then I guess she figured she'd already committed to the tantrum so publicly, she may as well go all in.  And I do mean all in.  

"I will not speak to you again until you've eaten something and you're calm."

After moving her seat back between the younger two (as I can't be expected to drive safely while there's anyone fr-eak-ing the eff out in my passenger seat) I had to buckle her in.  She woke her brother with her shrieking and caterwauling though eventually helped him with his paci.

"I think you shouldn't speak again either, until you've eaten and  you're calm."

We made it home.  With a call ahead The Man had prepped simple dinner for them.  They got fed and then even had story at bedtime.

I'm completely wrung out.  We had such a good week, to end with such crap...it's just really really disappointing.  I've sadness, anger, and feeling weary.  It's these behaviors that 'cause me to think she should be in brick & mortar school, or that there's something amiss with her functionality.  But I know that giving in to her crazed states would only create more tantrums in the future.  Now delayed consequences loom in the coming week, because my energy has been completely drained.

All this after a standard three year old tantrum 'cause I wanted to listen to the Broncos game recap/analysis instead of Wheels On The Bus.

So, aforementioned Ms. Martin is dead on---Carry on Brave Mother.

2nd grade

This is first full day of second grade photo....it's not exactly what I had in mind. 

I had to bodily pull her back out of the car after this photo, then having deposited her at the HSC director's desk with a comment on how Exciting my morning had been, said, "I love you, have a great day."
Some possible reasons she was a feeling irritated:
She chose not to eat breakfast
She has her first soccer practice today
The sun was shining
She's simply nervous and scared and isn't very good about processing it.

Big sigh, and thank goodness for Love & Logic.

Consequences

I suppose this is my comeuppance for her chosen consequences from last weekends' utter atomic melt down tantrum. 

She only just started to feel the reality of her choice to not play with little friends all week. The other choice was to stay home and work with her Papa all day Saturday, skipping a birthday party.  We only came to the conclusion of giving her a choice after almost an hours' deliberation. In addition to that choice, she had to clean up the great mess she made of her sister's bed and their room, AND she's yet to figure out how to pay Ms. J for her impromptu sittering service.  

I'm indebted to that lovely woman for backing me up when I needed to get out.  All mamas should have an emergency phone-a-friend.

Thunderous Three

She's here, and she's not to be ignored.
Little Miss Contradiction lives here.
Crying 'cause she asked for toast, yet didn't want it toasted.  Wailing after watching beautiful fireworks in entirety, that she didn't like "the sound" and insisting "firewo'cks were oveah der, deez aren't firewo'cks."  Lamentable and tragic that she's hungry but doesn't want to eat it 'cause "mama you CUT IT up wrong!"
Love the baby, hate that he's in mama's lap.
Can't reach tomatoes by herself, and doesn't want help getting them.
Leaving anywhere that was remotely entertaining promotes a barrage of wails & whines....
Ah, yes, I remember this phase of dis-equilibrium.
She's also becoming quite adept at pushing big sister's limits creating conflict and then acting the wounded party.

We went up the mountain a little ways today. And it was great to get out.

My Dear Mom has been staying with us for a week now, and notwithstanding some challenges it's been enlightening.

My Miss Monkey, though full of complaint before we left, actually said, aloud, "Thanks for making me come up here, Mom." And she was incredibly pleasant and helpful throughout the day.

The Second born was pliable and sweet, until I removed her sweater....oh horrific horror! How dare I attempt to make her more comfortable. She caterwauled all the way back to the car. I felt bad about it, though I couldn't allow the caterwauling to influence my decision. Eventually she calmed to a thinking state and I apologized, explaining that I realize my mistake, and when she'd ask calmly I'd happily give it back, 'cause crying won't ever help me change my mind.  In her combination of hunger-tired-heat, she heard me, barely, but never wanted the sweater back.

And I'm still pregnant.  Just hitting the 39 week mark. Plenty of activity in slow process of early labor, I'm just too too excited to meet this little person and have my body returned fully unto my self.

After a lovely day at the playground, post-bath, post-nap, naked toddler in a towel, The First born looking stonily from her bed:
"Do you want to pick out your clothes?"
"No, I want Mama to pick out my clothes."
"Okay, how about these (pants & tee)?"
"NO! I don' want those!!"
"Okay, what would you like?"
"I want Mama to pick out my clothes."
"All right, E, this is was Mama has picked."
"NOooo!! I don' want those clothes."
"Well then, you pick them out," slowly beginning to see this fruitless conversation headed in a beyond belligerent direction.
"NOoooo! YOU pick them out!"
"I tried E, this is what I pick, you asked Mommy to choose for you, this is what I choose."
"NOOO!!"
"Okay, I love you, I tried to choose for you, now you can do it yourself."
"NOOOOO!!!  MAMA DON' LEAVE!!" as if there are rabid angry wolves in her room....which I have to admit it's a decent comparison as F was already confined to bedroom after losing her mind when I asked if she'd prefer a bath or shower.

I didn't want to leave her to the wolves, but I didn't have much choice. After toying with me that she would get dressed, but indecision won out over the urge to escape the room, her caterwauling got the best of me, I had to leave.
After 30 minutes or so, both of them screaming at me when I offered them an apple (figuring blood sugar  might be the culprit), they both eventually made it out of the room.  E needs a hug, and F is fighting her way through picking up the play room.  The burgers are done, and miracles of miracles we all survived and I'm still here.

I need dark chocolate, or a d*mn beer.

“It is no small thing, when they, who are so fresh from God, love us. ”

― Charles Dickens

And then when they're not so fresh from Source, they tell us exactly what they think about us, and our parenting, and whatever else might be in their way at any particular moment.

I can only rely on a Higher Power's infinite patience, pray it out, in these cases...
and watch videos of sweet baby animals:

Atomic E

Yesterday, a visit at the coffee shop, then walk a few blocks to the GGB to hang and check out their diaper display.  It was a beautiful day, sunny, not too chilly, almost like spring.

We passed a playground on the way, I promised that we'd stop back by on our way to the vehicle.  Little did I know how looooong those few blocks would be when we exited the Giggling Green Bean.  The temperature had dropped since we'd gone in, and neither of us Mamas was appropriately prepared for the weather change.  We finally reach the mid-point of our trek, the playground, of course E has to visit it, I compromise by offering her 2 activities, she chooses the merry-go-round (fyi, not so merry now that speed governors of sorts have been introduced on them---what's the fun of a merry-go-round unless you can fall off with sick dizziness?) and the slide...and then my fun really begins.

She doesn't want to leave (of course, it's about to be snowing, and we've no coats, hats, mittens, gloves, bibs)...and she begins to wail and lament tragically.  At this point in the pregnancy it's not especially comfortable to carry a 35# toddler more than a block.

"I don' wanna leave!"

"I know, it's sad to leave the playground.  Do you need a hug?"

"NO!" {pause}  "I don' WANNA LEAVE!!"

"I know, I love you, " I keep walking, through the magic of continued motion and the use of "I know" she follows me.

repeat. repeat. repeat.

She stops, she's cold but unable to admit it.

"Do you need to be carried? or will you walk holding hands?" She needs to hold hands, she's tired and lagging behind enough that a hand will move her along, and I'm flingin'-flangin' COLD.  

I resort to "sack-o-potatoes" carry with her for half a block before she decides to walk on her own again.  Then the whole lament repeats, the carry or walk process repeats....the entire time she's wailing, caterwauling, yelling.  I comment aloud, "I'm not sure CPS heard you yet, could you yell louder?"  to which she hollers, "NO!!"

After our trek my friend and I bid a hasty good-bye, and load up our respective cars.

There was a decent enough nap, then a pick up, short down time, then back out to swimming and gymnastics.  As we left Miss Monkey at her 'nastics so I could bed down Monka-Doo, the latter went Atomic again.  This time I was beyond tired, and barely hanging on to sanity.  She became so belligerent as to accuse her shoes of doing wrong, she hates her coat, "it's make me ANGwee!"  I again sling her to the "sack-o-potatoes" carry to move from the rec center to the vehicle.  I'm not sure that the police vehicle sitting out front contained an officer but I'm grateful that if so, he/she must know what it is to be a momma on her last straw.  I'm almost 7 months pregnant, lugging a wailing 2.6 yo child through the parking lot in the snowy dark.

I stood outside my car for a few deep breaths.  I love snow, everything becomes so quiet, so peaceful, so beautiful.

And all the way home she hollered, between bouts of tragic crying, at the back of my head.  "Stop saying 'I know'!"or "Stop saying, 'maybe so'!" and "Weaving make me feewl ANGwee!  YOU STUPID!"  I'm grateful the metal water bottle she chucked my direction only met with the armrest, then only socks actually flew to the front seat.  This continued non-stop until I started reading a bedtime story, and picked right up again when I finished the book.

Always an Adventure. : )  Life really is tough at Two

Mommy Lost her Sh*t

I am not perfect, I have a wicked temper once my patience has worn out.  Emotions can be just as dangerous and addictive as any drug, and more subtly damaging to those around us in certain ways.  

It begins with a certain combination of occurrences, stresses that quietly pile up.  

Filing Chapter 13, we have to move within 3 months, pregnancy, baby due in a few more months and no outlet for small nesting instincts, frustration and confusion around stuff built up and resistance to culling it now because I'd rather when I start packing, prayer-meditation-meetings back-seated to other activities for those around me....an evening after a long (albeit successful) day, when he and I both just need a moment to ourselves, a screaming toddler awakened after she'd fallen asleep, we turn on each other...suddenly I'm feeling alone alone alone, with no help and no way out and some little belligerent person who will not got the f*ck to sleep!

So, yes, I utterly abandoned reason, and love, and hope for an hour or so.  It's a dark place that I'm un-accepting of its powerful existence, a Jungian mirror of my general upward spiral in consciousness.  

Is it okay that I lost my temper in front of my kids?  Most definitely, yes. Only because when we're all over the emotional compromise, back in a thinking state, we talk about it, we hug and make-up.  I admitted my defect, I use "I feel" statements, I talk about how I don't like behaving like that and I will do better.  

Some might say that I've completely thrashed all the progress I've made, I disagree.  One set-back does not a ruin make.  If I were mid-race and got a flat, they wouldn't make me begin again at the starting line.  The truth is I'm behaving worlds different than I might be if I hadn't done spiritual study, and worked it in the past 8 years.  I'm not excusing the behavior, but I'm allowing my humanity, my learning curve.  I could put on a hair shirt and self-flagellate for days, weeks, months, begging forgiveness reminding them of my terrible awful transgression....that however, is a teaspoon of self-esteem disguising a thousand pound ego.  I obviously need to be more vigilent, not less, around what I do for my Self.

Other ways to let angry energy out:  scribble/draw an angry picture, grounded scream, stomping, running, finding a lonely place and yelling, journaling, phoning someone to reason it out/cry/laugh aloud at our ineptitude some days.

Above all You are NOT alone.

"We should also erase the thoughts of yesterday that would rob us of today's happiness."    

SOM p.245

break it, learn from it, stitch it up, keep moving forward

Little Monkey Money Matters

The little girls receive allowance.  We follow Love & Logic, once they’re old enough not to eat their money, they’re old enough for allowance.  So, the Younger gets $2/week, and the Firstborn gets $6/week, taxes withheld for her, so she nets $5/week.  The Firstborn has been [mostly] saving for a guinea pig going on almost a year now, I've heard her say, "No, I'm saving for a guinea pig, I'm putting my money in the Save Jar."

Toddleator E, a.k.a. Monka-Doodle, had built up quite a bank in her jar, and we’d been chatting about sunglasses for the past couple of months.  She would lament about not having sunglasses every sunny day (which is often here) in the back seat.  One highly productive Monday, while Big Sister attended homeschool connection I found we were timed perfectly to stop by consignment shop for this very purpose.   So, she bought four pair.  At least I was able to talk her out of six pair.  The Man was a bit taken aback by this, and we reminded ourselves that this is her money, not ours.  Well, she’s got 4 new play glasses one of which at least should be kept in the car methinks.  Bonus, when a pair gets crushed or lost, it's easier for me to practice some loving detachment and empathy, rather than reacting with frustration and anger as if it had been my money.

With Miss Monkey’s money, we had a lesson most recently noteworthy.  Had anyone been listening it might’ve sounded as if I was stealing from the child.  One sunny bright day last week, we made plans to head up the mountain for ice skating, little sis was fighting illness though so a ride was arranged.  There was a question as to whether or not F would need to pay entrance + skate rental, I responsibly gave her $10 to pay for just that.  “This ten is to pay for your entrance, should you need it.  Otherwise, I expect my ten dollars back when you return. Agreed?”  She assented, took some money from her Spend Jar for random whatnot, and off they went.

Upon returning, there was some amount of cash and change on the counter, I asked her whether that was hers or mine?  There was some confusion from her.

“Do you have my $10?”

“Well, J used it to buy Twizzlers.”

“Oh, so where is my ten?”

Somewhat distressed, “J used it to buy Twizzlers!”

“Well, F, I gave you the ten to pay for your entrance.  Did you have to pay for your entrance to the skating?”

She shakes her head, no.

“Okay, then I expect my $10 back….is this it on the counter?”

Then the frustration sets in for her.  I counted the money on the counter finding it was a little short of $10, “Well, it looks like you owe another $1.10 to pay me back.”

Then the crying lament starts, she apparently spent all of her money on treats for herself and her friends, and really does not want to pay me back any of the money I gave her.

“Oh, so you spent your money on treats for yourself and your friend?  That’s really generous and friendly. {pause}  The money I gave you for entrance was money only for that, and I expect it returned since it wasn’t used.  I’m fairly certain you and I were clear on this before you left.  I love you, I know this is hard.  Come back downstairs when you’re calm and can discuss it in a friendly way.”

Briefly I thought, it is only a dollar-ish, it’s not that big a deal.  Then my Love & Logic overtook that doubt---it’s not about the quantity, it’s about the lesson there in.  A $1.10 mistake now, will avoid a $110 (or more) mistake later.  The Man returned from some errand, fresh and ready to mediate. And after bedroom time Miss Monkey was freshly ready to attempt to manipulate the situation in her favor with Papa home now.  In no uncertain terms he let her know the tragic sound of her feelings would not change the circumstances.  He reminded her “if she wants to have her own money to use, she has to behave responsibly with it.  Otherwise, we can find other options for that money.”  (Hooray parental unity!)

I did get my money back, thanked her, and we went on about our day.

Stay the course. All is well.  I’m grateful and proud!

: )

A

Play off weekend

It's been so nice today.  Super chilly out, apparently going to hover around 20F for the game this afternoon.  We got to attend the last regular season game (Chiefs v. Broncos) a couple of weekends ago, it was cold then but about 10 degrees warmer comparatively.

It's been a fabulously quiet morning, the girls slept in, I made small breakfast then cinnamon rolls, prepped for deviled eggs.  Now the TV comes on and then there are football guffaws and The Man desperately trying to listen to pre-game analysis begging Little Girls to quiet their enthusiasm for "daddy-day".  Funny thing is when they're whispering it's not exactly a quiet, subtle whisper.  It's difficult for my Littles to whisper when their typical volume resides between Loud and YELLING.

Thankfully there haven't been any altercations this morning which had been a habit of Miss Monkey lately.  She'll wake, hang around, mosey downstairs, and somehow she and Toddleator E will immediately begin to fight, and one or both will be sent back to bedroom time.  She's spent the better part of a morning in her room on more than one occasion.  I say it's usually her because typically the Younger has been up and moving cheerfully for almost an hour before her sister.  I've enacted a guideline that unless you're coming to breakfast cheerfully (or at minimum, cooperatively) do not come down stairs....it doesn't always stand.  One thing I dislike heartily in the mornings is too much noise, especially pre-breakfast.  Precisely why I prefer to wake earlier than everyone else, workout, meditate, (decaf)coffee, email, hopefully some writing, etc. Then the noise can start and I'm prepared.  I'm still working on my mornings, been successful a couple of times; however, it's more difficult when Utero-Baby wakes me around 2-3am.  Then it's hard to get back to sleep while someone is squirming about, and I lack inclination to wake again at 4:30 or so.  I intend that it'll happen though, and change never happens all at once, does it?
Happy weekend!

: )

A

No nap

Lamentable beligerence, that's what happens afternoons when there is no quiet time.  She dozed off a tad when I took a short midday training run, but the transfer to carseat didn't take.  That's cool, I'll just drive her about some, she'll pass out again....nope.

It's both entertaining and infuriating when toddlers get so tired they stop making sense. Hollering about wanting "to put on her shoes self!" or "it's raining, thunder flashlight ouTside!"  Then as she drifts in and out of waking consciousness some snippet about a puppy, the neighbors, spaghetti, or bears, or an argument arises with her reality vs. mine.

And then, ooh yes, then the dreaded dinner hour approaches. When overtired children hover in kitchens whilst dinner is prepped, wailing and gnashing of teeth are common.

But I must remain calm and carry on, this to shall pass, and I will miss the chaos eventually.
: ) <3

It wasn't a big big deal, but since I let it become a power struggle I had to take decisive action.  In the future I think I'll need to change my approach to the edge of funny, nay ridiculous, instead of letting these people affect my plans thus.  Comedy is a cure all.
I had planned a good run & swim at the gym, then hit the pool for a little bit, baths, quick lunch, and dropping kiddo at gymnastics.
God laughs at plans, right?

Began when I *had* to check something on email,  +10 minutes behind.
Continued when I remember it's garbage day, and there's some attitudinal adjustment from The Firstborn re: helping....
But the recycle pick up had already happened (seriously---before 8am?  yes, my bad.), +30 minutes more for loading, driving, dropping at the local recycle spot.
Finally arrive at gym parking lot...there's a squabble about hair rubber[band]s or hair clips, see there's only one clip and only one hair rubber, but they both want clips.  I suppose I had some weird expectation that the 6 yo would take the more mature attitude.

Note, Miss Monkey will do just about anything to get to KidsClub, she will back-track, capitulate to what ever I might ask, do chores, run laps, just so she can get in there with the play place/big screen/Wii action.

But this is unacceptable.  Since I know that she's only saying what she needs to get what she wants, I have to maintain the upper hand.

After baking in the sun for a few minutes trying to convince the Younger to let me put her hair up, I decide we'll sit in the car for a few minutes.  Upon asking telling, The Firstborn she needs to get back in the car, she then goes quasi-Atomic.  Kicking at me, "YOU'RE STUPID!  I'm gonna call YOU an ADULT WORD!"
I chuckle, "Oh, and how would that work out for you?"
I paused, "You've just shown me that KidsClub isn't for you today."

At a stop light, amidst caterwauling, she hurls a water bottle at me, it glances off my shoulder.
For an instant I see what others in vehicles around me might see from a more unconscious parent.

I calmly look over my shoulder at her, "Aren't you soooo lucky, I am such a good mama?"

Back at home now I've sent texts to all my sitters in attempt to get someone here, payment will come from Miss Ill-Manner Monkey's allowance.  Otherwise she is confined to bedroom time until lunch and then gymnastics.

Of course, the Younger, has behaved like a little angel, being incredibly sweet and calm---or maybe that's just by comparison.

Oh, still a Happy Day 'cause I have all the tools and growth that I need to keep on keepin' on.
<3

A weeknight.

"Miss Monkey, your food is on the table."

I proceed to eat my dinner, along with Toddleator E, and 25 minutes later the Firstborn's food is untouched.

"Your food will be on the table for 20 more minutes," while explaining what that looks like on the clock facing the table where she sits.

Time elapses as I hit the kitchen duty, I watch the clock.  Time is up, I go to the table and remove her plate.

Oh, but she's "not fed", she's "still hungry", "this is bullsh*t!", "you're not my momma!"...later after she's in her room, more "sh*t" and creative insults thrown about.  Some banging and thrashing occur.  I offer her a empathetic hug, she refuses, she's just too too angry with me.  I prepare the Smaller of The Two for bed.

The Man was late coming home last night, soon after I greet him at the door he can hear the lamentable screaming and cursing emanating from Miss Monkey's room.

Eventually she quiets because she passes out.  Later I try to assist her to get into pajamas but she refuses, thrashing at me in her sleep.  Of course, she's awake at some silly hour scoping food in the pantry, then ends up asleep on the couch, where we found her this morning with a jar of peanut butter.  Consequence today that she's been less than pleasant and has to take a nap before gymnastics. Oh, and when The Man heard her insulting me he decided to enforce the "no sweet things out, no sweet things in" rule...for the next 4 days (and then some with what I heard enforcing rest time).

Last night was fairly easy, but today has been hard because I was awake last night as well.  Tired mommas do not parent well, we resort to yelling.  I do not like to yell. At the same time I loathe to be on the recieving end of crappy behavior while everyone else outside gets to see the sweet-girl (save her coaches, that is), and when I've had enough, I have had enough.  It's progress, not perfection though---and I have progressed so very far.  Here I go, growing forward.

And when she wakes from nap, she's a different person. Sweet and cooperative, easy going nature returned.  The evening ends amicably after gymnastics and dinner, she's back to "normal".

Sheesh.

Atomic Melt Down Gymnast-style

It finally happened, as I knew it would.  F had an utter and complete melt down during her team practice last night.  An atomic tantrum for all to hear, such that her Coach kicked her out of practice for the remaining 45 minutes or so.  Rightly, Miss Coach E worked as much as she could with The Firstborn, but given several chances finally had to resort to separating her from the group.

When I arrived to retrieve her at the regular time, F told me of her poor behavior, and Coach took me aside to give me the blow by blow.  Apparently it started with whining and unusual fear around a skill that F already knows, it escalated to crying and louder whining, then hollering and screaming, finally culminating with cursing and screaming for the whole gym to hear (albeit she'd already been removed from practice at that point).

I'm so proud.

That is in heavy {sarc} font, I'm not proud.  I'm rather embarrassed, except when I remember that she's only 5.5 years old, a passionate perfectionist already, and had already been "on" all day at the National Western Stock Show.  I also remember that her behavior is hers and hers alone.  Yes, I'm responsible partly, because I'm her Momma, but only to a degree.  I do my best to model appropriate expressions of anger and frustration (I've grown a long way in the past few years), there's a point where I end and she begins, however.  My biggest lesson as a parent, and what I realized early with this first daughter, was how to apologize for my behavior.  To make sure she knows that I am not perfect, I make mistakes, and I make amends.  The tough part comes with carrying through the living amends---that the apologetic words don't end up meaningless.  Ah, there's the rub.

So, to those who were in the gym last night and might think I'm a bad mother because my daughter has a terrible temper, I say, "Examine yourself first before judging."

To the Rising Tigers' Coaches, E & C, I say a loving "Thank You." 

Thank You for your patience and understanding.  It's a big deal to ensure that children feel safe to emote, even if it's ugly.  

Thank You for not shaming her, eventually Miss Monkey will learn what is appropriate and what isn't (pray sooner than later).  

Thank You for being an example of compassion and Thank You for not taking it personally.

L&L Report

The Toddleator has been brought into the "Uh-Oh, bedroom-time, you-can-come-back-when-you-can-be-sweet/friendly/gentle" song. If she doesn't like what I'm saying, screams over and over in obvious defiance as I'm talking, it's "Uh-Oh".  If she's not listening to my request of "stop" usually related to safety or mitigation of messes, it's ""Uh-Oh".  If there's excessive hitting, it's "Uh-Oh."  Throwing or spitting food, it's "uh-oh."  Recently she's been really pushing her limits, and I have to remember 1) not to warn her over and over, 2) not to lose my cool--it's too entertaining.  

One day this week, a little trip outside I used "All those who listen to mommy can stay outside longer."  Incredibly, she processed the info and came right back to me.  Sometimes it takes a solid 5 seconds before my direction has been filtered through her ears, into the head, trickled down through her body to the toes, then back up to the brain to be received...it's the processing time I've also got to remember.  Toddlers don't think as quickly as adults or bigger kids, they're still forming all those neural pathways. So, it's my discretion whether she's being defiant or the information hasn't percolated enough yet.

Darth Siddius--yes I'm aware it should be Sidious, but really prefer our spelling 'cause it's too close to the word insidious, and didn't want to prematurely label him Kitten of Doom.  Anyway, Darth Siddius has proven quite a test of listening for the Younger of The Two.  We find ourselves in almost constant verbal cycle of "put the kitten down please...that hurts kitten...no touch kitty please...all done kitten," repeat, repeat, repeat.  I've noticed that if he really doesn't want to play he'll run away from her, if he does and plays too rough then she'll run away from him (in tears of course).  They will eventually work out some balance.  It's highly unusual for small children to really hurt an animal, especially if the animal in question can squirm, scratch, and bite enough to defend itself if in discomfort.  The Firstborn learned her lesson with Porter...eventually.

Miss Monkey's tantrums have definitely subsided from the early changing-of-method fireworks.  

She hates when I reply, "Maybe so" when she says "This is/You're stupid!"  She'll yell at me, "Stop saying 'Maybe so'!"  *win*

As she's stomping and screaming up the stairs, "Hey, could you be a bit louder?  I think the neighbors missed that one."  She screams, "No!"  *win* ---also works in public.

When she curses, and she does say something like, "I think she is/you are sh*t!" lately only while already in her room.  "Oh, thanks for your creativity, you can come out when you're sweet."  One day on an errand to the bank, this came back on her, she wanted a lollipop.  "Oh, you know, sweet things don't come out of your mouth, sweet things don't go in."  It was doubly sad when baby sister did get a lolly.  *win*

At my last Love & Logic Class I asked if it's permissible to keep a notebook of poor decisions awaiting consequences.  I found it difficult to keep track of delayed consequences, i.e. refusing to contribute to household one day might mean not going to the park a couple of days later, my memory mayn't be that great in some circumstances.  So I started the notebook and decided I needed clarify to Miss Monkey it's purpose, and since then haven't have to use it at all. *win*

I love that when she wants something at the store, I simply ask if she brought her wallet.  Today all I had to do was utter a quiet, "uuoohhhhhhh" and the immediate look I received was a *win* and then total compliance.

My favorite phrases lately:

"How do you think this is going to work out for you?"

and

"I think that's a pretty poor decision, pretty sure it'll work out poorly for you."

Happy Momma here.

Mommy to Mommy

Hungry?  cranky mommy.

Angry?  irritable mommy.

Lonely?  snappish, tired mommy.

Ill? worthless mommy, not-a-thing gets done and kids watch a lot of movies.

Tired?  cranky-snappish-irritable mommy.

Hormonal and missed a few workouts?  downright homicidal mommy.

I find myself wandering the kitchen in circles cleaning spots and repetitively opening the fridge or eyeballing the pantry contents, I'm hungry, a state I can remedy quickly (and gratefully).

Lonely can be subversive, it's difficult to identify right away. Easily remedied with a phone call or two, possibly a face-to-face with other mommies.

Illness is something only time will cure though, and the household screen serves as a right-good sedative for small people.

Sleepiness is one thing I cannot remedy, not immediately anyway.  It's not as if I can simply go take a nap whenever I might need to, and I certainly can not sleep in.  Fatigue is a related but different creature.  Fatigue creeps in when I'm over-scheduling, stretching myself too thin with additional responsibility volunteering or activities.  Fatigue can overcome more slowly, more insidiously, and sometimes lead into a depression.

Anger is an issue that is also remedied with phone-a-friend venting session---usually.  Other times I find that it isn't anger at all, but rage.  Rage, for me, is directly proportional to lack of self-care.  If I've become to lax around my spiritual, emotional, and physical fitness---or hindered in my care, as with illness---I trip directly to rage when pushed.  Which segues into homicidal mommy, easily linked also to hormones.

Lock jaw, teeth gritting, eyes bulging, colorless thin lips ready to chomp on sweet tear-stained cheeks. It's sometimes barely restrained and connected directly with a learned stoicism, a stoicism bordering on dangerous martyrdom.  When I'm operating from a spiritual and emotional deficit I become "not-so-great-leaning-toward-terrible" mommy.  Sometime these little people demand so much from me, I become so drained that I have nothing left to give.  As sad as it is to admit I sometimes can not bring myself to hug my Littles for deeper fear I might hurt them, it's real.  This confounding ambivalence drives me to balance my personal needs with what my children and family need of me.  When any-mom's needs are not met, reactions are skewed and explode sideways harming innocent bystanders.  That's been my experience.  I've come to realize that emotions are just as intoxicating as other less legal options.  It might feel really good to let fly all sorts of Terrible and Horrendous, sometime I barely realize it's happening until it's too late. But after, there is more emptiness, and I find guilt and much despair.  Growth evidence as I no longer pretend that nothing happened. In my new form I am better at admitting my mistakes and apologizing.  Without changed behavior, apologies mean nothing.   Reacting to poor behavior with more poor behavior isn't loving.  I've nothing to lose by responding while in a thinking state and if I can't find my "thinking state" I may come back to the problem later.

To counteract the cycle, I pray, I meditate, I exercise, I connect and belong...in person.  

I become still, and  know.

It's challenging to alter the pattern, to break the chain, to change the legacy.  It can feel insurmountable, but I am living here in this moment, not all moments at once.  I need only this one moment to begin all moments following.

Pray? graceful mommy full of ease.

Meditate?  peaceful, thoughtful mommy.

Exercise? joyful mommy.

Connection & Belonging? loving mommy.

I am.

edited to add:  my palms sweat and tingle with the real-ness of this post, rigorous honesty is uncomfortable as is putting myself out 'there'