Ahhh, TV. Moms fall all over the spectrum on the subject of how much is too much, ranging from the permissive "let them watch as much as they want" view to the strict "no TV at all" standpoint. While I disagree with forbidding TV completely, I will admit that I do fall on the stricter side of things when it comes to screen time, allowing my kids to watch only one show per day (20-30 minutes max). We rotate who gets to choose the episode each day (one day Nicki, next day Gabe, next day me) and they only get to choose from a group of shows or DVDs pre-selected by yours truly.
Too stringent? Some might say so, but I would have to disagree. There are so many better uses of their time, no matter how "educational" certain programs might be. (I have heard this refrain so many times: "Yeah, my kids watch a lot of TV, but it's ok they only watch educational shows.) My kids do not turn to the tube out of boredom. When left to their own devices they are more than happy to look at books, listen to music, build, dress-up, colour, run, dance and (gasp, are you ready for this?) use their imaginations to entertain themselves. My kids never ask me to turn the TV on. Seriously. Never. We have a time set aside for it each day and that's it. Sometimes I wonder if they think that the TV won't even turn on outside of that time. They've never tried. I don't watch much TV myself, only 2 hours a week - House and 24 for those who care! So while I only watch TV 2 days a week, I read 7 days. Hopefully this will rub off on them. So far so good.
I have wondered to myself though if I am setting them up for failure by being too rigid when it comes to TV. By not allowing them to watch more am I somehow glamourizing it, making more seductive, more intriguing? Am I dooming them to a couch potato future once they grow up? My ultimate goal here is to teach my kids that moderation is the key to a happy and healthy lifestyle, whether we're talking watching TV or eating less than healthy foods.
Now before I really start to sound like a kill-joy, I need to say that I am flexible when the occasion calls for it. For example, I take the kids to the gym with me on Saturday mornings where they have a TV set up in the child care area. They often play movies there and my kids have come to look forward to their special mornings at the gym, in part because they are getting to do something they don't get to do at home, which makes it an enjoyable time for both them and me.
One Saturday morning the child care provider told me that one of the other moms had requested that she keep the TV off. I was surprised by this and asked why. Apparently it was because the mom was trying to limit her kids' screen time and if they watched TV at the gym that morning they would not be able to to watch any more at home that day. My first reaction to that was "So? What's the problem?" But then I understood. The mom was obviously using the TV at home as a way for her to get some time to herself, for chores or other things, and without it she wouldn't be able to keep her kids occupied long enough to get these things done. She "needed" them to watch TV at home, so in an effort to keep a cap on how much TV they watched in a day, she didn't want them to watch any TV at the gym. How convenient.
To me this was completely ridiculous. If she was so concerned about their viewing habits, then the changes should have been made at home, not when they were out in the world. This is exactly the type of thing that I never worry about. I know my kids watch only minimal TV at home, so if they get to watch a little extra at the gym on a Saturday morning, no big deal. Same goes for junk-food or sugary treats. These types of foods are not a part of our daily living, so when a special occasion rolls around and they eat a slice of pizza or a piece of cake, again, no big deal.
What I find most ironic is that this mom, who was leaving these kids at the gym child care so that she could do something she wanted to do, could not even be lenient enough to allow them a little fun of their own. How unfair. And the most hypocritical part of the whole thing was that while she was on the exercise bike working out she was...? You guessed it! Watching TV herself. Ugh.
There's a time and a place for everything and moderation really is the key. If I can lead by example and ingrain these concepts into their heads now while they are young and have them carry these values into adulthood, at least part of my parenting will have been successful. Here's hoping!
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
The rocking chair
Many years ago when I was first moving out on my own, I went to a garage sale and bought an old wooden rocking chair from a woman who actually seemed quite reluctant to sell it. As I handed her my money, she looked at me with brimming tears and a sad smile and said "Treat it well, I rocked my babies to sleep in that chair." At the time, my 19 year-old brain thought her sentimentality over a piece of furniture was sweet but a little over the top. Today I get it. Oh, do I ever get it.
Upstairs in my baby's nursery sits a blue and white gingham patterned rocker. It's nothing special to look at, the same as many other rockers you will find in baby stores all over town, although even a casual observer would have to admit that it looks darn comfortable. But what that observer wouldn't and couldn't know is that my heart has seeped so deeply into its fabric that it's practically a part of me.
How can a simple chair become a part of you, you wonder? Well allow me to shed a little light. Over the past 4 years I have nursed 3 babies in that chair, hour after hour, day after day, night after night. I have cradled newborns as they slept, I have rocked crying babies as they teethed and I have soothed weeping toddlers when they were frightened. In that chair I have been graced with first smiles, first giggles, and first coos. From that chair I have watched the sun rise and fall, the seasons change, and my babies grow up. Week after week, month after month, year after year.
In that chair I have felt happiness beyond belief and exhaustion beyond comprehension. In that chair I have felt both helpless and invincible. In that chair I have felt a love more powerful than any emotion I have ever experienced. In that chair I have felt alive. In that chair I finally became who I was always meant to be: a nurturer, a protector... a Mother.
Upstairs in my baby's nursery sits a blue and white gingham patterned rocker. It's nothing special to look at, the same as many other rockers you will find in baby stores all over town, although even a casual observer would have to admit that it looks darn comfortable. But what that observer wouldn't and couldn't know is that my heart has seeped so deeply into its fabric that it's practically a part of me.
How can a simple chair become a part of you, you wonder? Well allow me to shed a little light. Over the past 4 years I have nursed 3 babies in that chair, hour after hour, day after day, night after night. I have cradled newborns as they slept, I have rocked crying babies as they teethed and I have soothed weeping toddlers when they were frightened. In that chair I have been graced with first smiles, first giggles, and first coos. From that chair I have watched the sun rise and fall, the seasons change, and my babies grow up. Week after week, month after month, year after year.
In that chair I have felt happiness beyond belief and exhaustion beyond comprehension. In that chair I have felt both helpless and invincible. In that chair I have felt a love more powerful than any emotion I have ever experienced. In that chair I have felt alive. In that chair I finally became who I was always meant to be: a nurturer, a protector... a Mother.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Personality profile
A couple of weeks ago my friends Cindy and Wilson loaned me a booked entitled "Positive Personality Profiles" by Robert A. Rohm, Ph.D. Always a sucker for self analysis, I took it home and read it in less than a day. The book basically confirmed what I have known for years: I am an extremely anal, task-oriented, anti-social, controlling perfectionist - or what they call the "C" personality type. It also revealed that I am weary of other people's kindness, always looking for a hidden meaning behind it. The author summed it up perfectly when he said that when faced with a display of appreciation, a person with my personality type will wonder: "Am I being manipulated? Are you trying to get something by me? Hmmmm, what's going on here?" I had to laugh out loud at this. It's so true.
Self-scrutiny aside, this book was an interesting read for a whole other reason: trying to peg my kids' personalities. I think that I managed to get a handle on Nicki's fairly easily. She has always struck me as a people-pleaser, a girl who likes being around people but is essentially reserved. According to the book, this would make her an "S" personality. As I read more about this particular personality type, I saw more and more of Nicki in every page. They enjoy routine and believe readily in "a place for everything and everything in its place", they need a lot of security, they are submissive and take orders very well, they like the status quo or sameness and they are very sentimental. The author noted that "S" type children are often the easiest to parent and I would definitely have to agree.
But to be honest, I had never really given much thought to what her personality type would mean for her in the future, how it would help or harm her in the years ahead. Knowing that she is a people-pleaser raises questions for me on how she will behave as a teenager for example. Will she be able to say no when not-so-well-meaning friends try to steer her toward behaviours she should avoid? Will she cave into peer pressure? Will she have enough self-esteem and confidence in herself to be her own person and live by the values we have taught her throughout her young life? What can we do now in the early years to bolster that self-esteem, ingrain those core values and teach her to stand by her convictions?
Gabe's personality on the other hand was much harder to pin down. Before he even reached a year old, it was obvious that he and Nicki were polar opposites of each other and as time went by the differences became even more pronounced. He learns in a different way, responds to discipline in a different way and interacts in a different way. According to the book, the opposite of Nicki's personality would be the "D" personality, and I while I have to admit many of the characteristics do seem to fit - demanding, strong-willed, defiant - they probably also characterize 99% of all of the 2 year olds out there.
So while it may be too soon yet to determine exactly what personality type Gabe is, one thing is for certain, these two kids are VERY different from each other, which means I have my work cut out for me in the months and years ahead. Add Roxy to the mix and who knows what her emerging personality will bring to the dynamic! The same parenting style is definitely not going to work for all of them, which means I am going to have to tailor my parenting to each different child and each different circumstance - not an easy task for a control-freak "C" type like me!
Self-scrutiny aside, this book was an interesting read for a whole other reason: trying to peg my kids' personalities. I think that I managed to get a handle on Nicki's fairly easily. She has always struck me as a people-pleaser, a girl who likes being around people but is essentially reserved. According to the book, this would make her an "S" personality. As I read more about this particular personality type, I saw more and more of Nicki in every page. They enjoy routine and believe readily in "a place for everything and everything in its place", they need a lot of security, they are submissive and take orders very well, they like the status quo or sameness and they are very sentimental. The author noted that "S" type children are often the easiest to parent and I would definitely have to agree.
But to be honest, I had never really given much thought to what her personality type would mean for her in the future, how it would help or harm her in the years ahead. Knowing that she is a people-pleaser raises questions for me on how she will behave as a teenager for example. Will she be able to say no when not-so-well-meaning friends try to steer her toward behaviours she should avoid? Will she cave into peer pressure? Will she have enough self-esteem and confidence in herself to be her own person and live by the values we have taught her throughout her young life? What can we do now in the early years to bolster that self-esteem, ingrain those core values and teach her to stand by her convictions?
Gabe's personality on the other hand was much harder to pin down. Before he even reached a year old, it was obvious that he and Nicki were polar opposites of each other and as time went by the differences became even more pronounced. He learns in a different way, responds to discipline in a different way and interacts in a different way. According to the book, the opposite of Nicki's personality would be the "D" personality, and I while I have to admit many of the characteristics do seem to fit - demanding, strong-willed, defiant - they probably also characterize 99% of all of the 2 year olds out there.
So while it may be too soon yet to determine exactly what personality type Gabe is, one thing is for certain, these two kids are VERY different from each other, which means I have my work cut out for me in the months and years ahead. Add Roxy to the mix and who knows what her emerging personality will bring to the dynamic! The same parenting style is definitely not going to work for all of them, which means I am going to have to tailor my parenting to each different child and each different circumstance - not an easy task for a control-freak "C" type like me!
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
A time for bonding
The sound of your cries breaks through the wall of my sleep and pulls me back into the conscious world. I pry my eyes open and squint at the clock, barely making out the big green 2:38 am that is staring back at me. I close my eyes for a second more, wondering if it was just my imagination, but you cry out again and I know that I wasn't just dreaming. I haul myself out of my warm cocoon of a bed and pull on my bathrobe, trying but failing to recreate the effect. Your cries are becoming more insistent now and I know that I need to hurry. I stumble down the hall to your room, flicking the light switch on as I go, still more awake than asleep.
I slowly open the door to your room and tiptoe in. The floor creaks under my feet as I cross the room to pick you up out of your crib. As soon as I envelop you in my arms your crying stops, almost as though you know that your need is about to be met, that now that I am here everything is going to be ok. I carry you back across the room and over to a rocker that evokes so many emotions in me, I can't even begin to put them into words.
I open up my bathrobe and put you to my breast, finally giving you exactly what it is that you needed. You latch on immediately and drink with the vigor of one who has just run a marathon, scaled a mountain, or simply spent the last two hours growing while she slept. I close my eyes as I listen to the sounds of you sucking and swallowing, so rhythmic that it's almost musical, so fulfilling that it's incredibly beautiful. I force myself to open my eyes, not wanting to miss a moment, determined to stay awake.
As you slow down your pace and begin to drift off yourself, I gaze in wonder at the perfect little human being that you are. The dim light from the hall illuminates your features in such a way that they appear almost angelic in the glow. I let my eyes wander over the features of your face, the delicate slope of your nose, the curve of your ear, the length of your eyelashes. The contrast that the juxtaposition of your dark hair and your pale skin creates is mesmerizing.
I look down at your tiny hand, fingers splayed across my breast as though holding on to the source of your contentment. I let my mind wander toward thoughts of the future, of what those hands may one day accomplish. I watch the hypnotic rhythm of your chest rising and falling with each breath that you take and my own breath is taken away as I realize that I had a hand in creating the life that is nestled in my arms.
Tears cloud my vision for a while as these thoughts swirl through my mind and when they spill over onto my cheeks, I suddenly realize that you have fallen asleep. Not wanting this moment to end quite yet, I take a little more time to soak in every last detail, making sure to sear this image of you into my memory forever. Then ever so slowly I rise from the rocker and carry you back to your crib, laying you down as gently as I would a porcelain doll. You squirm for a second and then sigh as your body goes slack and sleep envelops you once more.
I tiptoe out and close the door behind me, making my way back to my own bed. I crawl in and curl up into a ball, still feeling your warmth on my chest. I let images of you fill my head as I drift off, knowing that you will soon be calling for me again and feeling joy for the privilege of being the one to sustain your precious life.
Mommy loves you Roxy. Sweet dreams.
I slowly open the door to your room and tiptoe in. The floor creaks under my feet as I cross the room to pick you up out of your crib. As soon as I envelop you in my arms your crying stops, almost as though you know that your need is about to be met, that now that I am here everything is going to be ok. I carry you back across the room and over to a rocker that evokes so many emotions in me, I can't even begin to put them into words.
I open up my bathrobe and put you to my breast, finally giving you exactly what it is that you needed. You latch on immediately and drink with the vigor of one who has just run a marathon, scaled a mountain, or simply spent the last two hours growing while she slept. I close my eyes as I listen to the sounds of you sucking and swallowing, so rhythmic that it's almost musical, so fulfilling that it's incredibly beautiful. I force myself to open my eyes, not wanting to miss a moment, determined to stay awake.
As you slow down your pace and begin to drift off yourself, I gaze in wonder at the perfect little human being that you are. The dim light from the hall illuminates your features in such a way that they appear almost angelic in the glow. I let my eyes wander over the features of your face, the delicate slope of your nose, the curve of your ear, the length of your eyelashes. The contrast that the juxtaposition of your dark hair and your pale skin creates is mesmerizing.
I look down at your tiny hand, fingers splayed across my breast as though holding on to the source of your contentment. I let my mind wander toward thoughts of the future, of what those hands may one day accomplish. I watch the hypnotic rhythm of your chest rising and falling with each breath that you take and my own breath is taken away as I realize that I had a hand in creating the life that is nestled in my arms.
Tears cloud my vision for a while as these thoughts swirl through my mind and when they spill over onto my cheeks, I suddenly realize that you have fallen asleep. Not wanting this moment to end quite yet, I take a little more time to soak in every last detail, making sure to sear this image of you into my memory forever. Then ever so slowly I rise from the rocker and carry you back to your crib, laying you down as gently as I would a porcelain doll. You squirm for a second and then sigh as your body goes slack and sleep envelops you once more.
I tiptoe out and close the door behind me, making my way back to my own bed. I crawl in and curl up into a ball, still feeling your warmth on my chest. I let images of you fill my head as I drift off, knowing that you will soon be calling for me again and feeling joy for the privilege of being the one to sustain your precious life.
Mommy loves you Roxy. Sweet dreams.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Common courtesy
When we lived in San Diego, reserved parking spots for pregnant women were pretty much everywhere. I was in awe and loved the idea that society was being considerate to the needs of these moms-to-be. When we moved back to Montreal in 2006 I couldn't help but notice the lack of these type of spots in comparison. But over the past 2 years they have started to pop up pretty much everywhere from the grocery store, to the mall and Toys R Us. Even Canadian Tire has a few! Some of them are specially designated for "Pregnant women or parents accompanied by young children." Being out and about with a 3 year old, a 1 year old and a ever growing pregnant belly, these parking spots have made life so much easier for me, and I am appreciative whenever I do manage to snag one for us.
I have noticed however the disturbing trend of single men parking in these spots, especially at the grocery store. I am there 3 times a week (once for grocery shopping and twice to go to the gym which is located inside the store) and so I have seen an amazing amount of men ignoring the sings completely, somehow feeling like they have a right to park there. It annoys me to no end to see a pregnant mother dragging her groceries to the far end of the parking lot in the rain just because some inconsiderate man decided that the rules don't apply to him.
I was at the end of my rope yesterday after seeing another single man pull out of a reserved spot when I arrived, so when another single man pulled in beside me as I was putting the kids into the car to leave I actually got up the nerve to say something. Now it's important to note that I am a pretty shy person when it comes to conversing with strangers and really do prefer to avoid confrontation as much as possible. But I had had enough at this point and decided to speak my mind. I went over to him as he was getting out and said "You know you're parked in a pregnant woman's spot right?" His response floored me. He said "What, just because you see that I'm brown you automatically think that I'm stupid?" I was shocked my this but still managed to get out: "No, I see that you are a man parked in a pregnant woman's parking spot and I automatically think you are incredibly rude!"
Obviously this man had issues that stemmed far beyond simply being inconsiderate and as I shook my head and went about buckling the kids in, he continued to spout on and on about how "people like me" are all the same, always assuming that "brown people" are idiots, etc etc. The whole thing was completely surreal to me. And then lo and behold, as I finally pulled out of my spot, who should pull into the spot across from mine? Yup, you guessed it, another single man. I flagged down an employee of the store who was gathering up some shopping carts and asked him if there was anything that could be done about the situation. He said I would have to take it up with the manager. Sheesh.
So now as I am contemplating writing a letter to the manager of the store, I can't help but wonder what has happened to the world we are living in. Were people always this rude? Did they always have this kind of sense of entitlement? Where did it come from? What would their own mothers think if they knew that their grown sons were behaving this way? I have always been one to give up my seat on the bus to an elderly person or hold the door open for the person coming out behind me. Am I in the minority now? Is common courtesy really dead? For my kids' sake, I sure hope not...
I have noticed however the disturbing trend of single men parking in these spots, especially at the grocery store. I am there 3 times a week (once for grocery shopping and twice to go to the gym which is located inside the store) and so I have seen an amazing amount of men ignoring the sings completely, somehow feeling like they have a right to park there. It annoys me to no end to see a pregnant mother dragging her groceries to the far end of the parking lot in the rain just because some inconsiderate man decided that the rules don't apply to him.
I was at the end of my rope yesterday after seeing another single man pull out of a reserved spot when I arrived, so when another single man pulled in beside me as I was putting the kids into the car to leave I actually got up the nerve to say something. Now it's important to note that I am a pretty shy person when it comes to conversing with strangers and really do prefer to avoid confrontation as much as possible. But I had had enough at this point and decided to speak my mind. I went over to him as he was getting out and said "You know you're parked in a pregnant woman's spot right?" His response floored me. He said "What, just because you see that I'm brown you automatically think that I'm stupid?" I was shocked my this but still managed to get out: "No, I see that you are a man parked in a pregnant woman's parking spot and I automatically think you are incredibly rude!"
Obviously this man had issues that stemmed far beyond simply being inconsiderate and as I shook my head and went about buckling the kids in, he continued to spout on and on about how "people like me" are all the same, always assuming that "brown people" are idiots, etc etc. The whole thing was completely surreal to me. And then lo and behold, as I finally pulled out of my spot, who should pull into the spot across from mine? Yup, you guessed it, another single man. I flagged down an employee of the store who was gathering up some shopping carts and asked him if there was anything that could be done about the situation. He said I would have to take it up with the manager. Sheesh.
So now as I am contemplating writing a letter to the manager of the store, I can't help but wonder what has happened to the world we are living in. Were people always this rude? Did they always have this kind of sense of entitlement? Where did it come from? What would their own mothers think if they knew that their grown sons were behaving this way? I have always been one to give up my seat on the bus to an elderly person or hold the door open for the person coming out behind me. Am I in the minority now? Is common courtesy really dead? For my kids' sake, I sure hope not...
Friday, July 11, 2008
Moving on
I am definitely one of those over-emotional mothers who will privately cry over many of the seemingly minor milestones that my kids reach. One such milestone recently occurred with Nicki and nearly broke my heart.
When we moved Gabe into his new "big boy" room we bought him an Elmo doll to sleep with in his new bed. He never really got attached to the teddy bear we had placed in his crib, so we decided that a new friend to sleep with might make the transition from a crib to a bed a little easier, and since he LOVES Elmo, it just made sense. Well, not wanting Nicki to feel left out, we decided to buy her a Sesame Street toy too and got her an Abby Cadabby doll for her room. Never in a million years would I have expected her to want to sleep with it, but she took it to her bed right away, relegating Mr. Bear to the floor.
Mr. Bear. The adorable little brown bear that has slept right by her side every night since she has been born. Faithful Mr. Bear. I can still remember buying him from the furniture store where we bought Nicki's crib. He was just the cutest thing and he always seemed to have his own little personality, from the very first day we brought him home. I can remember how Eddie and I placed him on the kitchen table for months before Nicki was born. He had somehow become to us a symbol of the new life we were about to bring into this world and we liked to see his little face every day while we sat together at the table and pondered how our lives were about to change. I can remember how Eddie used to make him come to life, by making him wave or nod his head. But best of all, I can remember how Nicki would hold him tight when I tucked her in at night and how I would find him crumpled up beneath her the next morning, crushed by her weight but so happy to be loved.
To her the switch was a no-brainer: new doll comes in, old one moves out. But to me, the switch symbolized the end of an era. Nicki is no longer the little baby she used to be. At 3 years old she is her own person, with her own unique personality, her own ideas, her own opinions. Gone are the days of cradling her in my arms for hours, gazing into her eyes, soaking up her smell. As hard as it is for me to admit, I know I have to start letting her grow up, even though she will always be my baby.
Which brings us back to Mr. Bear. The irony has not been lost on me that he is now actually sitting on the floor beside her bed in the lap of none other than Humpty Dumpty, the very same Humpty Dumpty that I slept with in my bed for so many years as a child. Now the two sit there together, taken down from their pedestals, but certainly not any less loved. I am secretly hoping that the magic of Mr. Bear can live on a little longer by asking Nicki if she would like to give him to the new baby when he or she arrives. I guess I'm just not quite ready yet to never see chubby little fingers curled around him again. I guess I'm just not quite ready yet to move on...
When we moved Gabe into his new "big boy" room we bought him an Elmo doll to sleep with in his new bed. He never really got attached to the teddy bear we had placed in his crib, so we decided that a new friend to sleep with might make the transition from a crib to a bed a little easier, and since he LOVES Elmo, it just made sense. Well, not wanting Nicki to feel left out, we decided to buy her a Sesame Street toy too and got her an Abby Cadabby doll for her room. Never in a million years would I have expected her to want to sleep with it, but she took it to her bed right away, relegating Mr. Bear to the floor.
Mr. Bear. The adorable little brown bear that has slept right by her side every night since she has been born. Faithful Mr. Bear. I can still remember buying him from the furniture store where we bought Nicki's crib. He was just the cutest thing and he always seemed to have his own little personality, from the very first day we brought him home. I can remember how Eddie and I placed him on the kitchen table for months before Nicki was born. He had somehow become to us a symbol of the new life we were about to bring into this world and we liked to see his little face every day while we sat together at the table and pondered how our lives were about to change. I can remember how Eddie used to make him come to life, by making him wave or nod his head. But best of all, I can remember how Nicki would hold him tight when I tucked her in at night and how I would find him crumpled up beneath her the next morning, crushed by her weight but so happy to be loved.
To her the switch was a no-brainer: new doll comes in, old one moves out. But to me, the switch symbolized the end of an era. Nicki is no longer the little baby she used to be. At 3 years old she is her own person, with her own unique personality, her own ideas, her own opinions. Gone are the days of cradling her in my arms for hours, gazing into her eyes, soaking up her smell. As hard as it is for me to admit, I know I have to start letting her grow up, even though she will always be my baby.
Which brings us back to Mr. Bear. The irony has not been lost on me that he is now actually sitting on the floor beside her bed in the lap of none other than Humpty Dumpty, the very same Humpty Dumpty that I slept with in my bed for so many years as a child. Now the two sit there together, taken down from their pedestals, but certainly not any less loved. I am secretly hoping that the magic of Mr. Bear can live on a little longer by asking Nicki if she would like to give him to the new baby when he or she arrives. I guess I'm just not quite ready yet to never see chubby little fingers curled around him again. I guess I'm just not quite ready yet to move on...
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
My 13 year old 3 year old
Nicki has become quite the little drama queen lately. Her behaviour is quite different though from the tantrum throwing of a child who didn't get her way. When she gets in a "mood", it's usually brought upon by what she perceives as being misunderstood, but the fact is, there is really very little to misunderstand when Nicki tries to convey something. As articulate and verbose as any adult I know, Nicki usually doesn't leave much room for confusion. And yet, she behaves as though she's desperately misunderstood by the parental world. I can only imagine the angry song lyrics or angst-filled poetry that she is sure to pen someday.
I swear if hear one more sigh, see one more eye roll or am privy to one more exasperated "Oh Mommy..." I am going to lose my mind. How is it even possible that my darling little 3 year old is even capable of such condescension? Ok, I'll admit it, I'm definitely guilty of sighing. I do it quite a lot actually. But it's never accompanied by a head shake and tongue click, nor is it followed by pouting and moping. Plus, it has to be better than swearing out loud right? Right?!? I'm pretty sure no one on Sesame Street or Dora rolls their eyes. I don't think any Disney Princess books relay the idea of extreme moodiness as acceptable behaviour. So will someone please tell me where all of this is getting picked up?
Picture this: It's bath time and Nicki is getting on the potty before I brush her teeth. The tub is filling up, so I can't hear whether or not she was actually successful in her attempt to pee. She wipes, gets off the potty and then stands there frozen with a look of confusion on her face. I ask her what's wrong and she looks up at me and says "I think I peed." I know that something isn't right because normally if she has peed, she will just wipe, flush, wash her hands and move on without any discussion about it. So I ask "Are you sure? You don't look sure." To this she replies "I think it was just blank pee."
Now just to get everyone up to speed on the lingo here, we have had the discussion in the past about her distinction between regular pee and what she has labeled "blank pee." Apparently "blank pee" is pee that comes out clear (as opposed to yellow).
So I tell her that it doesn't really matter what colour the pee was, just that some actually came out. I then ask her "Did any pee come out or not?" This was met with the most exasperated sigh, a head shake and an eye roll, followed by a long drawn out "Oh Mommy..." I try to remain calm and suggest that if she isn't sure, then she should probably sit back down on the potty again just in case. She starts to cry and tells me how I never understand her and how she's just so tired of everything. Pretty intense for a 3 year old, no?
A few seconds later, a tidal wave of pee comes rushing out, confirming my suspicion that nothing had happened the first time around. Hoping now that the episode is behind us, I brush her teeth and try to engage her in unrelated conversation. She resists, still sighing and looking miserable. So I tell her that it's time to get in the bath and that she has the choice now to have a fun bath together or to keep being upset; it's her decision. She tells me that she doesn't want to have any fun and would prefer to have a fast bath (i.e. wash and get out, no toys, no bubbles, no playing) so she can just go to sleep. She even tells me she doesn't want me to read her a bedtime story, and for Nicki, that's saying a lot.
And so it goes at our house. 90% of the time Nicki is a typical happy-go-lucky little girl, full of smiles and giggles, wit and charm. But the rest of the time, she becomes sad and withdrawn, almost to the point of seeming utterly dissatisfied with her life, and often without provocation. Just today she said to me that she's "tired of being in the same place all the time and seeing all of the same things", and would prefer to "travel all over the world and never stay in one place for too long." All of this with a sigh and a shake of her head. Doesn't this sound more like the musings of a middle-aged woman who, after pondering the meaning of her life decided that it needed more substance, than the reflections of a 3 year old child? What on earth is this little girl going to be like in 10 years? 20 years? I can only imagine...
I swear if hear one more sigh, see one more eye roll or am privy to one more exasperated "Oh Mommy..." I am going to lose my mind. How is it even possible that my darling little 3 year old is even capable of such condescension? Ok, I'll admit it, I'm definitely guilty of sighing. I do it quite a lot actually. But it's never accompanied by a head shake and tongue click, nor is it followed by pouting and moping. Plus, it has to be better than swearing out loud right? Right?!? I'm pretty sure no one on Sesame Street or Dora rolls their eyes. I don't think any Disney Princess books relay the idea of extreme moodiness as acceptable behaviour. So will someone please tell me where all of this is getting picked up?
Picture this: It's bath time and Nicki is getting on the potty before I brush her teeth. The tub is filling up, so I can't hear whether or not she was actually successful in her attempt to pee. She wipes, gets off the potty and then stands there frozen with a look of confusion on her face. I ask her what's wrong and she looks up at me and says "I think I peed." I know that something isn't right because normally if she has peed, she will just wipe, flush, wash her hands and move on without any discussion about it. So I ask "Are you sure? You don't look sure." To this she replies "I think it was just blank pee."
Now just to get everyone up to speed on the lingo here, we have had the discussion in the past about her distinction between regular pee and what she has labeled "blank pee." Apparently "blank pee" is pee that comes out clear (as opposed to yellow).
So I tell her that it doesn't really matter what colour the pee was, just that some actually came out. I then ask her "Did any pee come out or not?" This was met with the most exasperated sigh, a head shake and an eye roll, followed by a long drawn out "Oh Mommy..." I try to remain calm and suggest that if she isn't sure, then she should probably sit back down on the potty again just in case. She starts to cry and tells me how I never understand her and how she's just so tired of everything. Pretty intense for a 3 year old, no?
A few seconds later, a tidal wave of pee comes rushing out, confirming my suspicion that nothing had happened the first time around. Hoping now that the episode is behind us, I brush her teeth and try to engage her in unrelated conversation. She resists, still sighing and looking miserable. So I tell her that it's time to get in the bath and that she has the choice now to have a fun bath together or to keep being upset; it's her decision. She tells me that she doesn't want to have any fun and would prefer to have a fast bath (i.e. wash and get out, no toys, no bubbles, no playing) so she can just go to sleep. She even tells me she doesn't want me to read her a bedtime story, and for Nicki, that's saying a lot.
And so it goes at our house. 90% of the time Nicki is a typical happy-go-lucky little girl, full of smiles and giggles, wit and charm. But the rest of the time, she becomes sad and withdrawn, almost to the point of seeming utterly dissatisfied with her life, and often without provocation. Just today she said to me that she's "tired of being in the same place all the time and seeing all of the same things", and would prefer to "travel all over the world and never stay in one place for too long." All of this with a sigh and a shake of her head. Doesn't this sound more like the musings of a middle-aged woman who, after pondering the meaning of her life decided that it needed more substance, than the reflections of a 3 year old child? What on earth is this little girl going to be like in 10 years? 20 years? I can only imagine...
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