Madeline Turns 7

Last weekend, on the hottest day of the year, in the midst of a "paint your own pottery" party my oldest daughter turned 7. Two days later, she started 2nd grade. I'm not sure how this all transpired- the past 7 years, I mean. Nonetheless, my darling, dainty little angel is now an "edgy" 7-year old who no longer claims pink OR purple as her favorite colors. She prefers blue. She now wants to play the guitar and refuses to carry her old book bag because it has "princess" written on it. The past year in her life has been full of bumps and bruises. *Growing pains, if you will.

I have a type-A child. I know that she inherits much of this from her father who used his right-brained-ness to get to where he is today without killing any patients under anesthesia. I know that he has mild OCD when I see him obsess over the best way to smoke a chicken in the Weber or stain a deck. These types of projects apparently require hours of research. What surprises me is how much my daughter is like me. I'm the type-A one. I was just in disguise for a long time. When I see my (now) 7-year old worry about thunderstorms and possible job loss and attempt to control everything in her environment, it is like looking in a mirror. She is her mother's child. That being said, It has gotten to a point in parenting my children where I am no longer directing and redirecting. I am no longer providing just behavior management, stimulation, nourishment and love. I must now provide counsel to my daughter as she navigates the murky waters of school, friendships and the future. I have opened a dialogue with my 7-year old about things that were never discussed with me as a child. Maybe because it was the 80's and parenting was different, maybe because my mom worked 14 hours a day and had little energy for such things, maybe because I was a therapist in a past life (like 4 years ago). Regardless of the reasoning, it has come to my attention that Madeline will need my counsel. Maybe because she is type-A and has a tendency to worry. Maybe because I expect so much of her. Maybe because I am making up for the counsel that I was due. It makes no difference. I look forward to the conversations. I love to talk. Here are some topics we have an open dialogue about at this time:

1. What jobs pay a decent and real living wage. (seriously?)
2. Menstrual cycles. (Yep.)
3. How to stand up for yourself in the face of bullying. (*see above note about growing pains)
4. How babies get into a woman's body. (THE TRUTH)
5. Responsibility and organization. (organization is not a natural instinct for either parent)
6. Christianity and other religions. (Yikes!)

Geez...what will we be discussing when she's 13? Most importantly, Happy Birthday Madeline! I could not be any more proud of you. You are truly beautiful, intelligent and kind. I'm not sure what I did to make you choose me as your mommy, but I am so glad you did.

Eamon- Menace To West Lafayette

Tonight, I will write about Eamon. For the past two years, he has been the apple of my eye. His blonde curls, dimples and fat cheeks have a way of charming me that my girls have not yet mastered. By the time that I arrived home from the hospital with Eamon, I realized that he was a dream baby. He has been the easiest of our children BY FAR. With Eamon, everything has been black and white. No surprises, no guessing, no shades of gray. Maybe it was the fact that he was our third child. Maybe we just had experience and relaxation on our sides. Having Eamon has truly been a pleasure and a delight.

Until now. This little boy is a menace. He is into everything. He climbs everything. He attracts dirt and grime like sailors to a port on leave. I am so thankful that he is not twins. Recently, I have seen some things happen in my home that I did not think possible. My darling son, who pushes a chair around the house looking for the next climbable object has used his chair to climb onto the stovetop to push the microwave buttons. He has used his trusty chair to begin his ascent to the top of my pantry; using the shelves as though they were rungs on a ladder. He has accessed my countertops and had a knife, straight from the butcher block in his hand. Like Houdini, he is able to perform feats that are not feasible for normal people. In a matter of seconds he was able to grab a squeeze bottle of green food coloring from the counter and turn himself into a green-spotted monster and my floor into a disaster-complete with green grout between the tiles. He often performs these tricks right before the eyes of myself and his father. I swear to you that we supervise our children. He is a one-man wrecking crew. All of the boxes in my pantry look disastrous. They are all raggedy and torn open in some wretched way by this nearly two-year old menace to West Lafayette.

I now have the 4 bar stools I bought for my very tall kitchen counter in my basement. This is because Eamon used his trusted friend, the table chair to climb onto the bar stool and then onto the "tall counter" (approximately 40 inches) so that he could exclaim "ta-da!" This little Houdini, although he can barely talk using recognizable language, can create and execute a plan better than some adults. He is sneaky. I have more than once found him on the front porch....alone. My neighbor saw him walk down our front stairs (only 3) and into the grass in the front yard and promptly returned him to my care. We now need locks at the top of each and every door to the outside as well as the pantry. During the day, I lock all the doors upstairs. Previous to this standard procedure, I found him in my bathroom, as happy as humanly possible in a sea of (unused) tampons and Q-tips. The joy on his face was unmistakable. He had found his own personal heaven. I'm sure there is no rush quite like getting toiletries out of drawers and off of high shelves and having the freedom (because mom is cleaning up a previously created mess in another room) to throw them and bask in the rain of that unnecessary mess (that your mom will clean up 90% of). Yes folks, Eamon is most definitely terrible 2. He is his own little man with a plan. Mama's baby is growing up.

Still, those moments are still there. When he comes out of the bath and snuggles close to me; warm and cozy in my arms. When I read to him and he sips from his Elmo cup and lays in my arms. When he pats my back or bats his huge eyelashes at me. When he hugs me and rests his head on my shoulder. When he puckers up for a kiss. Of course, now I have to make sure that none of these moments are just a trick so that he can bite me or steal my wallet.

On Food

I often tease that when I was a kid, we used to eat dirt and sticks for most of our meals. I say this because we did not have a large supply of junk food at my house. I'm pretty sure the sources of our healthy eating were varied. I think my Mom's focus on healthy options for her kids was a backlash from being raised on junk food and burnt TV dinners. My Dad's input was from his interest in an overall healthy lifestyle, based on theories and practices in the east. My Dad has been a vegan since I was a child. Anyway, we ate together each and every night. We had a salad with almost every meal. My Mom cut up radishes on a daily basis to include them in our salads...who does that? We did not have junk food for snacks. When I was in middle school, my Mom started to regularly buy Teddy Grahams and pretzels. This was a huge deal. This is not to say that we did not enjoy treats from time to time. We drank Kool-Aid and ate ice cream. Nonetheless, we ate healthily.

As time went on, I definitely got away from these types of eating patterns. I'm not sure if it was college, a lack of time or a lack of creativity that led me to start eating like total crap. I do know that I continued eating processed and packaged foods until relatively recently. Don't get me wrong, I tried to encourage healthy eating in our home. I bought all kinds of produce. A lot of which went down the garbage disposal in favor of the likes of Pop Tarts and other pre-packaged goodness. I remember "cooking" dinner for Jason, Madda and I before Sawyer was born. I "cooked" chicken nuggets and french fries. We may have added baby carrots to the menu. Yuk. At this point, I don't even buy any of those things. Several months ago, one of Sawyer's friends was over and asked me if she could have some Trix. I told her I didn't have any and she responded by letting me know that I had them the last time that she visited. I had fed she and my daughter Trix as a snack. For me, this was a failure. I had become the mom who has junk food. I kind of wonder if that little girl was hoping for some grape pop to go with her Trix. Although I had started my rampage of improving our eating habits before this interaction, it brought back some images of some of the crap I have put into my body. Into my body- both pregnant and not. Confession: when I was pregnant with Sawyer, I think I ate dry Fruit Loops out of a cup for breakfast on most days. Often, I would wash them down with a package of un-toasted Pop Tarts. Certainly not the breakfast of champions for babies in utero. I am ashamed to admit that one Thanksgiving when Madeline was very ill with the flu, I purchased an all-in-one turkey casserole deal. The turkey came in a can and you mixed all the "ingredients" together for "Classic Turkey Dinner." Seriously. Poor Jason almost vomited on himself after taking one fateful bite. I think his nausea was followed by the shedding of a single tear. Over the loss of a real turkey dinner.

I really regret some of the things I have let my children consume. They are more than familiar with Pop Tarts, soda, chocolate milk, Fruity Pebbles, Cocoa Puffs, TV dinners and candy of all sorts. They have never, ever tasted broccoli, brussel sprouts or lima beans. Neither of my girls drink milk. They don't like orange juice. They refuse to eat oatmeal. The foods that they agree to eat are so few that I struggle to find things to offer them. They eat more yogurt (Yoplait- also known as sugar with calcium) than I can hardly believe- simply because it is one of the only things they enjoy that contains necessary nutrients. I have created these monsters because of my own inability to let them go hungry. I have been too busy, frustrated or tired to have the fight over food. However, that fight has begun. Additionally, our kids do not do a very effective job of sitting at the table and eating. This is likely because I am a short order cook who allows them to eat the food of their choice at an earlier time than their father and I eat a "real dinner." Often, they do not have their parents eating with them and therefore are not properly socialized/instructed on family meals.

I may be a bit dramatic in my confessions of the diets I have allowed for my kids. They do eat a lot of produce and I have cleared the pantry of most things processed and junky. I have even converted my junk food junkie, super sweet tooth, DENTIST of a husband to some eating habits that I would not have even hoped for 5 years ago. I attribute a lot of this turnaround to the book, "In Defense of Food" by Michael Pollan. It is an eye-opening read and really had a tremendous impact on me. Of course, other healthier choices in my life- emotionally, socially and physically have played their respective parts in my new-found love of healthy living. If you haven't read it, I encourage you to check out "In Defense of Food." You can say you read about it here first.

Summer....Summer.....Summer

Ah, summer. I have been looking forward to the days of summer since the constant snowfall of February. I envisioned myself as super-mom; taking the kids swimming, adventuring, on rides on the local trolley. Hikes in the (sort of ) woods followed by lovely picnics. Well, the metaphorical "long, lazy" days of summer are no such thing. Maybe it's the fact that air conditioning in almost every venue allows us to move just as quickly, despite the heat. Maybe it's the fact that I signed my kids up for every camp and lesson that I could find on the internet. Maybe it's the fact that we have already left town for two separate "vacations." Maybe it's just the fact that I have chosen to have three children and as I have previously mentioned, three feels like six. I can't imagine what six feels like.

This summer has been very eventful. A night at Great Wolf Lodge (a shameless plug for the place where my family gets along best), several nights at my brother's house in Minnesota, more than a week en route to and in South Carolina. Two zoo camps, one princess dance camp, 2 cheer leading camps. Currently we are in the midst of two consecutive weeks of swimming lessons. Two more zoo camps are to follow. Piano and voice lessons have been a weekly event through all this madness. After each darling daughter finishes with one more round of zoo camp, we will be all set to start our summer vacation. Unfortunately, summer will be over and Madeline will be heading to second grade and Sawyer to her second of three years of preschool (which are preceded by two years of Mommy and Me class). Do I sound as though I over schedule my kids? It sounds like it to me. Yep, I'm that mom.

I would like to think that we could stay at home every day, enjoying each others' company and smiling as we work our way through puzzles, games and crafts. It just doesn't work that way. My kids can't agree on an activity. They are too divided by their ages and abilities (6, 3, 1) to work together for any significant length of time. They have different needs and interests. They need to be stimulated in different ways. Hence all the lessons and running around.

Of course, summer is complicated not only by being rushed and accountable for being places on time. Summer is also complicated by developmental road bumps and behavioral snags in the life of a child. Madeline, who is normally the easiest of my children has hit one of the previously mentioned road bumps. Because Sawyer has learned some effective ways to manage her emotions, Madeline has stepped up as the next contestant on "I Need Constant Attention." The poor kid has been struggling with some anxiety. And when I say anxiety, I mean outright FEAR and PANIC in the face of thunder storms. And they happen alot. Especially on the beach in South Carolina. And in Indiana. And everywhere else. But not when there is a blue sky. And she is even scared of them then. I have done my best to avoid my own panic attacks over the situation; I have a significant history of engaging in unfounded worry. I have tried to let her have her process of growth. I have tried to be there for her. I have attempted to coach her through her fears. (I was a therapist, for heaven's sake.) Nonetheless, I will not stand for worries when they migrate to a place called manipulation, and I refuse to allow her to be consumed by her fears. She must face them. She is required to learn coping skills. And she is. I can see the light(ening hee-hee) at the end of the proverbial tunnel. Girlfriend is up to the challenge of facing her fears. Yesterday, she got dressed in a suit of all denim (not sure why the jean jacket was necessary) and headed outside to face her sworn enemy: THE THUNDERSTORM. She concluded that thunder storms are actually quite interesting, and after a few tears, proceeded with her day. We are one step closer.

To wrap it up, no matter what season or phase I look forward to-for the reprieve that it will bring, there is no such thing. Each and every season and phase will be filled with complications. Some of the time, I create my own complications through over scheduling or being unable to find it within myself to say no. Other times, the complications come, regardless of my best efforts and intentions. I am learning to just accept and even expect them to be there. Smooth sailing is just not an option for me. I am beginning to understand that this is a fact. Nonetheless, I accept the challenge of what is to come.

Eamon to English Dictionary

Many of you who I see on frequent basis are familiar with my thinly veiled anxiety about my son's lack of coherent speech. I continually compare him to his sisters and I know that is not fair. I truly remember Madeline talking as she crawled. And she walked at 10 months. I remember worrying about Sawyer because she starting talking in sentences later than Madda- at 14 months. My 21-month old son is barely understandable to anyone except for me. Granted, the kid had ear infections from 12 months through 18 months, and I reason that if you cannot hear, you cannot talk. Critical language development is happening in that window and I understand that Eamon has some catching up to do. I try to stay calm and to realize that if there were a real problem, that my pediatrician would have sent us to speech therapy. Nonetheless, I worry. To alleviate some anxiety and hopefully generate a couple good laughs (from myself and my lovely readers), I am going to write an Eamon to English Dictionary below. I will not be completing this task in alphabetical order.


Mommy = Mama
Daddy= Da-da
Madda = Da-da
Sawyer = Da-da (with the faintest "er" sound in the second "da")
Dora = Da-da (sometimes an "r" sound in included, making it Da-ra)
There it is = Da-da-da (correct inflection)
Peek-a-boo = Da-da-da (again, correct voice tone and inflection)
(is anyone else starting to see a pattern here?)
Car = Cah
Ball = Bah
Pop-Pop = Pa-Pa
Papaw = Pa-Pa
Doggie = Dah-key (weird nasal sound included)
Outside = Da-da
More = Mah
Bubbles = Buh-buh
Pop Pa = pa-pa
Truck = Cuck

There are many more lovely pronunciations from my son. Most of them, as you can imagine sound like "Da-Da." It is really funny how much we worry about our kids. We tend to overestimate how much influence we have over who they are and what they do. Of course, parents do have some control. We can choose what we expose them to. We try our best. Nonetheless, a wise therapist once told me that we tend to think children are much more malleable than they actually are. I am starting to believe that our children come with a somewhat preset developmental tract/personality/temperament and that we have only a fraction of control over it, as compared to what we would like. Eamon will talk when he is ready. He will certainly speak as soon as all of the developmental factors necessary are in place. He will talk when his sisters and his overbearing mother stop babying him and talking for him. He will talk regardless of whether I name/identify every single person/item/animal/weather system/toy etc. in the entire house five million times. It is there. I just need to be patient and wait for the factors necessary to present themselves. Until then, I'll be here counting and obsessing about the number of words and animal sounds he has in his repertoire. What's your worry about your wonderful offspring? I'd love to hear what you obsess about unnecessarily.

Adventures In Babysitting

Yes, I understand that I stole the title of this post from an eighties movie. There is simply no better way to title this entry. If you are in need of a good laugh, you have come to the right place. I have a story that is sure to amuse.

I decided to enlist the help of a very part-time babysitter this summer in order to maintain my sanity and possibly accomplish a few tasks without the help of my children. A good friend referred me to a capable babysitter and we set up a weekly four-hour time slot where she could corral the kids so that I could attempt to regain my hold on reality. The first time our new babysitter showed up to meet us (we'll call her Holly), I have no doubt that she assessed the madness of our house and was wishing she would have never gotten herself into the situation. Nonetheless, Holly showed up for her first scheduled day of babysitting with only Sawyer and Eamon as charges. Madeline was not yet finished with school and according to Holly, the two youngest were quite pleasant. At this point, it is possible that Holly decided that she had jumped to conclusions on her first visit. She may have even been looking forward to seeing us again. Well, let me just tell you about her second visit to our home.

On her second scheduled visit, Holly walked into a perfect storm. I was unable to leave the house during this babysitting session because we had taken Jason's car to the shop for some repairs the week. Unfortunately since it was a holiday weekend, we had not yet gotten it back. Of course, I could have woken up the kids, strapped them all in and driven Jason to work so that I could have had use of a car. The fact is, we had just returned at 9pm the night before from a busy visit with family in Minnesota. The kids were exhausted and I hated to wake them. So I let them sleep and planned to take a lengthy walk, followed by finishing various tasks around the house while Holly watched the kids. As soon as she arrived, I turned the reins over to her and headed out for my walk. After a nice walk, I tried to sneak into the house and up to my bedroom so that I could take a shower without being spotted by my kids. (Apparently my hips have magnets in them, because if I am in the house someone is attached to my side.) I was unable to slide in without being detected and Eamon was crying at my side within seconds. Holly grabbed him and headed out of my room. Madeline quickly took his place, knocking on the locked bathroom door. She needed to use the potty. I told her to use one of the other 3 bathrooms in the house. She begged and I relented and unlocked the door. She did her business and headed out, closing the door behind her (did you notice that I said closing and not locking?). So there I stood (in the buff), hand on the handle of the shower door when a loud ruckus drew my attention to the bathroom door, approximately ten feet away. And then it happend: The door explodes open and in BARGES Madeline, followed by Sawyer, crying Eamon and THE BABYSITTER. And I am standing there completely naked. I exclaim, "OH MY GOD!!" and the babysitter turns away, apparently in horror of what she has just seen. Needless to say, Madeline now has a complete understanding of why you should always knock before entering.

Now, I have attempted to keep fit. Nonetheless, I am a thirty-five year old woman who has birthed and nursed three children. I look alright in clothes. I can't say the same about how I look in my birthday suit. Anyway, in the shock of this incident, the kids and the babysitter quickly retreated from the bathroom and I was able to put on my robe and help get the situation diffused. My only comment to Holly, before I went back to my room to get in the shower was, "At least it was me and not Jason." Now that would have been really creepy. I was able to smooth the whole thing over later in the day by laughing it off and letting her know that I found the whole thing more amusing than embarrassing. I think she appreciated that I saw the incident as comic relief and not the source of ongoing awkwardness between us. Let's be honest though, there is nothing comfortable about seeing your employer naked. When I told Jason the story, he laughed until he cried and then said, "At least it was you she saw naked and not me." Great minds think alike. Hopefully you now understand why I had to steal the title of this post from a cheesy eighties film. I'm hoping that Holly sees the whole incident as one of her "Adventures In Babysitting" and not as a reason to never return to my home.

This Isn't As Easy As It Looks

Often, one of my children will ask to help me with a common household task that looks as though it is within their realm of capability. I will often let them have a try at said task and then watch as they become frustrated, or even angered by it. A good example of such a task would be using the Shark Steam Mop. It looks like such fun with it's piping hot steam exploding from the base and the shiny purple handle. The kids consistently attempt this task, only to quit in less than five minutes. Each and every time such an incident occurs, I say the same thing, "(insert child's name), it really isn't as easy as it looks!" Madda and Sawyer have even taken to using that famous phrase before I even get the chance, when they are dumbfounded by whatever mundane task proves to require actual skill and not just passing interest.

This is how I feel about parenting. It really isn't as easy as it looks. Of course, I wanted kids. They're cute and fun and they love you unconditionally. Of course, I wanted a family and a house and 3 kids. (As many of you know, I want more kids....Jason-not so much) Having all of this dream-come-true family life is really not as easy as it looks. WOW, it is so much work and often we are not proud of the things we do as parents. Take for example, the past week in DeWitt parenting:

Last Wednesday, I decided to take the two youngest to Jason's work so that we could have a picnic at the park across from his office. Sounds like a good idea, right? Wrong. If you ever hear me suggest that I will take the kids for a nice lunch with Daddy, please remind me that there has never been one time where that delusional idea has turned into a positive reality. Last week's picnic was no exception. Sawyer was her usual, um, spirited self. Eamon decided to poop his pants and I was forced to change him in the grass, using 3 wipes on a 10-wipe assplosion of a diaper. I held his legs over his head and had him braced tightly so that he would not reach around and grab a handful of his own excrement. He cried and fussed as I held him. He always does; Dude has things to do. However this time, he was crying because in holding his legs above his head, in said restraint, I unwittingly caused him to projectile vomit all of his lunch (and that is a sizable amount) into the grass when he stood up. I could not have felt worse. Mark that in the book at the top of the "careless parenting strategies" page.

Later that same day, Jason (who was really glad that he was not the one to make his son vomit) was messing around in the drawers in the kitchen while Eamon looked on. Because the computer was sitting on the counter above said drawers, Jason assumed Eamon was fussing because of his lack of access to that most sought after toy. Not so much. Jason walked away from Eamon to perform his next task while I was engaged in talking Sawyer off the proverbial ledge. Eamon continued to stand near the drawers with his back to me, and cry. More than once, I uttered a, "You're ok, buddy" or a, "Eamon, that is enough!" Finally, after 30 seconds (or more), Jason returned to the scene to notice that Eamon was crying, not because he wanted the laptop but because his finger was tightly shut in a drawer. Jason quickly accepted his throne as he was then crowned the King of careless parenting for the day.

Of course, these two examples are far from an exhaustive list of the mistakes Jason and I have made. Seriously. That was just one day. Parenting is MUCH harder than it looks. The love that we have for our children is only the beginning of the equation. Thoughtful, careful and intentional parenting is tricky. Some of the choices we make are not always based on the most informed set of principles. Often, we act from a place of emotion or simply because we are rushed, tired and have a list longer than Santa's of things to accomplish. I admit that I need to slow down and pay better attention to what I am doing. This parenting thing is simply much harder than it looks. Who's with me??