Archive for the ‘Parenting’ Category

8 Jul

An exponential increase

Posted by Rebecca in Family, Owen, Parenting, Rebecca.

I’ve reached that weepy period where Bryan approaches me sweetly but carefully, conducting due diligence on the postpartum depression front. I return his kindness with a rather caustic, “I just had a baby—I’m allowed to cry.” Sometimes, it’s tears of frustration, wherein the admittedly minor aches and pains and lack of sleep catch up with me during a weak moment. Other times, I can’t help but be overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the love I feel for this new little being.

When I was pregnant with Olivia, I recall being very concerned that I wouldn’t have the capacity to love her as much as I loved Ava. The idea of it seemed unfathomable. It was remarkable to find that the addition of a new baby somehow resulted in an exponential increase in that extraordinary emotion. Not only could I love Olivia as much as Ava, but my love for Ava grew in those moments she took on her role as big sister. I loved Bryan more as I watched him snuggle up with both of his daughters.

And, in all three additions now, I’ve found that my love and gratitude for my own mother has grown beyond what I ever thought possible. The capacity just continues to increase, and my heart swells over and over again.

Owen is so fortunate to be part of an extended family that includes some of the most generous and caring people I’ve ever met. We are so grateful for our parents, grandparents, siblings and friends. And, of course, we’re grateful for Owen himself, who helped us prove once again there’s no capacity limit on love.

18 Jun

One of these things is not like the other…

Posted by Rebecca in Parenting.

More from that newsletter I mentioned last week:

14 May

A middle child in the making

Posted by Rebecca in Olivia, Parenting.

When Ava was four, she had just left a phase that made me think the term “terrible twos” was coined by someone yet to experience the shitstorm that comes with a child’s third year. Olivia, on the other hand, was a delightful three year old, though she’s more than making up for that reprieve now.

I think it would be unfair to ignore that our parenting style has changed quite a bit in the three years that passed between these two milestones. With Ava, no meant no. (This worked until she figured out that her father could be talked into most anything, and she’s become a master at negotiation since.)

With Oliva, we’re . . . different. We’re tired, and we’ve let our guard down. When requests (demands?) are made, we acquiesce with little conversation or debate. Certainly, sometimes, we pretend to put forth effort. We say, “Olivia, you outgrew those pajamas two years ago, and we refuse to pull them out of storage yet again. You’re done with them.”

And yet, in mere moments, the pajamas come out, and we find a simple compromise that makes an otherwise challenging preschooler downright gleeful.

With any luck, the only downside to our more relaxed approach is the negotiation experience Olivia will ultimately lack.

 

 

5 Apr

The night Bryan ruined Christmas

Posted by Rebecca in Ava, Bryan, Parenting, Rebecca.

This title is, of course, totally unfair, but let me explain…

Recently, Ava has expressed that she “just feels seven,” as if the impact of this new number has suddenly hit home. When I visit her room at 7 am, I find the door closed, with holiday-themed “Elves at Work” do not disturb sign hanging from the knob. The first time I encountered this, I was most definitely disturbed, and I swung open the door, only to find her fully dressed and tidying up around an already made bed. This strange behavior has continued throughout the week, and her newfound responsibility and maturity has spilled over into other areas as well.

Case in point: My intrepid seven-year-old arrived home after school last night, looked me straight in the eye and said:

“Mom. I need you to tell me the truth. Santa and the Easter Bunny aren’t real, right? You and Dad put out the presents, don’t you?”

I sidestepped, asking what prompted such a question. Apparently, the first grade class is divided, with half believing and half doubting. Ava felt she absolutely needed to know. RIGHT NOW.

I told her that I most definitely believed in the spirit of Santa.

It didn’t work.

I tried my own mother’s line: “You know, if you stop believing in Santa, he might not come anymore…”

This also failed.

At this point, I did what I usually do when faced with tough questions like, “How did the seed from Daddy get into your belly to make the baby?” and “What’s the difference between a planet and a star?” That is, I promptly directed her to her father.

And then, everything started spinning.

Bryan sat Ava down and told her that she was a smart and inquisitive child. He said she was seven now, and that he’d answer any question she had honestly. And then, when she asked again, he simply said, “No, there’s no Santa.”

While Ava sat there thoughtfully, I burst into uncontrollable sobs, a misstep I am sure will be far more memorable than the actual realization itself.

It seems terribly unfair that there’s only seven years of the magic that comes with such a belief. I was completely and totally unprepared for this phase to end—I had honestly never contemplated it before, and now, there was nothing that could be done. It was just . . . over.

I tried to regain composure, stifling sniffles as Bryan said, “It’s okay, Mommy just really loves Christmas,” and thinking to myself, “Why don’t you just put her on the pill and send her to college?”

I will also admit that at some point (and I think it’s fair to blame hormones here), I said both “Well, at least I have the NEW baby,” and “So help me God, if you tell your sister, Santa will never bring you another present again.”

Later in the evening, somewhere around the fourth or fifth time Ava checked to make sure I was okay, I regained some sensibility, apologized for my reaction, and told her that she was now—at least in part—responsible for carrying forth the spirit that allowed other children to believe. I said, she’d have to be an “elf at work.”

She promised me she’d do her very best, and I believe her.

I mean, she is SEVEN, after all.

18 Mar

It’s 5 o’clock somewhere…

Posted by Rebecca in Ava, Parenting.

…and the second shift is just beginning.

For the most part, running a two-working-parent household works pretty darn well for us. Granted, the kids are young and relatively uninvolved in extracurriculars, but for now, most weeks go by pretty smoothly. If there are problems, they seem to revolve around differing priorities.

For example, as I hit the height of Christmas preparations at home, I noted that Bryan could possibly be a bit more helpful. He pointed out that perhaps instead, I could re-evaluate what actually NEEDED to be done, resulting in a lighter workload for all. Had I not been making a snack for Santa’s reindeer at the time, I would have had a better chance of winning that particular argument.

Throw in a first grade teacher into the mix, you have yet another set of competing priorities. Somehow, hers always tend to win out. And so, after a busy and just plain difficult week at work and at home, I received the following message in my email in box:

Leprechaun traps are due TOMORROW.

And there goes Thursday night.

So, at 5:30 pm, we set aside tasks like laundry, grocery shopping and strategic planning reports to work on the most challenging task of the day: Building a trap to catch a mythical creature.

During this process, Ava asked us if we believed in leprechauns. I wearily nodded, “Sure,” while Bryan just sighed and said, “No.”

I took the opportunity to tell Ava that regardless of how much energy and effort we put into this end-of-the-day project, it was unlikely to yield the intended result, mostly because leprechauns are quick-witted (probably due to the fact they didn’t have to spend limited brainpower on projects like this after navigating a day that included six meetings).

Thankfully, the energy of an almost seven year old is not eclipsed by reason, and Ava set to work covering a shoe box with sheets of moss. We added in a three-dimensional rainbow with a cotton ball cloud, hoping to draw attention to the pot of gold (er…spray-painted rocks) waiting below. Amazed by his luck, we anticipated the stunned leprechaun would stumble backwards into the moss-covered trap door, and become imprisoned in the shoebox.

The trap had yet to work come Friday evening, but the ever-optimistic Ava left it at school over weekend. Meanwhile, her parents returned to their day jobs, anxiously awaiting the next high-priority deadline.

7 Feb

On new labels

Posted by Rebecca in Bryan, Overheard, Parenting.

Bryan made mention of “his son” last night, and I noted we’d have all kinds of new phrases to throw around after this baby’s born. I told him that I still remembered how remarkable it was the first time I said, “I’m Ava’s mom,” as I walked into the NICU the day after she was born.

Bryan responded, “I remember the first time I said that as well.”

For a moment, I thought he meant the first time he said, “I’m Ava’s dad,” but then I recalled this conversation from last week, held shortly after Bryan dropped Ava off at a classmate’s birthday party:

Bec: “How did the drop off go? Did you meet Sophie’s mom?”

Bry: “Yeah. I introduced myself as ‘Ava’s mom.'”

Bec (laughing hysterically): “What!? Did you correct yourself?”

Bry: “No…”

 

20 Jan

“I can’t even carpe fifteen minutes in a row, so a whole diem is out of the question.”

Posted by Rebecca in Parenting.

My friend Lori shared this brilliant parenting article by Glennon Melton—it’s the perfect answer to the common refrain of “Enjoy every minute of this, it goes by so quickly.” Turns out, my (silent) response of “THANK GOD” is not entirely inappropriate.

A few excerpts:

“Every time I’m out with my kids — this seems to happen: An older woman stops us, puts her hand over her heart and says something like, ‘Oh, Enjoy every moment. This time goes by so fast.’ Everywhere I go, someone is telling me to seize the moment, raise my awareness, be happy, enjoy every second, etc, etc, etc.

I know that this message is right and good. But, I have finally allowed myself to admit that it just doesn’t work for me. It bugs me. This CARPE DIEM message makes me paranoid and panicky. Especially during this phase of my life – while I’m raising young kids. Being told, in a million different ways to CARPE DIEM makes me worry that if I’m not in a constant state of intense gratitude and ecstasy, I’m doing something wrong. …

Last week, a woman approached me in the Target line and said the following: ‘Sugar, I hope you are enjoying this. I loved every single second of parenting my two girls. Every single moment. These days go by so fast.’

At that particular moment, Amma had arranged one of the new bras I was buying on top of her sweater and was sucking a lollipop that she must have found on the ground. She also had three shop-lifted clip-on neon feathers stuck in her hair. She looked exactly like a contestant from Toddlers and Tiaras. I couldn’t find Chase anywhere, and Tish was grabbing the pen on the credit card swiper thing WHILE the woman in front of me was trying to use it. And so I just looked at the woman, smiled and said, ‘Thank you. Yes. Me too. I am enjoying every single moment. Especially this one. Yes. Thank you.'”

In addition to making me feel less guilty about liking my children most while they’re asleep, the article provides a rather hilarious look at why it’s okay to not love every minute. And that, perhaps, makes it easier to truly appreciate the minutes that really matter.

5 Oct

“We’ve got spirit, how ’bout you?”

Posted by Rebecca in Ava, Parenting, Rebecca.

Nope. No spirit here.

Each year, the KU spirit squad hosts a fundraiser. For about fifty bucks, you can send your little cheerleader down to the sidelines to cheer on the Jayhawks during a football game. One of Ava’s sitters cheers competitively at the high school level, and she invited Ava to participate. I thought she’d have a fabulous time—what’s not to love? Between the band and the mascots, not to mention about 40 other little girls, I was sure she’d have a blast.

Our photos from the event, however, tell a slightly different story…

Ava just wasn’t into it.

Not. At. All.

And, she became increasingly miserable.

I found myself vacillating between a desire to scoop her up and save her, and a complete and total frustration at her unwillingness to participate.

I always wanted to be a cheerleader. I said this to Bryan in one of those moments of frustration, irritated that Ava wasn’t grateful for this experience I wanted but could never have. (Bryan said, “You could have been a cheerleader!” Yeah, no. “Says who?” Says the panel of judges that turned me down after I tried out. Two years in a row. “Oh.”)

I realize, of course, my attempts to live vicariously failed. Hard. And I feel terrible. Not only because Ava was so unhappy, but also because I should know her so much better than I do. I am always shocked to see she’s shy, shocked to learn she’s not excited by the things that excite me.

So again, I am reminded she is her own person. (I should note: She might be a bit like her dad, who said, “Who can blame her? I’d hate it out there.”)

My concern now comes from how I can adjust to better suit her. I can’t just sign her up for everything I’d find fun. I am really going to have to work to understand what makes her tick. I feel like I should know this already—that it should just be ingrained. I’ve been with her for six and a half years.

One thing I do know—she’s friendly. And being with her friends makes her happy.

So, apparently there’s some spirit after all.

29 Jan

Parenting is hard, but also kind of awesome

Posted by Rebecca in Ava, Olivia, Parenting.

A special edition of “Overheard,” as it pertains the previous post:

—

Olivia’s preschool teacher, Karina: “Your daughter is doing really well. She’s so sweet and well behaved, and she is very obedient.”

Me: “I’m Rebecca, Olivia’s mom.”

Karina: “I know….”

Me: “Oh! Right. Great, then.”

—

Me: “Ava, don’t you remember the conversation we had on the way to school yesterday? About no crying? No whining?”

Ava: “Mom, why don’t we just start with less crying and less whining, and we can see how that goes.”

27 Jan

Parenting is hard, part 312 of 1,290.

Posted by Rebecca in Parenting.

I think, honestly, I am good at a lot of things. Unfortunately, I am not sure parenting is one of them. Especially between the hours of 7-8 am and 5-6 pm. Not to mention bedtime…

Any tips from parents who found ways to make these parts of the day a bit easier to manage? How can I improve things for the whole household? I’d prefer to keep my job, if at all possible.

Do I say, “Nope, this the the bowl you’re using for cereal this morning, and I’m not washing the one you just had to use last night.” Or, do I sacrifice a bit of sleep and wash it up the night before? (That’s not foolproof, of course, because who really knows what bowl will be THE bowl for the day? And, obviously, this is one tiny example–the day is filled with similar scenarios.)

And really, the question is, do you work to prevent tantrums during these parts of the day, or do you just suffer through them and hope that they soon realize crying isn’t going to accomplish anything? (Anything other than causing their parents to quietly question their own sanity, I mean.)

I’ve always thought parenting was work, but it usually seems manageable. I am starting to question that, and I worry it will only get worse.

Help us, experienced parents. What can we do better?

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