Category Archives: philosophy

posts theorizing or discussiong parenting techniques/philosphies but not necessary stories about family life, or tech.

Affirmation {Songs & Meaning}

March 1, 2010 | about mommygeekology, married life, philosophy | Tags: , , , , ,
12 Spoke Up - Say Something

About a kajillion years ago, in 1999, when the dinosaurs roamed the earth, Savage Garden came out with a song that rocked me to my core. Affirmation. This song is everything I’ve ever thought. This song is like my mission statement. This song is my prayer. This song weaves melody and words into the intricate patterns that make up the tapestry of my heart and soul.

“I believe the sun should never set upon an argument”

This is a rule in my home, and I try to adhere to it as much as possible. Don’t go to bed angry, my grandmother and my mother have always said. It’s a way to make sure we make an effort to make it right. It’s how we ensure that resentment and anger don’t fester overnight, flooding our dreams, filling us will anxiety. It’s an affirmation of our love and devotion to each other as a family or as friends, a way to say this means something to me.

“I believe we place our happiness in other people’s hands…I believe I’m loved when I’m completely by myself alone”

We look too often to outside sources for happiness and confidence. We rely heavily on our friendships, social standing, careers or otherwise to provide us the happiness that we crave and deserve. It’s not always bad. A community, friendships, careers, these are all great things. But I also believe that we need to reach deep down within ourselves and find a happiness there. A happiness in just being alive, a happiness in being ourselves regardless of our circumstances, our friendships or status symbols. We need some joy in ourselves, and we need to protect it like the most precious gem. There will always be times of hardship, and that gem may save us and give us the strength to rise above.

“I believe your parents did the best job they knew how to do”

Isn’t that what we’re all doing? It doesn’t mean there aren’t bad parents out there. It doesn’t mean that they didn’t know it was wrong, or know they should do better. But I think that it’s fair to say that we’re doing the best job we know how to do. Now, whether that’s actually any good or not… well time will tell.

“I believe in Karma what you give is what you get returned”

I try to do good deeds. I try to hold doors, and put my grocery cart away, and spread a little love and happiness where I can, when I can. I give to charities but I also love to send my friends little gifts and care packages… just because. I hope that my kind words and good deeds have something to do with the luck, love and happiness that I’ve had in my life.

“I believe you can’t appreciate real love ’til you’ve been burned”

I have this theory about love. I think that every love counts. Puppy love, “true love” – it doesn’t matter. It all counts. I think we have a tendency to look back on our lives, once we attain what we feel is the greatest pinnacle of love we’ve ever achieved, and say – “that wasn’t really love“. I disagree. I think we loved as well as we knew how. We loved to our fullest capacity. It hurt when it ended, but I believe that with that love, and that hurt, we allowed our hearts to grow to accept greater love (and, subsequently, greater pain). I love my husband with every fiber of my being. But if I die tomorrow? I hope that he goes on to find someone else to love, eventually. I hope it will be a love just as great, or greater, than ours is now.

“I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
I believe you don’t know what you’ve got until you say goodbye”

Every story has at least two sides, and every side has it’s trials and tribulations. Nothing is perfect, nothing, no matter how it may appear. When I drive on the highway, I usually pick a lane and stick to it. History has told me that unless I’m willing to be reckless, switching to a lane that appears to be going faster never helps. Traffic is going the same way. Eventually that lane will slow and I’ll look longingly at the car I was behind just a few minutes ago as it speeds past. I believe that loss sharpens our vision and provides enough perspective for us to see what we may have been missing or taking for granted.

“I believe you can’t control or choose your sexuality
I believe that trust is more important than monogamy
I believe your most attractive features are your heart and soul
I believe that wedded bliss negates the need to be undressed”

I’m bisexual, and when I was in high school my mother asked me when I was going to “get over this phase.” It was one of the most hurtful things she’s ever said to me, because she didn’t, and couldn’t, accept who I am. It doesn’t come up anymore because I’m married to a man, but it still hurts. I’m married to a man whom I trust and love, and our sexual preferences mean that one day, we may invite someone else into our bedroom from time to time. Trust is more important than monogamy. We’ve both changed since we were married. We aren’t as skinny as we used to be. I don’t wear makeup every day anymore. But it doesn’t matter. We love each other as whole people – not as an attractive combination of body parts.  Our love is more than a raw sexual passion. I use a tag on this site – marital bliss – you’ll note that those posts aren’t all about being naked. I mean, some of them are… but you get my point.

“I believe that family is worth more than money or gold”

I don’t think that I need to elaborate much on this one. If there is any one of you who disagrees with this statement I will say that I cannot fathom, at all, what you are thinking. I’d add to this list that my friends? My friends fall just beneath my family. Money is farther down… and only important in that it allows me to provide for my family, and my friends.

“I believe in love surviving death into eternity”

I believe in Heaven, or some version of it. I believe that we will see our loved ones again. I believe that I will be able to look down & watch over my loved ones when I die.  Barring that, then at least let me wander the earth as a ghost of some sort so I can scare the bejeezus out of anyone trying to hurt my friends or family. Or both. I’m good with both.

In all seriousness though – I don’ t think love stops when we die. Those who are living continue to love us, and I believe that those who pass to wherever, or whatever, the Other Side is, continue to love us as well.

Full lyrics

I believe the sun should never set upon an argument
I believe we place our happiness in other people’s hands
I believe that junk food tastes so good because it’s bad for you
I believe your parents did the best job they knew how to do
I believe that beauty magazines promote low self esteem
I believe I’m loved when I’m completely by myself alone

I believe in Karma what you give is what you get returned
I believe you can’t appreciate real love ’til you’ve been burned
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
I believe you don’t know what you’ve got until you say goodbye

I believe you can’t control or choose your sexuality
I believe that trust is more important than monogamy
I believe your most attractive features are your heart and soul
I believe that family is worth more than money or gold
I believe the struggle for financial freedom is unfair
I believe the only ones who disagree are millionaires

I believe in Karma what you give is what you get returned
I believe you can’t appreciate real love ’til you’ve been burned
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
I believe you don’t know what you’ve got until you say goodbye

I believe forgiveness is the key to your own happiness
I believe that wedded bliss negates the need to be undressed
I believe that God does not endorse tv evangelists
I believe in love surviving death into eternity

I believe in Karma what you give is what you get returned
I believe you can’t appreciate real love ’til you’ve been burned
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side
I believe you don’t know what you’ve got until you say goodbye

Say Something

Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman

January 6, 2010 | about mommygeekology, featured, philosophy | Tags: , , ,
7 Spoke Up - Say Something

britney-spearsI identify strongly with Britney Spears. Not in a show-my-hoochie-cuz-I-don’t-wear-panties way, or a crazy-behavior-for-shock-value way. I identify with her as a singer, a performer, a young girl, who is desperately trying to find her way in this world. I followed, and still follow, news stories about her closely. I read the gossip mags looking for a shred of truth, I listen to the lyrics of her songs, I buy her albums and I wonder, often, what it would be like to live her life.

Let’s lay it out in black & white:

Similarities:

  • We are both in our late 20s – in fact, we’re about a year apart in age
  • We are both singers (though, admittedly, she is more of a performer than songstress)
  • We are both dancers (though, admittedly, I haven’t danced in years and I am nowhere near as good)
  • We both married early
  • We both have two children (hers boys, mine girls) around the same ages
  • We both have divorced parents
  • We both gained a little weight after having kids (Gasp, normal!)
  • We both have our belly buttons pierced

Differences:

  • Clearly, I am not a celebrity, and therefore, I don’t have the stress (and yes, fun) that comes with that
  • I’m not divorced
  • My mother or father are not acting as conservator of my affairs, my life
  • I haven’t been married more than once
  • No one has taken my children from me
  • I haven’t been forcibly hospitalized
  • She had a personal trainer to help her lose weight and look HAWT again

The differences seem so clear until I look more closely. What is that list, really, except a list of chance? The lines get blurred when I wonder if I were somehow catapulted to stardom at a young age, who is to say that I wouldn’t eventually crumble under the pressure, using my behavior and words to desperately reach out for help from someone, anyone? Who can say that I wouldn’t go a little bit crazy from untreated depression? I’ve been there, depressed, horribly depressed. My family helped me. What if my family weren’t so aware of my depression? What if I were surrounded by an environment where it was not OK to be depressed, to have issues, to need help? What if?

When I look at stories of her from two, three years ago or more, I just see a scared little girl. I see someone screaming for help and I see the world capitalizing on it, ignoring the real message, judging. I want to scream at them – what if it was your friend? Your daughter? Your mother? Would you just sit back and watch or would you do something?

I look at her now and I see someone who, having received the help she needed, has gotten back on track. Who has accomplished more in her young life than I will likely ever accomplish. Who has gone through hell and back and who will hopefully be a better person for that experience. I see someone who needed family and friends to lean on.

That’s not so different than I. That’s not so different than any of us.

I’m sure it’s not just me. Who do you identify with?

Say Something

Parenting with Love

November 23, 2009 | about mommygeekology, featured, philosophy | Tags: , , , , , ,
16 Spoke Up - Say Something

I struggle with how much I should discipline my children. Since Cupcake is only 3.5yrs, and Geeklet is just a year old, this is definitely not the first time I’ll question myself. The problem is that in questioning myself, I find I’m lacking consistency. I’m failing them in my lack of conviction.

I was thinking about this around 5am this morning. I woke up when Cupcake called for me. She was scared. I told her she had no reason to be scared  – Mommy and Daddy are right there in the house with her. We can hear her, and when she calls us, we come to her, see? No reason to be scared, baby. No reason to cry. Hush, hush, back to sleep.

She went back to sleep. She just needed to hear she was safe. She trusts that when I say it’s safe, it is.

I went back to sleep and the thought drifted into my head that I don’t want her to fear me – to fear that I won’t follow through, that I won’t be there, that I won’t love her enough. I don’t want my children to fear me, but then again, I do. A little.

I want them to be afraid that I’ll be disappointed in them, because I hope it will keep them from doing disappointing things. I want them to be afraid of my consequences, because I want them to stay safe and healthy and follow the rules. Right now, I want them to just stay in the damn corner when I give a time-out for hitting because god-dammit it’s not effective if you keep running off.

Yesterday, Cupcake deliberately hit Geeklet after we had just spoken about how hitting is not OK, it’s naughty, it hurts Geeklet and Geeklet will cry, and we don’t want to make her sad because we love her! So no hitting. Then she balled up her little toddler fist, looked at me and hit her.

I gave her a time-out. Or, I tried. She kept running around, and I tried to take a page from Super Nanny’s book and just silently, sternly, firmly place her back in the corner until she understood that yes, I would do this all damn day.

Then my mother called. And I didn’t want her to hear that I was giving Cupcake a time out. I didn’t want her to question my methods or my disciplinary action, or accuse me of being too harsh. She disagrees with time out – and I truly don’t understand – and whenever Cupcake mentions that being naughty gets a time out, I get a lecture or snide comment about how we are obviously putting her in time out all the time. No, only when she is violent. Violence is not tolerated. Violence gets you a time out. End of story.

Somehow, my mother still disagrees. She seems to believe that Cupcake can’t make the connection between time out and what she did. That’s where she’s wrong. Cupcake totally gets it. That’s why she TELLS my mother about it! “Nana, I hit Geeklet and I was naughty and I got a time out and then I couldn’t play with my dollies.” Yeah, she gets it.

I was afraid of being judged by her and I let the time out slide. I let Cupcake walk off, without another word, and I failed her, because all I did was reinforce that yeah, if you run away from time out you’ll get away with it, so go ahead! Hitting is obviously not so bad!

I think part of the reason my mother disagrees with Time Out is because she thinks that you can raise children with only love. I disagree. You need to have a little bit of fear. Some fear of what Mommy and Daddy think. Fear of what they’ll revoke or what they’ll lecture you about. You need some fear. It’s not enough to love them and tell them about how some behavior is naughty. Yes, it’s preferable to have logical consequences but sometimes? The only logical consequence IS a time out. In my book, time out is a logical consequence to violence. If you are going to be violent then you are not going to be near people. Corner it is, my dear. I love you, I always love you, but you cannot hit anyone. I love them too. I can’t love them and you and let you hurt them.

I need to get over this fear of her judgment. I need to learn to trust that I know what’s best for her. I need to remember that yes, my mother spends her entire day with Cupcake every day and yes, she knows her very well. But I have to trust that I know my daughter too. I have to push aside feelings of inadequacy simply because I spend less time with her during the day. I need to remember that she is my daughter, not someone I babysit all evening through the morning. I have to stop worrying that I’m not a good enough mother because I don’t spend my day with her. I have to stop worrying that I don’t know them well enough. I have to trust myself.

Anyone know how to do that?

Say Something

A General Rule

October 26, 2009 | about mommygeekology, philosophy | Tags: ,
16 Spoke Up - Say Something

If you asked a group of 10 people whether “honesty is the best policy” you’d probably find that about 8 out of 10 say Hell Yes and give you a lecture about the dangers and treachery of lying, tangled webs and whatnot. I don’t necessarily disagree – I’m quite honest on this blog.

As a general rule in my life, I try to live by this motto: “If you have the balls to ask me, I’ll have the balls to answer you.”

Maybe that’s not a smart motto. And Lord knows I don’t always manage to live up to it – but I try. I’m human, fallible, and it’s all I can do. I have the hardest time being honest with my family – my mother, brother, and sister – because since I was a teenager it was always assumed I was lying. It didn’t matter – I was lying. Sometimes it seems like I might as well – I mean, dammit, I’m going to be accused of lying anyway, right? So yes, sometimes I do lie to my mother, my brother, my sister. I think we all do from time to time. Even beyond the “I’m fine!” response to “How are you?” in the grocery store while you have tears pricking the corners of your eyes, or “I love it!” when you unwrap that birthday present to find an adult-sized bubble-gum pink sweater with a crude unicorn crocheted in the center.

Sometimes it’s just *easier* to lie than to tell the complicated truth. But usually it’s not.

Sometimes, *certain members* of my family would rather hear the lie – because the truth would cause a rift too big to ever cross again. Sometimes the lie is what we need to tell ourselves to get ourselves through the next day.

I’ve thought about honesty a lot and I do try to ensure I am as honest as possible. I don’t know if you can tell from any of my more recent blog posts, but I’ve decided that I can feel safe here – in this space – I mean, might as well go for it right? If the blog is found by someone I don’t want to find it, and they share they with my family… well it’s not like I haven’t been honest. I can at least say that. I won’t lie here. These are my feelings. This is my life as I see it. You don’t like it? Go see something else. Am I right? (Yes, yes I am.)

So. With that said, I was pretty pleased to see that Colleen and then Psychmamma had given me a little bloggity blog award. I don’t usually get these sort of things, or participate in memes, but this one goes along with my theme here on ye olde blogge, so here it is:

HonestScrap

There are some rules for this award, but I’m not much for rules (unless I make them) so I’d like to do something a little differently. Normally, the rules are to say 10 honest things about oneself and pass this along to 7 others.

I’d like to challenge you.

I want you to write something completely, 100% brutally honest. If you can’t write it on your blog, but would like to get it up for the world to see, feel free to email me and I’ll post them anonymously here over the next week(or weeks, depending on how popular this is)(or isn’t, you might never see this again!)(or I could make shit up and post it anonymously. but that would sort of go against the essence of this huh?)(ok I won’t make anything up. I’ll leave that to someone funnier. Like Marinka. Hey, Marinka! This is a great idea for your next blog post!)

Write something honest. Post it to your blog. Comments on, comments off, I don’t care, but I want a link to it, dammit. If you don’t have a blog but want to own it, feel free to post it here in the comments. I may end up reposting your comment, so beware.

Hell even if you write it and save it as a draft and tuck it away in a dark, secret folder on your computer never to be opened again, just do it. This is a good exercise. And it’ll help get whatever is on your chest, off your chest.

I have a post started about my struggle with post partum depression that’s been sitting in my drafts folder for months. I am going to finish that post, however long it takes. And I promise you I will post it here as soon as I can.

Meanwhile, I will post 10 honest things about myself:

  • I hate loud chewers, lip smackers and people who swish the spit around in their mouth while eating. It makes me actually cringe. If I am sitting next to you at dinner and I start furiously digging at my ear with my finger, I am probably seriously annoyed by someone around us. If it’s just the two of us, it’s you. Stop eating. (just kidding on that last bit) (sort of)
  • I sing Backyardigan’s songs to myself when the kids aren’t around and I like it. One of my favorites is the Volcano Sister’s song, the one at the end where they almost blow up the volcano. That’s awesome.
  • I joined the Phineas and Ferb Wiki and read all about Dr Doofenshmirtz’s life.
  • I used to play the saxophone in middle school, but the only thing I remember now is Ode to an Orange.
  • I still don’t have my degree in anything, and a lot of the time that makes me feel like a gigantic failure.
  • The scars from my gallbladder surgery really bother me. It’s just three tiny incision points but they still bother me. One more thing about that region of my body that I despise. I even covered them with makeup the last time DaddyGeek and I had sex.
  • Sometimes I sweep the kitchen and then push all the dust and stuff under the stove instead of putting it in a dustbin and throwing it out.
  • I regret how little I remember of my life. I just have a bad memory. It’s depressing.
  • Sometimes I feel like all I do is bitch, and I hate that.
  • I like to take pictures of my feet when I’m in a random place trying to take pictures to “capture” the moment. I don’t know why. DaddyGeek makes fun of me for it and says I have a foot fetish. I do NOT have a foot fetish.

Gauntlet down.

Say Something

Mommy Geek 2.0 (beta)

September 15, 2009 | about mommygeekology, philosophy | Tags: , , , ,
12 Spoke Up - Say Something

This post heavily inspired by Sam’s post, “Beta Much,” posted over a year ago on her personal blog Temporarily Me. Ever since I’ve read that post, the phrase has stuck in my head. “Beta much?” I ask myself, as I leave the house in sweatpants tshirt, no bra and flips flops in the pouring rain to get some hamburg for dinner. “Beta much” I ask myself, as I send my daughter to my mother’s house in her pajamas – again. “Beta much? I wonder, when the dishes have piled up so high we don’t have anything clean, and instead of washing them I buy paper plates and plastic utensils. Sam says, at the end of her post, “I couldn’t be happier. I. Am. BETA MOM.” That really sums it up for me.

When I first started this new blog, I entitled it Mommy Geekology.  As I thought about it, I added “2.0″ – for multiple reasons. It’s my second attempt at a blog since I’ve become a mother, and I’m a mother of two.

The site is in need of a facelift, and as soon as I can get together a few spare minutes, I’ll surely work on it. I’ve been conceptualizing, though – trying to figure out what this site means, what I write about most, and why you’re here.

I don’t specifically write about motherhood all the time. I certainly don’t write about technology as I thought I would – not the right audience, so I’m bringing those articles to my business blog (I’ll write about that soon, I promise!).  I write a lot of my self discovery, who I am as a person and as a mother. This is the place where I don’t have to wipe snot or shit, just my space. If you blog, I bet you know what I mean when I say that I want to find a way for it to be representative of me.

When I do get my new site layout completed, I’ll be adding to the title. Mommy Geekology 2.0 (beta). Because like Sam, I feel very much as though I’m still in beta.

Sure, with this second child, we’re reaching a more stable version of me. I get things right more often than I used to – at least, I hope I am. I’m slightly less of an emotional wreck. I’ve fixed mistakes I’d made in the past, and done some things right with Geeklet that I got wrong with Cupcake.

There are still bugs.

I’ve got a few glitches.

But, I’m headed somewhere good. I feel more confident about motherhood now – over three years into it, sure, but here I stand. In Sam’s words, which I truly cannot get out of my head — “I couldn’t be happier. I. Am. BETA MOM.”

Say Something

It’s All Relative

September 7, 2009 | about mommygeekology, featured, philosophy | Tags:
26 Spoke Up - Say Something

If I’d paid more attention in high school science class, instead of sucking up to the teacher to get another pass to the music theory lab, I’d probably be able to tell you about the Theory of Relativity.  As it is, we’re lucky I know that it’s something scientific. (I think) I refuse to Google it, because I’ve lived this long without knowing. I think I’m good.

I think a lot about how things are, comparatively, relatively.

This week with my mother has been a good week. Relatively.

Geeklet sleeps better than Cupcake did at this age. Comparatively.

I’m thin and healthy. Relatively. Or, I’m a fat cow and I really should be doing more to maintain my weight and appearance. Comparatively.

Geeklet cries more than Cupcake did.

The people at work aren’t as friendly as my last set of coworkers.

I’ve got it together. It’s all falling apart around me.

It’s all relative. It’s all in the way you phrase it, how you wrap it, what you surround it with. It’s all about where you’re standing, your perspective.

Maybe life sucks right now.

Maybe it’s awesome.

It’s all relative.

——————

It’s human nature to compare. To judge. To weigh the similarities and differences. Lovers, restaurants, jobs, monies, degrees, popularity.  Sometimes I really hate it. Sometimes, it serves me well. I try to put a positive spin on it.

If I’m not OK, I’m dead.

——————-

Sometimes my mission to be positive and keep it together fails. Sometimes I’m yelling at my husband because I wanted him to put the laundry away and he didn’t know because I was stewing over it silently. Sometimes I get shrill and I hate it, I’m sure he’ll leave me, because there has to be something better than all this drama out there for him.

Relatively.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s better to stick with what our routine and our commitments are now, or if we should uproot and start over. Which drama is worse? Which is more deeply hurtful or selfish? Comparatively, that is.

———————

“How are you doing?” I have a tendency to say something like, “Pretty well, considering.” Or, “I’ve been better” or “I could be worse.”

It’s all about how you view it, think of it, frame it.

———————

I hear all the time that I’m very mature, more than is expected. Probably because most 24 year olds are headed to the clubs on Saturday night, not softly hushing their baby and toddler to sleep, furiously attempting to start up a side business, juggling a family and work and side work and life.

———————-

It’s the comparison that helps keep me sane. I know it won’t be this bad one day. I know that it could be worse. I’ve had worse days. I’ve had days where I thought my heart was going to bleed out onto the floor. I’ve had days where I was very, very seriously contemplating driving my car full speed into a tree. I don’t have those days anymore. I’m better.

Not perfect.

Not completely free of mood swings and depression.

But better.

If I’m not OK, I’m dead.

I’m not Dead.

————————-

Life is good right now. I have two beautiful children. I have a home. We have jobs. Food. Transportation. I wish I had more friends in the area, and I wish we could buy a home. I wish we had less drama with my mother but it’s not all bad.

Generally, our lives our good.

Our lives are great – perfect – amazing, comparatively.

So I’ll take that. I’ll be thankful. I’ll try to drink it in.  Because, relatively, this might be the best day, week, hour, year.

Say Something

A Little Inspiration (Updated, Repost)

August 27, 2009 | about mommygeekology, making memories, philosophy | Tags: , , , , ,
1 Spoke Up - Say Something

Beside my computer at work, where I plan to spend many a lunch-time hour composing witty and sometimes informational posts here on iMommy, I have a whiteboard. I love my whiteboard. In fact, I wish that I had some extra dough and no responsibilities (ha!) so that I could get an electronic whiteboard like this one.

On my (seriously technology-deprived) whiteboard at work, I’ve written a few inspirational phrases. These are often the reminder that I need to calm down, let it roll off my back, or even spur me to action. I’m considering taking them with me everywhere! Maybe I’ll put the phrases into a ScrapBlog with pictures of my loving family, then export it to a .jpeg and print it on photo paper and carry it in my purse…. and then I could have these lovely phrases with me all the time!

  • Accept the fact that we live in an imperfect world.
  • Say “No.”
  • Don’t put up with something that doesn’t work right.
  • Unplug your phone.
  • Breathe deeply.
  • Take control of your environment.
  • Talk it out.
  • Keep a sense of humor.

I realize that not all of these are always achievable, but usually at least one of these little reminders helps me get through my day.

Sometimes, though, all I need is a picture:

Sisters

Sisters

Say Something

Firm but Gentle

July 28, 2009 | philosophy | Tags: , , , ,
14 Spoke Up - Say Something

Firm but gentle is our  parenting motto. That’s not to say we always achieve it. I’d say that right now, we’re seeing a 60-40 split – 60% of the time we get it right, and 40% of the time we’re dead wrong.  At first, when Cupcake turned three years old and began the standard toddler behavior, we didn’t react quickly enough. We would wait, and wait, and suggest that she behave, or try ignoring it, or any manner of inconsistent methods, until it got out of hand. Then we’d yell.

Note to new parents: This method is ineffective.

We discussed one evening, my darling husband and I, and we decided, that, duh, it’s not working, and that we needed a new plan.

[crickets]

Crap. How do we deal with a toddler? So we decided that we’d go for consistent, and firm discipline — but gentle. No yelling and screaming. No spanking, because I don’t feel comfortable wtih it (though I’ve been tempted. Ok, so I slapped her bum once. I didn’t like it).  We are sticking with time-out’s for blatant violence and “Go to your room and calm down” for pretty much everything else.

So far, we’ve had limited success.

Her: *Smack*
Me: **Glare** “Cupcake, we do not hit. This is your warning. ”
Her: *Smack* “Give me a time out!” Squealing with joy. Literally. What the fuck?
Me: Well, obviously I can’t give her the satisfaction of all that. I think. Or should I? Crap, I don’t know. They don’t talk about this in the books. What the hell do I do? Shit, I have to respond. Timely, MG, Timely. Ok. Deep breaths. Alright well it’s been too long and now you might as well go for “Ignore it” because you’ve been sitting here and thinking. Ok, we’re going with ignore it.
Her: *Smack*
Me: Obviously that didn’t work. Fine, I’ll go with Time Out. I should have done that in the first time. Idiot. Stupid stupid stupid. “Cupcake, there is no hitting. 2 minute time out.”

We proceed to the bedroom, where we will have time out. I place her in the chair. I tell her that she will sit here for two minutes. She grins at me like she’s auditioning to be a clown. I leave the room. She follows. I silently, calmly, place her back into her chair. She grins. I turn and leave again.

Rinse. Repeat. For 15 minutes. I am not going to let her get away with this crap. Finally, she cries and gives up, and sits and sulks for two minutes. She apologizes, we kiss and hug, I feel victorious!

Then we wake up in the morning and do the whole damn thing again.

It’s difficult to continue to be firm and gentle and consistent in the face of that. Some days when she starts up with whatever annoying toddler thing she’s trying that day, I want to cry. Some days, I do cry. Some days, I laugh, for the sheer ridiculousness of the entire situation – for the sheer folly of trying to control a toddler. Toddlers: The Uncontrollable. It’s like a horror movie. Or a comedy. Or a drama. Frankly, it depends on what day you watch it.

There are mornings that I wake up and wish I could reason with her – but again, with the folly. What am I thinking? I speak in sentences longer than 6 words and her eyes glaze over and she starts to giggle and look away, babbling about the flowers waking up and the dollies taking a bath. She starts to grab the drawstring on my pants in an attempt to pull them down – which made me laugh once, and good LORD that was a mistake.

Note to new parents: Do not ever laugh at your toddler. They will run with it. It won’t be funny next time. {Probably}

It helps to know that we aren’t alone. I saw a toddler and her mother in a the grocery store the other day. The kid was pushing Mom’s buttons and I recognized the evil little grin on her cherubic face: she was obviously three years old, and she was obviously trying to make her mother crazy.  The mom looked a little frazzled, and we shared a knowing glance as I walked by. Cupcake was sitting quietly in the seat basket, staring at the other child taking notes acting like an angel – I gestured to her and said with a smile to the other mother, “Today, she’s an angel. Yesterday? Not so much.” We laughed a little laugh, and moved on, tending to our children. I felt buoyed by the experience. My uncertainties about our strategy and our effectiveness as parents dissipates more with each knowing smile, passing nod, shared chuckle. I’m convinced that this is exactly why Grandmothers so often hold the magic touch: they are unfazed. They feel confident. They are untouchable in their assurance that they are in charge, the Alpha, the leader. Their wisdom and words are rarely challenged and they snuff out dissension with a practiced glare.

I can’t wait until I have grandchildren. At least then someone will be afraid of me.


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Promises, Promises

June 25, 2009 | philosophy | Tags: , ,
38 Spoke Up - Say Something

Promises are like babies:  easy to make, hard to deliver. ~Author Unknown

promiseI make promises to my children every single day. They do not all start with the phrase “I promise…” – no, they sneak up on me, with innocuous wording like “I will…”, “Next time…”, “Maybe tomorrow…”, “After dinner…”, “When you’re older…”

The promises range from the grandiose (I promise that I will never do that to you, ever, no matter what) to the various minutiae of the day (I will get you some Goldfish crackers as soon as I finish loading this laundry into the washer).  The savings account named “College fund” is a promise in and of itself: for education, for dreams fulfilled, for opportunity.

I make promises to myself, but really, for them.  I promise that I will not get angry at bedtime.  I promise I will not purposely humiliate them in front of their first love (probably). I promise I will be open to you and honest to them, as my mother was with me. I promise to be a haven for my children, to have open dialogue.

Often, I worry that I will fail them somehow. Often, I worry that I’ve failed them already.

Eggs and oaths are easily broken.  ~Danish Proverb

Promises are very easily made, easily broken.  How does it go down in your household? Do you feel as if you are constantly making promises to your kids, spouse, family – and are you able to keep all of them?

Because right now, my batting average ain’t great. I want to believe that I am picking wisely – I want to believe that my daughters will understand as she grows older that not all promises can be kept.

I want to believe that my mother will come to understand that not everything I say to her is a promise, an unbreakable oath.

I want to know that my husband will not resent me if promises of sporty cars and shiny garages and sex once a week don’t always come true, or come as quickly as we said.

I’m an average girl, and sometimes I wish I could be more than that: to exceed excellence. As the days seem to go on endlessly, I await the ’someday’ I’ve always been promised. That ’someday’ when things are supposed to be perfect… the ’someday’ when I find my place in this unforgiving world. ~Anonymous

Broken promises are not easily forgiven, and yet I feel as if I am constantly striving and straining and pushing and reaching to fufill some goal for someone else. Usually my family, sometimes my friends. I feel as though the promises that I have made to myself inevitably fall to the wayside and I cannot keep them, any of them, because promises to others are more pressing, more important, more easily judged.  With my mother, I often feel as if the promises I have or have not made -it matters not which it was, because once she believes it to be a promise there it is – are a matter of life and death, literally. How can that compete with a promise to take care of myself, and to keep from being too emotionally involved? How can that compete with a promise that I will take time to relax and truly enjoy my family, without fretting over a hundred thousand slights and problems and traumas that she is experiencing, and, as a result, that I must experience as well because she takes me through them in exrutiating detail, day after day, hour after hour, all the while thickening this blanket of guilt hanging on my shoulders until I feel as though I must crumble, or die, or something, because I cannot bear this heavy weight any longer.  Consider, then, the additional weight that comes simply with being a mother, caring for one’s children, raising them to their full potential and allowing them every opportunity and making sure that boo-boos are kissed and dreams cultivated and bones healed, tummies filled, bodies bathed.  Another weight. A few barbells, if you will.  I push m yself still further, and I must ensure that my duty to my husband is filled. He needs humor. He needs love. He needs companionship and support. Yes, he will feed and bathe himself, but he needs relief from the stress that life throws at us, the stress that I myself bring into this home (and oh, the regret for that, I am so sorry) and he needs support and hope and to know that ultimately it will be OK and most of the time I do believe it. If for no other reason than because no one can continue to endure this much, every day. The fact is, that a person can only eat so much shit. No, not graceful, because this is not a graceful situation at all times.

The bottom line is that it comes down to promises. I love you still, mommy. I will always love you, baby. For better or for worse, forever, until death do us part.

It is important to honor our promises, respect our vows. It is critical. It gives us purpose.  Sometimes, though… at times I am sick of the promises.

At times, I want the only promise that concerns me to be as simple as I will live for myself today. I will be OK. I will love myself.

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Editors note: This isn’t another pity-me post. This is a simple collection of thoughts, as I navigate through my days, acknowledging that sometimes, it’s too much. Often, the promises I make are broken, or not actually made purposefully at all, which often amounts to the same result.  When I think of all the ties and commitments and duties that that have been piled, that I have piled on myself, it often seems overwhelming. But I wake up each morning, as do you, and trudge on, and make the best, and smile and do whatever I can to squeeze as much joy and happiness into this life as I possibly can.  I wrote about it here because, frankly, I think it might sometimes be a little too much for you, too.

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Feels Like Hope

June 3, 2009 | making memories, philosophy | Tags: , ,
12 Spoke Up - Say Something

Hope.

It’s a powerful thing. Hope can get us out of bed in the morning. Hope can push us past exhaustion for one more try, or one more box unpacked, one more hour worked.  One more lap around the room with the squalling infant. One more day lived.

We live on Hope. Some of us more than others – for some of us, Hope is all we have.  Hope is what drives each breath. Hope is what keeps our hearts beating.  I am lucky. My family is lucky. We don’t have to live only on Hope. We have so much.

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I never realized that our previous apartment was such a great source of stress and frustration.  Funny how a bit of distance, a bit of perspective, can show things so clearly.  Our new apartment is wonderful. Perfect, for us.  When we walked in that first day, with a load of our precious personal belongings, I felt something. I felt uplifted. I felt brighter. I felt cleaner. I felt more relaxed, despite the stress of a family move. I felt Hope. It made it easier to unpack. It made it possible to stay up past midnight most nights sorting through boxes and bags.

No longer does my daughter wake up at night screaming because the assholes above us are stomping, yelling, dragging, dancing, piano-playing and vaccuuming above her head at all hours of the night.

No longer do I have to lug my children and the groceries and the diaper bags and my laptop and the various miscellaneous crap that seems to follow us like a messy dark cloud through two heavy doors before getting to our apartment door.

No longer do I feel as though the space in our apartment is ill used, ill planned and basically – a total waste of money.

No longer do I feel as though I am drowing in toys and crap and ohmygodIhavenoplacetowalk because we have huge closets but no living space.

It’s wonderful.

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I realize these are petty complaints and subtle differences. I do. There are many folks dealing with much heavier burdens than mine. But home is a haven, a safe place, a place to relax. Our old apartment had become something of a burden but now, despite all the boxes and the unpacked but not quite put away stuff that we have laying around, I am happy to come home.

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