By Kelly
My two-year-old was eating a bag of snack mix this morning, courtesy of her Daddy’s flight home from Chicago last night. At one point, I turned around and saw a small, wet pile of something on the floor.
“What is that Teyla?” I said, pointing to the quarter-sized mess.
“Gross!” she said, wrinkling her nose.
I guess she doesn’t appreciate honey sesame sticks.
But instead of politely spitting out "the gross" into a garbage can after it offended her taste buds, she spit it onto the carpet, as if she was a cowboy on the range.
Only this range has wall-to-wall carpeting, which now sports a brown stain of gross near my bed.
It was a reminder to me that parenting is many things – but one of its most basic tenants is to civilize the savages.
We teach our children to say “Please” and “Thank you.” (And in some parts of the country “Yes Ma’am” and “No sir.”) We explain why we wash our hands before we eat, how to sneeze into a Kleenex or bent arm, why it’s not polite to keep slurping on a straw that is bereft of refreshment.
When our children are young, it’s one of the more tedious parts of parenting. “Say excuse me when you do that.” “Aren’t you forgetting the magic word?” “Look me in the eyes when I’m talking to you.”
But at the heart of it, we aren’t just teaching behavior. We’re teaching consideration.
Emily Post has said, “Manners are a sensitive awareness of the feelings of others. If you have that awareness, you have good manners, no matter what fork you use.”
That is why I helped Teyla get a paper towel this morning and clean up the “gross” and then deposit it in the waste basket. Not just because I don’t want piles of half-eaten sesame sticks on my carpet. Because I want her to realize her own desires need to be seen in light of others.
And by the time I finished this article? She had sorted the sesame sticks from the snack mix bag and set the remainder in a gentle pile on my floor.
There. Much better. We're on our way.
Kelly's six-year-old son happened on the pile five minutes later and ate everything, right off the floor. We work on him next. Read about Kelly's continuing manner adventures at her personal blog, Love Well.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
You're Tired
By Kelly
My Mom is a genius.
All my life, she’s had one phrase that covers every childhood problem.
She would simply say, “You’re tired.”
Fighting with a sibling? “You must be tired.”
Cranky the day after a sleepover? “You sound tired.”
Whining about having nothing to wear? “Someone’s tired.”
Broken arm? “You must be tired.”
I’m kidding about that last one. I think.
But sometimes, that’s how it felt. Tiredness was to blame for everything. I wondered if the world would end and my Mom would blame it on exhaustion.
And I hated hearing it, honestly. I hated that she had a calm answer when I wanted a dramatic reaction. I hated that she didn’t seem to care about my life-altering problems. I hated that she acted like she knew me better than I knew myself. (“Like I wouldn’t know if I was tired,” I would snort to my teenage self.)
But now that I’m the parent, I see the genius in that phrase. Because my Mom wasn’t just diagnosing a condition.
She was showing us grace.
She was saying, in essence, “I believe you know how to get along with your siblings and stay kind even after a late-night party and be content with the clothing you have. I believe you can do better than this. Surely, it’s the tiredness that’s making you act this way. You must be tired.”
I understand this now, because I watch my two-year-old after a week of not taking naps, and I see how she melts down when I tell her no, she can’t have marshmallows for breakfast. And I know she can do better than that. I’ve seen her have better reactions.
She must be tired.
And I watch my older son and daughter bicker and pick at each other all day after a weekend of swimming and late night ice cream cones and extra reading time before bed. I know they can treat each other with kindness. This isn’t like them.
They must be tired.
It’s a beautiful thing, really, to believe my children can do better if they just had a little more sleep. It’s a way for me to give them the benefit of the doubt. I believe in them. They just need more rest.
And now, it’s time for me to go to bed. Because tonight, I found myself getting annoyed when my toddler wanted to hold my hand while she was falling asleep.
I must be tired.
Kelly blogs at Love Well, when she's not too tired.
My Mom is a genius.
All my life, she’s had one phrase that covers every childhood problem.
She would simply say, “You’re tired.”
Fighting with a sibling? “You must be tired.”
Cranky the day after a sleepover? “You sound tired.”
Whining about having nothing to wear? “Someone’s tired.”
Broken arm? “You must be tired.”
I’m kidding about that last one. I think.
But sometimes, that’s how it felt. Tiredness was to blame for everything. I wondered if the world would end and my Mom would blame it on exhaustion.
And I hated hearing it, honestly. I hated that she had a calm answer when I wanted a dramatic reaction. I hated that she didn’t seem to care about my life-altering problems. I hated that she acted like she knew me better than I knew myself. (“Like I wouldn’t know if I was tired,” I would snort to my teenage self.)
But now that I’m the parent, I see the genius in that phrase. Because my Mom wasn’t just diagnosing a condition.
She was showing us grace.
She was saying, in essence, “I believe you know how to get along with your siblings and stay kind even after a late-night party and be content with the clothing you have. I believe you can do better than this. Surely, it’s the tiredness that’s making you act this way. You must be tired.”
I understand this now, because I watch my two-year-old after a week of not taking naps, and I see how she melts down when I tell her no, she can’t have marshmallows for breakfast. And I know she can do better than that. I’ve seen her have better reactions.
She must be tired.
And I watch my older son and daughter bicker and pick at each other all day after a weekend of swimming and late night ice cream cones and extra reading time before bed. I know they can treat each other with kindness. This isn’t like them.
They must be tired.
It’s a beautiful thing, really, to believe my children can do better if they just had a little more sleep. It’s a way for me to give them the benefit of the doubt. I believe in them. They just need more rest.
And now, it’s time for me to go to bed. Because tonight, I found myself getting annoyed when my toddler wanted to hold my hand while she was falling asleep.
I must be tired.
Kelly blogs at Love Well, when she's not too tired.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Neighborhood Etiquette 101
By Kelly
When we moved into our little town home complex in the fall of 2007, we didn't have many neighbors. Such is the nature of a new development. In fact, when we took the kids trick-or-treating that Halloween, we discovered Natalie and Connor were the only children in residence at that point. (Pro: We got bags and bags of candy. Con: We got bags and bags of candy.)
But now, the development is finished and full. There are quite a few young families around. Which means, for the first time in their lives, our kids have neighborhood friends.
I'm delighted they have playmates. Yesterday, they spent the better part of the afternoon running around our building, playing tag and riding bikes and having squirt gun wars.
But since our old house was in the country (read: no neighbors), I feel a little out of my element here. What's proper neighborhood etiquette? How much do I need to supervise? Do I get involved when a minor skirmish breaks out? ("That's my toy! I was playing with it!") If my kids are inside someone else's house for more than an hour (an activity which was initially approved by all adults involved), do I need to go check on them to make sure they aren't overstaying their welcome?
The fact that I have a young baby to care for adds to my unease. On one hand, I'm thrilled that Connor and Natalie are having fun -- away from the computer and TV. On the other hand, I feel vaguely guilty that they are off my radar, and I'm not actively involved in what's going on outside.
But maybe that's OK? I don't know.
So far, we've laid out the following rules:
1. You need to share your toys (bikes, squirt guns, sidewalk chalk, etc.).
2. You shouldn't expect or demand that your friends will reciprocate with their toys. It would be nice, but it's their decision.
3. Never go into someone's house without asking Mom or Dad for permission.
4. If your friend wants you to come inside, make sure it's OK with their Mom or Dad.
What else do I need to know, experienced parents? I need "Neighborhood Etiquette for Dummies." Enlighten me.
This post was originally published in June 2008 at Kelly's blog Love Well. But neighborhood etiquette remains an enigma for her. So please - share your thoughts.
When we moved into our little town home complex in the fall of 2007, we didn't have many neighbors. Such is the nature of a new development. In fact, when we took the kids trick-or-treating that Halloween, we discovered Natalie and Connor were the only children in residence at that point. (Pro: We got bags and bags of candy. Con: We got bags and bags of candy.)
But now, the development is finished and full. There are quite a few young families around. Which means, for the first time in their lives, our kids have neighborhood friends.
I'm delighted they have playmates. Yesterday, they spent the better part of the afternoon running around our building, playing tag and riding bikes and having squirt gun wars.
But since our old house was in the country (read: no neighbors), I feel a little out of my element here. What's proper neighborhood etiquette? How much do I need to supervise? Do I get involved when a minor skirmish breaks out? ("That's my toy! I was playing with it!") If my kids are inside someone else's house for more than an hour (an activity which was initially approved by all adults involved), do I need to go check on them to make sure they aren't overstaying their welcome?
The fact that I have a young baby to care for adds to my unease. On one hand, I'm thrilled that Connor and Natalie are having fun -- away from the computer and TV. On the other hand, I feel vaguely guilty that they are off my radar, and I'm not actively involved in what's going on outside.
But maybe that's OK? I don't know.
So far, we've laid out the following rules:
1. You need to share your toys (bikes, squirt guns, sidewalk chalk, etc.).
2. You shouldn't expect or demand that your friends will reciprocate with their toys. It would be nice, but it's their decision.
3. Never go into someone's house without asking Mom or Dad for permission.
4. If your friend wants you to come inside, make sure it's OK with their Mom or Dad.
What else do I need to know, experienced parents? I need "Neighborhood Etiquette for Dummies." Enlighten me.
This post was originally published in June 2008 at Kelly's blog Love Well. But neighborhood etiquette remains an enigma for her. So please - share your thoughts.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Dinner Time
By Kelly
I love summer evenings, when the light lingers like a welcome guest on the porch. The air is on the back side of warm, thick with the smell of lake water and hamburgers and sunscreen. The sounds of children laughing and yelling slowly give way to the buzzing of tree frogs and insects and street lamps starting to shine.
It’s why I have a hard time coming inside, why dinner gets later and later as the summer goes on. I don’t want to interrupt the warm romance of a summer evening with an hour spent in the kitchen.
Lest I give the wrong impression, let me say up front: I love to cook, especially in the summer, when the produce is fresh and appetites are whetted by an afternoon of swimming. Plus, summer is grilling season, which means my husband is suddenly my sous chef. It’s fun to have a partner when it comes to getting food on the table.
But it’s hard for me for me to think about meat marinade when it’s 6:00 PM, much less 4:00. The day still feels young. The sun is still overhead, beckoning me to play water games on the deck. To acknowledge the need for chopped onion is to acknowledge the day almost done.
When our oldest two children were toddlers, it wasn’t uncommon for dinner to be at 8:30 or even 9:00 PM. “We’re so European,” we laughed to ourselves, when the truth is, we just got carried away weeding the garden and discovering baby turtles in the yard and pushing tiny bodies on the swing.
Summer is fleeting, and the magic of a warm evening is a jewel.
We will enjoy eating together as a family in a bit. But right now, I need to be outside more than I need food.
Dinner will wait.
Kelly ate spring-vegetable couscous with chicken for dinner last night at 7:30 PM. You can find her blogging at Love Well.
I love summer evenings, when the light lingers like a welcome guest on the porch. The air is on the back side of warm, thick with the smell of lake water and hamburgers and sunscreen. The sounds of children laughing and yelling slowly give way to the buzzing of tree frogs and insects and street lamps starting to shine.
It’s why I have a hard time coming inside, why dinner gets later and later as the summer goes on. I don’t want to interrupt the warm romance of a summer evening with an hour spent in the kitchen.
Lest I give the wrong impression, let me say up front: I love to cook, especially in the summer, when the produce is fresh and appetites are whetted by an afternoon of swimming. Plus, summer is grilling season, which means my husband is suddenly my sous chef. It’s fun to have a partner when it comes to getting food on the table.
But it’s hard for me for me to think about meat marinade when it’s 6:00 PM, much less 4:00. The day still feels young. The sun is still overhead, beckoning me to play water games on the deck. To acknowledge the need for chopped onion is to acknowledge the day almost done.
When our oldest two children were toddlers, it wasn’t uncommon for dinner to be at 8:30 or even 9:00 PM. “We’re so European,” we laughed to ourselves, when the truth is, we just got carried away weeding the garden and discovering baby turtles in the yard and pushing tiny bodies on the swing.
Summer is fleeting, and the magic of a warm evening is a jewel.
We will enjoy eating together as a family in a bit. But right now, I need to be outside more than I need food.
Dinner will wait.
Kelly ate spring-vegetable couscous with chicken for dinner last night at 7:30 PM. You can find her blogging at Love Well.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Quiet
By Kelly
The purple clouds with pink highlights are still visible from my perch on the floor.
The sun sets late in the north this time of year. I always forget. It doesn't feel like 9:30.
But it is. And the two-year-old who didn't nap today is finally - FINALLY! - sleeping behind me. She's laying on top of her quilt, feet on her pillow, arm hanging off the side of the bed. Anything to get closer to momma. I can't remember a time when she fell asleep without rubbing my arm or touching my hair.
Her older sister and brother have also succumbed. I can hear the quiet breathing all around me.
For the first time today, I can hear myself think.
It's a crazy, wonderful, hectic, beautiful, wild life right now. Not only am I still learning to balance being a mother of four, but suddenly I'm doing it with everyone at home all the time.
To be honest, I'm loving the extra time with my children. I need this.
But to be even more honest, it's utterly exhausting.
Which is why I'm sitting in the dusk with my laptop, listening to the quiet.
I think I'll sit here for just a few minutes more.
Because, in the north at this time of year, the sun rises early too.
Kelly is a new mom of four. You can find her blogging at Love Well.
The purple clouds with pink highlights are still visible from my perch on the floor.
The sun sets late in the north this time of year. I always forget. It doesn't feel like 9:30.
But it is. And the two-year-old who didn't nap today is finally - FINALLY! - sleeping behind me. She's laying on top of her quilt, feet on her pillow, arm hanging off the side of the bed. Anything to get closer to momma. I can't remember a time when she fell asleep without rubbing my arm or touching my hair.
Her older sister and brother have also succumbed. I can hear the quiet breathing all around me.
For the first time today, I can hear myself think.
It's a crazy, wonderful, hectic, beautiful, wild life right now. Not only am I still learning to balance being a mother of four, but suddenly I'm doing it with everyone at home all the time.
To be honest, I'm loving the extra time with my children. I need this.
But to be even more honest, it's utterly exhausting.
Which is why I'm sitting in the dusk with my laptop, listening to the quiet.
I think I'll sit here for just a few minutes more.
Because, in the north at this time of year, the sun rises early too.
Kelly is a new mom of four. You can find her blogging at Love Well.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Pregnancy Journal: The 10th Month
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| From 5 Minutes for Parentin |
By Kelly
This is my last Pregnancy Journal post, friends, because (cue the angels and confetti) I am no longer pregnant. Baby Kieran joined our family on May 7 (birth story is here), and we've been head over heels ever since. I am grateful the editorial staff here at 5 Minutes for Parenting (read: Stephanie, Susan and Janice) graciously gave me a few weeks off so I could stare at the newborn.
But I'm back now, and before I close the chapter on this saga, I feel compelled to mention the hidden month of pregnancy -- the month after the baby arrives.
This postpartum period can be just as bizarre and uncomfortable and messy as the 9.5 months leading up to it.
Consider:
1. You've had the baby, but you might not look like it. This is especially true the first week after childbirth. My own son looked at me a week after Kieran was born and asked, "You're not having another baby are you? Because your tummy is huge."
2. Nothing fits. Maternity clothes are baggy in all the wrong places. Your normal wardrobe isn't going to see the light of day for another 6-8 months. Which probably means you'll need to go shopping for a few new pieces to get you through the in-between. And there are few things more depressing than going clothes shopping just a few weeks after having a baby. (Note to Old Navy: Install a fun house mirror in one of your dressing rooms and designate it for new or expecting moms. You'll be golden.)
3. You will be in the likeness of Pamela. Breast engorgement strikes all new moms, whether they chose to breastfeed or not. It's intensely uncomfortable and (honestly) just weird. I love nursing, but those first few weeks of my body adjusting itself to the new routine can be brutal. See also: bleeding nipples due to a child with a Dyson-like sucking reflex and gushing milk due to bovine DNA.
4. Your emotions will rise and fall more dramatically than the Himalayas. Even if you don't struggle with the baby blues or postpartum depression, you will have moments in the weeks just after childbirth when you will think it entirely reasonable to kill someone for asking to hold the baby without offering to douse themselves in Purell first. Then, three seconds later, you will cry uncontrollably when that same person says the baby has your eyes.
And then there are a few after-effects I'd throw into the "I'd Almost Forgotten That" file. These might not happen to every postpartum woman, but they always happen to me.
1. Night sweats. About two weeks after I have the baby, I start to wake up every night drenched in sweat. Medical professionals say night sweats are the body's way of shedding excess water that built up during pregnancy. OK. Fine. But it's really cold when you have to get up to feed a newborn every three hours wearing pajamas that could be wrung out over a sink. I suggest wearing cotton fabrics to bed and keeping a fleece blanket nearby. It can help keep the shivering to a minimum while you're feeding the baby, and provide a cushion between you and wet sheets when you're ready to climb back into bed.
2. Hair loss. Most women report that their hair gets extra thick and lustrous during pregnancy. I haven't experienced that, probably because my hair is so thick normally, it has no room to grow. (Although I will say I noticed my hair getting huge at the end of this last pregnancy, but not in a good way. Do you remember that episode of "Friends" where Monica goes to Barbados, and in each recurring shot, her curly hair gets bigger and bigger and bigger because of the humidity? Yeah. I felt a little like that. Only with straight hair. Straight hair that looked oddly triangular on my head from all the volume.) Anyway. Whether you notice a chance in your hair during pregnancy or not, chances are you'll notice a great hair recession shortly after the baby is born. My hair is already falling out in large clumps. Thankfully, this is a good thing for me. As long as I remember to take the hair balls off the shower wall. I haven't had to do that for a while now.
3. After pains. For the uninitiated, these are uterine cramps triggered by breastfeeding. From a medical point of view, they are a good thing, because they help shrink your uterus back to its pre-pregnancy size. From my point of view, they hurt like heck, and they get worse with each subsequent baby, so ow-ow-ow. Until Kieran, I didn't know it was possible to nurse and writhe at the same time. Live and learn.
But you know what? It's worth it. Every pain, every sag, every pound, every ache. It is absolutely worth it. There's a reason many women endure the bizarreness and uncomfortableness of pregnancy and childbirth for almost a year -- and then sign up to do it all over again. Because when you look into those bright newborn eyes, you find love.
Have any bits of wisdom or weirdness to add to this discussion of the 10th month? What was your experience? I'd love to hear it in the comments.
Kelly blogs at Love Well and breastfeeds a baby 14 times a day -- and not necessarily in that order.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Pregnancy Journal: The Calm Before The Storm
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| From 5 Minutes for Parentin |
By Kelly
If all goes according to plan, I am one week away from having a baby.
Of course, I'm aware that life can change in a heartbeat. I know the simple statement above is fraught with potential for disruption.
But in the meantime, I'm going with it.
Having a plan puts my mind at ease. I've done all I can do to ensure that Baby Boy's arrival is stress-free and seamless for our family.
All that's left to do is wait and enjoy the relative peace and quiet of the now. Over the years, I've learned the last few weeks of a pregnancy are particularly sensory for me. Suddenly, the details of daily life are unbearably sweet, and I can't soak them up enough.
I readily agree to another game of Uno! with my six-year-old son, because I know the time is coming when I won't have a free hand.
I savor the moments spent with my eight-year-old daughter when she tells me about the latest Puppy Place book she's reading. When did my firstborn get to be such a beautiful and independent girl?
And my two-year-old. Oh my goodness. The baby who's about to be displaced. She is a jewel, lately, always discovering, always delighted at life. On the days when it's just her and me, I play Little People and read books and let her "hep" me with the laundry until I feel I could die from the sweetness. And then at nap time, I lay down with her in my bed and tuck my arm under her head and hold her so close I can smell the shampoo locked in her curls. She rubs my arm and hums a song and gently falls alseep on my pillow, her body curled toward mine like a sleeping newborn.
I know it's really just the calm before the storm. In seven days (or less), we will transform from a family of five to a family of six and we will celebrate the new little one who is already so treasured.
In the meantime, I will treasure this week, when life is as tangible as the belly I wear and even more precious.
Kelly is 38 weeks pregnant with her fourth and final baby. She is scheduled to be induced next Wednesday, May 12. You can read more about her family at her personal blog, Love Well.
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