parenting

The Subtle Art of Hyperbole

Posted on by Beth Hull

Other parents have corroborated this phenomenon: they make a simple request of their child and BOOM! They get a dramatic, hysterical reaction, usually accompanied by whining and/or tears, along with a wildly distorted rephrasal of the request. I think we need examples.

1.

Ever-Suffering Mother: Hey Z, would you please pick up your puzzle before taking out your medical kit?

Z: [stomps feet, throws self on ground] But you don’t want me to play with anything!

ESM: Hmm. Not what I said.

2.

ESM: Z, you need to use both hands to hold your cup.

Z: You don’t want me to drink any milk!

ESM: Hmm. Not what I said.

3.

ESM: Darling, sweet daughter, who listens so well, let’s wear pants today instead of shorts because it’s cold.

Z: You said I can’t have any clothes!

ESM: Hmm. Not what I said.

4.

ESM: Please, little angel, I’m begging you, would you mind very much NOT throwing my manuscript on the floor?

Z: You don’t want to share your things!

ESM: Hmm. Not what I said.

5.

ESM: For the last time, stop talking to me during Quiet Play Time! I’m trying to work! [under breath: and win another game of solitaire]

Z: You just don’t want me to talk at all!

ESM: You got that right.

I don’t know where she got it, her tendency to overreact to things.

Shut up.

The Lazies

Posted on by Beth Hull

I knew it would happen sooner or later. It always does. I’m working away, feeling fantastic and productive, feeling glorious, and then. BOOM. Attack of the Lazies.

It manifests slowly, sneakily. One night I might rebelliously leave all the dirty dishes in the sink, without even rinsing them off. Then instead of doing something “good,” like critiquing a friend’s manuscript, or getting a blog post ready, I’ll play a game (or fifty) of solitaire on the computer. It’s just one evening of laziness – we’ve all been there, right?

But then the next day, I don’t exercise after dropping Z off from school. I rationalize this, telling myself that having a second breakfast is more important than fainting on the elliptical machine. I further rationalize this by imagining the fainting scenario, complete with knocking myself out on the garage floor, then being unable to pick Z up at noon. And how she’ll be waiting there with her teacher, watching as all the other little kids get to go home with their parents, and “Where’s my mommy?” and how this abandonment will manifest itself in thousand-dollar therapy bills when she’s a tween.

While I eat instead of exercising, I need something to do. Reading while eating is a luxury I don’t get quite as often as I used to (i.e. every meal), so I relish a good book with a good bagel. An hour later, the bagel is long gone, but I’m at a really interesting point in this Margaret Atwood essay, so I better keep going.

Next thing I know, I have half an hour to work on my manuscript before picking up Z. So I stare at my revision to-do list for fifteen minutes. Then it’s too late to actually do anything. So I play a few games of solitaire before turning off the computer.

And so the week progresses. The dishes in the sink pile up. The mountain of monster zucchini piles up. The laundry on the designated Laundry Chair piles up. The kitchen floor is sticky, the refrigerator’s full of expired leftovers, and I don’t even make Z clean up her toys because I feel like such a hypocrite.

Nothing happens. Nothing gets done. It’s a miracle I took the time from my busy life to write this blog post.

The Three Faces of Z

Posted on by Beth Hull

To be fair, she has more faces. And not all are as extreme as these. The Timid is another face that comes to mind – that’s the one she whips out in large groups of people, when I suspect she is only half timid, half I-want-my-mommy-to-pay-attention-to-only-me. There’s also a whiny face, but whenever I talk about her whining, I sound like I’m whining. So we’ll just avoid that today, and focus on the following three faces.

The Focused

When Z has a job she wants to do, she brings out her FocusedFace. She focuses completely on whatever “job” she’s created for herself, whether it’s putting every single one of her stuffed animals to bed, listing their genealogies, or tearing construction paper into tiny, impossible-to-pick-up-without-tweezers scraps. Whatever she’s doing, she’s intent and quiet. I love to watch her like this, hear the conversations she makes up with herself and her stuffed friends.

The Crazed

This is, perhaps, the most frightening incarnation of childhood I will ever witness. At least, I hope it doesn’t get scarier than this. The words “inside voices” mean nothing. The word “no” means nothing. Pogo sticks sprout from the soles of her feet. She has to do whatever it is she’s set her mind to do, whether or not doing this thing will result in an eternity of time-outs, e.g. picking up the cat and hurling her to the floor, slapping/pushing/spitting (yes, my child occasionally does these things. If yours doesn’t, wipe that smug smile off your face and trade kids with me). The Crazed Face is the one that has me calling Husband, vowing that This Is The Last Day I Will Be A Stay-at-Homie, Here Is My Resignation, I’m Driving to Mexico for Margaritas – Alone – and Nobody Can Stop Me.

The Helpful

One of my favorite recent Z-quotes happened at the dinner table the other night: “I’m going to be the calmest person. I’m not gonna cry, I’m not gonna scream, I’m not gonna make Daddy say I can’t have stories. I’m going to cooperate!” The Helpful personality of Z will often manifest itself in hyper-exaggerated gestures of politeness. She’ll often even help me recognize this face by saying something like, “I feel like a grown-up” or “I’m being polite.” The Helpful Z works to earn approval, and smiles angelically up at me from time to time. She does her chores, she cleans up her toys, she surprises me with random, gentle hugs or back massages.

What kinds of faces did you have as a little kid, or what faces do you see on the kids around you?

PS: I think she just fell asleep during Quite Play Time. YES!

PPS: By the way, if you haven’t played Killer Bunnies before, you’re missing out. I’ve been looking for an excuse to work them into a blog post for over a year now.

The Subtext of Playdate Arrangements

Posted on by Beth Hull

Now that Z’s making friends and influencing people (and getting beaned in the nose with the tetherball) at preschool in the morning, I’ve been filling afternoons with either a) trying to clean house and slowly going insane, or, b) the library, Target, or playdates with Z’s friends.

Here are some common phrases I’ve used and noticed, and what I read between the lines.

“How about we go to your house? Z’s getting cabin fever over here. She could use a change of scenery.”

Translation: We’re living like pig people, and I’d be embarrassed to show this place to an infant, even less to a full-grown adult capable of making judgments.

“Yeah, four o’clock sounds good. But if naps end early, feel free to come on over!”

Translation: I’m going batty alone with my child(ren). Bring yours over to distract mine ASAP. I don’t care if they’re grumpy, rude, crying, snotty. I need them, and I need you!

“Or, we could always meet at the park.”

Translation: The park is a neutral zone, and my child, who hates to share, won’t have any prior claim to the park structures. Also, nobody has to clean up afterward. Also, my house is a disaster area and this way you don’t have to see it, and I don’t have to be embarrassed.

“Do you want to bring a snack, too? Maybe we could have a little picnic?”

Translation: I haven’t gone grocery shopping in weeks and we have nothing fit to serve others. Unless, that is, you think stale goldfish crackers and Cheerios make a meal.

“We’re having a rough day. Z could sure use some company.”

Translation: I’m having a rough day and I am about ready to have a mental breakdown. If I don’t talk to someone who can speak without whining this afternoon, you might see me screaming and riding Z’s Power Wheels up and down the sidewalk outside my house.

Those are just a few. Are there any that I missed?

Are We There Yet? I Want to Go Home!

Posted on by Beth Hull

We’re back from the cabins, weren’t hauled away by Outlaw Red Spiders of Doom, and we even survived the Incessant Whining of We’re-Never-Going-on-Another-Car-Trip-with-This-Child-Again.

One thing I’ve noticed is that Z wants to stay home more, now that she’s going to preschool. It isn’t just the drop-off tears (I think we’re done with that short phase, thank heavens). But when we’re here, she wants to stay put. It’s like she needs to be with her toys. She’s so much more absorbed. Yeah, she’s a lot more clingy, too, which is why I thought a long weekend with us and the grandparents would be a good thing.

So it wasn’t the idyllic Walden scene. Unless Thoreau had a cranky toddler to contend with, mixed in with the guilt of hiding in his cabin while his husband and grandparents dealt with her? I haven’t read Walden, but I can make a pretty good guess this wasn’t the case.

Oh yeah, and we forgot her cot. So it was Z, Husband, and me all squeezed onto a full-size futon. I’ve never felt closer to my family.