parenting

Our Busy Busy Calendar

Posted on by Beth Hull

I have been…blessed with an inquisitive child. At times this feels less like a blessing and more like a curse. Like when I’ve heard, “Why,” for the three hundred fifty-second time over the course of one morning. Sidenote: It isn’t even like she wants an answer. I mean, she does, but she doesn’t even ask it like it’s a question. Here’s an example:

Ever-Suffering Mother: Hey, Z, let’s get you dressed for music class!
Z: Why.
ESM: Because even though I’ve let you wear your jim-jams all day long, and in fact, I am still in my jim-jams myself, it is four p.m. and probably time to get dressed. At least just because we’re actually going out.
Z: Why.
ESM: Because…we’re going out?
Z: Why.
ESM: Because people certainly don’t want to see me in my grody sweatpants, and they probably shouldn’t see you wearing your oatmeal from this morning’s breakfast. They’ll think I’m an unfit mother.
Z: Why.

But that’s not what I’m writing about today. At least, that wasn’t what I thought I was writing about. Maybe I thought wrong. There’s obviously some untapped potential in that line of rant.

A couple of weeks ago, the questions strayed from WHY (hallelujah) and veered over into the week’s line-up. During one particularly busy week, I answered (patiently, patiently, always patiently) numerous questions about who was coming when.

“What day is Gran coming?”
“Friday.”
“What day is Grandma coming?”
“Thursday.”
“What day are we going to music class?”
“Thursday, if we ever get out of our pajamas.”

So I thought, she can recognize a stop sign, three letters, and numerous species of birds. She can recognize and respond to the various expressions of annoyance that show up on my face every day (“You’re very angry right now, aren’t you Mommy”). Why couldn’t she recognize and “read” a big weekly calendar?

Whipping out poster board, construction paper, and a fat black marker, I made her a weekly calendar. She worked in tandem with me at the kitchen table, making “calendars” for Husband and me. I put the calendar up on the basement door next to her room and voila!

Did the calendar solve the questions problem? No. And I hope nothing ever does. The most guilt I feel at this point (well, after the guilt I feel for making her play on her own while I write these rants/blog posts) is if I crack and say, “No more questions!” Because I want her to always, always ask questions. Even annoying ones.

But maybe she could direct those questions to someone else occasionally? Like…her preschool teacher when she starts in August?

Excuse me, I have to go revive The Dance of Joy.

Clean Up, Clean Up, Everybody, Everywhere…

Posted on by Beth Hull

…Clean up, clean up, before your mom pulls out her hair.

Somewhere in the universe there is a two-and-a-half-year-old who does everything she is told, when she is told. And happily. She doesn’t even whine. She says, “Okay, Mommy,” and scrapes her leftovers into the trash, and puts on her shoes when it’s time to go, and stops picking at her effing fingernails when you remind her not to because they will become bloody stumps otherwise. (Ahem. This is another issue I’ve been struggling with. But this is not the place, not today.)

I’ve never seen that two-and-a-half-year-old. She’s not in this house. Here we have the Ever-Suffering Mother trying to manage an adorable monster. We’ve tried bribing her to clean up by giving her “special occasion” toys. We’ve tried special songs – from the ever-popular classic “Clean Up, Clean Up” to Ricky Martin’s upbeat “Pegate,” to the ever-inspiring “Love Shack” by the B52’s. We’ve tried time-outs. We’ve tried time-ins. (Not really the time-ins, I just thought it sounded good.) Finally, what worked best was taking toys away if she didn’t clean them up.

Why did it work best? Not for the reason you’d hope, that she’d be suddenly transformed into a little cleaner-upper at the thought of losing her precious stuffed animal friends. No. It works best because when the toys disappear to the basement, there is less for her to clean up the next night, and the night after, and so on. Because the Ever-Suffering Mother does NOT traipse down to the basement every day to collect whatever toys were banished the day previous. So they sort of collect there.

The family room empties, the basement fills up.

And then, yesterday. I brought up armloads of toys from the basement, some of them Z hasn’t seen in ages. I made piles of toys in the family room. Guess what she did. Okay, fine, I’ll tell you: she put them away. And then she said something kind of sad, but so cute. “I’m not taking anything out.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“Then I won’t have to put it away!”

The "friends" are so much happier when theyre hidden away in their little nest. Z doesnt buy this logic.

The Other Kind of App

Posted on by Beth Hull

It wasn’t something I downloaded. There were no electronic gadgets involved, only a pen and paper. On it, I wrote down Z’s name, her birthday. I circled eight adjectives that Husband and I thought best described her. I listed contact information. I attached a check.

It’s not the kind of app for your iPhone (I typed “eye-phone” at first, sheesh).

It’s The Preschool Application. And soon after her third birthday, I will upload my daughter into the car, drive her across town, unfasten the connection (aka the umbilical cord) and download her into the preschool parking lot. My feelings about this are already mixed, but I will admit I am mostly happy. When Z goes to preschool in the mornings, I will have an empty nest.

Party time!

Well, not exactly. I plan to do some work, maybe tutoring, maybe freelance editing, we’ll see. Maybe I’ll be unable to work because I’ll be crying my eyes out from missing my daughter’s companionship. Don’t laugh, it’s entirely possible. Negotiating the terms of our relationship is never straightforward, and my reactions (and hers) are often surprising.

Happily or not, we are about to embark on a very different era. One in which I don’t know every exact detail of every moment of her day. Strange, sad, and somewhat liberating.

The Best Online Art Gallery Ever!

Posted on by Beth Hull

Art speaks to all of us in different ways, but nothing speaks quite so profoundly as a child’s visionary depictions of their worlds. As curator of the Best Online Art Gallery Ever, I feel blessed, nay, privileged, to give the Public access to these ocular delights.

Special thanks to Vicki, Leonie, Ann, Stephanie, and Jo for sharing masterpieces rendered by the special children in their lives.

The Bed of Pain

Posted on by Beth Hull

I desperately need a shower. And maybe something with caffeine..and prozac. Z was awake for an hour and a half between 2:30 and 4. It was a NIGHTMARE. I finally bodily dragged her out of our bed, took her to her own, and said, “If you want to stay in Mommy and Daddy’s bed you will be STILL and QUIET.” Poor thing, she was crying, but she agreed. But then I was all irritated and my heart rate was up so it took me forever to fall back to sleep. She cuddled with me, though, and stayed asleep until almost 7:30. I took her to the bathroom and got her out of her diaper (she still wears them to bed at night), got her a snack of raspberries and Cheerios and brought it to my bed and told her to amuse herself until 8:00. Then I kinda dozed for awhile. Wearing earplugs, of course.

UGH. In twelve years, she will be fourteen and want to sleep until noon, and I will get her up at the crack of dawn on Saturdays to do chores. Revenge shall be MINE!

Mwahahahahaha.

Yes, I’m laughing, but I’m also kind of crying.