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So How’d You Spend Your Saturday Morning, Part 2

Posted on by Amy Pybus
2

I am sitting in my kitchen with the doors closed, music on, trying to drown out the screaming of my Older Son.

*Possibly the best line I’ve ever written on my blog.*

He’s losing his mind over Mario Super Sluggers and screaming so loud that even Younger Son said, “He needs to take a break.”

He did the same thing last night and we eventually left him to go upstairs and read Harry Potter (yes, thank you Lord, my son is finally reading the books after owning them for three years, because the endless unanswered questions left by the movies drove him to it).

Anyway it’s such a wonderful way to spend a Saturday morning. I had to give Older credit because he was up an hour before me and didn’t make a peep so that I could sleep in. Holding that in must have been hard but he did it for his dear old Mum. And for that I have to hold in my urge to tell him to “KNOCK IT OFF!!!!”

I thought we were finally past this phase. He used to do the exact same thing when he was younger, venting his frustration at seemingly impossible video games. Then he finally grew out of it and it was like a cloud lifted.

But now he’s back to it and I think I’ve figured out why: hormones. He’s getting flashes of pre-teen angst, snide comments here and there, running up to his room and hiding. ANYTHING my husband says to him is taken as a personal attack.

Dad: You made a great save.
Older: I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT!!!!!

I knew all of this was coming and I’m not surprised or upset. I’m really quite sympathetic (well he’s my kid, of course I’m on his side). I think part of why I work well with children is because I remember quite vividly what it feels like to grow up. Not the exact details or events, but the VERY BIG FEELINGS that made everything seem like your life was about to end dramatically.

I look at the challenges he’s facing and they’re pretty big for an 11-year-old boy. His team gets crushed every Saturday and Sunday. He’s dealing with a whole new set of fears that have just appeared after a long time of feeling overly confident about the world and his capabilities to handle it. He has a huge burden of homework, some of which he doesn’t understand and no one can seem to explain to him. He wants to feel capable and strong, not confused and emasculated.

Of course none of this compares to my Polish neighbor, who was in a German POW camp at age 11, so we do try to keep it in perspective.

But still, the pain of the screaming. I have a hard time relating to Older’s outbursts because well, first of all the sound makes me want to do horrible things to him. But it’s also not how I handle anger. I hold it all in until I lose it and have to go in the basement and punch the heck out of Nubs. Older vocalizes his pain.

But then I remember, I learned this technique when I was in labor and it really worked. Someone (probably my pregnancy yoga teacher) told me it’s the worst pain of your life, you’re allowed to yell. But do it in a growling way to release it instead of shrieking like a banshee. And it actually did work.

Nowadays if I stub my toe (or slice my hand with a knife, which I did last week while cutting the cantaloupe and yelling at a day care kid to stop hitting someone), the rumble comes up from my gut and actually eases the pain, or at least takes my mind off it.

So I have to accept for a while that this is Older’s outlet. I know it will pass because it has before (and then God knows what he’ll use to soothe the pain).

It seems that my banshee finally won the level so he’s calm for the moment. But I know he’ll be back.

So How’d You Spend YOUR Saturday Morning?

Posted on by Amy Pybus
2

Saturday morning, it’s quiet, I’m having some coffee, reading the paper, and I think, the boys are totally entertaining themselves. In fact lately they often choose that over hanging out with me. They’re growing up a little and it’s both great and really sad, so I ponder that for a minute or two.

Then I start to daydream. I could actually get something accomplished before the soccer games begin. I start going through the list of projects in my head. I could tidy up the basement. Dig out their summer clothes. Dust? Then Younger asks me if he can have a bath with “the squishy stuff.”

We got this stuff as a gift:

Don't try this at home

Damn you Squishy Baff people! You are liars! Liars all!!!

And – I have to admit it – I thought it was the coolest thing ever. Totally up our alley – weird, messy, something that changes into something freaky when you add water. I couldn’t wait to get the boys in the tub and try it. So I said yes, and up we went.

It was really cool, and weird, and all those things we thought it would be. Younger loved it. Older sat in it for a few minutes, then suddenly realized it was creepy and had to get out immediately. Younger stretched out and enjoyed a nice hot squishy bath all to himself.

Now, the instructions said to simply add the magic dissolving powder and it would – well, magically dissolve.

Are you at all shocked to hear that it didn’t dissolve ONE BIT?! Well maybe the three square inches where Younger dumped it, though it said “sprinkle evenly” so I stirred it REALLY well, but maybe that just wasn’t enough. Perhaps that was our fatal mistake.

The tub was quite filled with squishy stuff that was clearly not magically dissolving and had no intention of doing so.

So I did the only thing I could think of to do. I went and got a strainer from the kitchen.

I swished it through the water and it came out completely FULL of stuff, without making a dent in what was still in the tub. It was quite heavy and I had to hold it for about a minute to drain the water out. Wasn’t sure what to do with it (pour in on newspaper? Into a plastic bag?) but once I felt the weight of it I thought the garbage can might be the best idea. Turns out, it was.

After about twenty minutes and eight strainerfuls, I asked Older to go get me another strainer. No sense doing this with one hand. I got quite a good little system going, sweep, strain, switch hands, dump, sweep, etc.

At some point during the bailing I realized that this stuff had been in the cracks of my kids’ bodies. I threw up a little in my mouth, then made a mental note to throw the strainers away as soon as I was done.

After another 40 minutes, the tub was pretty much empty. And my garbage can was full.

This was in my tub. Eeew.

Oh sure, it just magically dissolves.

And that’s a big can, it’s not your average little bathroom mini-can (not in this house). I knew darn well if I tried to pick up the bag the thing would explode all over the floor, so I grabbed the can to haul it down to the trashcan outside. And I pulled a muscle in my back. Wet Squishy Baff is heavy.

And I was running late for preparing the boys’ pre-game snack.

So, in short, that’s why nothing ever gets done in my house. I suppose I jinxed myself by even thinking for a moment that something could possibly get done. And why I never have time to do anything, and why I’m always busy, and giving all my friends lame excuses for never being able to go out and have fun or get anything accomplished.

Friends, don’t be like me. Don’t be the cool fun mom who lets anything happen in her house, mess be damned. Don’t let your kids play with chemicals because you think it will be a cool educational experience. Just don’t do it.

And oh yeah. I have to run to the kitchen store to buy some new strainers.

When a Crying Baby Makes You So Angry You Might Hurt Them

Posted on by Amy Pybus
1

A reader sent in one of the most heartfelt and brutally honest comments I’ve had, and I needed to respond right away.

One of the most popular posts on this blog has always been Don’t Feel Bad When Your Crying Baby Makes You Crazy. This is clearly a universal problem: people really do struggle when a baby is crying.

The reader, a man, said how much he loves his one-year-old daughter and that she rarely cries, but when she does, he gets so angry that he has to leave the room and punch furniture. He is afraid that he will scare and possibly hurt her with his anger.

First I want to reassure him that he’s doing the right thing. Go away, get rid of your anger, and come back when you can deal with the child. It’s far more upsetting for them to see you lose it in front of them or, clearly, to take your anger out on them. Your anger makes the moment more intense. The goal is to remain calm, and therefore calm the baby.

This is the hardest challenge of parenting – this is where you really have to dig deep, and I’m not just being facetious. You have to grow and change, which is really hard. You have to push yourself to find a place where you can be calm even when all hell is breaking loose around you.

If you lose control of your anger you can very easily hurt a little one, and it is terrifying for parents to think they have this capacity. Because no one talks about anger when it comes to little ones. We see the rosy pictures and the quiet moments and the joy joy joy we’re supposed to be feeling, when really we’re exhausted, emotional, scared, and sometimes just can’t handle the drastic (and irreversible) life changes we’ve just been through. Babies open up a whole new world we can’t possibly understand until we’re there, at 3AM with a screaming child, and we’ve got a major presentation at 9:00.

First let’s try to explain why all of this is happening. We get so noticeably upset by our baby’s cry because it is designed by nature to get your blood pumping – to get you to respond to its distress. It’s a survival instinct that we’re both physically wired for and there’s nothing we can do to change it.

But I also think that today we have immense pressure to never let our babies cry. All the gurus tell us to do everything we can to soothe our baby and stop the crying right away. But sometimes you simply can’t. And as the reader described, he then feels guilty because he can’t stop her crying and because his own emotional reaction feels out of control. Then the whole situation escalates quickly.

Sometimes being forced to stop crying is not the best thing for a child. Babies feel stress too, and they need a way to let it out. When we run in and force them to calm down we’re saying don’t cry – it’s not good for you. That emotion you have is bad and we need to stop it. A baby feels what they feel, they can’t analyze it.

Put her in a safe place and walk away. You both need a timeout, and that’s OK (and sometimes the safest thing to do). In fact I will often tell my day care kids, “Amy needs a timeout!” and run and hide in the kitchen. We can only take care of our kids if we take care of ourselves first. (This rule applies forever, at any age, in all situations.)

A little bit of crying has never hurt or permanently scarred a baby. It lets them deal with their own big emotions and learn how to self-soothe. There are times in life when Mom and Dad simply don’t know how to stop the pain. We can’t always fix everything, and it’s OK for a child to feel sad. Crying is a release.

Let’s face it, we are not a culture that deals well with ugly emotions. We don’t know what to do with our anger so we bottle it up until it explodes at the wrong time. It scares us, and that’s a healthy thing, but that also leads us to hide it away. When we’re sad we try everything to stop the crying, to hold that feeling in, rather than letting it out. Sometimes your body just can’t do that, even though we try to put our societal norms on it and say we’re too civilized for this ugliness. It’s not true. We need to be able to face it and then let it go, and teach our kids how to do that as well.

Therefore, I would like to introduce you to my friend Nubs. The boys named him that because he doesn’t have arms (or maybe something dirty but I chose not to delve any further). When we got him I thought it would be a hoot – but basically a joke – that I would be able to take my anger out on him. One day I half-heartedly punched his face. In a few minutes my hands hurt so badly that I had to go back to the store and get sparring gloves. When I’m not punching Nubs, I pat him on the head and thank him for taking my abuse, because honestly, there are some days when he saves our lives.

One of the most important things I do with my day care kids is teaching them how to deal with anger. There are many books out there on the topic, and one of their favorites is If You’re Angry and You Know It. I developed a song chart they can pick from and we sing, “If you’re angry and you know it growl it out!” Grrrrrrr, with lots of roars and gritted teeth from the crowd.

The reader asks if he should seek professional help and I would say I don’t think you’re at that point right now. The baby’s cries will get less intense as she gets older (and in case they don’t, remember that the best thing you can do with a tantrum is WALK AWAY – ignore it and don’t feed it, whatever you do).

But I’m glad that you realize that if it doesn’t get better, and you find yourself raging at your child, that you will need to ask for help. You are on the right track, and you’ve tapped into something very strong – the way our kids can push our buttons until we rage. As they grow it might not be crying, but other very sneaky ways they know to get us going.

It’s OK to show our kids that we’re angry. It’s an honest emotion and sometimes they push us to it. They have a part in the dance and need to learn why misbehaving is wrong. It’s part of growing up, and parents teaching their kids right from wrong.

Still I had the hardest time with this because of those messages – life is beautiful, never ugly, our children are precious, never let anything scar or hurt them, and NEVER tell them “No.” My son was a wild three-year-old and I battled him. One day I screamed so loud that it scared even me. I called my friend Pam and cried. I told her I don’t know what I’m doing but I know it’s wrong. I’m afraid I hurt my child.

She said, “Amy, what is he doing right now?” I looked out the window and said, “He’s running up and down the driveway with his Power Rangers cape on.” Pam asked, “Did you crush his spirit?” I had to admit that I didn’t. And what a relief that was. And accept the knowledge that our kids are far more resilient than we give them credit for. I waited until I collected myself and went and gave him a big hug. But I remembered that the next time he was getting me upset, I would let him know before I became a screaming monster.

I’m not much of a yeller now. I’m direct and honest, and address issues before they get out of control. I’m firm but loving. It’s been the hardest process of my life to learn how to handle my emotions, and the kids, and their emotions, in a healthy and productive way.

There is a quote that comes to mind every time I feel my anger rising at my kids. When I remember that they are the most precious and important thing in my life, and that I am the God of their world. That my response is literally going to shape their lives and teach them the emotional strength for how to get through the toughest times:

“Your defining act of love for your child will not be the 2:00 AM feedings, the sleepless, fretful night spent beside him in the hospital, or the second job you took to pay for college. Your zenith will occur in the face of a withering blast of frightening rage from your child, in allowing no rage from yourself in response. Your finest moment may well be your darkest. And you will be a parent.” (Michael J. Bradley)

Hilary Rosen, I’m On Your Side

Posted on by Amy Pybus
2

In case you haven’t heard, a brief update. Hilary Rosen, Democratic consultant, dared to be honest enough to say that Ann Romney hasn’t worked a day in her life – a simple fact – and the world tilted on its axis from the uproar that ensued.

It’s amusing to watch the firestorm considering that ultimately, all of our politicians are beyond our pay scale and our country is being run by the 1% and they are quite happy to use their time as our elected representatives to find legal ways to keep it that way, and it will probably stay that way indefinitely.

However. The instant vilification of Ms. Rosen for simply saying something that’s true is amazing. (Election-season distraction GOLD.) In a nanosecond we were back to “being a stay-at-home mom is a full-time job” and the “mommy wars” all over again.

What is a mommy war, exactly? A bunch of moms going out to the field of battle, Nerf weapons at the ready, virulently defending their young, until five minutes later they all realize how utterly stupid the whole thing is and organize a picnic because everyone’s hungry and tired?

Sure, being a stay-at-home mom is hard work. But being a mom who has a job outside the home is twice as hard. Or maybe three times as hard, because your husband is working too but you’re still the one doing most of the house and kid-work.

Here are the lessons I learned from a lifetime of work. I was 15 when I got my first job scooping ice cream. I learned that for $6/hour I got blisters on my feet and aching back, neck, shoulder, and arm muscles. I learned that older men will prey on teenage girls. And that a boss is someone who watches to make sure you stored the whipped cream properly, and if you didn’t there will be a humiliating red X next to your name on the sign-off sheet the next day.

And that after three hours of that work, I could afford to buy a record.

But I wouldn’t change it for a second, because it taught me how to work. And it taught me the value of money. These valuable lessons have come in handy over the course of my life.

Hilary Rosen told the truth because a woman like Ann Romney (or any other member of the 1% or hell, even the 15-20%) doesn’t understand that the constant struggle for financial security affects families deeply. My family would not survive financially without my income. So even if I wanted to stay home for my children, I couldn’t.

She doesn’t understand that for the 99%, you can work like a dog for 50 hours a week and barely get by. That after you go to the grocery store and buy new shoes for the kids, your paycheck is gone. That you are one real injury, illness, or car repair away from being in serious trouble.

And that a mom who works lives in a constant state of guilt, because she is either not there enough for her children or not there enough for her job. She is never whole.

But uber-feminist that I am, who believes that this whole discussion – mommy wars, equal rights, reproductive rights, pay and marriage equality – is one that belongs to the past, has a deep dark little secret: I would love to be able to stay home and commit to my family 100%.

So in that way, I have to admit that I envy Ann Romney. In this day and age, being a stay-at-home mom is a privilege. It’s something that a lot of working moms might also secretly like to do. We work because we don’t have a choice. So I simply can’t reconcile staying at home being a hardship.

And I’m sorry that Ms. Rosen cancelled her upcoming appearances “to be a mom who stays home” after the whole dust-up. One of the best ways for a mom to show her kids what it truly means to be a woman is to get back up, get out there, and fight the good fight.

Solving the World’s Problems with an 8-year-old Over Breakfast

Posted on by Amy Pybus
4

Ah, the wisdom that hits us when we’ve only gotten through half of our first cup of coffee.

The boys were sitting with me at breakfast and while I read the paper, the topic of sexism came up. Younger wanted to know what it meant.

I said, “It’s like racism, but based on if you’re a woman or man rather than what color you are.”

So we delved into that idea for a while, with Older giving us as much of his worldly wisdom on the subject as possible.

Younger was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “People aren’t all one color.”

So with the full head of steam I had going over the discussion, I continued in the vein of, “Well of course, that’s why we have racism because people judge each other based on if they’re darker or lighter…”

Younger stopped me there (it’s fun for them to stop me once I get rolling). “No, your skin is white but your eyes are a different color. That’s what I’m trying to tell you about. You have more than one color in your body.”

I still didn’t follow. Since we all have more than one color, we shouldn’t care only about our skin?

Younger said, “No. I mean what if we grouped people by their eye color instead of their skin?”

Yup. Epiphany.

I guess we’d have three or four much smaller tribes than what we’ve got now. (Unless you count the red-eyed vampires that would be five.) But wow. Kids, man. I don’t have words to describe the depth of it even now, sitting here hours later still trying to process the insight of that comment.

Well, we got one down. Now, what to do about that sexism thing.