DotMoms Daily: September 30, 2006
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September 30, 2006
September 29, 2006
Learning to be assertive
By Robin P.
Lillianna has her Daddy's personality. She is kind,compassionate and loving and she is always the peace maker. I'm proud of those qualities but sometimes I worry about her. I don't want her to sacrifice her own convictions for those of someone who is more assertive.
When she was 3-years-old, she attended her friend Ethan's birthday party at an amusement park. Rich put her on an airplane ride that she had to share with another boy from the party. As the ride went up and down, Rich saw the boy hit her. Lillianna flinched and tried to move away but she was strapped in and had nowhere to go. After the ride,R ich asked Lillianna if that boy had hit her. She said yes. He asked why she didn't hit him back. She said quietly,"I didn't want to be rude to Ethan's friend, Daddy." We tried to explain that no one had the right to hit her or treat her badly. We hoped that would help her if she were ever faced with this situation again.
Two years ago, when Lillianna was in first grade, she and her friend Zach pretended to get married at recess. Zach's mom, Linda and I joked about being in-laws. Lillianna and Zach continued to have a close friendship and last year the talk of being married faded into the background. Linda and I were pleased that the novelty wore off and that the kids weren't focused on that anymore.
Recently, Linda laughed and said, "I heard the kids got married again." I was surprised since I hadn't heard that news from my daughter who normally tells me everything. I casually asked Lillianna about it the other day. She said,"I don't want to talk about it."
I asked her to tell me everything.
She gave a tired little sigh and explained that she re-married against her will. Her friend Angela insisted that Lillianna would be happier if she were back with Zach. First of all, there is no "back." They're not teenagers who are dating. They are friends who act like typical 8-year-olds. Second of all, Lillianna is a very happy child. I believe Angela might be putting her own wishes on to Lillianna.
I have seen Lillianna and Angela play together. Usually, Angela wants Lillianna to do what she tells her to. Even when Lillianna says she doesn't want to, Angela pleads with her until she gives in. I figured this was something that Lillianna would eventually work out for herself.
Lillianna said she told Angela several times that she didn't want to marry Zach again. They were just friends, but Angela is not one to take no for an answer. She handed Lillianna a bouquet of dandelions and conducted a ceremony.
I asked Lillianna why she didn't just walk away. Her answer stopped my heart. "It was just easier to give in to her, Mom."
After all I have taught her about being assertive and not giving in, I was sad to learn that she was still not comfortable standing her ground. I assured her that I was not angry or upset but that we needed to discuss this situation.
"This is exactly how your friends will get you to smoke pot and drink alcohol when you are older. They will keep nagging you and trying to get you to give in. If it's something that goes against what you really want to do, you have to be strong enough to say NO!"
Lillianna never wants to hurt anyone's feelings, which is commendable, but I am afraid that she is going to be a doormat for her more assertive friends. There are several children in her life who are quite overpowering and I want her to be able to have fun with them but I don't want her to give in to their wishes if they are against her own beliefs.
How do you teach your child to stand up for herself?
Robin P. lives with her husband and daughter in a suburb south of Boston.
September 28, 2006
If you build it, they will come
By Andrea
Early this summer our local playground was torn up, ripped out, and carted away in small pieces. You'd think that would elicit a few tears, but no one was bothered in the least. The playground was getting old and no one really used it. Besides, a shiny new playground was slated to replace it in a month's time. At least, this was the plan.
I knew at the outset that the original ETA was overly optimistic, and I was right. My daughters and I spent the entire summer watching the new playground take shape. It was slow going. Construction delays brought it all to a complete standstill for days on end.
We monitored the progress every day. We peered at the machinery from behind temporary fences, we watched them bring in all the new play equipment and piece it together, bit by bit. There was a lot of speculation and guesswork on our part. Is there going to be a tire swing? What's that thing over there? How many slides are there going to be? My two detectives were at it all summer.
Most of all they wondered when it was going to be done. And I was never able to give a satisfactory answer. What does "soon" mean to a five and seven year old anyway?
It was a pretty big day when the new park finally opened. We attended the ribbon-cutting ceremony. The shreds of ribbon hadn't even fallen to the ground before the park was covered in kids. Within the hour it was positively swarming. There were probably 200 kids there that day. It seems that were weren't the only ones watching and waiting.
"What is your favourite thing about the new park," I asked my daughters.
You could practically see the wheels turning in their heads.
"I don't know," was the answer. "I love it all!"
It's the kind of playground that kids dream about. There are plenty of swings and climbers. It's wheelchair accessible, nicely landscaped, and some of the sidewalks are springy and rubberized. I remain amazed at the transformation. Most interestingly, there has been another unexpected benefit. The playground has, more than ever, become a neighborhood hub and a meeting place for parents.
Whenever we're at the playground we run into someone we know. Although I'm happy that the kids finally have a great place to play, I'm really excited about the social aspect. The parents stand around and chat while the kids all race around the play structure together.
It's really made me think. What did we do before the new park came along? And why can't every neighborhood have a great park like this one?
Andrea is a freelance writer and web go-to gal, and most importantly, mum to Emma (7) and Sarah (5). They all live in Ottawa, Canada.
September 27, 2006
Do as I say, Not as I do
By Laurie
Insomnia.
I battle insomnia in fits and starts. Currently, I am sleeping well. I hesitate to say, “sleeping like a baby” because anyone in her right mind knows babies are erratic and often problematic sleepers.
Sometimes, I am saddened when I begin sleeping well. The insomnia adds hours to the day and there’s precious quiet time to do stuff. My bathroom sparkles at 3:30 a.m., my expenses tallied, meals planned, winter clothes taken out.
A few weeks back, the night before Max’s first day of second grade, I was proud to have the children clean and bedded by 8 p.m. As I tucked him in, Max told me he was feeling a little ambivalent about the day ahead. He had laid out his clothes, bow tie and all, requested his lunch (quesadilla) and prepared his backpack.
At 8:20 he called me in to his room. “Mama, I can’t sleep.” Those words are such a trigger for me. There’s something wrong, some anxiety, malaise, illness. I tell myself that his difficulty is not a genetic trait. He will, in fact, sleep. It’s just that dreaded ambivalence.
I sit down next to him, snuggle a bit. We talk about his first day. I ask him if he’s tried counting sheep. “Of course, mom. I’m already up to 218.” I am surprised by the number, I’m even more surprised by the fact that he knows the counting sheep routine. Honestly? I don’t think I’ve ever counted sheep, so I don’t quite know what to tell him.
“What do the sheep look like?” I ask, stalling for time, for an answer.
“They look like. . . . sheep, mom.”
Of course they do. “Are they lining up to jump over the fence?” I inquire. He scrunches up his nose, opens his eyes a bit wider.
“Huh?”
“What, are they just all lined up and you’re counting them?”
“Yeah..." he fishes.
I throw my hands up, “No wonder, Max! They have to jump over the fence. They sort of take a running start and jump over the fence. Count them mid-jump.”
He humors me. How do I know this? Why do I try to pass this off as the missing link? I don’t know, but I do.
Max is asleep when I check on him again.
When I begin a bout of insomnia again, I wonder if I will count sheep. Will they leap the fence or will they pay the bills, scrub the stove, and put in a load of laundry? I’ll let you know. It’s my missing link.
Laurie Nardone lives with her two boys in Beverly, MA.
September 26, 2006
My so-called writing life
By Amy H.
For the first time since becoming a stay-at-home mom a little over five years ago I have both of my children in school for some of the time during the week. My big plan was to use those precious hours to work on establishing myself as a freelance writer. The first step in my plan was to send a query letter and writing sample to a parenting magazine. So far so good, right? I’ve got a plan and I’ve got a realistic goal and I’ve got child-free time to put the plan into action...
...and so far I have a really clean house…and a really clean van…and a really clean garage. If my writing career stays on this track I’ll soon be inviting you all over to witness the cleanest basement east of the Mississippi!
I’ve sorted toys in the kids’ rooms, mopped the laundry room floor, and kept so far ahead of the laundry that the hampers are beginning to collect dust – which reminds me, I need to go dust. The closest I’ve come to meeting my writing goal was when I sat down at my computer desk to begin work on the letter and realized that my desk needed to be organized. While taking care of this task I remembered that I had volunteered to send donation requests to all of my neighbors for a very worthy charity – so I did that too.
I’m actually beginning to think of things to add to my to-do list that I never before thought possible as a mother of two young children. Antiquing frames for the old-fashioned baby photos of my daughter suddenly seems like a reasonable activity. But that will have to wait until I’m finished with my landscaping design, which will incorporate a butterfly garden, imported tulip bulbs, Disney-quality topiaries and, of course, a koi pond.
If I were seeing myself in therapy, I would ask, “Amy, what are you avoiding by filling up your child-free time with all of these chores?” And I would answer, “Well…getting started as a freelance writer?” And I would supportively ask myself, “How do you feel about getting started as a freelance writer?” And I would mutter, “Uhm…scared?” And I would gently encourage, “Can you tell me what is scaring you about getting started?” And I would blush and say, “Being rejected and failing?” And I would give myself some small homework assignment that wouldn’t be too hard and would guarantee success, like writing the first line of the query letter. And it would all seem so simple, and I would feel better after I wrote that first sentence.
What do you do to stay on track with your personal goals?
Amy H. is a thirty-something SAHM and part-time psychology professor living in the deep South with her husband and two children.
September 25, 2006
My baby doesn't live here anymore
By Christine
The church clock struck five, making me press the pedal to the metal to get Sophia to her ballet lesson on time. Furrowed brow and white knuckles were all that was left of my posture. I was worried my daughter had taken on too much this week. First flute practice at school, then soccer practice, then a birthday party invitation and now ballet. Most of her day is filled with rushing from one thing to the next.
"How did this happen?" I scolded myself as we rounded the corner to the dance school parking lot. I’ve always preached a slower way of life. The kids aren’t allowed more than two extracurricular activites. As I sorted it out in my mind, my daughter’s feet hit the pavement. Before I could say good-bye, her blonde pigtail had escaped behind the school’s front door. Wide-mouthed and paralyzed, I sat in the car with my forearm bent perpendicular to my head.
My daughter didn’t need me anymore. She didn’t need guidance on how to put on her ballet shoes. She knew where her water bottle was. She had no hesitation about being in a new class with kids she didn’t know yet. She was no longer a baby. Truly.
I swallowed the lump and lowered my limb. Shifting into gear, I consoled myself. "At least I have my five-year-old son," I reasoned as I dawdled about the town for an hour. He was still at the birthday party and would be picked up by his father. Would he miss me?
We got home and the typical chaos ensued. Overtired, underfed children pleading for a video. Parents struggling to control voices to find reason in the midst of its lacking. By 9 p.m., my husband and I were ready to settle into bed with a good book and an early bedtime. Our son stood in the doorway, squinting into the halogen light.
“Do you want to snuggle?” I asked hopefully, pulling back the covers for him to get into bed. He slipped under the blanket and pressed his warm feet against me. He asked lots of questions about this and that, revealing how he didn’t like my calling him by his pet name anymore. He was a big boy soccer player with dreams.
“What should I call you, then?” I asked.
“My name.”
It was almost too much to take. Where did the time go? One minute I was complaining about extreme sleep deprivation. The next my kids were actively pursuing their own interests without me! My babies were indeed growing up.
As my son’s breathing became shallow and even, I knew no matter how independent they became, a part of them would always come back. And I’d be there at the ready with a snuggle and an ever hopeful, listening ear.
Christine is an American author and freelance writer living near Munich, Germany, with her husband and two children (Jackson, 4 and Sophia, 6).
DotMoms Daily: September 25, 2006
Here are some recent parenting headlines from Sunday's New York Times:
- What if It's (Sort of) a Boy and (Sort of) a Girl?
- As Children Suffer, Parents Agonize Over Spinach
- Here's Your Syllabus, and Your Condom
Elsewhere on the Web:
