In the words of Aerosmith “Life’s a journey not a destination”
We have been blessed. Both of our children are good sleepers. I know this has prevented a huge amount of stress in our lives. We don’t usually fight with our children to fall asleep. They usually just go without arguing, in fact Ms. J. will actually tell us when she’s ready for bed. Rubbing her little eyes she’ll say “i tired” and when placed in her sleep she’ll just roll over, hug her bunny and go right to sleep. Although Mr. T. isn’t quite that easy, normally when we say it’s bed time he lays down and goes to sleep. I am fully aware of how lucky we are in this respect.
This evening Ms. J. screamed when put in her crib. She cried and screeched at the top of her lungs begging one of us to come get her. This isn’t her, so I went up to settle her. As I sat trying to rock her into peace, my mind raced with all of the things that I still had to do before going to bed. I had to pack their daycare bags, put in laundry, get my clothes ready for tomorrow morning and I still wanted to try to write a little. “Just go to sleep!” I thought to myself.
Just then Ms. J let out a sigh and wiggled in closer to my body. She startled my mind out of its rambling anxiety and I realized that I missing a truly beautiful moment.
This isn’t new. I do this all the time. I rush through my life as though it’s simply a to do list and my job is merely to check off each completed task. While playing with my kids, I’m mentally planning out the week’s meals. During story time, I’m running through what needs to be packed in the kids daycare bags. Now, while I should have been rocking my beautiful little girl to sleep I was pleading with her in my mind to just close her eyes and sleep so that I could go downstairs and what? Put in laundry, pack diapers, sit on my laptop????
So I told myself to forget about my to do list for a while. I tried to be in the moment. I felt Ms. J’s little body, warm and sticky with sleepy baby sweat, cuddled up in my arms. I listened to her breathing as it slowed and steadied. I looked in her eyes as she fought the sleep and physically felt my love for her. As I settled into the moment I forgot about everything but her. I remembered the long nights I spent with her as a newborn in middle of the night darkness, doing exactly this. I felt her weight in my arms and it dawned on me that she’s not a baby anymore.
My time with both Mr. T and Ms. J is not infinite. I can continue to treat my life as a destination, somewhere I am trying to reach by completing each of these mundane tasks of life, but I am bound to miss out. The chores of a working mother don’t go away. There will always be more dishes, another load of laundry, a floor to be swept and the list never ends. There will not, however, always be another day to my babies childhood. I can not continue to mentally miss these beautiful moments because I am so worried about all the duties that have unofficially been assigned to me. I need to remember that life is a journey and I need to cherish every single moment I have with my beautiful family. They are what bring me unimaginable joy.
With that said, I am heading to bed and I have left some clothes unfolded in the basket. Instead, I rocked my princess to sleep. She wrapped her little hands around my neck in affection and appreciation. My heart swelled as I enjoyed a moment of pure bliss. The pile of clothes that got left behind would never have done that for me.
Mother of a monster
It was 5am and as I laced up my sneakers for my morning run I turned on the news. It normally plays in the background keeping me company during my early morning runs, sound turned down while music pumps through my body keeping me going. The flashes on the screen giving me a taste of the days news as most people are still soundly sleeping in their warm beds.
Today a face flashed across the screen that caused me to take out my earphones and shift my focus to the screen. It was Michael Rafferty’s mother. For my readers who don’t live in southern Ontario where this story has taken over the news, you may have to google it because the contents are so disturbing that I don’t want to go into them. In short, Michael Rafferty and his girlfriend kidnapped, sexually assaulted and murdered an eight year old girl.
To be perfectly honest, when news stories come across the TV regarding this case, I tune out. I can’t listen to the details of the story as they have caused me some anxiety. After listening to one of the first reports after this trial started I had nightmares for a month. I decided then that I would not be able follow this trial as it hit too close to home for me.
This time was different, it was the first time I had seen the mother of the accused. I was interested in hearing what she had to say. Would she defend her son? Would she apologize to the victims for the pain her child caused? I didn’t know what to expect.
When I finally heard what she had to say I was disgusted. She laid the blame elsewhere. I understand that her son is pleading not guilty but does that mean that he has no guilt? That he played no part at all in this crime. She claimed that her “son is innocent” and that “Terri McClintic has wrecked their lives” She further mentioned that Rafferty’s” biggest mistake was meeting McClintic” and that “this could happen to any man walking around right now”.
I felt compelled to speak to these comments. To say that I was appalled would be an understatement. Firstly, I understand your instinct to protect your son, to defend him but would a Mother’s love really make you believe anything?. Let’s be perfectly honest here. Her son was far from an innocent victim and no this could not happen to any man. Most men wouldn’t just sit back and go along for the ride when a little girl is kidnapped and brought to them. Most men would turn that child and the kidnapper into the police right away. Most men wouldn’t allow someone to murder a child in front of them without intervening. His biggest mistake was not meeting McClintic, it was taking part in such a heinous crime. I am giving the benefit of the doubt here and going along with the story that he was just an innocent victim, which I think even Mrs. Rafferty, in her heart of hearts must know doesn’t make sense. Regardless of who actually killed this poor sweet little child, both are guilty of murder. Your child is not innocent.
Secondly, why do you feel the need to say anything at all? Out of respect for the parents of this little girl you should stay in the background. You want to support your son, that’s fine, but you don’t have to make any public statements. You do not have to rub salt in their wounds. At least have the decency, respect and foresight to see what your words might do to this family. They have been through enough, at the hands of YOUR child. To make a statement making any reference to how YOUR family has been destroyed is revolting. Your child played a role in this little girls death, regardless of the level of the role. The impact to your family is meaningless in comparison to the actions of your child.
I made an attempt to look at this from a mothers perspective. What would I do if that were my child? Would I stand by their side? Would I believe whatever story he told me, no matter how implausible it seemed? I don’t think any of us can put ourselves in her position. I don’t think any of us want to put ourselves in her position. Am I being cold? Should she not be allowed her moment to grieve?
I am by no means disputing the fact that this woman has also suffered a tragedy. She has ”lost” her son. She has to live with the fact that she is the mother of a monster. She will feel the impact of his crimes even though she had nothing to do with them. Yes, I think she should grieve for her child and for the unimaginable things he did. I just don’t think it’s appropriate to do so publicly. I think this mother needs to remember that her son made his choice. He chose to commit the acts that he committed or ignore them depending on the story you believe. I can’t speak for the events that occurred, that is up to a jury to decide. I can, however, say sit down Mrs. Rafferty and allow this family to mourn in peace.
Our attempt to say Thank You
I remember the day that Mr. T. was released from the hospital like it was yesterday. Up until that time, it was the second happiest day of my life. THe first being the day Mr. T. was born.
By that time Mr. T. had been transferred down a level in care to another hospital a bit closer to home. He no longer needed critical care but wasn’t yet at the point where he could go home, surprisingly even that was emotionally difficult for us. We had been at Sick Kids for so long that we were in a routine. We knew the doctors, we anticipated rounds and were comfortable with the nurses. While being taken out of critical care was a good thing and was a move in the right direction, in meant change for us. We would have to put our trust in yet another set of doctors at a different hospital. We would have to get used to new nurses and different facilities. Change was scary. But we were one step closer to home so we were cautiously optimistic and convinced ourselves it would work out.
I am the one who has a harder time with change so I turned to Mr. C. to assure me that everything was going as planned. We were returning to the hospital where Mr. T was born and he reminded me how fantastic they were in his diagnosis, I let out a sigh of relief.
We had our own room at this hospital so we were able to stay overnight with Mr. T. A hospital bed was set up beside his little crib and Mr. C and I squished ourselves into the single bed just happy that we didn’t have to leave him. On our first morning we were woken up by the wonderful doctor that would eventually discharge us. He tore into our room bright and early, rising us out of our restless sleep, his voice booming “Morning folks” he said, “let’s get you out of here”
We called him Dr. Dan. This nickname was because he reminded us of Dan from the show “Roseanne”. He was a big yet gentle man with a loud rowdy voice who kept a smile on his face at all times. From the moment he walked in to our room his goal was to get Mr. T. well enough to go home and it was just the attitude we needed at that moment.
In total we spent just under a week at this hospital. We had Thanksgiving dinner in the hospital cafeteria with my parents. Warmed in the microwave, we ate a delicious turkey dinner in that sterile setting with Mr. T. sitting in his little infant carrier beside us. We started to feel a little like a family here. Little did we know that shortly after this unconventional yet truly beautiful Thanksgiving meal we would be heading home.
Mr. T. was weighed every day and the conditions of his release were that he was steadily gaining weight and keeping down the majority of his feeds. FInally, finally after 6 long weeks, Dr. Dan swept into our room bright and early on a sunny fall day and announced that today would be the day we would be going home. I was elated. I wanted to jump up and hug him. We called our parents and packed our bags. Ready to go home for the first time as a family of three.
A feeling of slight panick came over me as I realized for the first time I would be alone. I didn’t have doctors or nurses to turn to for reassurance. It was all on me and I felt terrified.
I can still feel the warm sun on my face as I stepped out of the hospital into the crisp fall air with my perfect little boy beside me. I watched the other new mum’s make their first slow walk out into the real world with their babies in tow and although I had been a mummy for 6 entire weeks I felt just as new to this as they did. I was in heaven as I settled into the back of our car keeping my hand on Mr. T’s car seat the entire drive. Mr. C. and I chatted and planned the entire drive home. It was then that together we decided that this was not the end of this.
We talked about how lucky we were. How many wonderful people had crossed our paths over the past month. Not only doctors and nurses but volunteers and even the baristas at the Starbucks were so kind to us! There were volunteers that read to Mr. T. when we weren’t there. That rocked him for us if he was alone. That knit him hats and booties and made him quilts. We realized that the world was full of good people and we could never forget them. We vowed to ourselves and Mr. T. that we weren’t just going to walk away and turn our backs. We needed to figure out a way to give back.
A few months later at one of Mr. T’s many follow-up appointments I came across a poster for Meagan’s Walk. I came home and looked it up online and was so unbelievably moved by the story. Meagan was a little girl who passed away from a brain tumour at just 5 years old. She spent months at Sick Kids fighting this terrible disease that took her life. Meagan’s mother started the walk in memory of Meagan. The money raised goes to pediatric brain tumour research and the Sick Kids foundation. As I read her story I sat back and thought to myself that Meagan and her parents walked the halls of Sick Kids just as we did. They experienced terrible pain, worry, fear and the horrible loss of their beautiful little girl. They experienced a pain that I can’t even begin to imagine. I realized, again, just how fortunate we were to have walked out of that hospital with our little man in tow. We had to participate in this walk. It occurs every year on Mother’s Day, although this year it is occurring the day before Mother’s Day. I couldn’t imagine a better way to give back to the wonderful hospital that saved my little boys’ life than to walk in this precious little girls name on Mother’s Day. It also allows us an opportunity to remind Mr. T of just how much love and support he received in the first weeks of his life. It allows him the opportunity to give back and support others just as others supported us. I am hoping it teaches him to have a generous spirit. To always be thankful for the fortunes life has bestowed on us. To never forget where his little life began.
We are participating in Meagan’s Walk again this year. If anyone reading is interested in joining the walk, supporting our walk team or spreading the word of this amazing cause please see the link below.
http://my.sickkidsdonations.com/personalPage.aspx?SID=3326856&langPref=en-CA
Letting the little things slide
Recently in conversation with Mr. C. and some family I recounted a tale that happened when Mr. T. was still in hospital that really got me thinking. Something that I had actually forgotten about but re-telling the incident got me thinking to some of my own behaviours and how insensitive I may be sometimes.
It happened one day as Mr. C. and I were driving home from the hospital late at night. We used to arrive at the hospital bright and early each day, trying as much as possible to drive in before traffic hit, and leaving each night well after all the downtown workers had gone home to their beds. For the first week or so we stayed over night at the hospital, until a nurse took Mr C. aside and advised that it would probably be a good idea for us to go home at night since we lived driving distance to the hospital and that we really needed to rest since we may be a while. I think I’ve mentioned before that going home at night was always the hardest for me. I felt like I was abandoning my baby. I was leaving him alone up there, in that little incubator, all by himself. I was his mother. I was supposed to be there…always. I felt terrible. My logic knew that I wasn’t physically capable of sitting beside him for 24 hours straight. Obviously I needed to sleep. I needed to eat. My heart, however, felt like I should not be going home until I could take him with me. Mr. C. and I drove out of that parking garage into the dark, cool fall air every evening with a heavy heart. Tears in our eyes, pain in our soul we drove home most evenings silently, counting the minutes until we were able to go back.
It was about 11pm and we were on the highway heading home after a long emotional day. There wasn’t much traffic as it was late, but there were cars on the road since it is a big city. I guess someone felt we weren’t driving fast enough. Suddenly we both noticed headlights flashing very close behind us. Mr. C checked his speed and we were in fact going the speed limit, not under, not over The car continued to follow us very closely from behind. My heart started to beat a little faster. I asked “what is he doing?” Mr. C. just kept driving and told me to ignore him. The car then pulled out drove around us and slid in right in front of us. It then slowed down very very slowly.
The person driving this car was obviously in a hurry to get somewhere. He or she obviously felt as though we were driving wayyy to slow. He or she obviously felt as though it was their responsibility to teach us a lesson and show us that we were driving too slow in the slow lane of the highway. What the driver of this car didn’t realize was that we had just left our newborn baby tied up to monitors and tubes in an incubator where he was fighting for his life. What they didn’t realize was that my belly was still swollen from giving birth yet I had no baby in my arms. What they didn’t realize is that my heart was physically hurting, a part of my soul was being ripped from me so his “lesson” was falling on deaf ears. I remember feeling angry, feeling like I wanted to scream and shout, kick and scream.. Like I wanted to shake the driver of this car and tell him how the fact that he was stuck behind a “slow” driver on the highway may be a bit unfair but it paled in comparison to what every parent that just left their baby at Sick Kids was experiencing. I wanted to write a letter to the paper hoping that maybe the driver would read it and realize what he/she had done the night before and would think twice before doing it again, but I had more pressing things to deal with that that. So I let it go. I went home, slept a fitful lonely sleep, and returned to my son the following morning, the incident long gone from my mind.
Until this evening when I recounted the tale. I remembered the pain I was in and how this persons actions just intensified it. My mind couldn’t handle it with everything else going on. What I realized in that moment is how many times I may have behaved in an insensitive way. Where I have flipped someone off for cutting me off while driving. For driving too slowly, or too quickly. For not behaving the way that I feel they should. I’m sure we all have done it. Someone at work makes a mistake, doesn’t reply to our email, asks us a question that we’ve already answered and we get short, snippy, frustrated, maybe even angry. We honk when someone is driving too slow and wave our hands madly when someone goes before us at a four-way stop. What probably never or rarely crosses our mind, is what is going on with that person. Maybe they are on their way home to their sick child. Maybe they just lost a loved one Perhaps they are going through a terrible divorce or just lost their job. Maybe his wife is in labour or she just got a call that her father is in the hospital. Whatever the reason is, we don’t know what is going on in their lives. Believe it or not, the world doesn’t revolve around us. Of course, sometimes people cut us off because they are jerks and feel like the own the road 
but sometimes it may just be because their minds are elsewhere.
My lesson learned is that the next time someone does something that makes them seem like they are being a royal pain in the butt, I will try to think of what they may be going through and cut them some slack. Try it and you may be surprised at how your heart starts to lighten up a little when you let the little things slide.
Letting the little things slide
Recently in conversation with Mr. C. and some family I recounted a tale that happened when Mr. T. was still in hospital that really got me thinking. Something that I had actually forgotten about but re-telling the incident got me thinking to some of my own behaviours and how insensitive I may be sometimes.
It happened one day as Mr. C. and I were driving home from the hospital late at night. We used to arrive at the hospital bright and early each day, trying as much as possible to drive in before traffic hit, and leaving each night well after all the downtown workers had gone home to their beds. For the first week or so we stayed over night at the hospital, until a nurse took Mr C. aside and advised that it would probably be a good idea for us to go home at night since we lived driving distance to the hospital and that we really needed to rest since we may be a while. I think I’ve mentioned before that going home at night was always the hardest for me. I felt like I was abandoning my baby. I was leaving him alone up there, in that little incubator, all by himself. I was his mother. I was supposed to be there…always. I felt terrible. My logic knew that I wasn’t physically capable of sitting beside him for 24 hours straight. Obviously I needed to sleep. I needed to eat. My heart, however, felt like I should not be going home until I could take him with me. Mr. C. and I drove out of that parking garage into the dark, cool fall air every evening with a heavy heart. Tears in our eyes, pain in our soul we drove home most evenings silently, counting the minutes until we were able to go back.
It was about 11pm and we were on the highway heading home after a long emotional day. There wasn’t much traffic as it was late, but there were cars on the road since it is a big city. I guess someone felt we weren’t driving fast enough. Suddenly we both noticed headlights flashing very close behind us. Mr. C checked his speed and we were in fact going the speed limit, not under, not over The car continued to follow us very closely from behind. My heart started to beat a little faster. I asked “what is he doing?” Mr. C. just kept driving and told me to ignore him. The car then pulled out drove around us and slid in right in front of us. It then slowed down very very slowly.
The person driving this car was obviously in a hurry to get somewhere. He or she obviously felt as though we were driving wayyy to slow. He or she obviously felt as though it was their responsibility to teach us a lesson and show us that we were driving too slow in the slow lane of the highway. What the driver of this car didn’t realize was that we had just left our newborn baby tied up to monitors and tubes in an incubator where he was fighting for his life. What they didn’t realize was that my belly was still swollen from giving birth yet I had no baby in my arms. What they didn’t realize is that my heart was physically hurting, a part of my soul was being ripped from me so his “lesson” was falling on deaf ears. I remember feeling angry, feeling like I wanted to scream and shout, kick and scream.. Like I wanted to shake the driver of this car and tell him how the fact that he was stuck behind a “slow” driver on the highway may be a bit unfair but it paled in comparison to what every parent that just left their baby at Sick Kids was experiencing. I wanted to write a letter to the paper hoping that maybe the driver would read it and realize what he/she had done the night before and would think twice before doing it again, but I had more pressing things to deal with that that. So I let it go. I went home, slept a fitful lonely sleep, and returned to my son the following morning, the incident long gone from my mind.
Until this evening when I recounted the tale. I remembered the pain I was in and how this persons actions just intensified it. My mind couldn’t handle it with everything else going on. What I realized in that moment is how many times I may have behaved insensitively. Where I have flipped someone off for cutting me off while driving. For driving too slowly, or too quickly. For not behaving the way that I feel they should. I’m sure we all have done it. Someone at work makes a mistake, doesn’t reply to our email, asks us a question that we’ve already answered and we get short, snippy, frustrated, maybe even angry. We honk when someone is driving too slow and wave our hands madly when someone goes before us at a four way stop. What probably never or rarely crosses our mind, is what is going on with that person. Maybe they are on their way home to their sick child. Maybe they just lost a loved one Perhaps they are going through a terrible divorce or just lost their job. Maybe his wife is in labour or she just got a call that her father is in the hospital. Whatever the reason is, we don’t know what is going on in their lives. Believe it or not, the world doesn’t revolve around us. Of course, sometimes people cut us off because they are jerks and feel like the own the road but sometimes it may just be because their minds are elsewhere.
My lesson learned is that the next time someone does something that makes them seem like they are being a royal pain in the butt, I will try and think of what they may be going through and cut them some slack. Try it and you may be surprised at how your heart starts to lighten up a little when you let the little things slide.
And Baby makes 5????
Mr. C. and I are at that point in our family time line where the question has arisen…will we be adding to our brood??
Hmmm…this is a big decision…a tough decision. How do you know? How can you tell when your family is done?
Before we had any children we were always sure that we wanted a big family. No, I don’t mean Octomom big…more like 3. That was my magic number. I wanted more than 2 but 4 felt like a little too much so we kind of settled on 3.
As soon as Mr. T was born I was sure I wanted more. I was still sitting in my hospital bed just hours after giving birth when I looked up at Mr. C. and said ” I can do that again” I felt as though I had found my calling. That after years of trying to figure out my place in the world I had found it. I was made to have babies, to give birth, to be a mother.
With the exception of our emotional and frightening start, Mr. T. was an amazing baby. He slept well, he ate well, he did everything he was supposed to do. We went to Mom and Baby playgroups, did Mom and Baby yoga and had fun together every single day. I loved being home with him that first year. I relished in my job as housewife and mummy. Dinner was always on the table. Mr. T was always well cared for. I was in heaven.
I couldn’t wait to add to our family and when Mr. T. was around a year old Mr. C. and I got pregnant. Sadly, that baby wasn’t meant to be with us and we miscarried just 6 weeks in. For a fraction of a second I was afraid. My mind suddenly registered that having a baby wasn’t just a given, it wasn’t my right as a woman. My anxiety ridden self panicked that maybe I wouldn’t be able to have another baby and for three months following I cautiously looked for any sign of pregnancy, which unfortunately can be confused with regular period signs.
Then finally 3 months later my fears were squashed by those wonderful double pink lines. My little Ms. J was about to enter our world.
Motherhood to one baby is one thing..motherhood to two??? A totally different beast. My days were not peaceful, organized days filled with lullabies and baby cuddles. They were rushed, chaotic days trying to balance a brand new baby with a difficult, independent toddler. Ms. J didn’t sleep well, there were nursing issues and she was quite the sensitive little princess. Yes, we still made time for play dates and art projects, but there were no breaks. Not a moment to myself. Between a screaming baby and a tantruming two year old I just needed some quiet in my life.
Now here we are with an even more independent 3.5 year old and a curious toddler who has her own ideas of where she wants to go and what she wants to do. We were warned of the ‘work’ involved in having children. How tiring it can be to take care of children, keep the house, make dinners, do laundry etc…it is physically tiring, yes. We were not, however, prepared for how mentally and emotionally draining it can be.
Needless to say, we are tired, both physically and mentally. So the question again, is should we grow our family or are we complete?
Mr C. says he’s done. He’s drained. He’s getting older and is not sure he can start over. So we debate the issue together often.
Do we really want to start over again? We are slowly but surely working our way out of the baby days. Most nights are sleep filled rather than sleep deprived. We are heading towards napless days, so we are able to get out more and do things together as a family. School is coming. Independence! Yay for independence. Mr. T. and Ms. J. can play together, entertain each other. We no longer need to be on them 24 hours a day. We are beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel in terms of daycare costs…no we are no where near done with them, but we see the light..trust me..it’s there!
So, do we want to go back to midnight feedings? Waking up every 2 hours..if you are lucky! If you even get to sleep at all! Nursing..oh nursing…was not my best memories of motherhood..I did it cause it was what was best not because I enjoyed it. Peeing with a baby sitting on the floor beside me. Showering with a baby in a bouncy chair beside the tub. Fussing, crying, spit up. Having to work around nap times and feeding schedules. Am I prepared for that again?
BUT am I ready to give up on the magic of a new baby? That new baby smell??? I could sit with my babies heads right under my nose breathing in their perfection for hours. The feel of their warm little bodies, snuggled up against me. Moulded to me while we rocked together in a quiet nursery in the early morning hours. Hearing them say “mummy” for the very first time.Their little fingers wrapped around mine. There is nothing in this life that can ever compare to that feeling.
To never feel a human being kick me from the inside? To not feel the rolls and waves of MY child growing inside me? To never hear “It’s a boy” or “It’s a girl”? I don’t know if I’ve had my fill of these moments of true bliss.
I never imagined I could love the way I love my family. My love for Mr. C. multiplied by the thousands. My children have brought me an unbelievable amount of joy and peace. For the first time in my life I can honestly say that I understand selflessness. I know what it feels like to have a human being be your heart. To be the reason you breathe. I found something that I’m truly good at. Being pregnant, having babies, being a mum. It’s something I love and am good at. So am I done?
Let’s face it..I’m not getting any younger. My baby days are coming to an end. If we are going to grow our family it has to be done soon. We were blessed. As I said before, having a baby isn’t a right and we have been given the gift of two magnificent gorgeous babies. Do I want to tempt fate? We had a close call with Mr.T. How will I deal if there are complications, if a new baby has health issues? Should I be grateful for the two that I have and call it a day? This is probably the toughest decision that I’ve ever made.
To be 100% honest, my family does feel complete. I feel like this is us. Our little family of four. Maybe we are done? I guess I should never say never, who knows what the future holds?
On the fast track to discipline junction
Like most so many other of my ideas of parenthood, my thoughts and opinions on discipline were literally thrown out the window when my kids were born.
I grew up in a family where physical discipline was used. I think physical discipline was just a little more widely used and accepted in those days. I always thought that I would spank my kids. I thought that was the best way to teach your kids to have respect for you, to learn right from wrong and simply to get them to behave.
THen I had kids and I thought to myself there has got to be a better way to do this. When Mr. T. hit toddlerhood and started the normal toddler behaviour of hitting I started questioning discipline. The idea of spanking my child at that moment seemed so hypocritical. It made me feel like a bad parent for even considering it. How does hitting your child teach them not to hit??? I now am starting to think that spanking kids is not so much about the kids but more about the parents. It’s almost what a parent does when they’ve reached the end of their rope and don’t know what else to do, so they snap and hit.
So begins my search for the best and most effective way to discipline my kids.
Up until now discipline has pretty much consisted of a lot of no’s, don’ts and timeouts. Usually followed by some sort of explanation as to what they are doing is dangerous, wrong or just plain unacceptable.
We are now moving past that stage of discipline with Mr. T and are being pushed to use something a little more structured, a little more intense and a little more serious. His offenses are no longer innocent little baby grievances but have been taken over by offenses of little man proportion. A simple no isn’t as effective when he is wrestling Ms J to the ground. A time out doesn’t necessarily work when we have 2 minutes to get out of the house and Mr. T. is whining ,laying on the floor refusing to put his boots on. My mind races trying to figure out how to handle the situation. What is the best way to handle this while maintaining my authority as a parent, my dignity as a human being and all the while still teaching my son that I love him.
This is the most truly shocking aspect of this whole situation, that disciplining my children is not easy. I mean before I had kids people would tell me that it wasn’t easy. I heard the whole “this hurts me more than it hurts you” but to be honest I didn’t fully understand that. Really?? You really think this is going to hurt you more?? Ummm think again! I didn’t believe them.. How hard could it be, I thought? Say no, be firm, stand your ground and spank when necessary. That’s kind of how I thought it would go.
Not so much! Firstly, these little human beings are persistent! As firm as I think I’m being they seem to be capable of being firmer in their desire to do or get what they want, or their lack of desire to do what it is you want them to do.They are determined and will try with all their might to wear you down until you give in…and they really truly can keep going and going and going. Secondly it really does hurt me more than it hurts him!!! I don’t even spank my kids and it hurts me! Just to say no can actually hurt me. When I see the sadness, disappointment and sometimes shock in their eyes my heart hurts. I know I have to be firm, I know I can’t give in, but when they are crying and pleading I just want to give it to them. In my head I think what’s the harm..why am I saying no? Is it really so bad? The thing is that I know at that point if I give in I lose. I will have just taught them to cry, beg, throw a tantrum and they will get what they want so I can’t give in even if I wanted to.
So now I’m back to what discipline tactics are going to work. I’ve been reading books and talking to other parents and I don’t feel any more prepared. I don’t feel like I have the answer. Lately I’ve been trying the 1,2, 3 magic method and that seems to be working…somewhat. Which is yet another thing that I’ve done a complete 180 on since becoming a parent. I used to judge parents when I heard them counting 1….2….and I watched as their little ones just completely ignored them and did what they wanted anyways. I thought they weren’t doing it right and apparently my young childless self knew better and could teach them a thing or two about raising toddlers. Oh God how wrong I was! I have turned into the counting parent!!!! When did this happen?!?!
The thing is I don’t have the answers. The story of parenthood! Before you have kids you think you have all the answers..you are so smart before you ever have to experience a tantrum first hand…oh and taking care of your cousin, niece, baby brother or any other child does not mean you know how to parent…it just means you know how to babysit!! Then your first child is born and you realize you don’t have a clue! Is that sign of growing up? When you realize just how little you know?
I guess what I’m learning is that the best discipline for us is what works for our family. What allows me to keep my kids in check, ensure they are safe, well-behaved and respectful while still allowing me to keep control of myself as well. My job is to raise confident, responsible people who grow up to be independent and capable and proper discipline is the best way to achieve that. I think that my discipline is also going to be ever-changing, as my kids grow and change , the tactics I choose to use have to evolve. I will continue to educate myself through my books, parenting magazines, mommy classes and tips from other parents and hope for the best! I don’t have the answers. All I can do is try my best. In the meantime if anyone has any tips for me, I’m open and willing to hear them.
Mother of a Daughter
I am the granddaughter of a grandmother. I am the daughter of a mother. I am the mother of a daughter.
I am terrified.
Can someone please explain to me how I am supposed to raise a girl in today’s society? How am I supposed to raise my daughter to have self-worth and feel valued when everything in our society is telling her that she is not important? That she doesn’t matter.
How am I supposed to convince her she’s worth something when child molesters are being caught with child pornography and are being let back out on the street to molest again within a few months, maybe a year?
How do I tell her she means something when a young under age girl is drugged and gang raped, photos distributed of the incident online, and no charges are laid? The distributer of the photos gets probation, her peers blame her?
How do I convince her to demand respect from a partner when a celebrity brutally beats up his girlfriend publicly and her peers do not come to her defence? The police reports allege that Chris Brown punched Rihanna in the face, smashed her head against the window and when she tried to cover her face in self-defense, he repeatedly punched her in the back of her head. Yet her peers do not want to get involved, stating that Chris Brown is a good guy. His fans are tweeting that he can beat them up any day! The media is not only allowing him to perform on their shows but they are encouraging it, his records are still selling. I guess the money means more than the woman. He is showing no remorse for what he did and worse, Rihanna still communicates with him as though it was all just an innocent mistake. She obviously doesn’t feel as though she deserves better.
The media bombards us with images of young beautiful women who think it’s cute to go out in public without panties, get into drunken fights over boys and who are more concerned with the way they look than what kind of person they are. We care more about a women’s body than her intelligence. Every now and then the media will big up a woman for her brainpower but more often than not it’s just a footnote to how beautiful she is.
So now I’m left to wonder, how do I ensure that my daughter knows better? How do I teach her that what’s on the inside is always more important than the outside. I want my daughter to be the best woman she can be. I want her to always be able to stand on her own two feet.
Ms. J is going to be stunning and I want to teach her that her beauty does not define her. That she is so much more. I want her to feel confident in herself because she is smart, kind, affectionate, generous and not just because of the way she looks. I want her to have respect for herself. To truly understand that showing the world your body is not how you gain respect. I want her to know that posting half-naked pictures of herself on the internet and sending naked pictures of herself to boys does not make her sexy and that it’s dangerous.
I hope she knows that she is more valuable than that. That she is worth so much more. That she deserves so much more.
My grandmother was a victim of domestic violence. My mother, in turn, was a victim of domestic violence. I never witnessed that kind of destructiveness and I want to ensure that my daughter never experiences anything of the sort. The best way to prevent that is to ensure that she knows her value and her importance and it is going to be an uphill battle.
This daunting task is up to myself and her daddy because the world is going to show her just the opposite. Every day society is going to show her that she doesn’t matter, that she is just a girl.
Her daddy will have to demonstrate to her how a good man loves. He will be her example of how a man treats a woman. He will be her example of a how a man is responsible for his family. He will be her first love. If anyone has the ability to steer her away from the kind of men who will take advantage of her it will be him.
I have the responsibility of modelling an intelligent, capable woman. A woman who follows her dreams, who says what she feels and who isn’t afraid to take the tough road sometimes. A woman who is just as smart as she is beautiful but puts more value in her brain than her booty.
This is scary. The scariest thing that I have ever taken on. The thing is that I can’t fail. I have to be successful at this. Her life depends on it. The path she takes depends on it. Can I do it? My dream is that sometime in her lifetime we as a society will come to our senses. That somehow it will no longer be acceptable to disrespect women, wether blatantly or in subtle ways. That women will have more dignity and will demand more. Sadly I don’t think that is going to happen so YES I will succeed. I will teach her that she is much more valuable than a piece of ass. That she will be a great addition to someone’s life one day, if she so chooses. That the world is her oyster and that she is capable of doing anything her heart desires.
Most importantly I will let her know how proud her daddy and I are of her and that we will be there for her every step of the way through this sometimes difficult journey.
Lesson learned
I’ve always felt like I had to do everything my children. That’s just the way it’s supposed to be. If they enjoy football then I would play with them, if they like watching kung fu movies then I will watch with them. That’s how I’d imagined it. I thought that was just a part of motherhood.
So far my kids interests have been limited since they are so young. They both love music so I’ve always sung to them. They love dancing so we put on music and have dance parties all the time. They love reading so I read to them. I’ve made the effort to be a part of everything they love. That has ranged from playing with dinky cars to watching The Wiggles. Regardless of how tedious it got I was a part of it. Honestly here was a time when I would fall asleep singing “Toot Toot Chugga Chugga Big Red Car….”.
Both my kids LOVE to play rough. They love to wrestle and “fight” and jump around. Almost every night Mr. C. takes a half an hour to an hour to “wrestle” with the kids. Our king size bed becomes the “ring”. They become the “Powers of Pain” the tag team champions of the world. They wrestle complete with entry music (sung by themselves), grunts and mixed in there you’ll always hear a few giggles. They love it! From all over the house you’ll hear “I’m the Barbarian, you’re the warload and together we’re the Powers of Pain” then they begin to jump and tumble all around. It started with Mr. C. and Mr. T. but as soon as Ms. J was old enough to crawl she wanted in there and let me tell you she can throw down just like the boys!
They do mix it up sometimes with playing “Hauss” as they call it where they pretend to be Sumo wrestlers and run at each other until Mr. T. bowls Mr. C. over.
Tonight Mr. C. went out and as we climbed the stairs to get ready for bath Mr T. demanded that I “get” him, meaning that I wrestle him. I tried my best. I jumped in the ring ready to put Holk Hogan to shame. Rather than pulling off flips and tumbles I cowered in fear as Mr T did somersaults over me. I covered my head and face as he jumped on me. I had no idea how to finish the “powers of pain” speech and I cried, yes I cried, when he got me in the head with his foot! Yes I am a wimp. I am nowhere near a tomboy. I am a girls girl. I don’t do wrestling. I CAN’T enjoy it. I am way too scared of getting hurt. I hate getting hurt. I am too worried that someone is going to get bumped and bruised, that someone is going to fall off the bed, or that someone’s going to lose an eye. I am fully aware that just saying that makes me sound like a grumpy old lady.
Eventually I gave up. I realized that wrestling, powers of pain, Hauss, and any other form of rough and tumble just isn’t for me and that’s ok. There is no rule saying that I have to take part in EVERY SINGLE THING my kids enjoy. There are a million things that I do with them. Feel like baking cookies, I’m your girl. You wanna paint? I’ll pull out all the art supplies! Need someone to have a tea party with? Look no further! I’m just no good at wrestling. They aren’t going to have any fun with me while I tremble in a corner afraid of getting an poked in the eye. In defense of the eye thing let me remind you that Mr. T. did poke me in the eye, twice, tearing my cornea so it’s not just a ridiculous fear..someone really can lose an eye!!!
So I will now leave the wrestling and rough play to Mr. C. He loves it! He is GOOD at it. He knows just what to do. He knows how to tumble with them without hurting anyone. He knows the wrestling lingo and the chants. He can just pull it off perfectly. He gets them all riled up and then somehow manages to calm them down in time for bed and stories. THis is his territory. They can bond with their daddy while getting some exercise and burning off some steam.
It doesn’t make me a bad mum. I will always support them in everything they want to do. If one of them decides that they want to wrestle I will be there cheering them on for every match. But for now I will leave the wrestling to Mr. C. They are the Powers of Pain and they continue to be the tag team champions of the world!
