Category Archives: Motherhood

Sibling Torture

DD2 is now fully sitting up on her own and is probably days away from crawling (which for those of you who know me – know that I dread. I firmly believe mobility is grossly over rated). Yesterday I was out for a late afternoon walk with the kiddos (read: the only way to survive pre-dinner time) when I noticed something happening in the stroller.

And what I’m asking you is this – is it wrong that I took nothing but sheer and total pleasure from it?

What was it, you asked?

A hot italian man suddenly landed in my stroller?

Dinner arrived, cooked and hot, ready to eat?

A maid service swooped in to scrub my house from top to bottom?

Someone did the endless loads of laundry chez moi?

Mais non!

It was even better than someone finally finding the perfect swimsuit cover-up for me – stylish but functional – and not long sleeves. Why do people make long sleeve swimsuit cover ups? Where are they swimming?

It wasn’t any of those things. Though I am quite open to any of those things arriving chez moi this afternoon. I’ll leave the stroller parked out front just in case.

Here is what was actually happening: It was the first time DD2 was irritating the shit out of DD1. And I LOVED IT.

Is that wrong?

I mean – I was ready to do a jig. Afterall, DD1 has gotten quite good at being, well, irritating, when she wants to be – so to watch her little sister just be irritating to her (and not me – no one was irritating me for once) – was oh so satisfying.

See, DD2 now likes to remain perched up in her super cool new sitting position in the stroller and being a second child, she’s more like Bam Bam than Pebbles. She learned early on that a gal has to be assertive and forceful to get what she wants when there is someone older and more advanced in her motor skills around – so DD2 – she doesn’t just lounge back in the stroller. Plus she intuitively knows that whatever DD1 has is more interesting or more delicious to eat – so she tries to get it.

DD2 spent the entire 20 minute walk trying to yank the baggie of treats out of DD1’s hands, trying to rip the sippy cup from her hands and trying to gnaw on the enormous book DD1 brought along to read (yes, definitely a strange choice on DD1’s part, but who am I to discourage reading? Even when the book is the size of the stroller seat).

For once, DD1 was on the defensive and was being irritated. Now, I will hand it to her, she was extremely patient with her and didn’t act out. I realize this will grow old, DD1 will start reacting, DD2 will get hurt, it will all end badly, and I won’t have the time or chance to be so amused at these antics anymore.

But for once, it was so fun watching someone else irritate DD1. She has earned it, that is for sure, and really – seeing as how I have two little sisters – what good are little sisters if they aren’t good at irritating big sisters?

And why have two kids if you can’t take pleasure in watching one child irritate the child who is usually doing the irritating?

Broken Record

Loyal KT fans know that I cautiously blogged about DD1’s behavior improving a few months ago. We progressed from every mundane task throughout the day being a huge battle filled with drama and fits, to her becoming agreeable and well, civilized. It felt so good. I worried it wouldn’t last. I conferred with a dear BFF, she said that it was fair for me to believe things had improved but that we could regress somewhere in the 3s.

Seven months into the 3s, we have regressed.

I am tired.

Of course I wrack my brain for reasons, has she regressed because school’s out for summer, so there isn’t as much structure to her day, let alone the outlet of school and crafts and friends? Has she regressed because I am home more – of course I find myself wondering? Has she regressed because she was away from daddy for a few days and she wanted his attention and chose to act like a devil, to try and get it? Is it a combination of things? Will I ever know?

No.

The only thing I am certain of right now – as I type this completely exhausted and out of patience – is that I will never know why she’s regressed. And also, it’s not as bad as her 2s behavior because the battle isn’t over every single mundane task – it’s just over some things. It’s challenging because she is more forceful in her protests than she was at 2, she is more sophisticated in her arguments, but still, she will not prevail.

But see, it’s the broken record that has joined us in these battles that is really catching me off guard. Example – she is done with dinner and wants to go outside to eat her popsicle on the front step (that is, if she’s been good enough to earn that popsicle on that day). She knows she needs to wait for mommy and daddy to be done with dinner before she can go outside. She is welcome to eat her popsicle at the table while we finish and eat the rest out front. But no – she is going to wait to eat it until she can go outside.

So here is what happens:

“Are you done yet? Daddy are you done yet”

“No”

One second later, “are you done yet? Mommy are you done”

“Not yet”

Milliseconds later  “are you done yet? are you done yet? are you done yet? are you done dinner yet? are you done yet?”

I say “DD1, what did you say, I’m pretty sure we didn’t hear you the first time”

“Are you done yet, are you done yet, are you done with dinner yet”

We are done. Not because we actually are done but because we can’t take it anymore.

OR phone manners. I am trying to teach her that if mommy is having a conversation with someone, she needs to say “Excuse me” if she feels it is important to interrupt (note, it is ALWAYS important to interrupt when you are 3, apparently).

OK – well – what do you do when they say “excuse me” repeatedly over and over and over and over again, as you instructed them too  – basically until you give up and stop the conversation?

She’s doing what I asked. She just won’t stop until she gets what she wants.

My mom tells me that this particular example is one that goes on for years – it’s really about instant gratification. But it is exhausting.

Or take this morning, time to go to camp (thank god – another week of camp).

“OK, time to leave for camp”

“I don’t want to go to camp. I don’t want to go to camp. I don’t want to go to camp. I don’t want to go to camp.”

“Ok, turn off the tv,” I say, as I am gathering her stuff and DD2 to take DD1 to camp. She turns off the TV only because she thinks my “OK” means she doesn’t have to go to camp, we move to the door and from the time I close and lock the door, to the time I load up two kids and pull out of my driveway and then make it to the light to exit my neighborhood, this is what she says non-stop:

“I don’t want to go to camp, I don’t want to go to camp, I don’t want to go to camp, I don’t want to go to camp.”

To humor myself, a few times I actually say to her “Seriously, I definitely didn’t hear you the first time, could you say it again, I don’t know what you are saying.”

Then guess what? We pull into the parking lot at school and this is the reaction “I LOVE SCHOOL!”

I forgot to strap myself in for the emotional roller coaster ride that would be my attempt to get to camp, apparently.

Is 9am too early to start drinking? Will alcohol numb my senses? Will it make me go deaf? Can someone send me some ear plugs?

How in the world do I stop the broken record?

Did anyone warn me that parenthood just keeps getting harder and harder and harder as they get older?

Cheap Labor

I’ve been down at the beach with the two girls for the past three days. It is untrue to say that I am alone because, well, the girls are people too, but they are helpless, therefore I am alone with a 3.5 year old and a 7 month old. I believe that every time I venture out of the house, this question is relevant “Is this trip more effort than it is worth?”

I knew the answer to that question before I left home was a resounding yes, but still, it’s summer, shouldn’t I be at the beach with the girls?

But see – the logistics are very complicated. How does one tote all the beach crap, a 7 month old and a 3.5 year old onto a beach by themsleves?  Let alone watch a baby to make sure she doesn’t get stolen (or more realistically, swallow too much sand?) when the older sibling is apparently a daredevil and has no fear of 10 foot waves or the fierce Atlantic undertoe? The only way I pulled the beach trip off was because we met some friends from school on the beach, who after witnessing DD1’s extreme obsession with huge waves and no fear, admitted that they would have never believed it until seeing it with their own eyes. She is insane. I like that about her but sometimes, sometimes, it’s hard. Perhaps she needs some mud and a dirt bike next?

So yesterday, as my friend was helping me trudge the stroller and the crap (which I signficantly minimized as compared to what I usually pack up when say, darling husband, is here) all of this leaves me reaching the same conclusion:

Divorce = terrible idea

Dads = awesome cheap labor

Particularly when it comes to toting lots of crap and small children onto and off the beach, pulling around toddlers in the pool, and preventing small children from getting swept off to sea.

These are dad jobs in my house.

Dads = good.

No dads at beach = difficult time.

I have no problems shutting down and “playing in the sand” at the beach while DH races back and forth to water with DD1, and fills up endless amounts of water in buckets for DD1 to immediately dump all over the place. Someone has to take on the difficult task of keeping an eye on the immobile baby, right?

Right.

So we trash husbands a lot here – but today – I salute you, dear husbands!

And you better believe, mine has received several threatening emails about getting his ass down here – STAT.

Kids & Hot Cars

“Good mothers don’t do this,”  wept a mother during a police interview after she realized she’d left her daughter in a hot car for 8 hours one August. I saw her on Oprah this week.

Every summer we hear about parents who leave their kids in a hot car all day and they die from heat stroke.

Every summer I am riddled with questions and am mystified by this story. Having previously worked in the auto industry, it was also a heated topic of discussion at my office as these stories broke each summer. Everyone has really strong opinions on this one.

I am just confused. I find that the people who don’t yet have children seem to have really strong black & white convictions that this is an absurd and totally avoidable scenario and the guilty parent should be sent to jail for killing a child.

I definitely don’t see it that clearly but I’m not without judgment.  This spring the Washington Post had a really long Magazine story about this very issue, featuring several parents who had all suffered the loss of a young child at their own hands by leaving them in a hot car.  I cried several times while reading it.

For me, the most chilling point made in the piece was made by a shrink who said that if you have ever left your cell phone at home, then you are capable of leaving your child in a car. It’s how your mind works.

But here’s my first question – how do you go an entire work day without checking on your child? This is the part that I just can’t get past. I had a routine of checking in twice a day. Is that psycho? Is that too much? I have no idea. It’s what I did because I enjoyed hearing an update on DD1’s day, how her day was at school, whatever it was she was up too. Sometimes I missed a call from our nanny and wouldn’t return it until prior to leaving for the day, but the point is – I knew she was alive and kicking.

So here you go – this is the main question I have on this issue that I just cannot get past. How do you not check on your kids during the work day? I do not believe that anyone is too busy to do this. No one. Don’t kid yourselves into thinking your work is that important, right? Now would this avoid the death of a child? I’m not sure. Would they still be alive 4 hours into being left in a hot car? I have no idea. So is this a worthwhile question? Who knows. But this is my blog, so it’s my main question.

Moving on – what does this say about our society? At what point do we stop and take stock of our lives – not just the parents who have suffered this horrendous loss – but all of us – and really digest that this is happening? And repeatedly.  What does it say specifically about parenthood and how much parents are juggling that their mind can shut off and they can leave a beloved child in a car to die?  This scenario spreads across race and class lines – from pediatricians to electricians – moms and dads. At what point do we all stop with the madness and cut a few things out of our life to help avoid this scenario – to stop being stretched too thin?

I just can’t let it go. I don’t understand how you can forget your child is in your car. I feel like as a parent who has felt stretched far too thin, I can say this. Maybe my kids are just loud. But I just don’t get it. Yet it’s happening – so what do we need to change about our lives? Do people put unrealistic pressure on themselves to be this perfect parent? Because if that’s the case, then they’re idiots. Isn’t doing our best, enough? And just being satisfied with your best might help cut some things out? I just don’t know. I’m brainstorming here because the idea of a child suffering a horrible death in a hot car for 8 hours warrants some serious brainstorming.

And then what about the parent who did this? Do they deserve to go to jail? Again, I’ve heard many childless friends speak very clearly that they have killed a child and should pay their dues. I’d argue that having to live the rest of their life knowing what they’ve done is punishment enough. My mom also thinks they should go to jail and well, she has 4 kids. I just don’t know.  I definitely don’t see it clearly but like I said before, I am not able to suspend all of my judgment of these parents. I have issues with it.

It’s a horrible horrible reality. And it seems that if we all took a step back and really took stock of our whole lives, maybe there wouldn’t be this sensation of being stretched too thin. Maybe our best is good enough. Perfection is absurd. I definitely am sure on that one.