...and I'm not talking about her uterus.
Seriously. I don't know how she does it. She has 19 kids, most of them boys, and she never yells. NEVER. Like, not even at all. I'd like to know what she's smoking.
I don't believe in yelling. I don't like it when somebody yells at me, and I don't want to raise my boys to think that yelling is a proper way to speak to people.
Yet, every now and then I loose it. I'm not proud of it, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't happen. And it always over something ridiculous, like this exchange, which may or may not have happened today:
**kick, kick, kick**
“Tati, please stop kicking the back of my seat” (Said completely calmly, in my sweetest Mommy voice).
**kick, kick, kick**
“Tati, please stop kicking Mommy's seat” (Repeated, in my sweetest Mommy voice)
**kick, kick, kick**
“Tati, please stop kicking Mommy” (Repeated in my terse whispering voice. This is where I channel my inner Michelle Duggar...)
**kick, kick, kick**
“PLEASE STOP” (YELLING)
...and then I'm upset because I lost my cool. And because who YELLS “please”--it kinda loses it's polite-ness, doesn't it?!?!
So...wise readers...what do you do to keep your cool in times like these?
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Thursday, March 24, 2011
College Preparatory School.
The Tatiman will be three in August, which means I have spent the past few months touring preschools.
Yes. Touring. Yes. Preschools.
If you had asked me a few years ago if I would foresee myself touring a single preschool, much less multiple preschools over a 3 month period, my answer would have been a resounding NOPE. Heck, I only toured college campuses for an excuse to visit Boston and see cute college boys.
Yet, here we are. I find my actions shocking, yet shockingly necessary.
It's not that I feel like one school is going to give the Tatiman a better shot at being a world famous finger painter. I'm pretty sure that he will learn sandbox etiquette wherever he goes. And I know he already has snack time down pat, so I've got no concerns in that area.
It's just that becoming a parent changed me. Suddenly every decision seems so big, so important. When I see that driving past a water tower can spark a discussion about gravity—I feel like these years are so precious, and they play a huge role in forming the person that my Tatiman is growing into.
I know he has to leave the cocoon of my protection, but I want it to be in the environment where he will blossom. I want his love of learning to be nurtured. I want him to believe he can do anything. I want him to be encouraged to try things far outside his comfort zone. I want him to make friends. I want him to sing and dance and learn to make all the rocket ship noises that little boys learn to make.
And more than preparing the Tatiman for the outside world, preschool must prepare me—for all of those bigger decisions that I know are coming way too fast.
Grow down, little Tatiman. Grow down.
Yes. Touring. Yes. Preschools.
If you had asked me a few years ago if I would foresee myself touring a single preschool, much less multiple preschools over a 3 month period, my answer would have been a resounding NOPE. Heck, I only toured college campuses for an excuse to visit Boston and see cute college boys.
Yet, here we are. I find my actions shocking, yet shockingly necessary.
It's not that I feel like one school is going to give the Tatiman a better shot at being a world famous finger painter. I'm pretty sure that he will learn sandbox etiquette wherever he goes. And I know he already has snack time down pat, so I've got no concerns in that area.
It's just that becoming a parent changed me. Suddenly every decision seems so big, so important. When I see that driving past a water tower can spark a discussion about gravity—I feel like these years are so precious, and they play a huge role in forming the person that my Tatiman is growing into.
I know he has to leave the cocoon of my protection, but I want it to be in the environment where he will blossom. I want his love of learning to be nurtured. I want him to believe he can do anything. I want him to be encouraged to try things far outside his comfort zone. I want him to make friends. I want him to sing and dance and learn to make all the rocket ship noises that little boys learn to make.
And more than preparing the Tatiman for the outside world, preschool must prepare me—for all of those bigger decisions that I know are coming way too fast.
Grow down, little Tatiman. Grow down.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Everything Nice.
I have two baby boys. Two beautiful baby boys. They are everything I have ever dreamed of, and so much more.
Yet, people are always asking me “Are you going to try for a girl?” These people mean well, I'm sure. But I don't think they get it. Or maybe they just don't get me.
I have always wanted to have a son. When all the other little girls wanted their Cabbage Patch Kids to have the long corn silk hair...my mom was waiting in line all night to get me a bald baby boy.
We did not find out the gender of either of our children while I was pregnant, but I not-so-secretly hoped that the little people kicking me from within came with their own kickstand. And I was lucky. Not just once, but twice.
My boys are the perfect combination of sugar and spice and frogs and snails. They are cuddly and winsome and sensitive and mischievous. They are brothers. They are Mommy's little guys.
There are times when I think about the adult relationship I have with my mom, and I think that it would be nice to have that one day. I loved planning my wedding with my mom by my side. I love sharing a bond that I have with her, now that I am a mother myself. But having a daughter certainly doesn't guarantee that kind of relationship.
I don't feel cheated because I have closets full of overalls and polo shirts instead of patent leather shoes and pinafores. I don't feel like our family is incomplete because we don't have a Daddy's girl.
I have always dreamed of having a big family, and we may add to our little crew one day. But we won't be “trying” for anything other than a healthy baby. I'm sure that if we ever have a girl, we will feel like she is meant to be our daughter...but if we have a 3rd, or 4th, or 5th boy (my husband is having a heart attack as he reads this, ha!) it will be because we are filling our home with little people we love, and not because I have a pressing need to shop for tutus.
Yet, people are always asking me “Are you going to try for a girl?” These people mean well, I'm sure. But I don't think they get it. Or maybe they just don't get me.
I have always wanted to have a son. When all the other little girls wanted their Cabbage Patch Kids to have the long corn silk hair...my mom was waiting in line all night to get me a bald baby boy.
We did not find out the gender of either of our children while I was pregnant, but I not-so-secretly hoped that the little people kicking me from within came with their own kickstand. And I was lucky. Not just once, but twice.
My boys are the perfect combination of sugar and spice and frogs and snails. They are cuddly and winsome and sensitive and mischievous. They are brothers. They are Mommy's little guys.
There are times when I think about the adult relationship I have with my mom, and I think that it would be nice to have that one day. I loved planning my wedding with my mom by my side. I love sharing a bond that I have with her, now that I am a mother myself. But having a daughter certainly doesn't guarantee that kind of relationship.
I don't feel cheated because I have closets full of overalls and polo shirts instead of patent leather shoes and pinafores. I don't feel like our family is incomplete because we don't have a Daddy's girl.
I have always dreamed of having a big family, and we may add to our little crew one day. But we won't be “trying” for anything other than a healthy baby. I'm sure that if we ever have a girl, we will feel like she is meant to be our daughter...but if we have a 3rd, or 4th, or 5th boy (my husband is having a heart attack as he reads this, ha!) it will be because we are filling our home with little people we love, and not because I have a pressing need to shop for tutus.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Hostage Situation.
So, I was held "hostage" in my bathroom for about 15 minutes today.
I went in just to pee. I left the door open because Finny Bo Binny Binny Boo Boo was in the kitchen and I was (stupidly) thinking that with the door open I could just dash out if I heard a crash.
Instead, he followed me. No biggie, until he closed the door. No biggie...I'd just open it slowly. Until he put his finger ON THE HINGE. I could see it as I cracked the door, and I was worried that I would smash his little fingers if I opened it any more.
That little stinker thought I was hysterically funny talking to him from inside the bathroom door...but he would NOT move his had. Finally, he got bored of me, and crawled off.
I feel like I live with a pair of ferrets that are plotting my downfall.
I went in just to pee. I left the door open because Finny Bo Binny Binny Boo Boo was in the kitchen and I was (stupidly) thinking that with the door open I could just dash out if I heard a crash.
Instead, he followed me. No biggie, until he closed the door. No biggie...I'd just open it slowly. Until he put his finger ON THE HINGE. I could see it as I cracked the door, and I was worried that I would smash his little fingers if I opened it any more.
That little stinker thought I was hysterically funny talking to him from inside the bathroom door...but he would NOT move his had. Finally, he got bored of me, and crawled off.
I feel like I live with a pair of ferrets that are plotting my downfall.
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