Category: Parenting

Our Kids Are Just Kids

My boys decked out for battle this morning

Yesterday was our sons’ annual well check at the pediatrician’s office. I never know exactly what to expect at these check ups because my kids are loose canons. When the doctor asks them questions, I’m never sure how they’ll respond. When Joe was five, he told the doctor that I fed him only bread and water and that he had no bed time. While the no bed time comment was true because he would never follow an actual schedule, I was in fact feeding him decent foods on a regular basis. Luckily for me, pediatricians are used to all sorts of weird answers from children, so the doctor lets my boys’ weirdness slide. I’m sure he goes home at the end of our visit, however, and tells his wife the crazy things I say immediately after my children make some random declaration of child abuse: “I do feed him. I swear I do. Bread and water are his favorite foods.”

Now that the boys are school age, the questions are a bit different. The doctor yesterday asked them what grades they were going into, what school they attended, and how they were doing in their studies. He then asked them the question I dread the most.

“So, what sports do you guys do?”

“Ummm…we don’t do any sports,” Joe replied.

“I don’t like sports,” was Luke’s immediate response.

“Well, what do you do when you’re outside then?” the doctor tried again.

“Nothing,” Joe said.

“Play with friends,” Luke said.

“I think he means what kind of exercise do you do,” I prompted.

“We don’t like exercise,” Joe replied.

“But, they do get exercise,” I back pedaled. “They hike, ride bikes, and swim in the summer. We snowshoe and hike in the winter.”

“What do you boys want to be when you grow up?” he tried again.

“I’m not telling you,” said Luke, too embarrassed to reveal that his dream is to be an Ironman-like superhero who designs sets for the Lego company.

“I don’t know,” Joe answered honestly.

“That’s okay,” the doctor told him. “Lots of grown ups don’t know what they want to be when they grow up.”

True enough. The doctor breezed through the rest of the well check, clearly unconcerned about Luke’s refusal to eat vegetables (“He’s gaining weight and his blood tests look good”) and Joe’s split lip (“Throw some Aquaphor on there and give it time”).

While we were on our trip, many of the kids the boys played with asked them about sports. Most of our friends’ sons participate in multiple sports and play in all kinds of leagues. We know soccer players, baseball players, football players, hockey players, and lacrosse players. They have friends who do tae kwon do, swim team, and triathlons. They regularly watch sports on television and have favorite teams. Our boys, on a good day, can maybe tell you the names of the four pro sports teams in Denver. Maybe.

Steve and I were discussing the other day the fact that our kids have shown no interest in activities and sports. We’ve registered them for soccer, baseball, swimming, and sports camps and they’ve whined about having to go. They just can’t bring themselves to care. Honestly, I’m relieved they don’t. Our nights are not hurried to get to and through practices and my weekends aren’t spent sitting on a wet, grassy sideline as it snows on my sons’ games. I don’t miss it.

Prompted by the comments of friends, though, about how our boys need activities to get into college and how by the time they decide they’re interested in sports the other kids will be far better than they are and they will not make the team, I have wondered if we’re doing our sons a great disservice by letting them skip out on sports when they’re young. Then, the other day, hubby said something that made me feel much better about it all.

“You know, they may not be great at sports. But, you know what they are great at? Being kids.”

He’s right. They’re 9 and 11. They have their whole lives to decide what their interests are and what they enjoy. For now, it’s good enough that they like to dress up in crazy costumes and run around carrying plungers and being superheroes. Our boys might be short on discipline, but they’re long on imagination. And, that may serve them just as well if not better in the long run.

Posted on by Me 5

I Can Handle Anything Except Blood…And Aliens…And Spiders

Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew. Ew.

My boys returned from the Galapagos not just with wonderful memories of a relatively unspoiled corner of earth where sea lions and birds have no fear of humans, not just with cool souvenirs like stuffed blue footed boobies, but also with wretched colds. This is what happens when you’re stuck in close proximity to other germy, nose-picking children on a ship for seven days. No amount of antibacterial gel or housecleaning can ameliorate that situation. C’est la vie. (By the way, this is why I will never take a Disney Cruise. How is it vacation when there are at least a thousand sniffling children belonging to other people there? No. Thank. You.)

In addition to his sore throat, raspy voice, and stuffy nose, today Luke made some new discoveries about what can happen when you’re sick. He got his second nose bleed in two days.

“Mom…my nose is bleeding again,” he called down.

“Okay, Luke. I’ll be up in a second.”

“It’s not stopping,” he whined.

Too much information for me, but I headed upstairs anyway. There he was in their bathroom, blood smeared along his cheek where he had first wiped his nose with the back of his hand before discovering it was blood and not snot. There was blood actively dripping out of his nose and a clot hung there like a dangling, goopy stalactite. He had managed to use several tissues to sop up the dripping blood. Those, of course, were resting on the counter. I’m not great about blood or most other bodily excretions. There’s a reason I didn’t go into nursing. When one of our kids has the stomach flu, I abstain from clean up duty…unless hubby wants to be cleaning up two messes. So, I checked on Luke briefly and then quickly headed back downstairs once I was satisfied that he was not going to bleed to death…at least not at that exact moment. A few minutes later he called down to me again.

“Mom?”

“Yes, Luke?”

“My nose is STILL bleeding,” he informed me.

“It will stop, honey. Just hang in there,” came my from-a-safe-distance reply.

“I learned something about bloody noses too,” he said.

“Yeah, sweetie? What’s that?” I stupidly inquired.

“It’s not a good idea to sneeze when you have one. The blood goes EVERYWHERE!”

Oh holy hell. For a split second it occurred to me that I should head back upstairs for damage control. Then I returned to my senses. I sent Joe in my stead and coached him from my downstairs perch about how best to mitigate the bloody mess in their bathroom. It was kind of like being the 911 operator who guides a soon-to-be-father as to how to deliver his own child in the backseat of the family sedan. Every once in a while, Luke would interject comments such as “This is very unpleasant” and “Our white sink looks pink now.” And, that was how I knew I had made the right decision in staying downstairs. After all, if I had gone up there I might have passed out. You know…the strong know how to handle a tough situation. The smart, however, know to avoid one in the first place.

 

Posted on by Me 2

Rediscovering Our Offscreen Personas

My offscreen persona likes hanging out in hammocks, sipping cold piña coladas, and playing cards with my three boys.

We’ve been home from our trip for 18 hours. As I worked my way through eight loads of dirty laundry today, I was reflecting on what made last week so special. Certainly a large part of the joy found in the Galapagos Islands was attributable to creatures we had never before seen, landscapes that were harsh and yet strikingly beautiful, and new endeavors we were just trying on for size. But, what is more important is not what we found but instead what we were lacking. Last week, we were devoid of television, video games, Netflix, and Apple TV. We didn’t have shows waiting for us on our DVR. The boys weren’t glued to YouTube videos on their computer or busy mentally purchasing new action figures on Amazon.com. Without his Legos, Luke sat with other kids in the Kids’ Corner of the ship’s lounge for hours playing Monopoly and working out his chess skills. Joe got lost in the ship’s library looking at nature books. As a family, we played cards, listened to lectures, and spent time outdoors. Without my iPhone, I wasn’t absorbed in Words With Friends or Mind Feud or texting. Life without screens was as miraculous of a new world as the Galapagos Islands were.

So, I’ve been thinking about some changes I can make in our household lives that might bring us some of the peace and simplicity we enjoyed last week. I’m considering some type of family enrichment program. Nothing too extraordinary, mind you. I don’t want to send my children into culture shock. But, there must be a way to bring things down a notch while still staying connected. Perhaps I put a moratorium on iPhone usage between 5-9 p.m. when we’re all together. Maybe I limit the boys with regard to screen time. A couple hours a week of games and cards rather than television could be beneficial. And, we could make a nightly family walk a ritual rather than a rarity.

A week ago, my sons were present in my life. They were plugged into life and not screens. They woke up early and went to bed early. They weren’t talking to us about things they wanted but instead told us about things they learned. As much as I already miss the islands, I miss the people we were while on the islands more. I’m giving them a down day today. I’m letting them catch up on Ninjago and their Superhero Squad videos. We all needed a break after two consecutive travel days, colds we’re trying to beat, and the chaos that ensues when you return home after 10 days away. But, I’m going to do some research. Maybe we can’t make any big trips like the one we just took again anytime soon. But, I can go to the library, find some videos on far away locations, and take us out of our insular lives occasionally. I mean, I’m never giving up my iPhone. But, I can put it down once in a while and remember what life is like offscreen. Maybe I’ll take the boys outside to stargaze or get a book on local plants and see how many we can scout out during a hike. I’d love to have the boys pick out a recipe we could make together. We’ll still have family movie nights, but maybe I’ll let them teach me chess or challenge them to write a comic book they can share with me. I need to get back to reading to them because we loved that and it got lost. To find ourselves again, I think it’s best that we turn off our screens more often because the reflections we get from them aren’t as true as the reflections we get from each other.

 

Posted on by Me 3

Bartolomé Island, Galapagos

The family photo to prove we were here

When we found out we had been booked on an excursion to the Galapagos, I was intrigued. It hadn’t been a place I had ever thought I would travel to, so I hadn’t allowed myself to become too excited about the location. Now, though, after nearly a week here, I can’t believe I had ever left this magical place off my list. Yesterday we visited Bartolomé Island to view Pinnacle Rock. Pinnacle Rock is an icon. It is to the Galapagos what the Statue of Liberty is to New York City or the Eiffel Tower is to Paris. To take in the grand view, we climbed over 300 stairs before 7 a.m. It was well worth it.

Afterwards, we were fortunate enough to snorkel from the beach just below the rock, around the point, and to another sandy beach. This time we were accompanied by both boys. (Earlier this week Luke had decided he was too afraid to deep sea snorkel and after an hour with his grandparents where he was given boundaries he decided that snorkeling with his parents was a better option.) Although seeing the schools of yellow-tailed surgeonfish and king angelfish was incredibly cool, what meant more to me was being out in the ocean with my boys, having them swim along with us, and sharing the experience of pointing to new and different fish. At one point, Joe decided to return to shore with his aunt. On their swim back, they came face to face with a white tipped reef shark. Joe, whose nickname is Shark Boy in our house because of his vast knowledge of all things shark, was thoroughly freaked out. Personally, I was thrilled that he had that encounter. He told us he wanted to see a shark on this trip and he did.

Our boys are growing fast and these are the experiences I want to share with them. I want us to try new things as a family, to see new sights together, and to learn new things about the world. It doesn’t really matter what brand of shoes we wear or how nice our dining room table is. What matters is that we are together growing as a family. I think this trip has changed our priorities a bit. Well…I will still buy clothes for myself from Boden; I’m simply going to buy fewer of them so we can increase our travel savings account.

Posted on by Me 4

Española Island, Galapagos

The illustrious blue footed booby

Yesterday was a day of firsts. It was my first time swimming with the sea lions (one playfully tried to nip me, naughty little thing), my first time to see in person the courtship dance of the waved albatross, and my first encounter with a blue footed booby. I also sampled octopus at lunch. After I had my bite, Joe felt brave enough to try it too. Octopus is chewy but not foul, I’m happy to report. I’ve been so proud of my boys who have attempted snorkeling, hiked along like troopers, and tried all kinds of new foods too. I’ve learned in my rapidly advancing age that life is full of experiences. You don’t want to miss your opportunity to sample what life has to offer. I’ve also learned that if you aren’t willing to try new things, your children won’t be either. For that reason, I have been working diligently to be a good example. I hope that when my kids are the age I am they will be further along in their life experiences than I am.

Posted on by Me 3

Toy Guns Don’t Kill People, Crazy People Do

This morning I got a comment on one of my blog posts that made me shake my head. Tricia, a young mom from Western Australia, told me that she had gotten an angry email from another woman when she wrote a blog suggesting that toy guns are a part of growing up. The woman who emailed told Tricia she was encouraging people to raise murderers. I immediately thought Tricia should have told the woman to go sell crazy somewhere else. What the holy hell is wrong with people?

Now, I’m no child development expert, but I did look around a bit today for information on the subject of children and imaginary violent play. There are no studies that link pretend gun fights to an increased likelihood of adult violence. There was one study that actually suggested that boys perform better in school when they’re allowed to engage in this type of imaginary play. Honestly, if every boy I knew as a child became a murderer because he played with toy weaponry, I’m not entirely sure there would be a living soul in the western United States.

I understand our natural tendency to want to curb violent play in our children. As a new mother of two boys, I decided I would not purchase toy guns for our sons to play with. Round about the time they were 5 and 3, though, they started using their fingers to pretend to shoot each other. Apparently, keeping the guns out of their hands was not going to hinder their notion of gun play. While my sons do not own guns that shoot anything other than Nerf bullets, they do enjoy shooting at each other. We’ve never been parents who wrestle with our boys and our boys do not wrestle with each other, so perhaps this “shooting” helps them act out their natural aggression in a harmless way? I’m not sure. All I do know is that whether or not I had wanted them to talk about gun ships, war, and killing, it seeped its way into their lives. They seem no worse for the wear because of it. They are not violent boys. Joe will cry when the neighbor boys steps on ants in our driveway. (For the record, I don’t think that crying makes him a sissy, either.)

I do understand that we are hypersensitive to guns after the recent killings at the movie theater in Aurora, and I am not entirely comfortable with actual guns myself. But, toy guns are not real guns, and I am clever enough to understand there’s a difference. I’m not handing my boys semi-automatic assault weapons loaded with live ammunition to play with. I’m simply allowing them an outlet that encourages their style of creative, imaginary play. As long as boys have been boys, there has been cops and robbers and cowboys and Indians. It seems to be a rite of passage. Why get worked up over it? I’m not sure purchasing Nerf guns for my sons turns them into murderers any more than handing a young girl an Easy Bake Oven will turn her into the Julia Child. Heck. I played Charlie’s Angels with my sisters when I was growing up. My gun fingers neither turned me into a murderer or Farrah Fawcett.

To the woman who found it necessary to berate my fellow blogger, Tricia, I would simply suggest this: find something else to worry about. Perhaps a new hobby would help relax you? I’d suggest knitting, but that involves needles and I wouldn’t want to turn you into a heroin addict. If the new hobby doesn’t work, then Xanax might. I have no personal knowledge about Xanax, but I’ve heard it works wonders when you’re a bit overwrought. We all need to relax a bit and not become too worked up over things that have no root in day-to-day reality. We do the best we can with our boys. Sometimes their incessant chatter about bullets and battles makes me uncomfortable, but that’s my problem not theirs. I don’t believe that their toy guns will lead them to violence in adulthood. After all, toy guns don’t kill people, crazy people do.

Posted on by Me 2

The Most Patient People Are The Ones With Lots Of Practice

Barely hanging in there

I’m on the light rail train waiting for the doors to close so we can travel back to the Mineral Station where we parked before heading downtown to the Rockies baseball game. As I sit here, my ears are being assaulted by the whines and whimpers of two obnoxious kids who apparently don’t understand what it means to wait. They can’t sit still. They keep pestering their parents with inane questions about when the train will leave and how long it will be until they get home. They’re driving me crazy. I’m thinking about going over and asking their parents to quiet them down. I should totally do that. But, wait. I can’t. They’re mine. Dammit. I hate it when that happens.

Patience has never been my strong suit. My mother berated me repeatedly for my inability to wait for something. I remember once I was so annoyed with her for hounding me about my lack of patience that I told her I was going to pray for it. I thought that would placate her and keep her from bothering me about it for a bit. Instead, she told me that when you pray for patience God merely gives you more opportunity to practice it. That’s right about the time I became much more selective with my prayer requests.

But, my mom was right. The only way to learn patience is to practice it. So, as much as the boys are driving me crazy with their antics and questions, this situation is exactly what they need. And, in putting up with their impatience, I am given the opportunity to practice my own. For every minute I go without smacking them, I am becoming a better, more peaceful person. At least, that is what I am telling myself. I 100% believe that I ended up with these two impatient little monkeys because I once was silly enough to pray for patience. Remember, sometimes when God wants to punish you he answers your prayers. The plus side is that at this current rate of practice, I might end up somewhere on the zen scale between Yoda and Gandhi. That would almost make moments like this one worthwhile.

Posted on by Me 1

The Great Weenie War

Luke often sleep like this…just like Al Bundy.

I grew up in a house filled with girls. With me, my two sisters, and my mother to contend with, my father had no chance. He was perpetually surrounded by hair products, dolls, and florals. Oh…he tried to change things up. He bought us softball gloves and played catch with us. We were ordered to “go long” so we could catch “the bomb,” as he launched Denver-Bronco-colored orange and blue Nerf footballs at us. We never really had much interest in sports, but played along because we knew a good spiral-throwing arm might come in handy someday to impress a boy. My dad was the odd man out. His only consolation (if you could call it that) was a brown miniature poodle, which we girls had given the masculine moniker “Coco.” At least with the dog there was another male around, albeit a neutered one.

Now that I am married and the mother of two sons, I am the odd one out. In my house, I am constantly competing against testosterone and penises. This afternoon, my sons were chasing each other around the house with wooden, western-style toy rifles, shooting at each other.

“I just shot Joe’s nose off!” Luke exclaimed from his position against the wall downstairs.

“I can’t believe he got me! I had the higher ground,” Joe complained.

Hubby suggested we get more bullets for their Nerf guns so they could shoot each other “for real.” Eeesh. I was headed to Target anyway, so I picked some up for them. The minute I got home, the guns were loaded up and the battle began. As I walked around putting laundry away, I had to dodge boys and foam bullets. Luckily, I’m fairly stealthy and avoided being caught in the crossfire. Life in this house can be dangerous.

I tried to capture a photo of the boys during their battle so I could share it with a blog I was tentatively entitling Nerf Wars, but in every single shot I took one of the boys had one hand on his gun and the other hand on his penis. Are you kidding me? I had to delete every photo I took. I was trying to get a shot of the actual gunfight. Instead, my iPhone only held shots of hands on crotches. A man’s fixation with his penis starts at birth and never abates.

“What is this? The Great Weenie War?” I yelled over their sound effects.

They stopped and looked at me. Then they both cracked up. I had inadvertently coined the newest, most fun phrase in our house. For the next half hour, they ran around shooting at each other while yelling “Weenie War!” I just rolled my eyes, went to my bedroom for solace, and quietly closed the door. What else could I do? If this house is under siege during the Great Weenie War, I’m clearly outgunned. I looked at the only other female in this house, our border collie Ruby, hunkered down on her dog bed trying to ignore the fighting. For the first time, I truly understood how my father felt while I was growing up and I appreciated his bond with our male family pet. Ruby and I sat there staring at each other as the sounds of imaginary gunfire erupted again in the hallway. I swear she rolled her eyes too. When you’re outnumbered in battle, all you can do is take cover and hope you don’t have to hoist the white flag.

Someday the hormone balance in our home will return. The boys will leave home (hopefully to go to college) and things will level out again. Honestly, though, I don’t mind being being the only female in this house. Sure, I have to put up with farting contests and super heroes and a constant barrage of imaginary gunfire. But, when it’s all said and done, every penis-packing person here knows I carry the biggest gun. And, that’s all that matters.

Posted on by Me 6

Our Son, The Science Experiment…Part Deux

Joe and Me

Two months ago, hubby and I decided to take our son who has ADHD off his medication for the summer. We did this to see if he would eat more, sleep better, and perhaps experience a growth spurt and to see if he was, after three years on the medication, any more capable of working on his own to control some of his impulse and attention issues than he was when he was 8. In short, we turned our son into a science experiment. We were so concerned about our decision that I even blogged about it, which is how we arrive at Part Deux. Joe’s first week without his Concerta medication was rough for the entire family. We vowed that the second week we would try harder to remember Joe’s struggles, to cut him more slack, and to be more patient.

It hasn’t been easy, but over the course of the last eight weeks we’ve definitely seen some changes. Joe eats a lot more now than he does when he’s on his medication, and he sleeps later and more restfully too. Although we haven’t weighed him, he does seem to have filled out a bit, which is encouraging. We’ve found that he is now more capable of self-regulation. If something upsets him, rather than the time- and energy-intensive histrionics of the past, he is able to calm himself more quickly. The medication has given Joe a baseline understanding of how his brain is different, and the knowledge he’s not a bad kid but instead merely one whose brain just doesn’t give him enough help with attention and short-term memory. If he’d never been on the medication, he wouldn’t have had the opportunity to experience what is “normal” to other people. Without that crucial piece of information, he’d still feel lost about how to achieve what society expected of him. Now that he understands how it feels to be in control, he can work towards achieving those results both with and without the medication. This is huge for him.

I’m not exactly sure how this experiment will end. If I could write my own ending, though, Joe will have grown a few inches and packed on a few pounds over the summer. He will realize that he’s not a bad kid but that he has some unique challenges. He will understand that the medication helps daily life run more smoothly for him, but that it doesn’t define him and that he’s still a wonderful person without it. As for the rest of us? We will have earned a much greater appreciation for how difficult things can be for Joe and have more patience to help him get to where he needs to be in his life. Two months ago, I was hoping this would be the right decision for our family. Today, I’d be willing to place bets that this experiment will be a great success.

Posted on by Me 4

Instead

How do you not choose this cute, wet boy in an inner tube over laundry on a hot day?

I have always liked making choices. Perhaps that is because choices have always come easily to me. I’ve never been one to agonize over my options or spend months hemming and hawing. I simply am not wired that way. My husband will spend weeks researching something, thinking about it, reviewing his options, and pondering over the benefits and drawbacks. He will finally, at long last, reach his decision. Not two minutes after his decision is made, he will begin to regret it, wondering whether or not he made the right choice. This, as you can imagine, drives me crazy.

I like options. I like open ended. I like possibility. To me, no decision is permanent. (There are exceptions to this rule of course, but I would never choose to make a permanent decision because, as I’ve stated previously, I like choice. Permanent decisions are the ones that rule out all future choice. There’s no fun in that.) Today was a day when I had a lot of things planned. Most them them were exceedingly dull but incredibly necessary things, like laundry, grocery shopping, cleaning. My options seemed highly limited.

At 8 a.m. when I finally hauled myself out of my basement cave and stared down the list of things I “should” do, I naturally decided we should walk the dog instead. And, that’s exactly what we set out to do. As the boys and I rounded the first bend on what was to be a 3-mile walk, though, my phone rang. It was my dear friend Celeste inviting me to go visit the new Athleta store in the Cherry Creek Mall. Hmmm…now I had a choice. Finish the longer walk or take a shorter walk and meet my friend? I called my sister, set her up to watch the boys, and we cut our walk down by 1/2 mile so I could get to the mall. After my quick shopping date with Celeste, I headed back to get the boys. But, as soon as I got back to my sister’s house, my mom called and said I could take the boys swimming at her condo. Hmmm…another decision. Should I head home and get some laundry done at last? Hadn’t I put it off long enough? I looked at my boys, got back in the car, and ran home to get swimsuits and towels so we could go swimming instead.

At one point, I sat there at the pool, soaking wet on a plastic chair under a blue sky in the hot sun, thinking about all the things I had planned to do today that were not getting done because I had made other choices today instead. So much left undone. Then, my mind traveled to the people affected by the movie theater shooting in Aurora. Earlier today I had read about three friends who had planned to be in theater 9 along with their friends for a midnight showing of The Dark Knight Rises. Two were short on cash and the third didn’t want to leave his low-on-funds friends behind, so they skipped the movie instead. Six of their friends were injured and another buddy was killed in that dark theater. Funny how “instead” can change your day or your life.

My house is still a pit. The laundry remains in a pile. The boys’ suitcase sits upstairs in the hallway as of yet unpacked. It will all be there for me tomorrow. It can wait. Today, I chose to see a good friend and spend the afternoon splashing with my boys instead. I have no regrets.

 

Posted on by Me