8 Best Ways To De-Stress Your Child Creatively - Guest Post

Children these days are hard pressed for time while they shuffle from school, to tuition to sports training and other strenuous activities. The competitive environment bogs them down and results in both mental and physical exhaustion. The information overload is immense. As a parent, it is a challenge for you to keep your child healthy and help him deal with the stress effectively.


Creativity is rampant in today’s children, which includes your child too! Here is how you can help him relax yet, explore other non- strenuous activities to de-stress.

Meditative Music And Talk

The humongous workload in school and tuition pushes the child to the verge of being stressed and sad. In such cases, recorded discs of meditative music and encouraging self-help material does the trick to help your child deal with it.

Pictionary 

Simple games as Pictionary is instrumental in helping them loosen up and enjoy the nuances of life in pictorial representations. It is a constructive means of helping them relax and yet re-learn their learning.

Role Play 

Stepping on stage in somebody else’s shoes is a sure shot way to help your child to break away from the anxieties that haunt him. He can be someone else and separated from the worries that have haunted him through the day. Role- play is an effective way of de-stressing and it helps the child deal with his problem when he attends to it with a cooler mind.

Color the Blues Away

This is perhaps the most fail proof and standardized creative solution to help your child deal with his stress woes. Handing him a pack of colors and paper is surely going to help him spill all his doubts and inhibitions on the blank sheet. He will be washing it away in the hues of his favorite colors. Colors have known to have a therapeutic effect and are healing.

Fun with Food

Nothing works like a wonder as compared to food! Getting your child involved in kitchen is perhaps the easiest way of helping him relax. It can be a simple work ranging from putting dollops of cookie batter on the baking tray or helping him whip up a cake from scratch; or trying his hand at barbecuing veggies with chunks of his favorite meats. Food explorations, cooking and baking are perhaps the easiest ways of relaxing and attaining peace

Cartoons

Every child has his favorite cartoon that cheers him and puts a smile on his cherubic face. These cartoons have their moments of failure and then ultimately salvage the situation heroically. This boosts your child’s morale as he can see his favorite character recuperating from failure and being a hero in the eventuality. He can push himself to do the same. Especially the advancement in the lifestyle these days doesn’t merely restrict the cartoon to the paper or screen but it is available in life size toys or as prints in bags, notebooks, games that the child can carry with him. These cartoon merchandise is a major booster for the child to de-stress.

Building Sand Castles or Legos 

Perhaps the simplest way of relaxing is splashing in water at the beach and building sand castles. The lack of a water body or if your child is water phobic, engaging him in an activity of building using legos can help his release the tension that would be gnawing at him.

Reading

The scientifically proven stress buster for all ages is reading. Inculcating in him the habit of reading is definitely a constructive way of dealing with stress as it helps your child to leave his woes and set sail with his Famous Five or Secret Seven. Reading enables him to widen his perspective and hence widens his ability to deal with the problem.

Therefore, these simple yet creative ways can work wonders for your child aiding him to deal with stress. After all, being emotionally adept is the key to a successful individual!

...

I am Aradhana. I am a passionate writer and love to write on topics like parenting, wellness, health and lifestyle. I believe good health is the key to success and happiness. I am a contributor for natural news, elephant journal, naturally savvy and MomJunction.com. Through my writings, I want to motivate people to develop healthy habits and adopt natural ways of living to achieve sound health.

Why parents these days aren't teaching their kids responsibility

Surely you have seen this before.

A very intelligent (and childless) friend of mine posted it on Facebook the other day, with the comment: "The real problem is that nobody understands chronology. The child of the 60s raised the child of the 80s who grew to be the parents of today."

The truth of this hit me really hard because lately I've been consciously struggling with my parenting techniques, many of which, I've discovered, are still leftover pushbacks from when I was a child. You see, I remember being a kid, and while I never thought I had a bad childhood, there was one thing I never ever had (in my child-opinion). A voice. A right to bring my position to a conversation and have it be heard as if it had any merit at all. What my mother said is what happened, and we never fought that. She'd managed to magically rig the parenting life so that it was an expected and non-negotiable item.

I'd always hated that.

But until becoming a parent, I'd never known how much.

Let's take it back a second.

My mom grew up in a huge family in the 1960s in the inner city. She was the second oldest of twelve kids, and the oldest girl. As such, her mother had no time for that shit, and my mother had to take on the duties of mothering about six of the kids while my grandmother mothered the other six. The kids had very little supervision, because for serious, with twelve kids you do not have time. My mom was the supervisor, the protector, the doer of the things. Starting at, like, age 7.

Having gone through that, she had her own pushback when I was born, followed by my brother and sister. I was never asked to be their caretaker, she made extra sure I had free time and could be my own person, be a kid. We had lots of responsibilities still. Like all the chores and stuff you would expect a child of the 80s to be doing. But she was never like, "go take your brother and sister to the pool, be back by six, and don't get killed."

In fact, having had to do that herself at age 9, she was super-duper against it. She knew firsthand that the world was bullshit for little kids trying to get by without getting harassed, beaten up, or bothered. I was hardly allowed out at all unless there was ADULT ADULT supervision. She didn't want me to go through what she had had to go through. She didn't want me to have to have the responsibility of keeping little people safe when I was still little myself.

I just thought she was a mean old doodoo pants.

And my mother's style was that her word was final. The end. Done. No more. No arguing. And I just accepted that. But I hated it. So that, yes, if my grades were bad (which they never were, because my mom made it clear that was unacceptable), she would have come to me and we would have worked on the problem from that end. And as a kid, I would have felt bullied, pushed, as if it were unfair, because that would have been coupled with NO ONE LISTENING TO ME EVER, so that whatever explanation I had meant nothing.

Cue present day. I personally have six year olds, so we're not at the bad-grades-teacher-showdown part of life yet. But I can completely understand the parents who are, and I can see, now, why they are lashing out at the school system instead of working with their kids to improve work-ethic, understanding and responsibility.

Perhaps, like me, they felt AS A CHILD unfairly treated, not listened to, bossed around, and insignificant. They probably AS A CHILD thought they had a pretty good head on their shoulders, and really wished someone would just pay attention to them one time because they had some pretty good thoughts, feelings and explanations for the world.

So that when their own children come home bearing bad grades, perhaps, I mean, just maybe, there's an old memory that dislodges of a time when there was a legitimate reason for a bad grade on their part and no one gave two shits, and they were unfairly treated just because they were a child against the system. And maybe, without fully knowing it, the parents of today give the credibility they had as children to their children now, whether or not it's deserved. And maybe they don't ever want their kids to feel like they don't have anything worthwhile to contribute, that they can't fight an institutionalized system if its unfair, or that they have to take what is given and will always be at fault just because they're kids. (I mean, maybe, since no one ever thinks of these things, the parents haven't actually upgraded their thoughts about the matter, so maybe, just maybe, they're still coming at it from the point of view of an eighth grader and don't even realize it.)

So, in an over-compensation meant to avenge the child they once were, parents today lash out at the system they think treated them so unkindly, so unfairly. And the children of today don't understand the battle on which this system-attack is based. And therefore, the children of today simply feel entitled to good grades or whatever, just for existing...all due to overcompensation on our part, which stems from overcompensation on our parents' parts, which probably stems from overcompensation on their parents' parts.

And maybe we're all just trying to do the best we can.

Competition Hell

Just now, my girls put on shirts they haven't worn in a year. Their daddy made a big deal of it, because he happens to really like the shirts. Everything was lovely. They felt fashionable and chic and cute and happy.

Then it started. One noticed that her jeans were lighter than the other one's jeans. Even though they normally prefer lighter jeans, just now, this one decided she liked the darker jeans better. So much so that she was going to change her whole outfit. Even though we were just about to go out to dinner.

My kids seem to like to be miserable about something, anything, rather than be happy for more than two seconds at a time. If their equilibrium shifts too far to happiness, if they've received too many compliments, if anything at all has changed from the status quo, they will find a reason to fight and tantrum over it in some kind of fit of competitiveness, as if what the one has will never be equal to what the other has. As if somehow one has been slighted.

They live in a state of constant fear and panic that one of them will get more than the other or have a better experience than the other. And to that end, they'd rather make themselves the most sorry, miserable things than have a good time themselves.

Just.

Why.





 

Lost Tooth

I remember losing teeth. It was an exciting, fun thing that meant I was growing up just a little bit more.

With twins, however, or at least with my twins, it can be a little more complicated than that.

Dulce lost her tooth, finally, and miracle of miracles, Natalina was excited for her. Celebrated with her.

For a few moments.

Natalina was happy because she truly wanted Dulce to lose her tooth first. That way, her sister would prove it was safe. These are the things my children worry about.

Soon enough, though, the jubilant shrieks died down, and Natalina began with the quiet ribbing. She didn't like the way the big tooth looked, she said. She thought Dulce looked better with her little teeth.

We're going back and forth right now between teasing and support, and honestly, that's more than I'd hoped for. Particularly coming from a little girl who just an hour ago threw a tantrum at a party because she'd eaten her entire slice of pizza and Dulce had eaten just half. This is the life we live.

For now, we'll take what we get, and the little girl who doesn't believe in the tooth fairy will get some money under her pillow tonight.





 

Model what you want to see

As my girls age, I notice that they sometimes work out their issues through role playing games. These are spontaneous. They occur basically out of nowhere. One girl will perhaps do something that reminds her or her sister of us, their parents, and it spins off wildly from there.

When this happens, I believe my husband and I don't make the best of it right yet. I noticed it this evening.

Dulce had started play acting that her daddy was her, and she was me, and they had to go to school (something she's been having trouble with this week). Her dad, thinking it was funny, was making a show of protesting, moving slow and not listening.

And it hit me.

Nope.

I shouted jovially that in this game we did what mommy said, we walked quickly, we paid attention, we got to school on time. Dulce was having a ball bossing her daddy around the way her perspective sees me as the evil overlord, but from that point on, her daddy was a very obedient little boy.

Lilly took her turn with me, and acted out the scene from this weekend where she'd had to be away from her twin for the first time ever. I played her, and gave validity to her anxieties, but went along willingly on the adventure and told her that she was right, I had had a good time afterward.

These games might not mean anything to the kids. But if they do, if my kids are trying to process correct behavior through this, I hope that we can guide them in the right direction so that they feel comfortable during the real deal.

Who knows...maybe we'll even get to school on time tomorrow. One can always hope.





 

Kindergarten Kids - Separating the Twins

Problem:

Even though the girls are in different classes in school, and have been for a year now, they still exist in a weird continuum where they don't feel as if they can be a full, unique person. Every decision must be passed through the counsel of the sister, and every treat must be evenly divided. Not one individual thing is allowed to pass, because both twins feel that individual things mean better things. Particularly if they are not at the same time. So, if Dulce wanted an ice cream cone at 3 p.m. but Natalina didn't want one, either they would both have one or neither would have one. Either Natalina would cry about not getting a cone so much that Dulce would decide to forego it, or Dulce would badger Natalina so much that Natalina would decide to eat one. Either way, they would not, of their own free choice, do something different. So much so that if one gets one extra bite of graham cracker in the morning, she will throw it away. (This JUST happened). Or if one gets a candy while the other is sleeping or otherwise engaged, she will tell her twin immediately after she sees her again, so her twin can collect her prize.

It's weird. And it's hard to navigate.



Solution:

My friends have been telling me for literally years that I have to take my children out separately. It's been impossible to pull off. My husband works until 8 p.m. every day, and on the weekends, we like to do things as a family.

Today, we are going to take the girls out separately.

And already I'm plagued with, 'what if one of us does something the girls deem 'more fun' at their outing than the other? How can we keep this as even as possible? Should my husband and I talk about this, plan where we're going, come up with ways to prevent tantrums? Each of us do the same number of activities during the outing? Leave and return at the exact same time?

It's taking everything in me to NOT do these things. I will not. We are going to take our kids out separately like regular people take their kids out separately.

In order for this to work, I must not cater to their instinct to compare at all. Otherwise it will just become another instance of strange twin equality competition. And we will have wasted our day.

The goal is for them to be able to have a Saturday when they are older, where one goes swimming at a friend's house, and the other stays home reading or goes to the movies with her buddies. End. Like it's a normal and okay thing to do.

Because right now, as we sit in this house today, that scenario is an utter impossibility.


 

How much have I messed my kids up?

I want my children to reason like adults, and this is causing my entire family endless stress. One of them is full of attitude and contempt right now, and trying purposefully to upset me, so that from sun up to sun down, I must be in battle mode to make it through the day. She lobs bombs and shoots gunfire my way, and will sneak in at least a half dozen ambush attacks where she starts a normal conversation or shows a sweetness, only to lure me in before turning the whole scene into a mess of negativity.

And when this happens, I first react calmly. I tell her what she must do and I make her do it. But eventually, I lose it, and I shout. Sometimes I bully her into doing what she should be doing. The next phase is reasoning and explaining, where I tell her my side, then ask her about her side, and try to figure out, or get her to figure out, what her deal is.

None of this works, obviously.

As parents, we're supposed to be calm, inflappable, upholding the rules because they are rules. Not letting emotions in. Not making it a bigger deal than it is. Either put your pants on and go to camp, or don't and stay home. Why isn't it that easy when I'm not typing? One is that I have twins, and I can't just keep punishing one for the other's behavior, but it's more than that. I want them to do the right thing because it's the right thing. I want them to be able to tell when it's wrong and bring good, solid points to the table as to why it should be another way. I want them to feel like their feelings are valid.

I do not want them to call me stupid, throw things at me, or willfully disobey me.

But I've got both.

And what's messing me up is myself. I'm SCARED I'm messing them up. If one is acting out because I'm spoiling her and letting her do what she wants whenever, then I have to crack down.

But if she's acting out because she's craving loving attention from me (and she DOES need a lot of loving attention which she has been foregoing to do this crap), then cracking down on her will only prove to her that I don't love her? But should she need such explicit validation all the time? But if I stop hearing her out, will she decide she's totally unimportant?

How much have I messed my kids up, is the question, to be honest. And what the hell do I do.





 

The Shift from SAHM to WAHM

I've always considered myself a stay at home mom. Yes, I've "worked" on writing and editing, and pumped out a lot of material over the years, but as it wasn't really a paying gig, I prioritized spending time with my children over most of my projects. And my kids got very used to that.

The downside is that they are pretty entitled when it comes to my attention or what I'm doing for them. We spent their first two years here in Florida (2-4) with me taking them out on adventures two to three times a day. Because I could. Because I needed to so we all didn't kill each other. Before they grasped the English language fully "what kind go outside, mama" was a phrase I heard round the clock.

In short, my babies are used to my eyes on them.

And to be honest, right about now, they are totally sick of my bullshit.

Since the explosion of the Washington Post essay (and even a little before that, as I'd been branching out into paid work starting at the beginning of the summer), I haven't been staring dotingly upon them every minute of the day. They're almost six, I figured. They should be able to keep themselves entertained, play with each other, whatever. I mean, I remember growing up. My brother and sister and I freaking had to play together. My parents didn't often engage in our games.

But somehow that feels like a different time?

I am totally feeling some mama guilt right now.

We had a rough day yesterday because I'm trying desperately to catch up in the whole "act like a human being and use words instead of freaking out at every little thing" department. And it's a rough lesson for them. But it's compounded by the fact that I haven't been playing with them hardly at all these past few weeks, which is an abrupt change. My kids don't do well with change. Add to that the constant headaches and neck pain I'm living with due to a herniated disc, and the mid-end of summer vacation where it's 100 degrees every day in Florida so everyone is bored, and we've got a recipe for cranky.

Would it kill me to play with them for a few hours a day? No.

It's just that I'm also not used to the change, not used to constant deadlines for publications in addition to being a supermom (albeit a FAILING supermom).

I vow today to cut them some slack. Not in the crying/whining department, but in the "mama, look at me being an elephant" department. In the "Be the cheerleader while we play pretend volleyball with a balloon" department. In the "I really need to be a better mom" department.

I've always been really good at spinning plates, but this freelance work took me by storm, and my kids aren't plates to spin.

I'll find a balance, I know it. But the transition has not been an easy one.

Here's to today being a better day.


 

No Means No

My twins are only five years old, but that doesn't mean I'm in any way smarter than they are. In fact, most days, it feels like quite the opposite.

See, I'm not so good at the "because I said so" line. I always hated it when I was a kid, and I went into this whole mom thing having made the conscious decision that I was never going to do that to my children.

I was wrong.

I was so wrong.

Part of the problem, of course, as I mentioned laughingly to a friend before I had to carry my kicking and screaming five year old off the playground about an hour later (because that's totally not embarrassing at all, by the way...or and in before you say "it's your own dumbass fault." I KNOW. Hence, post. Right?), anyway, like I mentioned to her, it's because I have too much respect for my kids.

I know, I know, gasp! How could you ever have too much respect for your kids? Especially you, Darlena, I mean, you yell at them all the time! That's not respect!

Okay, but bear with me.

Let me rephrase. I hold my children up to expectations I would have of an adult. Not in obvious ways, because I can tell they're five. No, in more...ingrained ways. It's hard to explain.

Basically, I expect my kids to think like I do when things are going in a normal way on a normal day. I project my sensibilities on them, so that when I say something like, let's leave the playground, and then they say no, and then I say yes, and then they get upset and tantrum (just a little, we're getting to the big ones, just wait), and then I tell them to calm down we're leaving either way, and then they do calm down for a half second and ask me if they can do one more thing...I will say yes.

Here's why:

I think, "It's time to leave, I should tell them it's time to leave, oh, they didn't like that, well, that's normal, kids don't like to leave fun places, I'll tell them again nicely, oh crap, they're crying, WHY DO THEY CRY? This is normal life, it's not like we didn't leave 10 billion places yesterday, too. Why aren't they getting that? I would get that. I'll tell them sternly to calm down, that's what moms do. Oh, look! They did calm down. And they want to do one more thing. Well, since they were able to calm down so nicely, and they're behaving now, and they clearly understood the message that we have to leave like, you know, people would understand that, I could let them do one more thing. Then we'll all skip home lalala, and everything will be wonderful."

Because I think that my kids understand things.

I do this a lot. Because I do this a lot, my kids have been trained to think this about the above situation:

"Crap, mom told us we have to leave. We don't want to leave. OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG DON'T WANT TO LEAVE WAT DO? I know! I'll say no. That will very clearly show her my stance on this matter. What? Why did she tell us to leave again? Can't she hear me? OMGOMGOMG EMOTION FEELS CANNOT WON'T LEAVE. Also, maybe she'll cave if I cry. She never caves if I cry. No, you silly! It's after you cry that she caves. Just watch. Okay, crying. Oh. Here it is, she's telling me to calm down. Let's try that first, if it doesn't work, then we lose our shit, okay? Okay. Great! It worked! She's letting us stay! Huzzah!"

You see? I think they know I'm letting them stay because they improved their behavior. They know no such thing. What we've got going on is an improvised, slightly longer version of the I'll-cry-until-she-lets-me-have-it error that so many moms are shamed out of existence for.

Well, crap.

Anyway, to round out the story, after the one thing, when it was actually time to go, one of my kids did totally lose her shit, and freaked out not only as I had to carry her to the car, but also the whole ride home and then for about 30 minutes in her room, too.

Aces.

So, what I'm saying, crudely, is I need to have less respect for my kids. But that's not what I'm saying at all. I actually just don't know how to articulate what I'm saying for once. I have to stop giving them the benefit of the doubt? No, that's not it. I have to set clear boundaries and not let them do even one more thing once I've said no.

That's it.

They need the boundaries. Because the way I'm doing it, while it might work for an older child, only serves to make them absolutely miserable, which of course makes me miserable.

I really, really want them to be able to reason, and come up with good points and get rewarded for thinking their way around things. But we're not ready yet. And me forcing that to happen only sets us back. Way back. So, keep it simple, stupid. No means no. No matter what.

Wish me luck.






 

Reasons Moms Might Not Talk to Each Other

Here's how it sometimes feels to be a mom, and why we can't seem to call on our support group of other moms when we most need to.

...

- Everyone else's kids seem perfect. They're so good, quiet, smart, well-behaved. Often your tales of having to drag your spawn out of the grocery store while they screamed bloody murder are met with blank stares.

- Since your kids are only kids, you are betting you are the problem. That's embarrassing.

- There's a possibility your kids might be the problem. And that's a problem.

- Sometimes, other moms will commiserate, but their stories never end up with them locked in the bathroom crying and begging for mercy.

- In this way, those moms are even harder to talk to because they actually deal with the same bullshit you do, and they can hold it together and lovingly nurture their babes, instead of dialing the circus over and over again as they rock back in forth in their bathroom full of tears.

- In the back of your mind, you're sure this is actually a normal, everyday problem and you're just being dramatic. You don't want people to think you think you're special or a mommy martyr or anything.

- In the other back of your mind, you fear this is actually not even close to normal, that no one has to deal with this issue like you do. And you don't want people to know you accidentally gave birth to a sociopath.

- You're the mom, you should know what to do. When you don't know what to do, it should be for cute things, like, which cloth diaper covers are the best for baby skin. If you don't know what to do with your own damn child, you fail. Goodbye.

- You don't want people to know you did the wrong thing. Again.


...

I don't really have anything to say about this list I've made. I'm just throwing out ideas as to why moms might not feel like they can use their supportive friends and family sometimes.

Oh, I would like to say that all of those things are wrong and hogwash, obviously. But that doesn't negate the fact that they can exist as thought-patterns in the brain of a frustrated, overworked mother.



 

Kindergarten Kids - Shining Stars of Horror

Problem:

It's finally happened. After more than a month, one of your children is the "shining star" of the classroom. Unfortunately for me, when this happens, instead of being able to fully celebrate, I have to go back and forth between my kids, celebrating for one (but not too much) while placating the other (but not too much). Any failure in this system leads to tears. One cannot be too proud and happy, and one cannot be too sad and disappointed, but one must be both proud and happy and sad and disappointed...at the same time.

It's not about winning or losing. It's about someone in the family being deemed "specialer" than the other one, from an outside (and therefore, more authoritative) source.

Solution:

"Could maybe you congratulate and gush about the one, while telling the other her time will come someday and shouldn't we be excited for others when they do well?"

This is brand new information. Finally. Everything I've ever done has been wrong, and why didn't I just think of this!

Oh, wait.

Here's the thing. I think I utter some form of that phrase 20 billion times a day. When you have children close in age, and those children are, well, five, they seriously don't give a fuck about learning to appreciate their counterparts. So I can say that until I'm blue in the face (and I do), and no fucks are given. Ever.

This is normal. 'Buck up, kiddo' doesn't work with five year olds. It just doesn't.

Now, that doesn't mean you shouldn't talk to them about this integral life lesson. You should and you have to.

The important part of this "solution" is to realize that parent/child talks almost never go down in Danny Tanner style. You're never sitting on a flower-print bed spread, holding your preciously quiet daughter's hand as her big, searching eyes trust your infinite wisdom, take in your advice and make a behavioral change.

That. Never. Happens. Not even once.

We just have to shout over their tears, screams, pouts and tantrums, hoping they hear at least a fragment of the lesson we're trying to get through to them so that at some point, probably ten years from now, they begin to put the pieces together in a pattern, and finally realize that it's okay when your sibling earns something that you didn't.

Until then, have fun playing the game of 'stop the twins (or siblings close in age) from killing each other or spontaneously combusting from the stress.

Also, start writing letters to the school about why they should discontinue the stupid Shining Star activity. There are other competitions that are better for this that the school also does, like hooploops for good behavior and going to the treasure box when you've amassed a certain number of those. That's a better activity. Do that only. Thanks.




 

Kindergarten Kids - Self Fulfilling Prophecies

Problem: 

Your kids are crying, so you tell them to stop. Or, your kids are laughing so you tell them to stop, not because you don't want them to laugh, but because you don't want them to cry, which usually happens about .87 seconds after they start laughing. Or your kids are shouting gleefully and you tell them to stop, not because you don't want them to have fun but because you don't want them to cry which usually happens 1.35 seconds after they start shouting gleefully. Or your kids are running around having fun so you tell them to stop, not because you don't want them to have fun and use up their energy, but because you don't want them to cry...see where I'm going with this?

Or, your kid spills something and you let out an exasperated sigh, not because she spilled something, but because you assume she's going to cry about it, make it into the biggest deal in the world. Because that's what she does. But she hears your sigh and then uses that to cry over, possibly tying the two together in a way you didn't mean. "When I spill things, I exasperate mommy." Which isn't true, only it looks like it is. Even an adult would connect the two because no one is a mind reader.

That's important to remember. No one is a mind reader. Not even you.

Solution:

Try to break yourself out of the habit of "cutting things off at the pass" or "nipping things in the bud." If it's been a while, your kids might surprise you by acting like normal human beings with just minimal guidance in a way they would have six months ago. But they're not going to get that chance, nor are they going to learn to handle their emotions / business by themselves if you intercede before they've even had a chance to figure out what's going on.

And if you're interfering with a negative mindset, they are, of course, going to react to that, just as much, if not more than they would have reacted badly to the original scenario in the first place.

I just figured out I was doing this myself this week, after the girls blissfully went to kindergarten, giving me a half second to be out of the situation and view it objectively. I think by giving them the benefit of the doubt, they are learning valuable coping skills that I was blocking from them previously simply because I could not with them any more.

If you assume the worst of your kids, even if they have given it to you in the past, you'll never get a chance to see the best.







 

Fifth Anniversary

Happy anniversary, to my lovely husband.

2006

2013

Eight years together, five of them married.








 

Moment of the Week - 145: Happy Father's Day 2013

Happy Father's Day to all the dads out there. Here's our, throughout the years.

Happy day, all.


 

Epic Shoe Adventure

Sometimes, when you move, things get lost. They get tossed out, or you're sure you packed them, or suddenly you're just down a couple dozen books you were sure were in your bookshelf (me.) Sometimes, you have helpful spouse tying up loose ends, and they simply tie them up too tightly. And that's where our scene begins.

The weekend before last, my husband rented a big, old UHaul truck, and we stacked our larger furniture, paintings, beds and bookshelves inside. We hadn't packed beforehand, so after we brought the truck back, there was still plenty to do, boxes to tape, things to give away, you know.

Over the weekend, my husband had said something along the lines of, "I got rid of half my wardrobe! We don't need to bring all that stuff."

And that's what was running through my head as I looked quizzically at the expensive brown shoes in the middle of our almost-empty master bedroom.

Surely he didn't leave them behind on purpose? But all the other shoes were gone, and these lone survivors were out in plain sight...right near the donation pile. I looked again. But I would never donate these, I thought. Of course, I took all my clothes (save my excessive number of 1990s pantsuits).

You know, it's hard to give away suits that got you your first few jobs after college, right? No? Anyway, they're gone now. Along with those shoes. I threw them right in the bottom of a 30-gallon trash with all his other clothes on top, and hauled it off to the Goodwill.

Three days later...

"Oh my God, where are my brown shoes? I can find every single pair of shoes, except the ones I want! I'm sure I packed them!" At t-5 minutes until he had to leave for work, I thought it might be a bad time to tell him that perhaps he didn't, after all, pack them. I stayed quiet, earning a confused and slightly distraught look from him as he most likely wondered why I, shoe-queen, did not feel his pain. As he walked out the door in his definitely-not-brown shoes, I posted on my phone to Facebook:

"That awkward moment when your husband is very clearly looking for shoes he's sure he packed, but you know he left behind...and you brought them to Goodwill two days ago. Operation shoe recovery to commence at 12:30."

And it did. As soon as I dropped those kids off at school, I picked up more stuff to donate, and drove right back down there.

Hairied and in emergency-mode, I pretty much scared the pants off the poor guy taking donations. He'd dealt with me the other day, and so kind of already knew my New-England-talking-way-too-fast-and-intensely-for-you ways.

"I brought in a bunch of stuff the other day! Do you still have it?"

"Out...on...the...floor," he answered in Florida-slow-drawl-style.

"There were some nice shoes in there, did you see them?"

He shook his head.

"If they were nice, miss, they're prolllllllly gone." So. Slow. When. You. All. Talk. Seriously.

I finish unloading and rush into the store. I find the women's shoes, and a woman working on them. I ask her my questions and she looks at me like I've lost my mind, and points me to the men's shoes. I run over there. The shelves are nearly empty.  But there, on the third row down, a pair of nice brown shoes!

Huzzah!

I shout out loud, and a man who's looking at the shoes startles. I pick them up. Man, it must have been a few days since I saw them because they look just slightly different. But it was meant to be. Armed with my husband's shoes, I walk proudly up to the counter and tell them my sordid tale of woe.

And would you believe it, they even gave me half-price. Best $5 I ever spent.

With the blessed shoes in hand, I texted my husband in jubilation. The conversation is too funny to leave out.

"Just bought your shoes back from Goodwill. Hahaha!"

"OMG, really? Wait, bought or brought?"

"Yes. I had a feeling you had left them behind because when packing up, I remember thinking damn, he went crazy getting rid of stuff. I loved these! So when I dumped today, I asked about them. They'd already made it to the floor. So nice, even Goodwill marked them for 10 bucks."

"Haha. You had to buy them back."

Over the course of the day, he told his brother, who, of course, blew my cover.

"She knew this morning!" he said.

When my husband asked me that, and I said yes, he was shocked. Hah. It was just a bad time to say anything, know what I mean?

Where were the shoes, he wanted to know. And I proudly pointed him over to his chair, where they sat in a plastic bag that said "Thank You" on it.

Grinning from ear-to-ear he opened it up. And the smile faded. And the shoes clattered to the ground.

"These are not my shoes." He was totally disgusted. Other people's shoes don't really do it for him, I guess.

And I was like, yes, of course they are not. They are far too pointy, and too dark in color, and there was no scuff on the top of the toe on his shoes.

I knew all those things. I knew them. But I ignored them, so excited was I about being able to be jubilant.

And so our shoes are gone. Long now on the feet of someone who doesn't mind other people's shoes.

My Facebook status, of course, after that, read: "Oh my God. Just kidding. Those were not his shoes."

To everyone's delight.

Who wants a happy ending anyway?

She Wants a Little Sister...Hah!

So, for the past few days, I have been having a raging argument about whether or not I'll have another baby. Not with my husband, but with one of my kids. She won't give it up, starting in the morning with, "can I tell you a secret? I really want a little sister," going through to after school when she involves other people, "Mrs. R, shouldn't I have a little sister?" and continuing all the way into nightfall when the tiredness overcomes her and she flops on the ground kicking and yelling, "I want a little sister! I want a little sister!"

Oh, the injustice. The unfairness of it all. I mean, clearly, from her actions above, she's ready to take on the role of mature older sister. She's not still a baby herself or anything.

I explain to her how much work it will be.

"I'll feed her!" she says. Then thinks. "But you have to change the diapers," she concedes.

I tell her it takes nine months, and that's after I get pregnant so it could take years.

This is devastating.

Can't I understand that she wants a baby sister, now? How about tomorrow? What if she's really, really good and doesn't cry for the rest of the day? Then can she have a baby sister tomorrow?

I am so cruel.

I tell her I don't want any more babies.

Unacceptable. Moms should have all the babies all the time. They shouldn't have a choice. She'd make a right little Republican, wouldn't she? (Oh, cheap zing, there. Let's move along.)

Finally, she goes to my husband for help.

First of all: Hahaha. Haha. Hahahahahahaha. HAHA. Yeah, right, kid. You'd have better luck getting a puppy from him. The chances of a puppy are at least .0000001.

He tells her no.

She tantrums because she's so ready and mature and can't we just see that? It's very convincing.

Finally, after she calms down, waits a while, and asks again, my husband smiles at me.

"Yes," he says.

And it stops.

And I'm thinking, why didn't I think of that?

But, fear not, it was only a slight reprieve. The next day, she was at it again, looking for her little sister. We went through all the same arguments.

Finally, finally, I decided to stop assuming I knew why she wanted another baby (cuddly, cute, something to help grow, etc.) and asked her.

"N has a big sister," she said.

"Well, yes, but N isn't a big sister," I replied. "There are all kinds of sisters."

"Yeah!" she said. "N isn't a big sister and she has to sit in the back seat like me. But her big sister gets to sit in the front seat. I want to sit in the front seat, mama. So, mama? Can I have a little sister?"

Because in Natalina's world, if big sisters sit in the front seat, then she needs to be a big sister, stat.

Clearly that is the easiest route to the front seat of the car.

Preschooler logic at its best.

Two is enough.