Nice Guys Finish Last...

OK, I haven't had a rant in a while, and this one is long overdue.  I'm gonna go a bit off road on this post - it's not about children or parenting experiences... although in order for those things to happen, first people must hook up, so let's just roll with it.

And the disclaimer:  I am going to generalize.  Probably a lot.  Keep in mind that there are always exceptions to the rule, (though hardly ever.  That's why it's the "rule") and try not to get all flustered and insulted - it's just my opinion.

So, nice guys finish last.  I hear this a lot - often when guys are bemoaning their eternal singledom.  It comes in many different forms:

'I treat women with respect, and would never cheat, yet they always put me in the friend zone.'

'I'm just a nice guy, but women don't want a nice guy - they want a jerk, or a bad boy that's going to treat them like crap.'

'I treat this girl like a princess and am always the first one she turns to when she needs relationship advise, but she says she values our friendship too much to potentially ruin it by making it more.'

First, there are two types of nice guys, so let's get to know them a bit better:

The Self Proclaimed Nice Guy -  This is the guy that you meet, and within two minutes he's told you all about what a nice guy he is.  He will announce it loudly, publicly, and often.  He will also give examples of the nice things he's done for various harpies who end up sleeping with his best friend or burning down his hand-crafted bird house. If he does manage to snare himself a girlfriend, he is whiny, clingy and needs constant reassurance that the object of his affection is not going to run off and abandon him.  He has no real interest in having a proper conversation with a girl - he's too busy trying to prove how smart and nice he is. He will often make derogatory remarks under the guise of humor, and manipulation and guilt are his weapons of choice.  He will complain that if girls would just bother to get to know him, they would see through all the crappy luck he's had with jobs (he's always being fired or quitting 'cause his boss hates him),  houses (he lives in his mother's basement because his flatmates suck), the police (they just have it in for him for some unknown reason that has nothing to do with his drug use or illegal car modifications), and fall in love with him.  But no, girls only care about money and status.   

The Bewildered Nice Guy - This guy is lovely.  He calls and texts to ask you how your day has been.  He genuinely seems to care about your opinions and can spend hours discussing anything from politics, to what colour coat you should buy for your toy poodle.  He opens doors, buys flowers often, and will always tell you how beautiful you look.  He never forgets your birthday, or anything that's mildly important to you, and agrees with you on almost everything.  He is usually quite shy or introverted, so doesn't make the first move in a relationship, and if he does find himself with a girlfriend, it's either because she pursued him, or he got drunk one night and just kinda woke up with one.  He devotes himself to his romantic relationships and makes his partner the center of his world.  The relationship always ends with him having no idea what went wrong.

Now let's break down why these nice guys always finish last:

It's fairly easy to see where Mr. Self Proclaimed goes wrong.  Firstly, you are not a nice guy, you think you are because you don't cheat on, or beat up women, but it actually takes a bit more than that.  Respect is a good place to start.  

We do not feel like you are expressing affection when you don't want us to do anything or go anywhere without you, we feel suffocated.  It is exhausting to constantly reassure you, and eventually we will get over it and move on.

We are not after money and status, We are after confidence and intelligence   Do you know how unattractive you are when all you do is bitch about your job / car / friends / housing situation? VERY unattractive - think Quasimodo having a bad hair day. We actually can see past all of your 'bad luck', we just pretend not to because behind it there is a whinging angry toddler throwing his toys 'cause he can't handle his own life.  If you're unhappy, change it.  Level up a bit already!

And for the love of all things holy, stop telling us that you're not like other guys.  That is the war cry of all generic guys.  Seriously.  If you're actually not you don't have to tell us, we'll figure it out for ourselves.  If you do insist on uttering that horrific statement, at least come up with a few key points on how you're not like other guys (make them up if you have to), so if you accidentally hit on someone with half a brain you'll have something to say when she calls you on it.

Mr. Bewildered is a bit tougher.  You actually are a nice guy, we enjoy spending time with you, and would like to thank you for all your help over the years.  Unfortunately for you, we are biologically attracted to the alpha.  You are biologically attracted to a slender waist and curves in the appropriate places, as this indicates a healthy female capable of baring and nurturing many sons.  We are attracted to strength and power in our mate so they can kill a buffalo to provide us with food, and protect us if a mountain lion tries to eat us.  Obviously over the years these needs have become a little less necessary (and in many cases unwanted) but the original basic awareness of what we find appealing in a partner remains.

This does not mean that you need to hit the gym 12 times a week to get buff, and start ordering people to fetch your diamond studded shoes, but it does mean that you need to own your life.  Forge a path, stand up for what you believe in, take risks.  Stop agreeing with us all the time!  There is nothing more frustrating than a man who doesn't have his own opinions.  If there is a decision to be made (what should we eat?  Where should we go? etc) make it!  Discussing is fine, but "I don't mind, let's do whatever you want" is not an appropriate response!  Live your life with nothing but the power of your own authority to guide you.  You are a man - stop waiting for us to save you.

And now for some things we wish you knew, but probably would never say to your face:

The friend zone:  There are only two reasons you ever end up in the friend zone - A.)  We are not attracted to you physically.  B.) We are not attracted to your personality.  Usually it's the first.  Girls are generally romantic creatures, and are fully prepared to throw a friendship to the sharks if there is any hint of a spark, so if she tells you she doesn't want to ruin the friendship, it's because the thought of sleeping with you is unappealing.

Note:  Try not to push this.  She is trying not to hurt your feelings, so just read the underlying message, and either walk away, or (if you actually do value her friendship and weren't just in it from the start to get laid) let her be. If you pressure her into a relationship anyway, it will not end well.

We love intelligence:  This is very appealing to us, but it must be used in a fun, interesting way.  Formal education needs to be handled with care - if you're an expert in something, that's awesome.  Try not to shove it down our throats though, wait for us to ask, and then avoid lecturing - share information, don't talk down to us like we're children.  Guys who assume we are stupid just because we're female will get avoided like the plague.  Yes you are smart, now get some people skills.

Girls like sex:  True story.  If you are in a relationship, and she's not putting the moves on you fairly regularly (or worse, she doesn't initiate whatsoever, and often turns you down when you do) you are probably doing something wrong.  Make an effort.  Research if you have to.  We are not wired the same way you are, and tiredness or sickness will occasionally get in the way of us being in the mood, but if you're awesome in bed, we won't be making up excuses... you'll have to turn us down so you avoid getting vomited on halfway through.  In short - if you've got mad skills, you get a whole lot more action.  And an FYI: Smell is very important to us, so brush your teeth, take a shower, and put on something that makes you smell pleasant.  Don't rock up straight from work with beer breath and dirty socks and expect us to swoon.

Absolute devotion is overrated:  Do not revolve your entire life around us, (Twilight fans may argue with me here...) Making somebody else the center of your world is dangerous and unhealthy.  Don't get me wrong - we totally expect you to take a bullet for us and all that jazz, but to have that level of dependence on another person for you to be able to function reeks of insecurity and weakness.  Nobody is responsible for your personal happiness except you.

Romance: Again - overrated.  Generic romantic gestures should be outlawed.  Buying flowers on your anniversary?  Running a bubble-bath with rose petals?  Candlelit dinner?  Just stop it. Stop it right now!  If it doesn't feel genuine to you, it definitely won't to us, so just don't bother. Cheesy, try-hard gestures just make us feel icky.... it's like you're trying to pay us to have sex with you.
If you want to get a rep for being the 'romantic guy', you have to invite romance to come tap-dance in your soul - it has to be part of who you are, not just random gestures that you throw in here and there to score points or keep the peace.

Note:  A lot of girls don't care if the gestures are genuine or not, they are insecure and just looking for things to tell their friends about so they can prove (to themselves mostly) that they are worthy of love.  It doesn't work, but they still do it.....

Anyway, with this type of girl you will get oodles of credit and / or sex for your fake-romantic gestures, so knock yourself out!  

Girls don't know what they want.  The world we now live in has brainwashed us into believing that men and women are equal in all things, and everything should be 'fair'.  Women should have careers, and men should stay home with the babies.  Women are strong and independent, and men are sensitive and supportive.  

Women are being force-fed what they 'should' want to the point that they actually believe it.

So we go out and find the nice, sensitive, supportive man.  We date him for a while, and try to figure out why it's so annoying when he agrees with us all the time, cries when Jack from Titanic dies, or seems far more interested in our career than his own.  I mean, this is exactly what we wanted, right?

It's because we are fighting our nature.  We are built differently, with different strengths and attributes, and instead of embracing that, we try to mould ourselves and our partners into people that interact with each other in a way society deems appropriate.

Well, that seems like a sure-fire way to attain relationship bliss, doesn't it?

So stop trying.  Stop trying to be what women want, and simply conduct your life with honour, integrity and courage.  Don't do it to get girls, do it because it is what you were born to do. The fact that women will be irresistibly drawn to you is just a neat side effect.  Awesome attracts awesome, so if you want somebody amazing, you must first be amazing yourself.  

Or, if that's too hard for you, you could always just lower your standards, and quit complaining.

You're welcome :)

xox

(Note on picture:  My husband - nicest guy you'll ever meet.  But also honorable, honest and courageous. That guy always gets the girl.)

Pink for boys...

My son loves pink.

He also loves green, and yellow, and blue, and purple, and red, but generally if you give him a choice between two colours and one of them is pink, he's gonna choose the pink.

This is mostly a non-issue for me - if the child wants a pink balloon, give him a pink balloon!  I mean, pink is a pretty colour.... what's not to like?  But you'd have to live in a different world than the one I do if you want to raise your children without any influence from the gender stereotypes that exist in our society.

The Attack has so far never let such influence sway him from what he wants.  When confronted about his choice of a pink bouncy ball by a friendly shop assistant who asked him "Don't you want this green and blue one instead of the pink girls one?"  He responded simply by saying: "Colours are for everyone."

Colours are for everyone.  It became our standard response whenever the need arose.

I took him shoe shopping today.  He wanted red shoes, which surprised me a bit, but hey lets roll with it.

We tried on 50 pairs of red shoes, but after thoroughly considering each pair he decided against them.  We then came across some green shoes with lights that came on with every step.  Glowing green shoes!  He was sold.

Until we walked two more steps and found that they also came in pink.

Glowing pink shoes!!!!  He was ultra sold.

I told him we'd keep looking, and if he didn't find anything else he liked, we'd get the pink shoes.  He insisted on carrying around the shoe box in case somebody else brought them while we were otherwise occupied.

We didn't find anything that came remotely close to the magnificence of glowing pink shoes, so headed up to the counter to buy them, at which point he turned to me and said:

"Can I wear these shoes every day?  My friends at kindy will be so excited to see them."

Damn.  I so did not want to have this discussion.

I took him by the hand and led him to a relatively empty aisle to have a talk.  

Me:  "Ash, if you want these pink shoes, you can have them, but some of the kids at kindy might say things to you, like that they are girls shoes, or that pink is a girls colour.  You know that colours are for everyone, but some people think different things."

Ash:  "........"

Me:  "What do you want to do?  If you want the pink ones, we can buy them right now."

Ash:  "........Maybe I could have the green ones instead?"

Me:  "If that's what you want."

Ash:  "Yeah!  The green ones look like slime!"

We got the green ones.  And I wanted to cry.

I wanted him to have those pink shoes, they made him happy.  But I couldn't let him walk into kindy tomorrow expecting everybody to love his new shoes, and have him slammed with hurtful comments.  He needed to have all the information before he made his decision, if at that point he still wanted the pink, then that was fine by me.

Why does this matter to people?  IT'S A FREAKIN COLOUR!!!  As far as I'm aware, liking the colour pink has never hurt anyone, and how somebody in this day and age can be judged because their eyeballs find it aesthetically pleasing is beyond me.

We all care about what other people think - It is human nature, tangled up in our desire to be accepted.  Most people just have varying levels of what they're willing to give up.  What they're willing to become. 

But there are some who know that they will not be accepted by everyone, and are at peace with it.  It's not that they don't care, it's that they understand.     

It take strength and courage to like what you like in the face of disdain and criticism, much more than what it takes to be the one doing the criticizing.  

And are these not attributes that we all want to help instill in our children?  Strength.  Courage.  Throw in some honour and we have a cocktail for awesomeness.

The Attack chose the green shoes.  He chose acceptance this time.  School - even kindergarten - can be a brutal place, and sometimes you make decisions based on social survival.  I've been there - I pretended to love music all through high school even though it didn't really interest me much, simply to feel like part of the group when others were discussing it.  

Growing up is hard - we are faced with a constant stream of what is cool or popular, and what is definitely not.  And when our opinion differs from the norm, we have to judge what is worthy of standing up for, and what we'd rather keep to ourselves.  

As long as we don't allow this influence to bully us into changing what we actually believe, let people think what they like, because there comes a time when we grow into ourselves, and none of that crap matters anymore.  

Tonight he asked me to make him a balloon-animal monkey in a tree.  A pink monkey, on a purple trunk, with yellow leaves.

I think we're going to be OK.

xox

Level Up...

Level up:  "To increase one's stature in life or performance at a particular task, often used in gaming, eg: 'I leveled up after defeating the dragon.'"

In parenting we are often presented with challenges.  I have discovered that I personally have four options to consider when a situation arises:

#1:  Run away.

#2:  Deny all responsibility.

#3:  Go insane.

#4:  Level up.

The first three are only token responses, but I still feel like I need to consider them before I'm open to dealing with the issue.... I'll give you a couple of slightly exaggerated examples so you can fully feel my pain:

Scenario one: Your two week old baby has cried non-stop for half of it's life.  You had 45 minutes of sleep last night, and that was only 'cause you were too tired to remember to turn the baby monitor on.

Your options are:

 A:  Go and live in the forest.  You've always wanted to anyway.

B:  Tell the baby's father to take it back to the hospital - it's obviously not your child, the hospital staff must have switched it with a demon when you weren't looking.

C:  Start singing at the top of your lungs.  You will no longer hear the baby, and it will provide a nice distraction from the fact that you haven't eaten, slept or showered for days.

D:  Level up and deal with the situation.

Scenario two:  Your toddler has decided that he is a cat, and therefore will only eat catfood.  Every time your back is turned he is in the cat bowl waffling down some Whiskas.

Your options are:

A:  Decide that you are in dire need of some personal time, and take a trip somewhere beachy for a week.

B:  Send your toddler to his grandparents house for a holiday - they have a cat, so hopefully they'll fix the problem for you while he's there.

C:  Sit and rock in a corner.  Commit to staying there forever.

D:  Level up and deal with the situation.

As spectacularly tempting as the first three options sound - particularly in scenario one, because there is something about the combination of sleep deprivation and a crying baby that is designed to try to make you turn off all the logical parts of your brain -  they are not really techniques that co-exist well with deliberate parenting.  So what do we do? 

We level up.  We deal with the situation.  We slay the dragon.

And after the dust has settled, we suddenly find ourselves on the other side of the problem, only this time we're clutching a rock in our hand.  And we feel slightly more prepared, because while bludgeoning a dragon to death with a rock doesn't seem like a skip in the park, it sounds a hell of a lot easier than using our bare hands.

Every time we level up we gain more.  More understanding.  More knowledge.  More awareness.

I have leveled up to the point where I now get to hunt dragons with a laser sighted crossbow, which you'd think would make it much easier, but the fun thing about leveling up is that the next level is always harder.  That's why you get better weapons.

I am currently hunting a dragon that can turn invisible at will.  It may not even be a real dragon.  My crossbow is fricken useless.  But I have faith that when I come out the other side of this, I will have earned a weapon to fight invisible dragons.  Or, you know, some sort of fake dragon detector system so I can stop shooting at shadows.

  

We are raising the future.  That requires effort, and involvement, and crap-loads of perseverance.  There is no giving up.  If you give up while on a dragon hunt, you're gonna get yourself a little bit eaten.

So next time you are faced with a bullying issue, or night terrors, or a child who will just not stop rocking on his fricken chair, see it for what it is - a dragon that needs a good ass kicking.

We are the new generation of dragon slayers, and 'Level Up' is our war cry...

xox

Lost and Found...

The two days a week that the Attack does not attend childcare, he comes with me to drop off Connah at school, and then goes to my mothers house for the day.  We park down a side street in the general vicinity of school because there are always 80 billion people all trying to shove their beloved offspring out the car door as close to the entrance as possible, and I'm just not up for running that gauntlet at 8.45 in the morning.

On those days, Connah tackles the three minute walk on his scooter, and The Attack rides his trike, so that in the afternoon, The Attack and I can walk to school from work - which is about 10 minutes away - and Connah can get his scooting fix on the way back.

So, last week, we park to drop Connah off as usual, and make the trek past the rottweiler crossed with a hell-beast that just barks nonstop at any person who dares to use the sidewalk in front of it's house.  We escort Connah to his class, and The Attack goes happily off to Grans house.

When he is returned to me that afternoon, I go to get his trike out of Grans car so we can head off to school to pick up Connah.

The trike is not there.

I check my car just in case, although I never put it in there because he insists that it accompany him to grans house, even through she doesn't have anywhere for him to ride it.

Of course it's not there, so I turn to my mother:

Me:  Did you pick up Ash's trike this morning?

Mother:  No, my boot was full of stuff and it wouldn't fit.  Remember? I did tell you this earlier.  You put it in your car.

Me:  No, I very much did not.  We totally just abandoned his trike on the side of the road didn't we?

Mother:  At least you remembered the child.

The Attack and I walk to school - which is painfully slow with no trike because he has stubby little three-year-old legs and a distractable nature that insists he inspect every bug / mud puddle / roadkill corpse that we pass by.

After we have collected Connah, we take a cursory stroll down Hell-Beast street to see if we can spot the trike discarded somewhere.  Perhaps thrown in a tree, or discarded atop the roof of a car?  But no such luck, it's been six hours and I resign myself to the fact that somebody has probably stashed it safely in their garage and is currently using it as a bong.

The next day, after we retrieve Connah from his class and are trudging wearily back to our car, we pass by Hell-Beasts house, who promptly starts barking his evil little head off.  I glance nervously at him to make sure he is in fact still contained behind his fence, and hasn't managed to melt a hole in it with his super-evil-power-glare, and stop in my tracks.

Because there, sitting on the grass directly behind Hell-Beast, is The Attacks trike.

Well, crap.

The Attack is very excited by this discovery, and starts hopping from one foot to the other yelling: "Go get him!  Go Get him!  We'll wait here."

I look at the Trike with Satan's spawn dancing around it going ballistic, and seriously consider just letting him have it.  We'll buy a new trike.  A better trike.... An unstealable trike!

And then I look at The Attack with his hopeful trusting little eyes and know that I have to get his stupid damn trike back.

I put the boys in the car, and park it outside the house.

Walking up to the fence again I decide that I actually enjoy all my limbs being attached to my body, so I have no intention of dangling any tasty body part within reach of Hell-Beast.  

I see a car parked half behind the house, so maybe someone is home.  I walk the length of the accessible part of the house looking for a door, or even a window to knock on, but all points of entry are located within reach of Hell-Beasts snapping jaws.  

I stand in front of the gate and just let him bark, growl and snarl at me in the hopes that somebody will come out of the house to see what their dog is mauling, but they must be fairly used to it because no one appears.  

This is going swimmingly!  

I decide to re-group and come up with another plan.  As I retreat, I do not make direct eye contact with Hell-Beast for fear that this will make him realize that I'm escaping, which will cause his desire to eat me to ascend to new heights and he'll sprout gargoyle wings through force of will.

I make it back to the car in one piece and inform the boys that after careful consideration, I've decided to wait and see if anybody comes home.

Amazingly enough, about 10 minutes later, a car pulls into the driveway.  I jump out of my car and walk up behind it, realizing at this point as I stare at it's very tinted windows, that I'm about to meet the owner of Hell-Beast, which in itself is an indication that this will probably be a serial killer, and nobody knows where I am except my children who are locked in the car across the street, and since I have not yet trained them in serial killer combat, they will not be much use in this situation.

The car door opens and out steps a mountain man - Not a man from the mountains, a man the size of a mountain.  I do not know how he fit in his little gangster car.

Mountain Man:  "YES?"
Me:  "Ummm, excuse me sir (yes sir - it doesn't hurt to be polite to serial killers) did you ummm happen to find that trike on the side of the road maybe yesterday?"   

Mountain Man:  "I DON'T KNOW WHERE THAT TRIKE CAME FROM."
Me:  "Oh, well, we kinda left it on the side of the road yesterday...."
Mountain Man:  "COULD BE THE CASE, HAVEN'T SEEN IT BEFORE."
Me:  "Could we maybe have it back?  Please?
Mountain Man:  "HMMMMMMMM, WELL, DON'T SEE WHY NOT."

And to my absolute horror, he flings open Hell-Beasts gate, but instead of immediately galloping over to devour me, he stays sitting very quietly and subdued by the front door.  Mountain man strides over to the trike, detaches several dog leads that have been tied to it, and hands it over with a "HERE YOU GO, LITTLE LADY."  I resist the urge to say that he would probably consider a Mac truck to be "little" and instead go with a much-less-likely-to-get-me-killed "Thanks so much! Have a great day."  And make a hasty exit with my prize.

I return to my car and The Attack gleefully points out that half the mudguard had been ripped off, and the metal pushing pole has been chewed to within an inch of it's life and is now useless.  Awesome.

So, what have we learned from this experience?

#1:  Don't abandon stuff on the side of the road.

#2:  If you do abandon stuff on the side of the road, an opportunist will use it as a dog toy.  Or possibly a bong.

#3:  Being polite can help you avoid a serial killing.

#4:  If you lose your child's treasured possession, (especially through carelessness or stupidity,) you are honour-bound to get it back. Even if it means you have to face Hell-Beasts, Mountain Men, and when you get the item back it is a twisted metal wreck covered in dog drool.

Oh well, I'm still counting it as a win :)

xox

Pacify Me...

My baby had a pacifier.

And now that everyone has their judgey pants on, we will begin:

Connah didn't have a pacifier.  I tried a few times during a three day standoff where he refused to sleep any longer than 10 minutes at a time, but he didn't seem interested, and I didn't push it because by that stage I was a little bit convinced that he was a demon-baby that would grow some teeth and chomp off my hand if I pissed him off too much.  Sleep deprivation is nifty.

When The Attack was born I didn't hold out much hope that he would take one either, and when you're surrounded at every turn by people disapprovingly shaking their heads at toddlers with pacifiers at supermarkets / playgrounds / restaurants ect  you don't really want to join that club anyway, so all was well in the pacifier-free land of newborn.  

For about a week.  Then the absence of sleep slowly started it's power struggle for my sanity, and I halfheartedly waved a pacifier in the general direction of my child with the thought that maybe I could sleep for the few minutes it would take him to figure out that it wasn't actually food before he started screeching.

He slept.

The Attack took to his pacifier like he had been born with it.  He has slept with it every night since then.

For the first two years, whenever anybody asked - usually with their judging pants pulled right up to their armpits - when I was going to get rid of it, I'd ummm and ahhh and make some excuse as to why he still had it. 
I'd read enough about the subject to know that all the experts recommended  weaning babies off the use of a pacifier by 12 months, but the only valid reasons I could find for this age cut-off was because excessive use could impact on teeth and speech development.  Oh, and of course, they could become dependent on it. 

It was always a struggle to get Connah to sleep.  I did not do the 'cry it out' method - it's just not my thing, so he was fed, and walked, and rocked, and fed some more, and swung, and when all else failed he was driven around the block until he fell asleep, and then carefully transported into his bed, where half the time he'd wake up and we'd start all over again.  He did grow out of that, and by two he would fall asleep on his own without the drama, but he's never enjoyed going to bed, it takes him quite a while to fall asleep, and it's not uncommon for him to wake though the night even now.

The Attack, however will trot merrily off to bed, often decline a story, grab his pacifier and be asleep within ten minutes.  And, he'll generally sleep for twelve hours straight.  It's fricken amazing.

So when he was two, I decided that he could keep his pacifier until he was ready to give it up.  He only used it when he was falling asleep, so it wasn't doing any damage to his speech development or teeth, and the dependency was only ever going to be an issue if I removed it from his unwilling little grasp, which I now had no intention of doing - he would stop when he no longer needed it.  Which, with him being an unreasonable pre-schooler, I expected to be at least a few years.

So imagine my surprise when a week ago, he presented me with his pacifier (that he had bitten a hole in during the night) and told me that we should throw it away.  When I said that it was the last one we had at home, he explained that it didn't matter, he didn't need one anymore because he was big. 

Alright then.

The last seven nights have been very similar to how he's always been, minus the pacifier:  Trot merrily to bed, decline story, fall asleep within ten minutes.  He hasn't even mentioned it.

So this is me officially advocating pacifiers.  And since I am such an expert because I have done it once, here are the rules:

#1:   Only use a pacifier when the baby / child is going to sleep.

This means no plugging them in when they're crying, whining, grumpy or you're trying to do something and they just won't shut up.  

How you deal with these moments is how you grow most as a parent - you don't want to give that up. (And if 'growing as a parent' isn't incentive enough, do it because if you don't, you'll eventually have to face a teenager who is no longer placated by a pacifier, and then you're really gonna be screwed.)

#2:  Don't constantly try to convince your child to give up their pacifier.

Don't say mean things.  Don't tell them that only babies have them / they are too big for one, ect.  Not only is it completely counterproductive because it makes them feel insecure, therefore they cling to the thing that makes them feel secure - their pacifier - it also makes them feel guilty for absolutely no good reason.  Do you know what guilt does to young impressionable minds?  DO YOU?!?!  I feel a serial killer rant coming on, which is completely unfounded, but still possible, so we'll just go with "bad".  Bad things happen when guilt gets into young impressionable minds.

#3:  Own your decision.

If your child is happy, and you are happy, stop stressing and rock it.

#4:  Learn to cope with other peoples disapproval.
Don't try to justify your parenting decisions to people who obviously don't get it.
Instead, think up fun things to say to mess with them.  

When a well-meaning person says to you "he's a bit old for that, don't you think?" shrug and reply "yeah, but he says it goes really well with his whiskey, so what are you gonna do?"

Another option is to grab the pacifier, jam it in their mouth and say "Hmmmm, it still fits you, so I think we're good for a few more years."  (Then you would of course throw that pacifier away because you don''t want your child to catch judging cooties.)

That's it.  After three and a half years of pacifier use, that's all I've got.  

I can offer no proven advice on what to do if your child decides to give up their pacifier, and then throws an epic fit the following night because they want it back, although I would suggest that it could be an opportunity to teach them about following through with their decisions.  You may need to use a drawing.  And possibly a globe. 

Yeah, ummm, good luck with that.

xox

Once Again into the Breach...

I have been absent for a while. You could be forgiven for thinking that I must have been kidnapped by poachers who were trying to locate the whereabouts of my secret unicorn sanctuary so they could harvest unicorn horns to sell as hats for evil little garden gnomes. But you would be wrong.

I have been busy. (Yes, yes I know that's exactly what a secret unicorn savior would say, but it's still true.)

So, here's what's been going on:

#1: We brought a house.

The whole process - from finding out that our rental was going to be sold, to locating a place we wanted to buy and moving in, took about 6 weeks.

This was actually quite a fun process for me, (even through I wanted to build because I really don't like second hand stuff that other people have put their smells and general grubbiness on. Issues much? Maybe....)

So anyway, we saw several houses which were all decidedly average, and I gained great appreciation for real estate agents and their ability to make everything sound exciting. ("You'd just have to knock out those 6 walls and put in another bedroom and a bathroom, get a dishwasher installed, fix that hole in the floor and paint over the graffiti on the walls, then it would be perfect!" / "Who doesn't want four bidets in their house!?!" ) It was awesome.

Eventually we found our house. Like we literally walked through the front door, and knew it was our house. We put an offer in that day, and four weeks later we were living there.

FYI apparently when people sell their houses, they don't bother to clean them. I mean, they'd put in some token effort, but really.... is that my burnt up crumb mess in the oven? Is that my soap scum in the shower? Are those my 8 million sun faded stickers on the window? Well, yes actually, legally they all belong to me now. Splendid.

Also, it seems to be considered acceptable to just leave all your old garden accessories behind when you sell a house. I hate garden accessories. Especially gnomes. We're still finding ornaments and little "welcome" plaques stashed everywhere. I'm going to start a burning pile.

#2: Connah started school.

I know right!?! How is that even possible?!? He is a tiny, tiny child! Except that he's not. He's actually quite giant now.

I transitioned him for three days, which basically consisted of me sitting on a moppet sized chair for 6 hours a day watching him, and avoiding the disapproving glares of various faculty members.

I was politely informed that it was customary for parents to only stay for an hour or two when introducing their child to the school.

I was told that if a parent stayed for extended periods of time that it would only make it harder for the child to adjust.

I was asked if I was a teacher's aid / if my child had special needs / if I had a job. Because obviously only jobless wanna-be teachers with special-needs children hang out at school for three days.

I wanted to shake them. Because they so didn't get it. I don't care what has worked for the majority of children in the past, I don't care if I am not doing things in a way that they are familiar with, and I definitely don't care if it makes them uncomfortable to feel like I'm scrutinizing them for three days. 'Cause I kinda am.

I had made an agreement with Connah: I would stay with him for three days - in the background, not interacting with him, but just being there so he could feel secure while he acclimated to his new environment. I believe in what I am doing - short of hog-tying me and dragging me off to be cannibalized, they were not getting rid of me.

Since then he has been doing awesome. The kid just soaks up knowledge, it's incredible to watch.

#3: The Attack started childcare.

I spent three days helping him to adjust, and he took to his first week like a rock star.

Since that first week, he's gone backwards a bit, and now gets upset when I leave him there in the morning. This is horrible for me, because Ash is usually happy. Like, crazy happy. He is emotional - he cries easily when he's angry, frustrated, hurt or scared (mosquitoes are his latest fear, one just has to fly in his general direction and he's screaming like it's a 12 foot tall spidergater. With rabies.) but he doesn't often get sad. When the Attack is upset because he's sad, it's like something has turned his spark off, and you just want to kick whatever did it in the face, because the spark should never be turned off. And then I remember that it's all part of the learning and blah blah blah and I stop kicking inanimate objects in the non-existent face. But I still want to.

He bounces back from these episodes like you wouldn't believe. One minute you'd think the world had come tumbling down on his tiny little shoulders, and the next he'll be two inches away from your face dancing while trying to pull the funniest face in all the land. He is pretty awesome.

He is quite social at daycare, and interacts well with the other children. This week they have been collecting shells. He comes home with pockets full of shells which he says that he and his friends dig for in the sandpit. He gives these shells to me with the instruction that I must keep them. Forever.

So I have been busy. Not so much physically busy, although it did take me an hour and a half to pack Connahs lunchbox the first time. I now have it down to fifteen minutes - I feel like that's quite an achievement. Also, my six minute drive to work has been upgraded to an hour because of the various drop-offs. No, my busyness is mainly mental, because inside my head it sounds like this:

*I hope Ash isn't feeling sick at kindy... he did say his ear hurt this morning.*

*Connah forgot his bookbag! No, he didn't, I put in in the front pocket. Yes he did! He took it out to read his story! No, no, I definitely remember him putting it back in when he put his sweater on.*

*Did we remember to switch the power company over to our new accounts?*

*How am I going to stop the dog from smashing his face against the aviary?*

*It's lunch time at school... I wonder if Connah has any friends to play with yet....*

*It's lunch time at kindy..... I wonder if Ashden is going to eat, or just starve because he doesn't like what they give him...*

*What the hell am I supposed to do with 16 garden gnomes?!*

*What if Connah is being bullied? I will fricken kill those bullies! No, then he might get bullied for his mother coming to save him... Maybe I can secretly kill them.... make it look like an accident or something..... *

*What if Ashden's hurt ear is actually some sort of exotic brain liquefying illness that's only symptom is ear pain until it's too late?!*

*What if our new house is haunted by evil, evil spirits who creep into our rooms at night and whisper evil, evil things directly into our minds so that we all turn into SERIAL KILLERS!?!?!*

You get the point. There is no room for pondering new blog posts when your brain is all full up of crazy. Fortunately, most of the crazy has gone now, and I'm just left with my regular amount, which I maintain is a perfectly acceptable amount to have.

So I will leave you there, with visions of sugar plums dancing in your head. Or more likely, with the thought that your own house might be haunted, and you too may become a serial killer.

Your welcome.

xox

Jingle Bells...

Did you believe in Santa?

I mean believe right down to your toes, to the point where you immediately dismiss that 8 year old who just told you Santa wasn't real as being high on crack, because any idiot knows that he is real.

Do you remember that feeling? That almost tangible feel of magic, the unquestioning faith in something unseen and highly improbable?

Everyone's Santa was different. One friend believed that Santa delivered gifts to the whole world in one night.

Another insisted that Santa only delivered gifts to one country, and his elves took care of the rest of the world.

Some were told Santa could only come when no one was looking, and others had Santa show up on Christmas day to hand out gifts himself.

Some Santas had their elves make all the gifts, other Santas went shopping.

Our Santa visited every house in the world in one night. He traveled via flying reindeer, and he entered our house through a window that we left open for him (we didn't have a chimney). He crept into our rooms and left a gift on the end of our beds for us to discover when we woke. He always had a bite of cookie and sip of beer before he left, and in the morning we would gleefully discover the half eaten remains of the carrots we left out for the reindeer.

Parents write the story of Santa. We weave it from our own experiences, adding in extra pieces that we find along the way, until we have created an intricate tale that explodes joy and excitement directly into the hearts and minds of little children everywhere.

Those of you familiar with my parenting style may point out that Santa is not exactly compatible with the whole "truth" thing I've got going on with the boys, I agree and seriously considered not including him as part of our Christmas traditions in order to keep the complete honesty intact.

But I remember the magic of my childhood Christmases - the wonder, the excitement, and I think that was in large part due to the Santa my parents created for me. I want my boys to have that, so in this case, magic trumps honesty.

There are so few years of Santa. By the time a child is able to really understand the concept, you've got maybe four or five chances to create that magic before they stop believing.

So we make reindeer food, and we receive personalized e-mails from Santa, and we ponder the possibility of catching a glimpse of a flying sleigh on Christmas eve.

And I watch them glow.

Magic. Totally worth it.

xox