Captive hearts...

I once read that becoming a parent is like having your heart get up one day and start walking around outside your body.

When I first heard this, I thought "Yes! that is exactly what it's like!"

Because on the surface, it sounds like the description of a sweet but strong bond between a parent and their child. And it is. But once you grow accustomed to that warm glowy "bond", you realize that it is an extremely dangerous way to conduct your existence - being linked so completely to another being, that it's destruction will mean your own.

It also doesn't help that this "being" is free to frolic about independently, is virtually helpless, and has no concept of it's own physical safety.

So I make no apologies for having a minor panic attack whenever one of my boys is not exactly where I expected them to be - always having our small children within our line of sight is hardwired into us, a survival instinct not just to protect them, but to protect ourselves. It must date back to cavemen days when if they happened to wander off alone, they would be promptly eaten by a Saber tooth tiger....

But our hearts are not made to live outside our bodies indefinitely. And as our children grow older, we are faced with the daunting task of claiming small pieces of it back, so that we are capable of standing aside, and letting them fight off their own Saber tooth tigers.

Stupid parenting.

It would be so much easier if I could just kill all the tigers....


xox

To wish upon a star...

I read a quote recently, which stated something like: "I wish I was little again, when the hardest choice was picking which colour crayon to use."

I really didn't like being a child. Even though I wasn't capable of making choices for myself, the absence of them was still suffocating. I have never wished to go back to being little - I'll take the hard decisions of being an adult any day. At least I get to decide.

It did make me think though (apart from how much I hated being a child...) about what my boys wish for. Here's what made the list:

Connah's wish list:

#1: To have sticky enough hands to be able to climb walls.
- Spiderman obsession...

#2: The ability to make inanimate things "work".
- Connah has a great imagination... he'll construct (Or dictate the construction) of black spider suits (with legs made of stuffed socks pinned to his shirt), or tankers (cardboard box with a cardboard tube for a cannon), or webs (a ball of wool strung around everything in a room). But once completed, he expects his inventions to "work." The spider sock legs don't walk. The cannon doesn't shoot. He can not dangle from the web. That sucks. He plays with his constructions, but It's evident that he is disappointed that it's not "working" like it was supposed to.

#3: A never ending supply of silly string.
- To make webs.

#4: To have a fast forward button for the world.
- Things that Connah would fast forward include: Sleep, kindy, and time out.

Ashdens wish list:

#1: To be able to jump from the table to the couch.

#2: To have candy for breakfast. Every day. (Haha, I just realized that I could solve myself a daily drama if I'd just move the candy bowl out of the cereal cupboard.)

#3: To have a cat (or chicken) permanently attached to him.

#4: To have a mute button for the world.
- The Attack goes through phases of noises that he doesn't like. At the moment it's birds chirping. So a bird will fly overhead chirping it's happy little song, and you'll think "Oh, that's nice." Then you'll glance down to see if The Attack is enjoying the wonderful moment too.... and find him flat on his belly in the dirt, with his eyes squeezed shut, chanting "No! No! No! No! No Bird! No! No!"
A mute button may be helpful at such times.


So, if anyone knows any Fairies out there who are short on their wish filling quota - point them in our direction. Cause, the only things i can help with on those lists are the silly string, and the candy.

And they are not having candy for breakfast :p


xox

Lost and Found...

Ever since I wrote "Lessons" (Things I've learned since having a child.) I wanted to do a "Things I've lost since having a child." The results being...

The Lost:

#1: Sleep.
I used to be one of those annoying people who would make ridiculous statements such as: "Sleep is optional." or "You can sleep when you're dead." I have since learned that these statements are only applicable to people who are actually getting sufficient sleep. I am no longer one of them.
I also think those people are self absorbed arrogant idiots, who should think before spouting off useless crap. (Sorry former self, but seriously. Think before you speak.)

#2: My ability to lie.
This might sound like a strange one, but I used to be able to lie. Well.
I'm a firm believer in that sometimes lies are necessary. And to portray them convincingly was a talent that I was grateful for. (Although, I do admit to occasionally using this talent frivolously.... you know, someone would ask my name, and I'd spam out a fake name, which came with a fake personality - sometimes complete with accent....)
No longer. I can't lie anymore. I've tried, and I just end up a stuttering mess. My safest option now is to just shut the hell up. (Which does tend to freak people out a bit when they are asking direct questions, and I'm sitting there like a psychopathic goober, silently staring at them...)


#3 Drinking an entire beverage.
Anyone with children knows, that right from the moment they are born, you never get to drink a hot coffee again. Maybe the first sip, but after that you invariably get distracted with some baby orientated task, and by the time you remember, it's stone cold.
Then they learn to talk, and any time you dare pick up anything resembling a drinking vessel, you are assaulted with chants of: "Dink? Dink?" (Drink? Drink?) or "Tast? Tast ease?" (Taste? Taste please?) and when all else fails: "Pingers? Pingers in dere?" (Which means: For gods sake, if you won't let me drink it, at least let me waggle my grubby sticky fingers in your drink so that I can lick them.)

4: Fearlessness:
I have never feared death. I'm not really looking forward to the possible pain and trauma that could come first, but even that I don't fear... it reminds me a bit of childbirth: "Seriously? I have to do THAT? Fricken SERIOUSLY? You are OBVIOUSLY kidding....Ok, Fine. If that's what I have to do, I'll do it. (Seriously???!!!)
I suppose it's not really fair to say that now I fear death.... More accurately, I fear my absence in the boys lives, which is something that death would accomplish quite well.
I need to be the one to raise them. This is not a rational thought, just something that I feel.
So I am more careful. I drive more carefully, I don't take stupid risks, I try not to upset crazy ax murderers. And I don't walk alone at night anymore. If Jax can sort himself out, he could be my night walking buddy. What's the point in having a 16 foot tall 800 pound monster living in your back yard if he can't keep you safe on night walks? I'll talk to him.....

And the found:

Myself. Or, parts of myself that never would have existed if I had decided against having children.
I have unearthed inner strength and patients unheard of
I have discovered a ruthlessness that I was completely unprepared for. (I was prepared for all the maternal gooey crap that was supposed to accompany the birth of offspring, but nobody ever mentioned this.)
And empathy. I have always been able to logically decipher what people are feeling, and act appropriately, but I could never feel what they were feeling. (I mean, how can you feel what someone else is feeling? It's their feelings.)
Enter: boys.
I get it now. The whole "When they hurt, I hurt." thing that I really thought was just a bunch of uber-crap that lovesick twelve year olds spouted to each other. As it turns out: True. (Not for the lovesick twelve year olds.... just the concept of that level of empathy in general.)

So I have lost some, and I have found some.

But I have learned immensely.


xox

Baby Humor...

Ok Ash, I know that if you ever decide to read this, you're going to hate that I ever wrote it down, but it was pretty funny, and I don't want to forget any of your quirky little antics. Deal with it :)

So, The Attack copies Connah. Whether he is crawling around the floor like a spider, or sliding down the stairs on his bottom, The Attack must do it too.
This is fine in most cases, (although his attempt at jumping from the chair to the couch was an epic fail...) but he has started following Connah to the bathroom. He can not copy. Because he is still wearing pants.
This is quite frustrating for him, and many a foot-stamping tanty has been witnessed following a bathroom trip.
A few nights ago, I got the boys undressed for their bath, and The Attack decided to take advantage of his naked state.
He ran over by the door, clutched his "man parts" in both hands, and looked at me over his shoulder:

"Pee?"

I looked down to see him aiming for the pile of shoes.
"Um, no Ash. You can not pee in the shoes."

What ensued was a half hour stumble around the house, with him finding more and more inappropriate things to ask if he could pee on, highlights of which included:

"Pee?"
"No, you can not pee on the couch."

"Pee?"
"No! you can not pee on your brother."

"PEE?"
"No, you can NOT pee in Connah's dinner."

"PEEEEEE?" (running after a fleeing cat...which looks pretty awkward with both hands busy...)
No Ash! No peeing on cats!."

By this stage, Connah and I were rolling around on the floor in hysterics, so of course The Attack runs over to stand threateningly above us... which is about the time I realized that even though he couldn't pee on purpose, he could, in fact, still go by accident, so I scooped him up and deposited him in the bath.

Good times :p :)



xox

Onto the battlefield...

I am the favorite. I don't say this with any sort of gleeful satisfaction at all. It is exhausting being the favorite.

Connah has upped his shunning of Mark lately, and The Attack - who soaks up everything Connah does like a sponge - is fast following suit.

I've done my "parental preference" research, and the general consensus is that it comes from having a strong sense of self (yay!) and learning that they are their own separate person with a bit of power to use.

Ok. Good. Important developmental milestone..... we like those.

So, we mustn't squish the sense of self stuff, but also can't let the boys wield their new found power for evil... hmmmm, more parenting greys....

We decided to keep letting them make all decisions that are relevant to them, (What clothes to wear / what cereal to choose for breakfast ect) and if they needed me to be the one that dresses them or makes them breakfast, so be it. But we also have routine tasks that Mark does for them, which are not open to debate.

This make bath time splendid fun. I really don't know why our neighbors haven't called the police to report all the screaming. It's very loud. And continuous. And goes like this:

"I WANT MUMMY TO BATH ME!!! WAAAAAAAAAAAA! I WANT MUMMY TO BRUSH MY TEETH! WAAAAAAA!!! I WANT MUMMY TO DRESS ME!!! WAAAAAAA!!!

Or, in The Attacks case, just: "WAAAAAAAAAA!!!! WAAAAAAAAAAA!!!! WAAAAAAA!!!!"

It goes on long after bath time is finished, with constant accusatory stares in my direction, whilst stating: "But I wanted YOU to do it."

It's awesome fun.

The other great thing about being the favorite is the tantrums you get to enjoy. If I'm not around, the boys are great for Mark, but as soon as I appear, the little horns start peeking through their hair.

This is not to say that they are bad children. They are amazing children, they are funny and smart, polite and thoughtful, imaginative and kind - they are everything I could have hoped for if I'd known what to ask for before they were born.

Again, more developmental stuff... They play up for me, because they are most secure in my love and commitment to them. They can test these fun little aspects of their personalities out on me because they know I'll never turn away from them.
This is kind of cool, because they are also absorbing my reactions to the tantrums, so it's another chance to teach them.

But....

Sometimes, when they have been awake most of the night, have refused to get dressed so are running around naked, one wants to wear a spiderman suit but won't choose which one ("You choose mummy." ok, how about the red one. "I DON'T WANT THAT ONE!!!" Then the black one... "I DON'T WANT THAT ONE!!!" That's all we have Connah. "BUT I WANT TO WEAR A SPIDERMAN SUIT!!!"), and the other has just sat on the cat (who immediately scratched him, so he is now howling) and are then both clutching at my legs, bawling their little eyes out because they don't want rice bubbles for breakfast....

Well, sometimes it's enough just to breathe, and know that awesome will be back soon...


xox

One step back...

Today I went to collect Connah from childcare, and he was sleeping. This is pretty unusual... he doesn't take a nap in the middle of the day often. So I spoke to his teachers, who told me that he had a great morning, but had been upset most of the afternoon. They didn't know why.

I woke him up to take him home, and when he saw me, he burst into tears and clung to me like a vine.
Hmmmm, something happened. But the teachers didn't see anything, and trying to get information out of a distraught Connah is fricken useless.

So I took him outside and started asking questions: "Did you hurt yourself?" "Did you want to go home?" "Did you get hungry / thirsty / need to go to the bathroom / get scared?" Each time he answered with a quiet "no". Until I asked: "Was your friend there today?"

"Yes, hick/sob".

"What happened with your friend Connah?"

"He said: "NO, I don't want to be your friend!" Sob/sniff dissolve into tears."

Oh Connah, I wanted to punch your friend in the face.

I know it's not something that I should say - that I wanted to punch a small child in the face. And I would never do it in reality, but I'm striving for honesty here, and honestly, I wanted him to hurt.
It didn't matter that he was only being a child, that it was just something to say, and he'll probably have forgotten all about it by Tuesday; Connah believes that he has lost his only friend. It was a gut instinct for me to protect. (Apparently, in this case my guts can't distinguish between protection and vengeance... it just wants to react.)

If it had been said to any other child, it would have been met with angry retaliation ("Well, my dad will beat up your dad!"...) Or nonchalance, ("Doesn't matter... I've got HEAPS of friends.... and you can't come to my birthday party!") But it was said to Connah, who took him at his word. and was crushed by it.

And just because I would never do it in reality, doesn't mean I can't do it here:

*PUNCH*.


xox

8000 shades of grey...

There are no real rules for raising children.

Most of us are aware of the basic guidelines: "Don't abuse them, try to keep them clean, feed and water them regularly, and let them have sufficient sleep." But anything after that, you're pretty much flying solo.

(And also, feeling a bit like a giant failure when you child refuses to sleep, decides that they will not put anything remotely healthy in their mouth, is constantly grubby no matter how many times you wipe them up, and is covered in so many bruises from falling off his own two feet, that you've started getting "The Look" from strangers on the street.)

There are resources for us to turn to: books, the internet, parenting workshops, advice from friends/family....

But none of it is right.

There is no "right" way to get your child to sleep, nothing that works for everyone. This irks my logical brain, because it really wants to follow a formula and get results - it knows how to do that. Sorry brain. No such thing exists.

So, again and again we are cast into the unknown, to figure out what is "right" for us. We stumble around in the dark looking for inspiration or evidence that will lead us down that glorious path, and, once on it, try to avoid the many distracting side roads, that somehow always look so much more appealing after a course has been chosen...

One of my "rules" is: "If it's not damaging you (physically, intellectually or emotionally) ,damaging anyone else, or destructive to property, go for it."

The theory behind this was that I didn't want to stamp out any creative or exuberant behavior, simply because It would inconvenience me, or wasn't social acceptable. Part of the "learning who they are" extravaganza.

So, beds get jumped on. Screaming "BANG SONG" in the car, over and over, to see who can get the loudest happens. Goop gets made out of dirt, water, paint, flour, and anything else they want to throw in to see what it does. 100 balloons are blown up and stuffed in the hallway so they can run through them - then are moved to the kitchen because "balloon land" can apparently not exist in the hallway - only the kitchen. Swims are taken in the middle of winter by putting the paddling pool in the house and filling it up with warm water (why not just fill up the bath? Because that is not a swim. It is a bath.)

And, my personal favorite to date: Walking through a crowded mall, with a two and a half year old that has just learned the correct name for all his body parts, and feels the overwhelming urge to sing a song about penises, and butterflies. (And because I know that you're dying to know what that sounds like, I'll demonstrate: Ahem.... "Penis, penis butterfly.... PEEEEnis, Penis butterFLLLLLY, PEEEENIS! PENIS BUTTERFLLLLY!!!!!!....."). It was pretty funny. Even with the dark looks I was getting from a mother who had all three of her "good" children sitting quietly in a trolley.

The hardest part in this is that I won't know until the boys are adults, whether this was a "right" path to take. Whether it assists them on the journey to self awareness, or helps turn them into inconsiderate, self centered brats. It's a bit of a gamble.

But, decisions still have to be made. We will continue to wade through the endless sea of grey, vainly looking for something even remotely black or white to cling to, and when that fails, and we are running out of time and energy to make a choice, we will find a shade to resonate with our lifestyle, and hope that we weren't just a couple of degrees off.


xox