Do You Ever Want To . . .

Do you ever want to . . .


Scratch your eyeballs out from reading the same story again and again? Or hide your child's favorite book because you can't stand it even one more time?


I do. Meg, God love her, is such a book worm. I hear you already . . . it will increase her vocabulary, help her in school, it's so fantastic to have a kid who reads . . . yes, yes. But seriously. "Peter Pan" is stashed in a kitchen cupboard because if I have to read about Tinkerbell being jealous of Wendy or of "Pakin' Hook" (Meg's name for Captain Hook) being terrified of the looming crocodile . . . well, I'm not sure what might happen. I'll give it back . . . someday. Maybe when Jim is home so that someone else can read it to her.


Tell that other mom to SHUT UP because her kid is really not that great?

Last week, when volunteering at Meg's preschool, I introduced myself to another mom from her class. This other mom seemed very nice . . . until we started talking about how great the school year is going and how much we like the teacher.

Me: "I think it is going so well for Meg. I was so shocked . . . Meg counted to 10 all by herself in the back seat of the car on the way home from school last week! That was the first time I'd heard her to it all on her own. Ms. Becky sure is great . . . "

Other mom, interrupting:

"Well, (my daughter) is a little bit older. I mean, she knows the entire alphabet already. She can recognize all the letters, uppercase and lowercase, sings the song without error . . . so I think she's getting a lot of her education at home . . . "

REALLY? 'Cause your "older" daughter is still in a DIAPER. (I really, really wanted to say that to this lady.)

Just let your kid misbehave?

I'm finding that consistency with discipline is exhausting. Completely draining. I know it's so important, though . . . and I know that without consistency, we'd have chaos around here. Meg (and her little sister, in her own time) needs to understand who is in charge at our house, and being consistent with our rules and our discipline is the best way to help foster that understanding.

But lately, Meg has just been testing me. I think she does this every now and again . . . a few days at a time . . . to make sure that Mommy still means what she says. And when she goes through these days, it really wears me out to be so strict with her. I DO mean what I say -- and she makes me walk the talk.

Last night at dinner, she pushed her food all around her plate with her hands, making quite a mess and was just being a two-year-old.

"Big girls do not play with their food like that, Meg. Look at me . . . I don't have any food on my hands because I'm being a big girl. I'm using my fork and eating politely."

(playing continues)

"C'mon now, Meg. You know how we behave at the table."

(playing continues)

"Meg, please stop. Mommy does not like it when you get silly at the dinner table."

At this point, I wanted to just let her do it. I didn't care anymore. What harm is there is making a mess at the table? Who cares?! UGH. After a long day of many rounds in time out, I just don't care how she acts at the table. But that voice in my head says, "Let your guard down now, and she'll really try to take over . . ."

So she continued, and eventually she lost her bedtime stories . . . meaning she went straight to bed after her bath. (That is our punishment for evening misbehavior -- and it works very well with the bookworm we have.) I hated it! I didn't want to take her stories away . . . I hated that she had chosen to act out. I wanted to read with her -- we had just gone to the library and gotten several new books we had not tapped into yet! But I stuck to my guns, and Meg took her punishment. In all honesty, I would much rather have just let her misbehave . . . I hate being the bad guy.

Not do a household chore knowing that your significant other will come home and do it for you?

Mmmmm . . . I'm guilty of this. Jim would agree: I do it often. When the dishwasher needs emptying, I will take a moment to think of the next time Jim will be home . . . if it's a reasonable amount of time, I leave the clean dishes in the washer and let some dished pile up in the sink. He'll take care of it when he gets home. I also let our mail pile up most weeks knowing that Jim will take the time to go through it all when he gets back from his trip. Call me lazy . . . or a mom-of-two who has enough stuff she doesn't want to do and isn't afraid to pass the buck.

Go back in time and tell a friend, "If I had only known . . . "

Now that I have my two beautiful children, I look at all my other friends who had 2 before us and think, "Wow, I had no idea what their life was like!"

When you have only one kid, you can't possibly fathom how much bringing home a second baby will rock your world. You just can't. Just like you couldn't understand how much baby # 1 would change your life before it actually happened.

I now find myself apologizing to my friends with two (or more) kids. I had no idea what I was asking of them when I invited them to a playdate, or when I called all frantic with the responsibilities of my ONE kid and said, "I'm coming over!" I didn't know what, "Hey, let's go out to dinner with our families" meant to a family of four. I didn't know how much different from my life their life was . . . I think I figured we were all in the same boat because we had kids. I now think there is a different boat for families with one kid and families with more than one. I'm not saying one is any better or worse . . . just very different. It's hard to explain. But those of you juggling the needs of multiple kids can relate.

So, to my friends with more than one -- I'm sorry. I didn't know. But now I do.

Watch your baby sleep?

All the time. My baby and my big girl. Every single night -- without fail -- I get myself ready for bed, pull down my sheets, then out head out of my room and down the hall. I go into Kate's room first and peek at her for a minute. I usually reach out and touch her soft, fuzzy little head, and she sometimes stirs a little or makes a tiny baby sound. I look at her in her peaceful sleep for just a minute, then exit as quietly as I can. I walk straight down to Meg's room and open her door with the greatest of care. Sometimes the noise wakes her slightly, and she stirs . . . and I back out of the door without too much of a peek. But on the nights when I don't wake her, I walk in and watch her for a minute. It's the last thing I do each and every night. And I always go to bed thinking how lucky we are to have our two girls, all tucked in tight and dreaming away.