YES, Ariana. There is no Santa Claus!

            That’s right.  My husband and I have taken the position to teach our kids that there is no Santa Claus.  When Charles first broached the subject, I have to be honest, I had to take deep breath and fight tradition. 

                                                                                        

I mean, I know Santa is not real, but as a kid,  I liked having the sense of excitement and surprise knowing Christmas Eve was rapidly approaching.  Then I quickly remembered how Santa never brought me what I wanted, and I would get so sad every year.  Part of the reason was because I wouldn’t tell anyone what I wanted.  I kept my deepest desires all to myself, testing Santa’s powers.  He somehow never got it right.  

Later in life I realized the burden Santa put on my mother.  As a low income-single-parent, she would really go through the emotional roller coaster every year.  Even now she gets anxious during the holidays.  Right around Thanksgiving she starts in on her apologies for not having much to give us this year.  It seems no matter how many times I tell her we don’t expect anything she still carries a residue of guilt. 

Once I got comfortable with the idea that we weren’t introducing Santa Claus to the kids, because my husband simply refused to allow some mythical character take credit for his hard work in providing for his children – from then on our Christmases were a breeze.  I don’t put up a tree, the decorations are too costly.  In our current economy and one income household, I rather eat then look at Christmas lights.  

However, I do buy gifts for our children.  We have created our tradition from the teachings of Christ.  Our kids are learning that God gave us the most precious gift, his only begotten son so that we might be saved.  So every year on the day we observe Jesus’ birth, we give presents to the gifts that God has given us – our kids (and each other).  Ariana embraces this tradition whole heartedly. Yet, for a brief time, we went through the, “even though Santa isn’t real, it’s O.K. to pretend, right mommy” phase.   However that was quickly over once she realized she was still getting presents.

Every year, we begin our seasonal preparation the day after Thanksgiving.  That is the day Ariana and I engage in negotiations over what presents she and her brother should receive for Christmas.  The best part of having NO SANTA, is Ariana’s Christmas list.  On average she will request three things.  She thinks about it long and hard.  Then generally she opens our negotiations with, “If you have enough money” or “If it’s not too expensive”. 

Now that she is in the second grade and counting money, she will ask how much an item cost.  Then she will determine if it cost too much money.  Sometimes, if she really wants it, she will remove other things from her list.  This exercise has turned into a budgeting 101 lesson.  Is it sad that my daughter has already surpassed me in that area?  

This year it is particularly difficult to purchase gifts for my kids.  A dollar simply doesn’t stretch as far as it use to.  For the barely middle class, help is limited or nearly non-existent.   I have family and friends who qualify for programs that give to the very poor.  When I was growing up, I lived below the poverty line.   While supplemental programs serve a useful purpose, I thank God every day I am not so very poor that I qualify for them.  I am also thankful that help is available for those families that really need it. 

We, on the other hand, don’t need much.   My kids have good health, both parents at home, a roof over their head and food on the table.  They may not get everything they want, but they certainly get what they need. So when I had to sit the kids down and inform them that they may be lucky if mom and dad can get them one of the three things on their list, they took the news well.  We opted to make cookies and other baked goods for our family and friends this year, as well.

I have to say that not believing in Santa Claus is the one thing that has saved all of our spirits this holiday season.  Can you imagine how DEVASTING our kids would be if they thought Santa, with Christmas magic, would fill their wish list?  I prefer it this way, they are learning early in life that all things have a season, this is ours to enjoy and love one another, being grateful and glad for the true blessings we have – EACH OTHER.

~ Merry Christmas Ariana and Nathanael. Modern Mommy and Daddy love our Gifts from God. 

Working Moms v. Working Dads

I have a question.  Are working moms and working dads in the same boat?   Perhaps I am biased but I don't see the work load equal and I suspect many working moms don't as well.   For that matter I think many working moms might have a different perspective on the work load and time management than stay-at-home moms, but that's all together a different topic.

Recently a colleague happily announced that he and I were in the same boat, the "working parent league, since he was celebrating a new arrival in the home.  Now, far be it for me to burst anyone's bubble, so initially I smiled, nodded and congratulated him.   But almost instantly my eye caught that of another working mom and we both had to respectfully disagree. 

Not that working dads aren't juggling their different roles, it's just we moms manage life so differently.   Where my husband focuses on the task at hand; I am working on one task while planning out the rest of the day for my entire family - in fifteen minute increments.  That’s just one aspect of my life.  Sometimes I feel as if my presence is the pulse of the house.  

For example, one Friday afternoon (about 5 pm) after working; and going to school; and running around the city managing kids schedules, for the equivalent of an 80-hour-work week, I dragged into the bedroom and dropped on the bed. 

Where I met my husband, who to his credit had worked and night shift; had come home at 9:00 am; slept until about 3:00 pm; then picked up the kids from school and made it back home in time to also crawl back in bed.

In the meantime the kids, when I arrived home, where around the house playing and/or watching television.

After I had been in bed for about five minutes, I had one child literally sitting on my head, another child lying between my husband and I (stealing my covers) and a teenage brother standing at the foot of the bed looking at me like I was a science experiment. 

They all wanted something; food, tell a story, clothes, permission slips signed and the Lord knows what else.  All I wanted was a moment of rest. I'm thinking REALLY dad was here first, why do you turn to me to facilitate everything.  "Because your the mom", is usually the response. Which translated means, Daddy doesn't listen to us.  After talking to friends I realize I'm not the only one in this boat, however working dads, to a large extent, is not on the same voyage.

I'm not complaining, this is my role.   I am not one of those women that must have control of every aspect of the day.  Trust me I have stepped back to let others take the reins, however usually everyone stops and looks at me and says, "What's next?"   Sometimes it is just easier to handle the  task yourself, then explain to others how to get it done.   But when is enough, enough?  

It's not all bad.  I have found the greatest social organization known to mankind.  The Working Mom’s Club.  The support I have received in my role as a working mom has come largely from other working moms.  We are a sisterhood of magnificent women, who have all but conquered the world.   Managing your home, your business, your social life, in many cases, your family's finances and love life....FABULOUS.  Sorry dads, though I am rooting for you, looks like we moms have this on lock down.   

Take a bow ladies!

Ohh! You said “Ed – Words!

In Nate’s world, I am second in command.  Meaning he makes the orders and I am expected to carry them out.  This takes a lot of ingenuity for a two-year-old.

For example, when Nate decides that his father has done something worthy of a reprimand, he will come to me, with his big intent eyes and armed stretched behind him in the offenders direction saying, “Mommy, Dad needs a spankin’.”

To this demand I usually reply, “Really?” 

“Yesh”, he affirms, with a determinative head nod.

“O.K. Nate”, is my general response while I continue with work, reading, cleaning, watching television, sleeping or some other task I am involved in.

Then Nate will leave the room just as determined as when he enters and sings, “Daaaaddddy, Mommy NEEDS you!”  Apparently, this is Nate’s way of saying, “You are in big trouble and going to get a spanking.”  Gotta say, I love how diplomatic he has become, signs of true leadership.

Now I must disclose that I do not reprimand my husband or anyone else (usually) at Nate’s demands.  Yet somehow this doesn’t seem to phase his understanding of our leadership dynamic.

As my father puts it, “Kim, that boy thinks he is the boss.”  Then my father follows this observation with, “Doesn’t he know I am the boss.”

Can you see the family dynamic, my father who is 64-years-young versus my son who is two-years-old, starring each other down like the gun fight at O.K. Corral.  What I can’t figure out is how either one missed the fact that I AM THE BOSS!  Really guys, you know Mommy calls the shots.

By now you should be realizing a sad truth, Narcissism is born NOT made.  It is a truly genetic trait passed down from generation to generation.  Of course a true narcissist will say, those two are crazy and I am the only normal one….NO TRUER STATEMENT AS BEEN SPOKEN (if I say so myself.)

On the occasions that I have done something to meet Nate’s disapproval he will go as far as to give me a spanking.   Of course this is all in jest, he will pretend to chastise me and I will pretend to be very upset. 

At two feet something inches, this miniature person who speaks in toddler speak is soooo entertaining.  Even when he is being so impossible, which usually occurs every Thursday morning when I am trying to make an 8:00 am class, his big smile and eyes will make you forget the fact that he takes his shoes and socks off just as you are walking out the door.

However, it is this one phrase that gave me cause to pause.  “Ohhhhhh, Ariana said ‘Ed-words’.”   At first I didn’t give much consideration to what he was saying.  The hallmark of a working mother, sometimes I can’t process everything.

Then finally I had to ask, “What is ‘Ed-words’?”

I gathered from our discussions they were bad words like “Stupid” and “Stinky Poo-Poo Diaper”, which is his favorite stinger for whoever happened to be on the hit list.  But I still didn’t know what on earth “Ed-words” stood for.

Finally my interpreter, Ariana, kindly informed me what he was truly saying.

“F-WORDS!”

“What!” Where did my two-year-old learn that F-words were bad words?  He doesn’t even know what an F is; or does he? 

Then I recalled six months earlier while we were preparing Nate to enter pre-school, we warned that he must begin using his words.  Two weeks before school began he began to talk. 

A glass of milk dropped on the floor and Nate exclaimed, “Awwww *uck!”   I knew I hadn’t heard him right; I didn’t hear him right the first three times he said it.  By the end of the week I knew he was cursing something he learned from the older boys at his in home daycare. .

For two weeks we constantly admonished, “Nate, no ‘F-words’.”   We broke him of the habit, but now six months later he is chastising ALL of us for saying ‘Ed-words’ whatever they may be!  

~ Working Mother

Playing Hooky from Pre-school? Really Nate?!?

This morning, the two-year-old tried to convince me he could stay home by himself instead of going to school.  I’m told by his educators he is suffering from separation anxiety, once again.  Apparently this condition comes and goes in waves.  I bought into that theory for a minute, until I realized he didn’t really want to be with me, he just wanted to be at home.

Try to imagine a toddler’s slurred speech between sobs as he cried, “Mom.  I tying tell you sumting.”  Translated he said, “Mom, I am trying to tell you something” while I underwent my morning routine of preparing for the day.

I stopped and gave him my full attention.  His response, “I no bye-bye.” 

Now I know for many parents red flags went up.  Let me preface by saying,  I have no concerns with my son’s preschool.  While attending school his mind has flourished, social skills developed, and cognition is high. In fact he is so smart that in Pre-K he has learned how to fake sick to stay home.  Ultimately, he really wanted to stay home to  watch SpongeBob. 

Thinking I would scare him, I told him if he stayed home he would be by himself. This tactic works famously on my six-year-old.  Not on Nate, who responded with an affirmative “Okay”; with no problems or concerns. 

So of course I saw this as a challenge, and I was going to call his bluff.  As I walked outside, closing the door behind me, I heard him cry out, “MOMMY.” I ignored him and closed the door shut. I felt vindicated....for a moment, then…..nothing.

There I was standing outside for maybe 45 seconds, however it felt like at least 10 minutes.  Still nothing; no noise, no whimper, no scamper…nothing.

So, I opened the door.  There he was lying on the sofa, arm propped up under his head, watching SpongeBob.   When he saw me he jumped up and yelled, “MOMMY!” 

“Awww Nate, you don’t want to stay home alone?”

“No, gib me kiss bye-bye” – Translated “No.  Give me a kiss good-bye.”  Then with his big eyes and big grin he sings, “Bye mom, SEE YOU LATER!”

“No Nate!  Get in the car!”  Pre-school here he comes.  Separation anxiety….my foot.

How do you potty train a two-year-old? Have Your six-year-old do it!: Tips from the BEST mother or WORST mother in the world - you decide!

I often hear how do you do it: work, school, family?  In truth I really try not to think about it.  Normally I don’t think about how much work it takes to juggle all the balls.  At the risk of sounding like Nike, I just do it!

So naturally something has to give.  Lately that something has been potty training my son.  I knew from the moment the boy was born he would be my challenge.  He gave me “the look”.  Seriously, while moments old he scrunched up his nose and looked at me with much attitude, as if to communicate, “How dare you disturb my comfort?”

And every day since he has had that ATTITUDE!  We are fortunate that Nate is perfectly healthy, he is also extremely intelligent.  For example, when he turned one-year-old he refused to walk, even though he was absolutely physically able to do so. No matter the amount of coaxing Nate would simply sit where he was and demand to be picked up.

Who could resist this face?

I had friends yell at me, “Don’t pick him up! Make him walk.” 

Sure he would.  They quickly learned Nate is as stubborn as he is cute and determined to have his way.  He’d cock his head to the side in a manner that spoke volumes.  Often the statement being, “Why should I walk when you’re going to carry me? DUH!” 

Then one August day, two months after he turned one and exactly 24 hours after his Grandfather (my husband’s father) had come to visit, Nate was walking.   He was walking his Grandfather around the backyard.

In the moment I observed this phenomenon my suspicions were confirmed…….NATE is a genius. 

Now Nate is two-years-old, going on three and has FINALLY agreed to participate in the potty training experience.  When I say agree, I mean it.  For the better part of his second year he absolutely refused to sit near the potty, much less on it.  I bought him every type of potty chair on the market; the singing Royal throne, the caricatures, the potty seats for the big toilette.  He simply refused to be bothered with the experience.

Prior to Nate, I thought I was a “Good” mother.  Ariana was perfect; I potty trained her around two-years-old on a road trip to Kentucky.  When we left San Diego, she was wearing pull-ups and still had the occasional accident.  When we arrived in Kentucky she refused to have an accident in her pull-up, even if it meant braving 29 degree weather in Oklahoma City rather than relieving herself in the car.  I couldn’t have been prouder of my daughter and had to give myself credit for having the patience to work with her while driving cross-country.  There is NO WAY Nate would have cooperated.

In truth, all my illusions of being a fantastic mother flew out the door with this child.  Clearly I am not as gifted as I thought.  Or am I?  

A few weeks ago, on a Saturday, I returned home from school and was met with Ariana’s excited news.  “Mom, Nate went pee-pee on the potty eight times!” 

            Ariana managed to not only get her brother on the potty chair she also had him completely out of his pull-ups and into big-boy Scooby-Doo underwear with NO accidents.  REALLY!   I was simply amazed.  Of course I praised both of them and had to see this miracle with my own eyes.   To think, Nate actually consented to being trained how on earth had she managed it? 

            Then Mommy guilt began to set in.  I was the one that should have gotten him on the potty.  Any hope of Daddy doing it of course was not even a consideration.  This is no dig at my husband, but after he works full time in the evenings and is finishing up his bachelor studies during the day, while attending to the kids on my days at school; I just wouldn’t dream of throwing the full weight of potty training on his shoulders as well.  But of course I felt as if I should have been the one to conquer this feat.

            Yet I couldn’t help but be amused, once again, at Ariana’s persistence, patience and maturity.   She started with getting Nate to sit on the seat, and then every Saturday she would conduct some new class to build off the Saturday before.   Usually she and Nate climb out of bed around 7 am and venture into my bathroom while I am waking up.  I quietly listen to their huddled discussions in the bathroom; last Saturday, she gave a lesson on when it is appropriate to sit and when he should stand.  She can’t wait for him to master “The Aim” technique. 

            In the midst of wallowing in my self-pity for being omitted from the most important lesson of my son’s two-years, my friends have helped me to see an alternate reality.  One that is fitting for my fragile state; my son IS a genius, because his mother IS a genius!  Why bother with potty training?  Just train your daughter so well that she can train everyone else!   Perhaps I’m not the WORST mother in the world; I might even be in the top ten….O.K. maybe a little too far.   But either way you look at, the job is getting done.

~ Working Mother

GIRL TALK! Tampons and my Six-Year-Old!?!

Usually I look forward to stolen moments with my daughter.  Most of our bonding time is what one would expect for a six-year-old; we might watch a movie, enjoy shopping, or talking about her friends and life in the first grade; nothing too serious.  This is our girl time; our moments with JUST THE GIRLS!

            So imagine my surprise when one day, while driving around town, Ariana happened to riffle through my glove compartment.  Having the ultimate lady car I had tampons and other feminine products, for EMERGENCIES stowed away.  Ariana so aptly held up the yellow wrapped stick and said, “Mom, what is this?”

            Mortified at the image of this little girl, holding up a lady stick in its bright yellow wrapping, while doing 65 mph down the highway, an embarrass mom hurriedly ordered her to “put IT back!”

            Of course this begged more questions.  “But Mom, what is it?”  Her curiosity peaked and I could see there was no way around answering the question.

            Now I had to figure out how to explain this item and its purpose with a six-year-old.   My head, now swirling, began to orchestrate this grand conversation.  First I would start with the basics.  Then my mind quickly jumped to the dreaded question, “Where do babies come from?”  Suddenly panic struck and I realized I WAS NOT READY for this conversation.  Where is the mommy manual?

            Holding back my fears, I began explaining to Ariana, that once a month a woman has a personal time in her life where she menstruates.  Sparing the details I simply described the experience. My astute daughter looked at me, taking in this new information, scrunched up her nose and said, “that is SOOOOO WEIRD.”

            As the wheels in her mind turned, she realized her mommy is a woman. So naturally she asks if I had this experience every month.  I realized that for Ariana this is the age were her mind is beginning to unlock and pay attention to her surroundings.  Taking account of the many times Ariana invaded my private moments, it’s a wonder how she never stumbled across this fact earlier.  Any mother can tell you privacy goes out the window when you have children. For example, unless my children are asleep, I most assuredly have to settle some pressing dispute while I am soaking in the bath tub.

            As our discussion progressed, I explained to Ariana that little girls, such as herself, develop into women.  In the process they undergo a number of changes which make them look more like women.  I asked her if she knew what those changes were.  She guessed the essentials: breasts.   I chose to end the discussion at that point, before she could figure out the ultimate baby question or continued to pepper the discussion with the dreaded, “Why” which could potentially lead me down the road I didn’t want to travel. 

            Instantly a new fear flooded over me!  What if she tells her friends?  How mortified would their parents be?  I could see it now, being called into the principal’s office to discuss the sex education classes my daughter was teaching at recess. 

Scrambling once again, I cautioned her not to share this new found information with any of her friends, warning her that their mommies must have GIRL TIME with them and share this special information, just like I was sharing with her.  I also instructed her to come to me with any questions she might have.  It’s important to me that my daughter knows she can always talk to me about anything for two reasons: I don’t want her being misinformed by anyone other than me, and I want to know what’s on her mind.

            She smiled, agreed and we ended part one of “THE TALK.”  It wasn’t so bad.  I was glad to have bonding time with my daughter.  

A few weeks later, she sat next to me, like a little lady, with her legs crossed, hand on her chin, and she started the conversation off as such, “So, you know what we were talking about in the car? You know, with the yellow thing?” 

            “Yes, I remember”, I replied.

            “Well”, she said smiling, “I like talking to you about that.  It’s our secret right mom, JUST THE GIRLS!” she stated while beaming.

            “Yes Ariana, JUST THE GIRLS!”

Mommy Burn Out!

Is it wrong to feel absolutely relieved to be without my kids for three days?  I know mothers that would struggle privately with the idea that being away from their children for an extended weekend is heavenly bliss; being so concerned that others might presume they are heartless, cold, and selfish to want alone time.  I know few men who would feel the same.

            I take a different approach.  MOMMY BURN OUT is real!  On this trip I had moments of quiet solitude; despite being on a business trip.  There were moments, in my hotel room, when I could sleep without a two-year-old sitting on my head.  I drew a bath and actually had a quiet moment where I could read without my six-year-old daughter fabricating an emergency that would require her to sit tub-side and explain the nuisances of life as a first grader.

            Don’t get me wrong, I love to partake in the daily adventures of my children.  And yes, any one that knows me can attest that I am the annoying mother with the super bright, genius children that already manifest destinies of being rocket scientists and world class musicians.  However, there are times in my life when I must remind myself that I am woman with an identity separate from my family; and, that is okay.

            While seeking an adventure in Portland; whose motto is “Keep Portland Weird”, I discovered some weird tendencies of my own.  For example, while on a trip with five other adults I found myself nagging my colleague, who took vacation eating to a new level.  Let’s just say I am surprised no one was rushed to the hospital in a diabetical coma.  Or, my constant reminders that everyone wear jackets in 30 degree, bone chilling weather and snow!   Yes, my nickname was mother.  So much for being the free thinking independent modern woman I once was.

            I would most certainly be remised if I didn’t own up to waking at 4:30 am, expecting my son to sneak in to my bed.  My comfort, in the wee hours of the morning were my small IPod video clips of both my daughter and son at play.  Am I really that MOM?  Is there a Modern Mom?  Aren’t Moms just Moms?  And, is there anything wrong with that?

            In fact, when I returned, I noticed how my son, in three days is communicating better and is more independent.  Could it be? Can he survive without me?  The nerve!  How dare these kids NOT cry everyday while I was gone!  Why didn’t they miss me as much as I missed them? 

            Yet despite my own personal breakdown, physically I am refreshed.  I feel energy and the shopping bags under my eyes have downgraded to coin purses.  I am happy to be home, to hug and kiss my babies; and I love the idea that I wanted them more then they needed me.  That is the true mark of a Modern Mommy, equipping your children to survive without you.  I am sure if I never came home my six-year-old and two-year-old would miss me. But, the idea that there were no mental melt downs for the three days I was away says much about their character.  I’ll share credit for that with my husband.  We work hard to train them to think rationally and enjoy their lives.  I am grateful to see this coming through.

~ Modern Mommy!

Working Mother's Vindication!

My kids are playing make believe.  After my 6-year-old daughter and two-and-a-half-year-old son play drums, my daughter sat my son down and began to critique him.  Ariana, invited Nate to sit down in his green plastic kiddie chair.  She positioned herself directly across from him, in her purple plastic chair. 

She seriously contemplated her words and began with an affirmative critique, “Nathan you did a good job, but…”  She then went on to explain where he could improve, as if she knew how to drum.

What is most surprising, is that Nathan sat and listened intently.  He agreed and took part in the conversation with an occasional, “ ‘kay” accompanied with a head nod; or “Yes, honey.”  

I can’t help but laugh to myself because as I watch them play I see myself; my mannerisms, my communication style, and my critiquing style.  

Like any parent I am filled with concerns that I am not good enough; I am too busy with work or school, and; I don’t spend enough time nurturing and guiding my kids. 

I cry when Ariana draws pictures at school of a little girl crying when her mother is away; or when she writes stories saying, “Mom, I miss you so much when you are not home.”

However today I feel a little vindication.  I see myself deposited into my children and they are happy and well rounded.  At the very least they will both be excellent communicators, negotiators and mediators.  It’s the little things that make the insurmountable challenges seem minuscule.

~ Working Mother