Showing posts with label WIWIK. Show all posts
Showing posts with label WIWIK. Show all posts

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

About Temper Tantrums

Being a mother is not easy.  Let me say that again.  Being a mother.  Is. Not. Easy. But I get better at it as I go along.  Some of the things which troubled me as a young mother have become easier.  There are an awful lot of things I wish I'd known when I started.  I can't count the number of times I've kicked myself and shouted, "Why did it take me five (or six, or seven, or even eight) babies to figure this out?"  But I do wish I'd known then some of the things I know now.  Here is another post in a What I Wish I'd Known (or WIWIK) series.

When I was a young newlywed, we lived in a very quiet apartment building.  Lots of college students, lots of single professionals, lots of newlywed couples, but very few babies and no children at all.  By the time my first was born, we had moved into an simple trailer park with a similar demographic.  When he cried in a group setting, most everyone thought it was adorable, as I hushed his wails and scurried out of the room as quickly as possible.  I was never quite sure where his crying or whimpering or babbling was allowed, and where it was frowned upon.

Through the years and more babies, I've learned that, most of the time, quiet child noise is fine, (we don't go anywhere that children are severely frowned upon) but anything boisterous or angry is not.  And please, no temper tantrums.  Ever.

So what does a good mother do with a child in the throes of a tantrum?  Simple.  A good mother's children just don't have tantrums.



('scuse me while I fall over laughing)


All children have tantrums.  Most teens have tantrums.  Quite a few adults have tantrums.  Just watch TV if you don't believe me.  Hopefully, we are learning to not throw fits ourselves.  At least not in front of other people, and especially not in front of the kids.  Once you have that one mastered, you are ready to tackle a childish temper tantrum from an actual child.

The first thing I wish I'd known when my first children started having tantrums is that it's not about me.  I don't have to get upset or angry or yell at or shake the child.  He's not doing it to make me mad or to get even with me or because he hates me.  And even if he's old enough and sophisticated enough to try a tantrum just to rattle me, I don't have to let the child or the tantrum mess with me!  Stay calm.  Take a deep breath.  Laugh at how ridiculous he looks.  Then love him all the more (you can when you're not mad).

The next thing that I learned about temper tantrums is that they are often caused by a lapse in communication.  I think one reason that the "terrible twos" can be so terrible is that the little lass can't tell you what is on her mind.  She doesn't have the verbal skills to let you know what it is she wants, and it's terribly frustrating.  Hello, meltdown.  I find that when a frustrating moment is starting, if I stop, get on the child's level, and patiently help her work through the situation, we end up with fewer tantrums.  Not none, but fewer.  (And I've taught most of my kids sign language when they were just little.  They could sign before they could talk - signing is easier!  The communication goes way up, and the tantrums go way down.  I could really see a difference between the tots who signed and those who didn't.)

Another little tidbit that is helpful to know is that more tantrums happen when the little sweetheart is tired or hungry  Umm... this is true for me, too.  Tired = not thinking straight, more emotional, less able to articulate.  Hungry = less energy to function, more moody, more quick to snap.  Hence, I don't hash out financial details with my husband late at night.  Not a good idea.  And I don't take my toddlers shopping during naptime.  Or when they are hungry.  I might be able to push on for "just a few more minutes," but their little bodies are less forgiving.  It works much better if we just have a meal and rest schedule and stick to it.  Not always possible, but as a general rule.

So I'm calm, I'm helping my little guy communicate, we're well-fed and well-rested (both of us!) and we still have a meltdown on aisle 9.  He's screaming, everyone is staring, and you're at your wit's end.  What now?

Some experts say that you should ignore the child during a tantrum so he doesn't get the idea that if he wants to be the center of attention, he can just start screaming.  Makes sense.  Other experts will say that your upset child needs more attention during a meltdown so that he doesn't feel abandoned during his most emotional moments.  Also makes sense.  Love it when the "experts" don't agree.  They hardly ever do.   

Guess what?  YOU are the expert on your child.  Learn up on what the experts say (the child behaviorists and the child psychologists and (especially) the veteran mothers).  Then you are armed.  Try the approach that feels best to you.  If it doesn't work after a while, then try another.  As long as you parent with love and common sense, you are not going to seriously mess up your child.  Really.

Today at a friend's house, I made a toddler stay in the bathroom while he screamed out a temper tantrum (there was no quiet place to go, so we did the best we could).  He screamed while I held the doorknob and muttered apologies to our sweet hostess.  When he drew a breath, I would reassure him that I was there and he could come out when he finished screaming.  He did stop after a bit, and I held him tightly for a long while while he sniffled and settled down.  Later, I held a kicking tot, rocking him until he calmed.  Another time, I smiled in the face of danger (the little guy was swinging his fists at me!), and caught each blow, shook his little hand and asked "How do you do?" in a funny voice until his anger melted and he laughed.  We're in a tantrummy way right now, and the twins feed off each other, so I'm getting plenty of practice.

A tantrum in a public place is so much better avoided than dealt with.  It's worth the extra bit of inconvenience and planning.  And yes, it's ok to just leave your cart there - or take it to a store worker to hold for you - and hustle the screamer right back out into the car.  Or leave the restaurant before you can even order.  Or rush out to the lobby.  Or stick his little kicking legs in a snowbank for a moment.  Been there, done that.  

You're not a horrible mom.  I'd even take your child and distract her by drawing on the ice in the frozen food department while you check out, if you wouldn't think weird kidnapper thoughts about me.  You're doing great during this tumultuous time.  Go mom!  And when it's all over, you can lock yourself in the bathroom and cry a little if it makes you feel better.  Just don't throw a tantrum.

That's all.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

About Cloth Diapers

"Being a mother is not easy.  Let me say that again.  Being a mother.  Is. Not. Easy. But I get better at it as I go along.  Some of the things which troubled me as a young mother have become easier.  There are an awful lot of things I wish I'd known when I started.  I can't count the number of times I've kicked myself and shouted, "Why did it take me five (or six, or seven, or even eight) babies to figure this out?"  But I do wish I'd known then some of the things I know now.  Here is another post in a What I Wish I'd Known (or WIWIK) series. 

I graduated from college when I was 6 or 7 months pregnant.  My husband was still in school, though, so it was to a humble college apartment where we brought our first baby.  We were very stingy with our meager finances, and decided to cut costs by using cloth diapers instead of disposables.  My mom did cloth diapers, and I helped with the diapering and laundry of my youngest brothers, and it really didn't seem that hard.  Good enough for my mom - good enough for me.  I remember loading our laundry basket, the diaper pail, and our new baby into the back seat of our old '67 Mercury Cougar, and driving to the laundromat.  Good times.



This post should more correctly be categorized as "What I'm Glad I Did Figure Out," than "What I Wish I'd Known," but whatever.  I'm glad I started out with cloth diapers.  I've saved tons of money with eight babies, and it really isn't that challenging.  I didn't use the pretty all-in-one cloth diaper systems, nor did I splurge on the fashionable diaper covers (which weren't around when I started diapering).  I still would have saved money, but for me, the ultimate penny-pincher, I went all-out-el-cheapo.  

I got the standard old prefolded diapers from SuperBigMart, a bunch of ugly but practical plastic pants, a package of diaper pins, and a smell-containing diaper pail.  I didn't always rinse my diapers out in the toilet (I did shake out and flush loose solids, though), nor did I soak them in a soapy mixture in the diaper pail until wash day.  I didn't use special detergents or lotions.   I did occasionally bleach the diapers back to some semblance of whiteness, either in the sun on the laundry line, or sometimes even with liquid bleach.  I did buy more diapers every few babies when the old ones wore out and got tossed in the rag bag.  Overall, it was pretty plain and simple, and it has worked for nearly two decades.  Yes, I've been changing diapers that long.  <sigh>


Here's my cost breakdown, assuming 2 1/2 years old as the average time before potty-training.  (Prices shown are what I've just looked up.  I do remember them as being somewhat cheaper a few years ago, and a lot cheaper lots of years ago.)



$78
     60 dozen cheap prefold cloth diapers @ about $13/package of 10 diapers
$24
     8 pair of vinyl diaper covers in each of 4 sizes @ $3 each package of 4
$240
     two full loads of wash twice a week for 2 1/2 years according to Mr. Electricity
$57
     laundry detergent @ $.22/load for 260 loads
$5
     used diaper pail at a garage sale

$404 TOTAL for 2/12 years of cloth diapering for TWINS!

Of course, we do use disposable diapers for church or extended outings, and we have used them at night when the output was more than a single cloth diaper could handle.  We would need to increase the amount accordingly for disposable diapers, or increase the washing requirements for double-diapering at night, like I did with my other boys.

But compare this $404, if you will, to what it would have cost us to use disposable diapers exclusively!  According to Consumer Reports, covering a baby tushie with disposable diapers can cost about $2500.  Times that by two please, to show us that we would be in the poorhouse if we had to buy $5,000 worth of disposable diapers for our twins.  And just think of the savings for Mother Earth, too.

Glad I did cloth (and glad, glad, glad that we are potty training and getting close to the end of diapering!)

Thursday, June 28, 2012

About Advice

Being a mother is not easy.  Let me say that again.  Being a mother.  Is. Not. Easy. But I get better at it as I go along.  Some of the things which troubled me as a young mother have become easier.  There are an awful lot of things I wish I'd known when I started.  I can't count the number of times I've kicked myself and shouted, "Why did it take me five (or six, or seven, or even eight) babies to figure this out?"  But I do wish I'd known then some of the things I know now.  Here is another post in a What I Wish I'd Known (or WIWIK) series.

When I was engaged to be married, twenty years ago, my sweet daddy took me aside to give me a bit of advice.  I've remembered it, and think of it often.  His sage nugget of fatherly wisdom?

"Don't take advice."

He could have just stopped there, I suppose, and I could have ended up even more fiercely independent than I am now.  I would have fought my way through every new situation, ignoring the catcalls and garish opinions of neighbors and grocery store clerks, intent on making my own path, doing it my way.

But he didn't stop there.  Instead, he lovingly taught me that I needed to check the credentials of the advice-giver, and not accept every bit of information blindly.  I should see if the advice had turned out well for the adviser, and if it had truly made their lives better, easier, more full of joy.

I'm so glad I learned this lesson, or I would have missed out on the richness of experience.  There are so many mothers around who know infinitely more than I do.  I've never had to deal with croup or RSV.  I don't know what I'm doing raising a girl.  I don't know how to send a child off to college.  I struggle with not feeling martyr-ish.  But other mothers have been around these blocks.  They know how it worked for them.  They could show me the ropes, tell me their stories, and give me some guidance.  I could learn an awful lot from them.

Some of the stories, true, are verbal exercises in one-up-man-ship, or are maternal horror stories.  To these, I can insert a mental eye-roll or a quiet chuckle.  Some of the stories are downright outrageous.  Life may actually be like that sometimes.  Some of the stories, unfortunately, are just plain mean.  I know how to recognize and ignore mean.  But to all of them, I can be gracious to the advice-giver, give them the benefit of the doubt, sip up the wisdom, and discretely discard anything that doesn't work for me.

So the next time I'm in a grocery store and a random lady looks at my children, clucks her tongue, and asks, "Are these ALL yours?  Didn't you know how to prevent that?" (true story)  I can smile and not feel a sting.  Or when the mother at the playground starts telling me how to manage my dirt-thrower, I can smile, say thank you, and take care of my little rug rat.  And when the gal at church asks, "Your little guy isn't talking much, is he? Why at that age, my daughter..." I can smile and listen to the story she wants to tell.  I don't have to get angry, feel slighted, become hurt, or feel put-down.  Any offense was likely not intended.  If it was, all the more silly of me to let it get to me!

And when I can, I will sit at the feet of a seasoned mother, bask in her wisdom, and learn as much as I can.  I'm not a perfect mother, but there's a lot I can glean from the advice of other mothers.  Let's learn and laugh and love together, we mothers.  Together we can raise the best children the world has ever known.

That's all.

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

About Tears

Being a mother is not easy.  Let me say that again.  Being a mother.  Is. Not. Easy. But I get better at it as I go along.  Some of the things which troubled me as a young mother have become easier.  There are an awful lot of things I wish I'd known when I started.  I can't count the number of times I've kicked myself and shouted, "Why did it take me five (or six, or seven, or even eight) babies to figure this out?"  But I do wish I'd known then some of the things I know now.  Here is another post in a What I Wish I'd Known (or WIWIK) series.

When I was a new mother, It wasn't uncommon for me to have a little nervous breakdown in the middle of a project that wasn't going very well.  I had such high aspirations for sitting down and teaching my children the principles which were an integral part of me.  And when they didn't listen - nay, when their father was playing cars on the floor with them while I was trying to teach a lesson, I got a little bit frustrated.  Or when, in the midst of making lovely hand-made cards for my mom and mother-in-law for Mother's Day (I mean Mothers' Day, of course!), little Ben has to fall off the table and break his collarbone... frustration city leading to nervous breakdown-ville.  I shed a lot of tears over times that were trying, over projects that went bananas, over parenting mishaps, over discarded goals.  Mothering was sometimes a very hair-pulling, scream-into-a-pillow, cry-a-lot, discouraging venture.

I wish I had known that there were also happy tears.

I know I had happy moments, and out-of-your-heart joyful moments.  Most of the time, I was quite content and cheerful with my little family.  But I didn't know that my tears could be just as heart-wrenchingly happy as they were heart-wrenchingly difficult.

Tonight, I attended Ben's last band concert of the year.  My mother-heart just filled up, brim-full to see him walk confidently onto the stage, carrying his beloved trombone, and sporting his dashing tuxedo. I am so honored to be the mother of this boy, this on-the-verge-of-manhood lad, this son of mine, filler of my heart for the past nearly 16 years.  And then his band played one of the most beautiful love songs ever: Song For Lyndsay, written by Andrew Boysen to his wife, Lyndsay.


I cried.  My heart was so full it leaked out my eyes, I guess.  It's pretty amazing that mothering could be so huge and wonderful and humbling, but it is.  It is.

I wouldn't choose anything else.

That's all.

Saturday, May 5, 2012

About Differences

Being a mother is not easy.  Let me say that again.  Being a mother.  Is. Not. Easy. But I get better at it as I go along.  Some of the things which troubled me as a young mother have become easier.  There are an awful lot of things I wish I'd known when I started.  I can't count the number of times I've kicked myself and shouted, "Why did it take me five (or six, or seven, or even eight) babies to figure this out?"  But I do wish I'd known then some of the things I know now.  Here is another post in a What I Wish I'd Known (or WIWIK) series.


Years ago, we purchased an ugly little house.  It had four-foot weeds for a front yard;  rocks and tumbleweeds for a backyard.  The garage looked like an abandoned barn (with no door), and the house itself looked like a boring warehouse.  We put a lot of time and energy into that house, and got it downright presentable.  There were lots of scuffs and dings on the walls inside, but I didn't want to repaint everything, so I took a chip of the paint to the store and got myself a gallon of perfectly matched paint.  I wasted no time in painting every one of those marks - it was a wonderfully productive day.  As the sun set, and the slanting light came through a different window, however, I did the V-8 forehead handslap.  The colors were exactly the same, but I could clearly see every patch I had just painted.  The old paint was a satin finish; the new paint was flat.


Our walls were cream, not red, but this shot shows how the same color can can look totally different in the light.


I wish I had known that no two things are ever exactly the same - especially children.  


I bet you hear some of the same complaints I do:
     "It's not fair!"
     "His cookie is bigger than mine!"
     "But you let him _________!"
     "But he didn't have to _________!"
     "I have to do more than him?"


And it's ok.  No two kids are ever going to be exactly the same - not even my "identical" twins are really carbon copies.  And I wouldn't want them to be.  I cherish the unique traits that make each of my children special.  And because they have different strengths and different weaknesses, different interests and different challenges, it's ok if I parent them differently.

As a kid, I didn't mind a spanking, but I hated being grounded.  David withers with a scolding.  Chris would rather die than have his computer privileges suspended.  Ben wants to drive so badly he can taste it.  Alec craves independence.  David thrives on approval.  So my rewards and punishments don't have to be the same.  In fact, our consequences are more effective if they are custom-tailored to each child.

And when they complain (because they will), I can tell them that I know it's not the same, but different can still be fair.  And I can tell them that I am able to parent each of them differently because I know them individually, and because I love them completely.  I can tailor their consequences - and rewards - to what they need to become stronger individuals.  I think that's kind of how God parents us, isn't it?  And we complain, too.  Maybe I ought to do less of the griping.

That's all.

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

About the Sunday Man

Being a mother is not easy.  Let me say that again.  Being a mother.  Is. Not. Easy. But I get better at it as I go along.  Some of the things which troubled me as a young mother have become easier.  There are an awful lot of things I wish I'd known when I started.  I can't count the number of times I've kicked myself and shouted, "Why did it take me five (or six, or seven, or even eight) babies to figure this out?"  But I do wish I'd known then some of the things I know now.  Here is another post in a What I Wish I'd Known (or WIWIK) series.


We are often late to church.  Sunday mornings are just a riot, you know?  We all play a little harder on Saturday than we are used to, because we can.  And then we try to sleep in on Sunday morning, because we need to, or because we feel like we are entitled to it.  We lounge around a teeny bit, and then, all of the sudden, it's run and hurry time!

Where is my tie?  I have a black sock and a blue one.  I can't find my dress shoes.  No, those dark pants show all those smudges really well.  Your shirt is so wrinkly!  Did you wad it up in your drawer for a week?  There's an awful lot of "I can't find" going on.  It makes me crazy.  And I'm hurrying too, because I actually want to put on makeup and nylons, and do something cute with the Angel's hair.  Cah-razy.

I wish I had known about the Sunday Man.  He is a good friend of ours these days, and lives on the floors of the boys' rooms on Saturday afternoon.  The kids, as part of their Saturday chores, have to round up their Sunday clothes and lay them out for the next day.  It is so much easier to get dressed when you have all of your clothes ready and waiting.  And it gives Mom a chance to edit and veto as necessary, or to run a quick load of laundry.

The boys really get a kick out of arranging the Sunday Man on the floor, with the shirt above the pants, and the socks and shoes on his "feet."  He looks like Flat Stanley lying there, just without a head.  They like to arrange him in different poses, or holding things.  I'd post pictures if I could find my camera (it was stolen by babies).

Now, if we could only do something about that feeling like we can sleep in, we might be on time more often.  One step at a time, I guess.

That's all.

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

About Snaps That Don't

Being a mother is not easy.  Let me say that again.  Being a mother.  Is. Not. Easy. But I get better at it as I go along.  Some of the things which troubled me as a young mother have become easier.  There are an awful lot of things I wish I'd known when I started.  I can't count the number of times I've kicked myself and shouted, "Why did it take me five (or six, or seven, or even eight) babies to figure this out?"  But I do wish I'd known then some of the things I know now.  Here is another post in a What I Wish I'd Known (or WIWIK) series.

I hate it when I snap a baby into an outfit, only to have it come unsnapped as soon as they wiggle a bit.  Freddie is wearing the cutest little pajamas, so warm and snuggly soft - except that his entire right leg is poking out through the snaps that didn't stay snapped.

I wish I had known that loose snaps are fixable!  Here is the easy solution.  You convince the snaps to behave themselves with a hammer.  I am not kidding.  Do not try this method on your children.

image from Wikipedia, where I learned that snaps have been around in some form since at least 210 BC, and were first patented in 1885!

All snaps have two parts - the pokey-outie (head), and the pokie-innie (hole).  We want the pokey-outie part.  Place the snap, flat side down, head side up, onto a hard surface.  Give it a few gentle taps with the hammer.  That's it.  Easy.

When snaps don't stay snapped, it is because the head isn't big enough to fill up the hole.  Tapping it with a hammer spreads the top of the head back out, and makes it stick - and stay stuck.  Problem solved.

That's all.

Monday, March 26, 2012

About Changing A Wet Bed

Being a mother is not easy.  Let me say that again.  Being a mother.  Is. Not. Easy. But I get better at it as I go along.  Some of the things which troubled me as a young mother have become easier.  There are an awful lot of things I wish I'd known when I started.  I can't count the number of times I've kicked myself and shouted, "Why did it take me five (or six, or seven, or even eight) babies to figure this out?"  But I do wish I'd known then some of the things I know now.  Here is another post in a What I Wish I'd Known (or WIWIK) series.


As a mother of boys, I've had my share of middle-of-the-night accidents.  I even had one bedwetter who was so skilled at soaking through everything, every night, that we thought he'd go pro (he has since thankfully retired).  I changed a lot of sheets.  A lot.  And it was almost always when I was dead-tired.  Sometimes I was even still asleep, I'm sure.  You wet the bed in your sleep?  I change sheets in my sleep!

I wish I would have known that I could double-make a bed.

For bigger beds, put down a waterproof pad.  Then make the bed with the bottom sheet.  Repeat with another (big) waterproof pad (on top of the first bottom sheet), and another bottom sheet.  When the accident occurs, simply peel off the now-wet top-bottom sheet and the top waterproof pad.  And the bed is still made!  Little Wetter can crawl back into bed, and (after lugging the wet stuff to the laundry room to deal with in the morning) you can crawl back into your bed, too.

For persistent wetters, find the waterproof pads that are softer.  These are not so hot and uncomfortable to sleep on.  Invest in a pile of these.  It will make your life easier.  Make the bed with a pad, the bottom sheet, and another waterproof pad.  Stop here.  Little Usually Wet can sleep directly on top of the pad.  In the middle of the night, pull off the pad and replace it with a new, dry one (from the pile of waterproof pads you keep conveniently under his bed), and everyone goes back to bed.

Of course, you will also have nearby (perhaps in a plastic box under the offended bed) an assortment of clean undies, pajamas, and blankets.  Being prepared makes the midnight dressings so much easier.

If your Littlest Wetter is in a toddler bed or a crib, this is the easiest of all to double-make.  Put down ye olde waterproof pad.  Make the bed with the bottom sheet.  Now pick up the entire mattress and flip it over.  Your pad and sheet are now on the underneath side of the mattress.  Make the bed again, with a pad and sheet.  You could also try this with a bigger bed if the mattress is somewhat light or easy to move.  When nature's call is not answered in the wee hours, take off the wet linens, flip the whole mattress over, and voila!  Ready-to-go.

Other thoughts:  if you do have a wetter (even if only occasionally), make sure the entire mattress is covered with a waterproof, zippered pad.  It is worth it to not have to scrub smellies out of the mattress.  Also, two-piece pajamas are nicer, as the tops do not always get wet.  If Little Wetter has a "lovie" (special blankie, stuffed animal, etc.), make sure you have two of them in case one needs to take a trip to the laundry room.

Be nice to yourself.  Bedwetting doesn't last forever, and you're not a failure of a mother if you have a Nighttime Fountain of Youth.  Don't get angry, just take care of it, give your (now dry) sweetie a hug,  and get you both back to bed ASAP.  This will make life easier.

That's all.

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

About Screaming Babies

Being a mother is not easy.  Let me say that again.  Being a mother.  Is. Not. Easy. But I get better at it as I go along.  Some of the things which troubled me as a young mother have become easier.  There are an awful lot of things I wish I'd known when I started.  I can't count the number of times I've kicked myself and shouted, "Why did it take me five (or six, or seven, or even eight) babies to figure this out?"  But I do wish I'd known then some of the things I know now.  Here is another post in a What I Wish I'd Known (or WIWIK) series.

Freddie, Angel, and Georgie were playing on the stairs with some neighbor kids.  Angel has discovered the joy of sliding down the stairs.  When the bigger boys were little, their silly daddy would put them in cardboard boxes, or seat them on snow sleds before sending them, giggling and shrieking, bumping and sailing, down the stairs.  The middle boys like to take slick sleeping bags to slide down.  The older boys even now will augment this fun by squishing a twin mattress into the stairwell, and then sliding down.  What raucous, wild, boy fun!  And now Angel and the twins have joined in the club, pulling nicely-folded sheets out of our linen closet to slide down on.

There were four or five kids on the stairs, little preschoolers who don't take up much space and slide down the stairs slowly, cautiously.  Somehow in the peewee melee, Georgie got tipped over and stopped himself in a precarious head-down position.  By the volume of his screaming, he must have thought he was going to die.

I hurried down and scooped him up, but he continued to wail, loudly.  When we mothers hold a distraught child, we usually cradle them on one arm, over our shoulder.  The little one screams while we try to comfort.  It is very noisy.

I wish I'd known to protect my hearing.  Position the baby or tyke, over your shoulder, with his ear next to your ear.  It's even better if you can get your ear even with the back of his head, so his head is all the way behind yours.  The little one if facing backwards, you face forwards.  Hold the back of his head with your hand to prevent his head from arching back, if you need to.  This way, the screams go behind you, and not in your ear.

Children scream at about 110 decibels - about the same as a chainsaw!

I'm right-handed, and usually hold babies on my left arm so I can do things with my free right hand.  Consequently, I am a little bit deaf in my left ear.  I'd do it all over again if it was the only way I could have my wonderful rugrats, but I wish I'd known how to keep my ears a bit more safe.

That's all.

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

About Traveling With Potty-Trainers

Being a mother is not easy.  Let me say that again.  Being a mother.  Is. Not. Easy. But I get better at it as I go along.  Some of the things which troubled me as a young mother have become easier.  There are an awful lot of things I wish I'd known when I started.  I can't count the number of times I've kicked myself and shouted, "Why did it take me five (or six, or seven, or even eight) babies to figure this out?"  But I do wish I'd known then some of the things I know now.  Here is another post in a What I Wish I'd Known (or WIWIK) series.

To me, potty-training is kind of a fun adventure.  Before you think I've been sniffing one too many dirty diapers, let me tell ya - I've been sniffing too many dirty diapers.  Potty-training is the last burst of energy you have to put in to clear the hurdle to bathroom self-sufficiency.  And then we cheer.  Way to go, Mom!


During potty training, you don't go anywhere.  There isn't much worse than being in the middle of a shopping trip when the potty-trainee gets that wild look and yells, "Mom!  I gotta go!  Now!"  And you hightail it to the nearest bathroom, praying that the dam won't break.

The only thing worse is when you are on the highway, with nowhere to pull over, and the potty-trainee gets the wild look.  Then yelling erupts - from the back AND the front seats.
"I gotta go!"
"Not yet!  Hold it for another three miles!"
"I can't!"
"We're almost there!"
"Oh!  Oh!  Mom!!"

No amount of cajoling, wheedling, pleading or screaming will ever convince a little one to 1. go before you leave home (and get it ALL out), and 2. hold it until we get there.

I wish I'd known that you can put a porta-potty in your van.

Get a small garbage bag and check it for holes in the bottom.  Lay it over the little pot so all the dirty business can go it there and not come back out.  But wait!  The best part is that you open a disposable diaper and flatten it across the bottom of the pot, over the bag.  Now close the top seat of the potty, and you're all set.  When junior (or little miss) has to go, you pull over, sit them down on their own little seat that is already familiar.  When they are done, open the potty, wrap up the diaper, tie up the bag, and find the next available dumpster.  Easy pee-z.

That's all.


(Edited to add:  I just found these real travel potties, if you wanted to buy more gear for you little one.  I can't vouch for the product, but it looks easy enough.)

Saturday, February 25, 2012

About Folding Baby Clothes

Being a mother is not easy.  Let me say that again.  Being a mother.  Is. Not. Easy. But I get better at it as I go along.  Some of the things which troubled me as a young mother have become easier.  There are an awful lot of things I wish I'd known when I started.  I can't count the number of times I've kicked myself and shouted, "Why did it take me five (or six, or seven, or even eight) babies to figure this out?"  But I do wish I'd known then some of the things I know now.  Here is another post in a What I Wish I'd Known (or WIWIK) series.



We were going on vacation with three little children: ages 4, 2, and a newborn.  As I went to their dresser to pull out some clothes for the trip, I had a little day-dream of what would happen if we all died on our travels.  Someone else would come into our house and have to clean it out.  At that moment, I emptied out the drawers and re-folded every little item, carefully, meticulously.  On subsequent vacations, I obsessively made sure that at least the top items in every drawer were folded to department-store crispness.  Slightly crazy, I think I was, and had more time than I needed.




I wish I'd known that folding baby clothes is not necessary.


I don't fold them at all anymore.  I do sort the sweet little clothes, and put each item nicely in its own drawer: shirts, pajamas, pants, sets or jumpsuits, underthings, socks.  Then close the drawer.  Clothes that are fussy (dresses, Sunday outfits) get hung in the closet.

If I have a screaming baby, dripping wet on my arm, I don't want to have to carefully go through neatly-folded piles of outfits to find the one I'm looking for.  I'd just shove it all around anyway.  Soon, the little crawlers learn to dump out their own drawers, and then I don't have to grumble as I re-fold the clothes for the five billionth time.

 I don't fold clothes again until the little ones are almost three, or when they are starting to learn to fold their own clothes.  Then I fold as I teach, and we do the clothes together.

Go ahead and judge if you'd like, but I'm happier (and quicker) when I don't have to fold tiny clothes.

That's all.  :-)

Friday, February 24, 2012

About Meconium

Lovely title, isn't it?

I have eight children.  Being a mother is not easy.  Let me say that again.  Being a mother.  Is. Not. Easy. But I get better at it as I go along.  Some of the things which troubled me as a young mother have become easier.  There are an awful lot of things I wish I'd known when I started.  I can't count the number of times I've kicked myself and shouted, "Why did it take me five (or six, or seven, or even eight) babies to figure this out?"  Maybe I'm just a wee bit dense.  I'd like to think I'm getting smarter.  But I do wish I'd known then some of the things I know now.  So this is my first post in a What I Wish I'd Known (or WIWIK) series.  I'll add to them as I remember.

What I Wish I'd Known about meconium:

It is sticky and black and somewhat gross.  It's hard to un-goo off your sweet little baby's new, delicate derriere.  It's a real mess.  I've even known mothers who have scrubbed hard enough to give their brand-new babies rashes.

Don't do that.  Babies are supposed to have velvety soft bottoms.  (The upper cheeks are softer and more kissable, in my opinion, but I digress).

Instead, get olive oil.  Put a small, bottle of olive oil in your newborn's changing area.  After every diaper change (starting at the very beginning!), smooth a little bit of oil (it's clean and all-natural and cheap!) on the diapered cheeks.  This keeps them soft and velvety.  And when the meconium does come, it wipes off so easily.  Like a dream.

Now go enjoy spend more time on the sweet baby and less time scraping baby tar.

That's all.