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Book Review! "Secrets of an Organized Mom" by Barbara Reich

2/25/2013

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A few weeks ago, I was asked if I would like to review an advanced copy of "Secrets of an Organized Mom." Without knowing anything except the title, my reaction was an immediate and enthusiastic "YES!" Yes, yes, hell yes! Because if there is one thing I've learned over the last few years, being organized is hard and being a mom is hard. If there was someone out there who had figured out how to manage Matchbox cars and purge Play-doh, well, I'm all ears. Coincidentally, the request also came during the big closet re-do project. I realized that more than ever, I needed professional advice before we ever hung a shelf or bought a container. And that's what Barbara provided.

Easy to understand, humorous, and a quick read (all necessary to us moms - gotta keep our attention because STOP HARASSING THE CAT, SCOTT!, we juggle many things), Barbara managed to convince me that 1.) I was capable of an organized home and 2.) she was the lady to help me do it. She works from a four-step method of purge, design, organize, and maintain. Not exactly ground-breaking, as we have all watched enough episodes of "Hoarders" to know the drill, but when it's spelled out in black and white, it suddenly seems more attainable. She also offers mantras that again, I kinda knew, but seeing it in print brought it home. Do your least appealing task first. Focus on what you can change.
Go digital. Buy hangers all of the same color. Basic, smart, sound advice.

What's really special about this book, however, is that she breaks down organization for every room in the house. Every. Single. Room. To me, a Type-A person who appreciates attention to detail, this was a dream. What exactly am I supposed to do with products in the bathroom that just clutter the counters? Why does my desk look like a burial mound for receipts, junk mail, and bills?  Regardless of what your "hot spot" area is - living room, laundry room, home office, or giant closet under the stairs currently housing 3,000 construction vehicles and six tubes of dried finger paint - Barbara provides step-by-step direction that is both practical and effective.  She even includes an entire chapter on how to organize your baby's nursery or how to design the nursery to maximize efficiency and space. Definitely a must-read for all new moms or moms-to-be.

Ever the researcher, I decided to take a chapter of her book and apply to it. The closet redesign was successful and I used a million of her ideas (don't store things on the floor. Buy containers that match or compliment each other. Group like objects together [i.e. lunch supplies]), but that was a big project that involved paint, contractors and major supplies, and was not necessarily applicable or practical to the mom who just wants to feel more organized without breaking out the ruler and graph paper or checkbook. My target? The junk drawer by the computer doesn't even open anymore. While I don't lose sleep over it at night, it bugs me. Does it affect my mental health? Not really. But it's a waste of space and lord knows what is living in there. And it bugs me. Have I mentioned that it's very existence bugs me?

It bugs me.

So using her four-step system, I cleaned and sorted the drawer within 20 minutes. TWENTY MINUTES! This drawer has been a disaster for over a year, and a mere twenty minutes later, I can finally cross this one off of my to-do list. I purged out-of-date coupons, McDonald Monopoly game pieces, crumpled paper, used up Chapstick, random string and more random string. (why do we own so much string?) I didn't need to design the space as there was not much room, though space dividers probably could have been useful (and decorative). After sorting everything into piles, I put the warranty manual to the slow cooker in my pile of cookbooks, took all of Scotty's stuff upstairs, and made a little baggie of screws, keys, 3M wall hanging supplies. Then I put the correct items back in the drawer and organized them. Who knew we had two bottles cleaning spray for iProducts? And my label maker! He's back! Hooray! I had been looking for that little guy for months now. I wrapped up some cords and placed them back in the drawer, and viola! Project done. In twenty simple minutes.

Now I just need to maintain it.
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Good-bye junk drawer, hello computer/office supplies and Boogie Wipes.
So, thank you Barbara for providing excellent guidance. Honestly, I cannot wait to tackle other areas of my home. This has given me a whole new excitement for spring cleaning, which, let's face it, is the least exciting thing in the world.

Happy organizing, folks!

"Secrets of an Organized Mom" officially launches tomorrow, February 26, and is available in all major book stores, including Barnes & Noble and Amazon. An ebook version is also available on iTunes and Barnes & Noble. You can find more information, as well as a full list of retailers, at www.SecretsofanOrganizedMom.com. Big thanks to Julie at Hopscotch Communications for putting this on my radar!
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State of the Toddler

8/22/2012

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Age: 3 years, 4 days

Height: 39.5 inches

Weight: 35.2 pounds

Clinical impressions: the Bear appears to be on target for all of his developmental milestones. However, Dr. Awesome felt as though some of his speech was "unclear" and this may warrant further assessment.

Huh?

I tried to keep calm as she told me this, but I will admit, I'm confused. I was really excited for our three-year well check. I sat in the exam room with a mixture of eagerness and anticipation, happy to show off our young child like he was a potted plant or something. Look, Doc! We managed to keep it alive for another year! Gold star!

And then her comment just totally deflated me. I'm trying really hard to not assume the Defensive Mom Posture (i.e. "No, he's perfect. Where did you get your medical degree again?") but I don't really see a problem with his language. I understand every word he says perfectly. Hell, I practically read his mind most days. Isn't that what Moms are supposed to do? I know that all mothers report they can understand their children, even when the rest of world has no idea what they are saying, so I understand I am not a reliable source of information. But really? Does this really warrant further evaluation?

I know I can be a difficult patient (somewhere, my husband and  my mother are nodding their heads quietly), so I did not take the news kindly. I hammered questions at her in a vaguely snotty tone. "What exactly do you mean? Can you elaborate? Can you tell me what you are hearing or seeing that is a concern? What is our next step? What do you recommend? How significant is this?"

Dr. This-Close-To-Getting-Fired stammered a bit (and probably flagged Scotty's chart with the "Difficult Parent" sticker), so I called a friend and asked for a second opinion. She assured me that Scotty's speech is excellent though she's happy to provide referrals if necessary. (Tip for Parents-to-Be: seek out Mommy friends that also have helpful jobs, like audiologist and pediatrician. Stack the deck in your favor; you'll save yourself a million in co-pays).

So, I don't know. Is our doctor getting kick-backs or something? If cab drivers can get kick-backs from strip clubs, who knows if pediatricians are in cahoots with other specialists. I mean, this is Vegas. Poor Prince Harry can't even party naked without the world finding out. Nothing about this town surprises me anymore.

Despite this little hiccup, the Bear appears to be a healthy and happy little guy. In the meantime, here's a quick run-down of the Bear, Year Three:

Current likes:
Trucks, cars, street sweepers, car transporters, any construction        
    vehicle, tow trucks, ... .... (this list could literally go on forever)
Chicken nuggets
Froggie (as always)
Little white bear and his Momma
his Daddy
Indiana Grandma
Compressors
Windmills
Watching videos of cute kittens on You Tube
Bubble Guppies, particularly the one where Albie falls off his tricycle
    ("Call the Clambulance!)
Looking for "super letters"
Strawberry smoothies
Lollipops
Henry
Building castles
Playing Batman (i.e. playing with his cars on his car table. Not sure how     this one got named...)
His big boy bed with his extra-special pillow cases (from Indiana
    Grandma, naturally)
Uncle Jim
Bossing his parents around
Carson and Sam
Punctuation (no joke...he loves exclamation marks)
Jackson and Alex
Saying "Quesadilla!" to Lauryn
Grocery shopping (in particular, pushing his own cart)

Dislikes:
Camp
Beets
Dogs, except JD ("They chew on me")
His pediatrician (oh wait, that's me)
Walking quickly
Keeping Play-Doh colors separate
The car seat in Brian's car ("It hurts my booty")

The next year should bring some big changes...can't wait to see how it unfolds!



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The First Three Years

7/13/2012

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I just ordered Scotty's birthday invitations today. He'll be three in just over a month.

Three.

Three?

Three.

How did that happen?

Wasn't it just yesterday I was at the perinatologist's office, incredibly pregnant, hooked up to the baby monitor while watching "Shark Week" and eating my weight in Whoopers? It certainly feels that way.

But it wasn't. It's been three years since that, and we've gone through so much in that time.  Bed rest, jaundice, CatheterGate, SwaddleGate, PoopGate, EarGate, and just about any other -Gate you can tack on a word. We've watched as a our tiny, helpless infant has slowly but surely transformed into a sturdy toddler with a mouth like a sailor and grin that melts your heart.

(Please, please, please don't let him get kicked out of preschool when he starts yelling, "Dammit Jesus! Dammit!")

(No, I'm not joking. If anyone has any suggestions on how to stop him from swearing, I'm all ears).

Anyways, looking back at the Bear's development made me think about those first three years. If Motherhood came with a written description,  what would the job look like on paper? What titles do we, as moms, hold? What are the requirements?

YEAR ONE: Orifice Manager

To sum up Year One in a nutshell, it's all about body fluids. From your first day on the job (water breaks! Push that babe out!) to post-pregnancy recovery, you are surrounded by fluids. Hormone levels plummet, you sweat through your sheets at night, and your boobs start leaking. If your body functions weren't enough, you have your new baby's to contend with as well. Food needs to go in through the mouth and come out the other end. This sounds incredibly basic and simple, but when it involves a newborn, all bets are off. Is the baby getting enough to eat? Did his poop transition? Why is he spitting up? Why does he only spit up on you when you forgot the burp cloth? Does he have another ear infection? Why do his eyes look swollen? Is he pooping enough?

Mothers of little boys will find extra joy in spending the first few months covered in urine as well, since the minute air hits the wee-wee, pee-pee comes out. It's messy, it's hectic, and you, New Mom, are officially in charge of every orifice on or connected to your baby. The child doesn't give a whole lot back to the new mom in terms of interaction, but that's not a bad thing, since you will be doing too much laundry to think about it.

YEAR TWO: Chief Safety Operations Coordinator

Ah, mobility. Your loving bundle of joy will eventually stop puking on you and begin exploring the house. It's right around this time you start wondering why you did not purchase a ranch-style home with padded walls, as everything - and I mean everything - suddenly becomes a danger to the little muffin. Cabinets need to be locked shut, drawers sealed off, stairs gated, dogs muzzled, and shelving bracketed to the walls. That helpless little infant is now a crawling/cruising/walking nightmare that can and will get into whatever you haven't bolted down. You realize your floors are extremely dirty. You vow to wash them more often but realize in your battle against the Cheerios on your floor, you are losing.

Sleep is better during year two, but food suddenly because yet another unexpected element of terror. Does your child understand how to chew? How small do I need to cut this grape? Is he choking or just giggling? Meals become not only incredibly messy but also a giant source of stress. Because if the little tyke isn't choking, there's a good chance he's tossing food around the kitchen in large, happy handfuls. This is the time to either invest in a really good cleaning service or a dog. You figure out which one is cheaper.

YEAR THREE: Socialization Engineer

So you've kept the kid alive this long. Congratulations! Now the stakes are going to be raised. Not only do you need to feed/bathe/sleep the child, but you need to somehow mold them in a mostly-functional member of society. Short of releasing your child to go live with a pack of wolves, this burden falls on you. For this year, you will need an enormous amount of patience, several bottles of wine, good friends, and the direct number to an excellent nanny.

Among the challenges of Year Three are:

-- hosting a successful playdate whereas your child doesn't beat the crap out of other children

-- teaching them successfully to use the potty

-- developing clear language skills so when they yell, 'Dammit, Jesus!' everyone knows exactly what they just said

-- promoting good manners, which includes (but is not limited to) saying please/thank you, asking permission, and not biting their friends

-- encouraging them to use that opposable thumb by writing with objects, eating with utensils, and giving you very adorable "thumbs-up!" when they are happy

"Sharing" becomes a dirty word, and if you had a nickle every time someone under the age of three yelled, 'Mine!' you'd be in the 1%. Seriously. When you watch how toddlers fight over toys, you wonder how modern society was ever built in the first place. So. Much. Yelling.

Of course, Year Three is capped off with the momentous event called PRESCHOOL. This is the moment when all of your hard comes together. It's a combination of all of the skills you've been working on for the last three years wrapped up into one giant stress-inducing package. Will they meltdown? Will they follow directions? Will they eat paste or make new friends? And most importantly, how many times will they swear and take the Lord's name in vain on their first day of school?

                                                        *****************

Scotty is 34 months, 3 weeks, and 5 days old. He starts preschool in 47 days, and I'm praying he doesn't set the landspeed record for getting kicked out of school.

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The Scariest Sound the Parent of a Toddler Can Hear...

4/3/2012

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...is the sound of a toilet flushing when you are in another room.

For us, this happened yesterday. It was after lunch and I was washing dishes in the sink in the kitchen. The Bear had scampered off to get a few more minutes of truck-play in before nap time. I thought he was in the living room, but then I heard the toilet flush.

And I froze.

What exactly did he just flush?

A quick survey of my surroundings yielded this:

Engagement ring? Check.

Wedding ring? Check.

Watch? Yup.

Car keys? Too high for him to reach - not a concern.

TV remote? Well, we'll figure that one out.

Teeny-tiny car?  He has so many cars, there is no way I'd be able to determine if he had flushed one.

I needed to investigate.

I met a very smiley Bear in the bathroom moments later. With a giant grin, he exclaimed, "Froggie go in bubble tub!"

And my heart sank.

Froggie? Froggie got flushed? The same tiny blanket that I had just spent a week blogging about? The Froggie that I only bought one of, so if he did indeed get flushed, there is no way to replace Scotty's beloved lovey? And what is a plumber going to cost me?

Oh God Brian is going to kill me...

The inquisition started. "Did you flush Froggie?" "Yes! Yes I did!" "No, Scott - I'm asking you - did you put Froggie in the potty and flush him?" "Yes! Froggie go bubble tub! Froggie in potty!"

And with that, I plunged my glove-covered hand (thank you, dishwater) into the potty and began rooting around for Froggie.

Unless we have the greatest suction in a toilet known to man, Froggie was not in the nearby vicinity. Either he was already making friends in the sewage pipe (and I'm minutes away from the most expensive toilet repair in recent memory), or he was not flushed.

Once I removed my hand from the toilet (so disgusting, let me tell you), I did a quick lap of the house. Froggie was not in the family room, not in the living room, not outside on the patio, and did not appear to be in the bathroom. Finally, I found him smushed in a corner in the closet. Dry, unharmed, and non-flushed. Oh thank heavens.

Scotty grabbed for Froggie (once I had removed my gloves after disinfecting them) like the past five minutes had not happened. He marched over to the washing machine, pointed to it,  and stated, "Froggie go in bubble tub! Froggie dirty!"

Ooooh. I get it. He wants to wash the frog, not flush him. 

Needless to say, we'll be working on clarifying potentially disturbing messages prior to alerting Mom. 'Cause Lord knows I don't want to go sticking my arm into any more toilets.
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Children Bring Out the Kid In All of Us

3/22/2012

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Brian and I have been counting down the days until March 24 for one good reason:

Touch-a-Truck is back in Vegas.

Also referred to as "Toddler Paradise" (by me), this fabulous event is exactly what it sounds: for one day only, trucks, cars, ambulances, firetrucks, construction vehicles, A LIVE SHARK FROM MANDALAY BAY, school buses, cranes, a helicopter - even the Oscar Mayor WeinerMobile - will take over a section of the Orleans parking lot and allow tots of all ages to sit, touch, and climb around in the vehicles. (I'm not sure how the shark figures in, but hey, this is Vegas and you gotta keep it flashy). Scotty and Brian went last year and the boy loved it. This year, with his incessant verbal chatter and even deeper appreciation for anything with wheels may cause this little brain to explode from happiness. I have a feeling he's not going to shut up about Touch-a-Truck 2012 for the next six months.

I can't wait.

And while I'll be the first to admit this week has been especially challenging, Brian sent me an email yesterday that made me laugh out loud. My very-serious-attorney-husband-who-plays-his-cards-close-to-the chest wrote:

And this year, the monster car-eater Robosauraus is coming! And there will be hot balloons! [Scotty's term for hot air balloons] This could be the greatest day of the boy's life. It starts at 8:30 and the horn-free time is 8:30-10am. I suggest we get there as close to 8:30 as possible.

Ahh, so silly. What's better on a Saturday morning than me, my two boys, and Robosaurus, the monster car-eater? And a shark?

For more information or to buy tickets for Touch-a-Truck this Saturday, go to www.touchatruck.com for more information. See you there!

Disclaimer: Despite my reckless enthusiasm, I have not been compensated by Touch-a-Truck in any manner. I just really think their event is awesome. Pre-kids, I would have thought it was kind of weird. But with the tiny Bear in our lives, I think it's the greatest idea ever.  See? Parenthood really does make you crazy.
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Open Letter, Part 2

3/9/2012

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An open letter to Parents of Small Children, from someone who has one.

Dear Parents of Small Children Everywhere:

Dude, I get it. I totally get it.

When I saw you at Costco this morning, I know that you did not willfully dress your child in pajamas. I understand - I've been there. It's all about picking your battles, and quite frankly, pajamas in Costco is a softball compared to other battles. Just the other day, my kid wore grey sweat pants and an orange polo shirt. With sandals. He looked like a tiny, confused old man. From my point of view, at least the important parts are covered.

I, too, know that you are a firm believer in proper hygiene and that your child had a completely clean face this morning. All of the junk and crud that is now sticking to it magically appeared in the last five minutes. I don't understand children and their cheeks - they are like little dirt magnets. There is no judgement on my end.

And when your child throws bacon at me from your booth at the restaurant, don't even worry about it. There's a good chance I'm going to eat it, since my child has already absconded with my own order. When he starts screaming, I know you are the person in the restaurant that most wants him to stop. That look of pure horror/guilt/frustration/exasperation on your face - I know it all too well. You're not a bad parent, you're just a Parent of a Small Child.

Potty-training throws a giant wrench into the general routine of the day, so when you are 35 minutes late for a play date, there's a good chance I'm not there, either. Getting these small creatures to pee and poo on the potty is like balancing the federal budget - lots of discussion, lots of ideas, but not a lot of movement. It's maddening, to say the least.

Most importantly, I know that you love your partner, even when it doesn't sound that way. Co-parenting a small child requires a level of negotiation and skill I've never before experienced. It feels a little like litigation, a little like a two-person relay ("Okay, your turn!"), and lot like zoo keepers switching shifts. Eventually the monkeys grow up, right?

All I want to say is if you are having a tough parenting moment, look over to me and I'll give you a nod in solidarity (and probably a snack, since I have some in my purse. Fruit snacks or Goldfish?). The process of raising these little wild mustangs into civilized members of society is daunting and at times, crazy-making. But we're all in this together.

Best,

A Parent of a Small Child
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Secrets From a Therapist-Turned-Mother

3/2/2012

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I saw this article on MSN.com the other day and read it with interest. The author made some great points until it hit me: "Hey wait! I'm a marriage counselor! I should have an opinion on this, too."  Kim reading as a general-consumer has trumped Kim as a practitioner.

Ahh, how time marches one. Three years ago, I had a couch and an office with a waiting room and datebook full of appointments. Now, I just have memory loss and a sink full of dishes.

It was a great article - and I agree with a lot of the points made. It got me thinking, though, that being an MFT or psychologist or someone "on the other side of the couch" puts us in a certain division of people. Since matriculating into the Motherhood field of study, I've slowly forgotten that I have specialized training in a really fascinating subject: human beings. I guess sleep deprivation will do that to a person.

This knowledge is going unused. Tragic, really. Especially since I wrote this on my Facebook page last month:

I've decided that living with a toddler is akin to living with someone with multiple personality disorders: narcissism, histrionic, dependent, anti-social. With a hint of suicide ideation (as they continue to attempt to jump from high places). No wonder I'm tired. I'm running a psych ward.

Motherhood ain't pretty, that's for sure. It's rewarding and special and fun (at times), but man, it can really take the mickey out of you.

So I've decided to re-engage my brain to see what useful tips I can come up with that combine my training with my current profession. Instead of Kim, MS, MFT, I'm now Kim, MOM.

This is what I came up with:

Value quality of time, not quantity of time.

During an average week while in practice, I only spent about 50 minutes with each client. It is very, very difficult to get anything done in a 50-minute span, particularly if issues were acute. But I got into a rhythm of starting the session on time and making use of every single minute we had together; no chit-chat, no ideal conversations about the weather, no answering questions about myself (unless it pertained to the topic at hand). I wanted to make sure my client(s) had 100% of my attention for those 50 minutes, to give them what they needed for the week ahead.

In Motherhood, I'm finding out that it doesn't matter if you work outside the home or stay home with the tot; if you don't pay attention and give that kid quality time, things can get messy. Case-in-point: just this past week, Scotty has taken a back-burner to the many activities going on. I've taken phone calls, been on the computer, etc, while he is awake. And not surprisingly, he started to act out. He threw a drum at music lessons yesterday. He nap-striked on Wednesday. He had an accident on the floor last night. I could dismiss his behavior as the typical terrible 2's, but in my heart, I know the kid is mad that I'm giving him good, quality attention. Because quite simply, I'm not. He doesn't need all of my attention, all the time (learning to play independently is just as important), but it's not fair of me to expect him to be entertained and happy while Mom is on her 10th phone call of the morning or glued to her phone. The kid is rebelling and I don't blame him.

I'm attempting now to divide up our time together, and really focus on giving him more of me. I believe once he feels secure again that Mom is 100% present, he'll be more likely to play happily on his own.

See past the issues at hand - the old "content v. process" trick

Most of the time therapists are in session, we're not listening to what you are saying (I mean, yes, kind of. I'm not making grocery lists in my head). We're looking to find patterns in your behavior, how you say things, and how you react and feel to those things - i.e. the process of your language, attitudes and interactions. Content - the 'what' - is usually irrelevant.

I once worked with a mother and daughter who nearly came to blows over dirty dishes in the sink. They were literally at each others' throats in session about what had happened earlier that morning. (I literally had to stand between them with the file in my hand, blocking the blows). I could have easily addressed the content with basic solutions - i.e. each person takes a turn putting the dishes in the dishwasher (compromise), or the daughter loses her car privileges if the dishes aren't put away (punishment). But in reality, their problem had nothing to do with dishes - it was about the daughter, who was a first generation citizen, breaking free from old cultures and traditions her mother valued, and the power struggle that erupted between them. The mom was sad and in pain, and the daughter felt smothered and socially repressed. This is a much different argument than dishes.

And in Motherhood, it's very similar. Is Scotty fussing because he's unhappy or because he needs something? Is he really upset that I left the fan on in his room, or is he just overtired? Is he throwing drums in music class because he's a bad kid, or is he begging for my attention? (ahh, the guilt!) Looking past the "what" of the problem to the "why/how?" can help find answers.

Pick your battles

Oh lord, if I had a nickel for every time someone in therapy just let loose a diatribe of complaints about something or someone - and wow, women love to complain about other women - well, let's say Brian wouldn't have to work anymore. (sorry, honey). Yes, part of therapy is allowing the client to vent (a little) and having someone else bear witness to their situation, but from the therapist's point-of-view, my thinking was always, "...heavens. Where do I even start?"

There's a term for it - it's called "chopping up the ecology." In family sessions, when there are multiple people present, it is very difficult to get anything done if you allow everyone to talk and express all of their thoughts and feelings. It's also really easy to get side-tracked, and then you've spent those precious 50 minutes doing nothing but allowing all of them to complain and vent at each other. The outcome is then everyone is actually more upset when they leave than when they arrived. Part of the therapist's job is to chop that up - disassemble the whole litany of problems discussed, find one to focus on, and try to come to a successful resolution. It may take all of those 50 minutes to work through one small problem, but if you can give the family a tiny victory, the dividends will likely be great.

Same thing in Motherhood. On any given day, I could pick any number of behaviors I need/want to change with the Bear. He's swearing, he's throwing rocks, he's banging his cars around, he's running his trucks on the wall.

(wow, my kid sounds really bad. I swear, he's not. This week has been especially bad)

If I attempted to address all of those all at the same time, the boy would be sentenced to time-out until he was 14. But I just want to focus on the most important behavior - usually the one that involves him getting hurt or him hurting someone else - and tackle that one. Rock throwing? Done. He spent two minutes in time-out and returned a remorseful, apologetic Bear. And guess what? He hasn't thrown anymore rocks.

This leads me into...

Ultimately, it's all about the relationship

Therapists all have different training. Some may practice evidence-based approaches, others will swear by more client-centered theories. Which one is better? Well, there has been lots and lots of research done to determine this, but they keep coming back with one consistent answer: while the modality of treatment is contingent on the therapist, the greatest indicator of success in therapy is the relationship between the therapist and the client.

In short, people who felt their therapist genuinely believed and cared about them had the best outcome. They felt supported, validated, and empowered. And they were able to translate that to other areas of their lives.

I think the cross-over to Motherhood on this one is pretty clear. There are a million ways to be a good parent (...and a few specific ways to screw it up...), but when the rubber hits the road, if your kid believes he/she is loved and heard by you, it's all going to be okay. Which means our job as parents is to make sure we love and listen to them. Everyday.

After Scotty's time-out for the rock-throwing incident, as I leaned in to give him a hug, he didn't want to kiss me. I must have made a silly face, because he broke into giggles. I then grabbed him for tickle while shouting,  "More kisses! Gimme more kisses!" in this deep voice and he giggled hysterically. This turned into a game of Chase and we were both better for it. The tension from a few minutes ago had completely disappeared, and I had my happy little Bear back. And I hope he felt loved.

As parents, yes, we're supposed to teach our kids right from wrong, but if they don't feel loved, then we've lost our audience. My main job is to make sure my audience is a willing and open participant.

                                                    ************

Hope you enjoyed reading this - I had fun writing it.

That will be $125, please. ;-)
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Cars

3/1/2012

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As we all know, the Bear is obsessed with cars. Anything with wheels, actually - cars, trucks, fire engines, lawn mowers. If it moves because of round objects held together by a rod, there is a good chance the kid is going to like it.

Just the other day, I put him down for his nap and asked him what he was going to dream about. He looked at me, looked away for a second, and then thoughtfully replied, "Grass cutters." Oh really, son? Grass cutters? I'm not even sure what that is. Where is he learning this stuff?

Last week, after music lessons and a quick trip to the store, I was hauling in the groceries when I noticed he wasn't with me. I went back out the garage and found this:
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Beep-beep Bear
Like every good parent of the iPhone generation, I didn't intervene; I simply started taking pictures.
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Life is a highway...
He's so silly. He even made the "vroom-vroom" noises as he "drove."
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"Use your turn signal, buddy!"
Ah, these kids. They grow up so fast.
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An Update From the Front Lines

2/24/2012

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I must have worked in a factory in a past life, as I have this uncontrollable urge to hang a sign in our house that reads:

IT'S BEEN [ X ] DAYS SINCE OUR LAST ACCIDENT.

And for our household, that number is 18.

Boom.

So awesome. So exciting. So proud of our little Bear. I'd like to think he is a potty prodigy, but I don't want him to peak too early. (Please excel at something more than peeing and pooping on the potty, my little love. Like...calculus.) It hasn't been the smoothest ride, but it certainly has been an interesting one.

We clogged a toilet. Twice. I guess diapers maybe mash the poo down or something? Because the first time I saw a particularly large Bear bowel movement, resting comfortably, in its full glory, at the bottom in the little potty, my first thought was, "That came out of our child? All of that? Good heavens." The sheer volume is startling. And then, of course, is the smell. Similar to an outhouse, I'm constantly having camping-as-a-child flashbacks. All that is missing is the smell of the bug spray and burnt marshmallows.

Brian had a different reaction the first time Scotty filled the potty. He glanced quickly at the heaping pile, commented, "Those are man-sized turds, my son," and then gave him an affectionate rub on the head. He looked strangely proud. I'm guessing this falls under father-son bonding? I don't get it. But then again, my eyes were watering and I was trying not to gag. So either way, nice work, Scotty. Good to know his digestive track is working.

And speaking of that, let me give everyone a little tip: NEVER feed your toddler brownies. Never. Don't do it. Trust me.

We're at a place now where Scotty just tells me he needs to go. This may happen at the park or at a restaurant (or like yesterday, at the hair-cut place), as he will grab himself and declare loudly, "Make pee-pee!" Subtle.

And just like the timing with a newborn, I guarantee you your child will sit calmly through most of dinner, but the moment the food arrives, he or she will instantly declare, "Need to make pee-pee!" There are many cold-dinner-nights in your future. Scotty loves to do this. I think he likes my exasperated reaction. Brian, of course, refuses to make eye contact during this whole situation and is pretending to be totally engrossed with something on his phone as he shovels food into his mouth frantically. We've had a few terse "You know you can take him to the bathroom, too" exchanges, but Brian's mouth is usually too full to answer me. 

I will say, however, that potty-training ranks up there with breast-feeding and child birth, in the sense that people are strangely reactive about it. There seems to be this inherent competition about how can potty train their kid earlier. Personally, I don't care what age a child is potty-trained. It's not a race and it's certainly not a reflection of good or bad parenting. I definitely believe there is a "window" of readiness for the child and it's our job to find - and capitalize - on that window. But aside from that, we're all kind of in this together, you know?

Speaking of reflections, if you really want to know what kind of parent you are, I've figured out that I just need to give Scott a stuffed animal and watch him play with it. He loves to boss them around, giving orders and directions, and it's downright hilarious. Just today, he put Blue Doggie on the potty. I just sat back and watched, wondering how this was going to play out.

Scott:  [carefully arranging Blue Doggie so his little bum is over the potty] : Okay Blue Doggie. Let's go potty.

Okay, we're good so far.

Scott: C'mon Blue Doggie. Quit messin' around. Sit on the potty.

Uh-oh.

Scott: No pee-pee? You need to make pee-pee! I told you, make pee-pee!

Yikes.

Scott: No pee-pee. That's okay, Blue Doggie. Let's try again later. Good doggie. [kisses Blue Doggie.]

Okay, whew. We can resist calling Social Services. At least, for now.
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Open Letter to the World

2/23/2012

3 Comments

 
An open letter to the world, from Parents Of Small Children:

Dear World:

We are not like you.

We want to be like you, but we are not.

We used to be like you - really! I promise! - but ever since that adorable little tot came into our lives, we realized: we have changed.

It's not you, it's us.

Please lower your expectations of us. For the next several years, we will be chronically late. Despite the fact that we used to be the "ten-minutes-early" crowd, now we have to  tackle a 30-pound moving object, adhere shoes to its feet, and pack a bag the size of a small suitcase - just to go the grocery store. Errands that take you 15 minutes take us 45. We aren't moving slow intentionally, but going anywhere with a child under the age of 4 is akin to herding cats. It takes extreme patience, cajoling, and the occasional shot of whiskey (for us, not the kid). For parents with more than one child? Use this equation:

errand time = [( X number of children) x 45 minutes) + # of errands to run] 

*If you are potty-training, factor in an additional 20 minutes for each child.

One day, our brains will come back to us, but for the time being, we're content to operate with 80% capacity.  We can not give you our full attention span; even when our small child is not present, we're only paying attention to what you are saying about 90% of the time (because we are thinking about what our child is doing right now). Add the kid to the situation and our attention drops to about 40%. Factor food into the equation (whether the child is eating or we are hungry) and you're only working with about 25% of our total attention. Sorry. We'll catch up again in a few years.

You need to understand, we engage in strange activities all day long. We don't talk like regular people, we don't act like regular people. Just today, I allowed my child to bury me in couch pillows, because it meant I got to lay on the floor with my eyes closed for a full 20 minutes. And I'm not going to lie - it's been the best part of my day so far. We regularly brush someone's teeth against their will. We are adept at cutting grapes, diapering moving objects, and finding wayward stuffed animals. If you asked us to discuss politics, current affairs, or pop culture we can't. But we can recite the theme songs of at least four popular children's programs by memory. ("They're two, they're four, they're six, they're eight. Shunting trucks and hauling freight...")

Did I mention we are terrible drivers? We have learned how to drive (poorly, admittedly) with only one hand on the wheel, allowing the other hand/arm to be groping around in the backseat in search of whatever the tot has dropped: animal, truck, sippy cup, goldfish cracker. And when we're not driving with the child, there's a good chance we've turned off the Music Together CD and are blaring heavy metal and/or rap music with explicit lyrics at top volume, just to prove to ourselves that we are still real people.

We travel like sherpas. We rise before the sun. We hoard 20% off coupons to Babies-R-Us. We are multi-taskers with very little patience, not enough sleep, and a house full of plastic molded crap.

We want to be like you. We will be like you. One day.

We'll let you know when we get there.

Sincerely,

Parents of Small Children everywhere.

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