Personal Blog of Author Kathryn Thompson
Am I the only person who thinks it’s hilarious that the white 2-3 year old soccer team in my neighborhood just named themselves “The Black Panthers”?
Every time I think about it, I can’t help laughing.
They like panthers… and they like black… and power.
The title of this post is inspired by my second favorite website marketing beef to tweens as a hot commodity (I used to link to it here but it looks like the domain has been purchased by some nasty site so this post is a little out of date.). Okay, it’s really my first favorite website hawking beef to tweens. Okay, I think it’s the only one. But that doesn’t matter. All I’m hoping for with this intro is to become the number one google search result for “beef and tweens.” That would be really… something.
Today I want to say “it’s cool to be real.” It’s okay to experience “negative” emotions, to feel hurt, betrayed, alone, abandoned, afraid or even angry. I hear so many women (myself included) expressing raw, heartfelt emotions and then apologizing for them or brushing them aside as a product of weakness, hormones, or some flaw of personality.
As a new mom, I became friends with an amazing girl. She is beautiful, kind, loving, positive and strong. We had children close in age and got together quite often for playdates, even when our first-borns were too young to drool in unison, let alone play together. During these times we would talk about our lives, share pleasant stories about mutual acquaintances and talk about how wonderful and glorious motherhood was.
After countless visits with this friend, there remained a wall between us that I felt could not be penetrated. I enjoyed our excursions together and came to the conclusion that for some inexplicable reason, we would never be truly close. Then one day, she confided in me that the past several months had been extremely hard for her. Although our children were almost a year old, her daughter was still rarely sleeping for more than 2 hours at a time without waking up. She was worn out and fed up and very cautiously expressed her feelings of frustration.
I was stunned and felt suddenly closer to her than I had ever felt. I finally saw past her perfect veneer to someone with doubts, fears and frustrations.
She quickly apologized for speaking negatively of her child. She thought it was inappropriate to express those feelings out loud, while I was thinking how refreshing it was to know that I wasn’t the only one who was struggling. I now see that conversation as a turning point in our friendship, a moment that has allowed us to grow closer and form a more solid connection.
I have friends who have been betrayed but apologize for feelings of resentment, friends who have suffered real loss but apologize for feelings of sadness, friends who have been marginalized or berated by someone they trusted but apologize for feeling angry or confused.
I’m not advocating wallowing in pools of self-pity or refusing to take control of your life. What I’m suggesting is that it’s okay to just feel and be, to linger for a moment and experience emotions that are real and poignant before we pshaw them away, fix our mascara and put on our “happy face.”
Repressing feelings, discrediting them or imagining them into oblivion to avoid the appearance of weakness does nothing but magnify the emotions and cause problems down the line.
I learned early on in my mothering that I did not want to marginalize my children’s feelings. I would catch myself saying, “You’re not sad!” when I felt that Laylee was crying “for no reason.” It took a while to realize that if she’s feeling it, it’s a real emotion, whether I can personally identify with it or not. Some of the things her little heart breaks over seem downright silly to me, but if I tell her she has no right to be sad or afraid, will she feel that she can confide in me as she grows up to be one of those beef-eating, junior-high-struggling tweens?
Answer=No
Our relationships grow stronger when we allow each other to see inside our quiet hurts and to “bear one another’s burdens that they may be light.” It’s cool to be real, and hey — beef has a lot of protein and whatnot.
So our family is growing. Now that the supply of Cadbury mini-eggs has been exhausted, we should be shrinking back down to our normal sizes in a couple of weeks. But we’re not talking about the size of individual family members today and no, I’m not pregnant Mom. I promise never to announce an impending grandchild via my blog.
We have two wonderful kids and although we’re not sure how far down this road of parentude we’re gonna travel, or at what speed, we know that there are more children in our future. When we got married, people were constantly asking us how many kids we wanted to have. Dan and I started to routinely answer, “Fourteen,” just to shut them up. We really do love kids though and want to have “as many as we can handle.”
Originally I think that meant, “as many as we can afford,” but now it’s come to mean so much more. How many kids can we care for emotionally, physically, spiritually, and mentally? We’re not sure. Somewhere between 3 and 100. After Laylee, the number was closer to 100. After Magoo and the trauma my body experienced, that number began to dip.
One of my readers, who doesn’t have a blog, is having her second child and lives in a 2-bedroom home. She asked me for tips on logistics for raising multiple children at the same time. She specifically wanted to know what to do for sleeping arrangements.
My tips for raising several children at the same time (2 counts as several, right? And let’s not forget the millions of tiny children within my ovaries that make their presence known monthly.) are these:
-Try to use the right name with the right kid. I’ve heard that it helps them feel loved or something. If you can’t do this, at least try to use a name appropriate for their gender. If you can’t remember that much, all children can be called “little dude” in a pinch.
-On a more serious note, I will address the sleep issue. I would suggest having the baby bunk in with Mom and Dad (in a separate bed or cradle if you’re a non-co-sleeper like myself) for the first several months until Little Dude Senior is old enough to sleep in a “big-boy bed.” Then put the two kids in the same room but put down the one who has the hardest time falling asleep first.
Someone who has actually done this and made it work, please help me out here.
What other tips do you have for big families, meaning families with more than one child? How do you work meal times, chores, the morning rush, driving them around, homework, etc? Do you have any tips for us new moms?
If you’re a newbie like me and a know-it-all who thinks they’ve got it all figured out, we’d love to hear your theories too. We may laugh at your glib inexperienced neonate hypotheses but at least we’ll be entertained, and isn’t that what this blog is all about — learning, sharing and opening ourselves to ridicule in a public forum? That’s why I come here every day.
Well, not much to say here. Easter was far less bitter than the days leading up to it. This is remarkable since I decided to take a second whack at creating a lovely gown for myself which also ended up in miserable failure. Dan says Laylee will love using it as a dress-up dress, so some good came out of it. I ended up wearing a skirt I made last summer and the world is still spinning.
Laylee’s dress turned out cute, as dresses sewn for adorable children often do. The bunny-man was good to us, bringing me a book of Shel Silverstein poems which Laylee has claimed as her own.
“You hafta SHARE! Please.”
The church service was beautiful, the beauty exaggerated by the fact that I was sitting on the stand with the choir and actually had the chance to pay attention for once…and the fact that it was not my three-year-old who pulled the fire alarm during the choir’s stirring rendition of the closing song, “I Know that My Redeemer Lives.” It was much more exciting with the strobe lights and sirens.
We all love the song so much that we just kept singing away while the congregation mumbled nervously, trying to decide whether it would be rude to flee the building when the choir wouldn’t shut the heck up.
When we found out who the culprit was, I was not surprised. That’s just the kind of thing you’d expect from a child raised by parents who grew up in a nudist colony. *wink*
In other news, the weird things meme is circulating again and although I have been tagged before, I have to mention my recent tag by Peter, a man who’s blog, like his business is called The Tutu Boutique and who listed crying during reality TV shows as one of his weird qualities. Dude. His blog is pink. He sells tutus and princess things. Check him out. He cracks me up.
Rally ’round your family,
With a pocket fulla shells.
And something about a FIST FULLA STEEL!
Not Rage fans? Okay. Never mind. Me neither. We’re more into Raffi now. Rally round your family with a Robin in the Rain. But Robin in the Rain and Baby Beluga won’t make very good background music for my next project.
I’ve decided to smash my sewing machine and serger with a large rusty mallet, cremate their remains and sprinkle the ashes all over the desks of the good people at Butterick!
Who makes a pattern that doesn’t give measurements for sizing?
Who makes a pattern with pleats, a full lining, and an invisible zipper that suggests using sheer fabric?
Who makes a pattern for a butt-ugly sausage wrapper and markets it as instructions for a beautiful dress?
Who thinks that the average woman has breasts that sit above her armpits?
I have never claimed to have a perfect body but I am not:
A) Morbidly obese…yet. (I am currently self-medicating with the Cadbury Mini-Eggs Dan brought home to me along with beautiful I’m-sorry-you-are-a-sewing-failure potted Gerber Daisies.)
B) Freakishly tall (5’6” doesn’t count, does it?).
C) Sagging to the point of needing reality-TV-worthy plastic surgery.
D)10 sizes larger in dresses than I am in pants and shirts.
E)Ever sewing for myself again.
Today has been my sewing nightmare, the likes of which I have not seen since I started sewing 20 years ago. Today is a day that would have junior high HomeEc teachers running for their lives. I swear I ripped out more seams than I sewed. I’m not sure how that’s possible but I’d advise you not to question my logic at this moment. I am currently holding a large rusty mallet, okay?
Today is a day in which I pulled a major pectoral muscle just trying to get out of the straight-jacket I like to call “my Easter dress.” Karli advised me to try icing it before I go into the ER again.
All of its lovely pieces are going into a baggie in the garage where they will await the day that I lose half my body weight , chop several inches off my staggering circus-freak height and get one of those crazy bras that bring my cleavage up to chin-level.
Now I have some demolition* to take care of. Peace out.
*Disclaimer — No equipment will actually be harmed in the process of rage and destruction I am about to embark upon. I love my Babylock and old-school sewing machine with a great love.
…They don’t want us to go naked on Easter Sunday and our dresses currently look like this:
I may not be blogging for a couple of days.
Have a great Good Friday!
Unless you are a car or an imaginary sister friend named “The Other Snow White.” If you are a car, you can eat gas for energy but you will never grow any bigger. If you are an imaginary sister friend named “The Other Snow White” you will always stay too small to go on play dates and your job will be to stay home and keep the house safe from Monsters, except the nice monsters because they’re allowed to come in the house and stay in it if they WANT!
I just thought you’d like to know a little bit about how food works.
Food goes down and down and down your throat and then says “AAAHHHHH! I’m going down!” and then it turns into pee and comes out your BUM.
If I eat my food all gone, I will grow up into a Grammy.
If Laylee eats her food all gone, she will grow up into a Mom and a Kathryn.
If Magoo eats all his food all gone, he will grow up into a Laylee.
What will Daddy grow into? Apparently like the car and “The Other Snow White, and the Beast if he lets the last petal fall, he will be doomed to remain a Daddy for all time.
When I become a Grammy and Laylee becomes a Kathryn, she would like a new Mommy because she wants to always always have a Mommy. She is accepting applications. Only apply if you’re willing to stop eating so you will NEVER grow big like a Grammy.
I have explained that I will always always be her mom, even when I become a Grammy, but she wants a backup plan.
Side-note: If your Magoo bobs around like a human bobble-head while you’re trying to feed him this morning and you accidentally jam a spoonful of YoBaby organic banana flavored whole milk yogurt into his right eye, it will not give him energy or increased growth potential. It will just make him turn red, smear the yogurt deeper into his eye socket and cry, hypothetically speaking.
Yesterday Karen was asking for suggestions of how to teach your kids the real meaning of Easter.
When we were little, my mom taught us the Easter story using scriptures from the New Testament, along with visual aids inside plastic Easter eggs. Gabriela details it on her blog.
I always make “hot cross buns” on Good Friday. They are actually two Rhodes Rolls, dipped in melted butter and rolled in cinnamon sugar, baked and then painted with a cross of cream cheese frosting. True hot cross buns don’t seem remotely appealing to me and the ones I make give us the chance to eat something yummy, while teaching the kids about the crucifixion and atonement.
Nettie from Singing a Verse of My Song has some cute suggestions too.
What have you got for us?
No, this is not about getting your post-pregnancy body back in shape. Today we’re talking about a little training for the kidlets.
I’m pretty excited that I shan’t be needing this advice again for another year and a half or so. In fact, I may decide not to potty train Magoo at all. When he turns 6 or 7, I’m sure his friends will make fun of him until he figures out what’s up.
For me, potty training Laylee has been a wild ride. It’s taken us over a year and she is finally about 90% trained during the day. Pull-ups are worn at night, except when they’re not.
Our main problem was that we tried to force it before she was ready. We got the book, courtesy of Grammy. We did all the steps but she just couldn’t make it happen. She really had no idea when the pee was coming.
Me: So, where do we do our pee pee?
Laylee: IN THE POTTY!
Me: That’s right. Are you dry?
Laylee: YES!
Me: Great.
Laylee: Oh NO! WAHHHHH!
Big puddle.
So my main advice is – don’t attempt it before they’re ready and don’t turn it into a battle. Go at their pace and have patience that they’ll figure it out sometime before Junior High.
One of my favorite young mom friends told me that she just made it a game. Let’s see how long we can keep a pull-up dry today. When it got wet, oh well, the diaper came back out. Eventually when they could keep it dry for a good chunk of the day, they got to try it with real underwear. She said this worked great and they had very few accidents by the time they transitioned to the real deal.
My main regrets come from the times I made Laylee feel guilt or shame for her accidents. She was little and she was learning how her body worked. Once I stopped chastising and started commiserating with her and cheering her on to do better next time, we started to see real progress.
I’d love to hear any fabulous suggestions you have.
Thank you for your great suggestions and encouragement over the last couple of days.
My main concern right now is not that Magoo stay hydrated, although that would be nice. I’m just really worried about him getting all the right baby nutrients found in breast milk and formula. I know breast is supposed to be best, but even formula cans claim to contain all sorts of lipids, proteins, and prilohuktazines to promote brain, eye and armpit development and who knows what else.
DHA, ARA and NRA — I’m pretty sure those are not contained in the watered down cranberry juice we’ve managed to get him to drink. Dan says, “Who needs special brain-developing formula? I’m playing BEETHOVEN for him whilst feeding him goldfish crackers. What more could his brain need?”
I do see his point, especially since “fish” are so high in those Omega-3s, right?
Anywho… Magoo has started licking and even drinking occasionally from a valveless sippy cup (a suggestion from momof3busyboys and Maine Mom), although all he’ll take is juice. His neck, chest and stomach are VERY hydrated and his body seems moderately so. I consulted with our pediatric nurse about how much “special milk” he still needs and we are getting the pumped breast milk in him by liquiding down all of his baby food.
I even created a breast milk fruit smoothie yesterday that he drank with much glee. Tomorrow, Karli has offered to have him over to her house for a change of scenery and something she calls “Operation: Drink Something Please.”
We’re hoping that he’ll discover that drinking is cool at a friend’s house…now…not so much when he gets to high school…