moe-tif

I’ve decided to keep track, catalog if you will, the many different reactions my oldest (pre-teen) displays when I use that most dreaded word…”no”.  I have come to find that a 12 year old’s reaction does not differ that much from that of a 3 year old…and, in fact…it’s actually much easier for a 3 year old to get over her anger.  It’s quite simple really…just offer her a cookie, a read from a book or, point in the direction of her toy box. A 12 year old on the other hand will forget, quite conveniently, all the times I’ve said “yes”, yet she will react to my denying her infinite requests as though I have delegated her to a lifetime of hell on earth.  Let me illustrate:  Here it is, Friday, and after school there has been one request after another, ”Can I go to a movie with Shelly?” “No”, said I, the mean momma…”Can I go to the park?” “Nope”…”Can I go to Ashley’s house?” I shook my head emphatically, no..no…NO!  All of these interactions were met with a look of disdain, a heavy sigh, the angry stomp out, the dirty look (different from disdain, worthy of a month in her room), the whispered derogatory comments, etc., etc., etc… How quickly she forgot the times I had said “yes” to her. I felt the need to lecture which, let me just say, is a big, big waste of time.  Yet, we as parents feel such an intense compulsion to explain ourselves, as though the words we utter will somehow shine a light of awareness over our children’s heads and will cause them to come running into our arms declaring words of love and devotion.  Ain’t gonna happen.  Instead, we are met with bodies standing only somewhat upright, shoulders slouched incredibly low, hands in pockets or crossed, foot tapping and, my favorite….the Glazed Expression. Now, there are different types of Glazed Expressions.  There’s the frozen stare into your eyes as though they think they will somehow fool you into believing they care.  There’s the slow blink which simply means they are just this side of catatonic with one foot outside the door as they mentally prepare for their escape.  And we can’t forget the Angry Glazed Expression which is a mix of the two aforementioned expressions only this one also includes the dead on, look in your face with such anger (and, dear God, is that hate?) as to cause you to either become really angry or, really sad.  Toughen up folks…not worth getting angry over, certainly not worth getting sad over either.  Fact is, when all is said and done, you have the right (and duty) as parent to grant or deny whatever you see fit.  The problem with this society (as I see it) is our parenting has been put aside so as to be friends to our children.  We’re not their friends.  That will come later, when they are grown and have apologized at least five times for all the hell they put us through while they were children. (If you can get a cruise out of it, ahhhhh hell yeah!)   The thing is, saying no doesn’t mean you don’t love your child.  The fact that you can create and maintain boundaries is an expression of love that should not so quickly be disregarded.  As hard as it is to deal with your child’s disappointment, you’re not the reason for their angst.  It’s a normal phase of growing up and a time most crucial for you to tow the line…stick to your guns folks.  Deliver your pearls of wisdom…even as they roll their eyes and mentally plan their next body piercing, by God, you stay at it!  Believe it or not…they will remember and, they will thank you later…not that you do this for any kind of thanks…we do this because we love our children and we take seriously our roles as parent.  Maybe that’s what’s missing…we’ve forgotten to give ourselves credit.  Hey…for what it’s worth fellow parent, you are not alone…give yourself a pat on the back…you deserve it.  Oh, and the next time you get that Glazed Expression…whichever one your child graces you with…do what I do…walk right on up to her/him, stand about 4 inches from their face and then, ever so quietly, stare right back into their eyes.  Unnerves em…oh…here’s another one!  When around their bestest of friends…declare your love to them…loud and proud.  Oh My God…it is hilarious!  Good stuff…

 

• “i carried you for 9 months, suffered through your birth only to have you years later respect your teacher more than you do me?”  (i swore i’d never say something like this, then one day…it flew from my mouth as though it had a life of it’s own)
• i hide in the bathroom and run the water to talk on the phone…
• i do the same thing to read
• i take showers instead of baths because that way if a child comes to the door to disturb me, i can concentrate on the running water and pretend i am deaf…
• “because i said so” (when i was a kid i absolutely hated this answer, it made no sense because to me it wasn’t an answer…i understand now…it’s the only answer necessary when what you want is for the child to obey NOW…answers will come later when they have their own kids…or not, who cares…)
• “i hope and pray that you will one day have a child who is like you and treats you the way you treat me” (i haven’t quite achieved the venomous delivery my own mother used when she placed this curse upon my soul…it will come i’m sure…she was only raising one girl, i’ve got four)
• child comes out of room screaming bloody murder because she hurt her right hand which, upon brief examination is found to be just fine…she however won’t stop sobbing hysterically until i propose we hurt her left hand so that she forgets the pain in the right one…this brings silence, a look of fear and she backs into her room quickly…my mission is a success
• i have no problem wiping my kid’s snotty nose…with my bare hand…nasty, nasty, yet there you go…don’t know when this became no problem with me…can’t do it for any other kid, only the ones birthed from my own loins…and, get this…i see another mom do it for her own child, i feel nauseous…what is this crazy crap?
• when i meet an attractive man i will immediately tell him i am a mother of 4…if he’s strong enough, he’ll stick around…so far, they’re not sticking around…wooses…
• i argue with my child about a piece of paper i’ve seen her walk over 5 times…the same piece of paper i’ve probably walked over at least 3 times because, well…i’m trying to teach HER to clean up…i know how to clean up…(yeah…it’s hypocritical…and?)
• one child comes a-runnin to tattle that her sister hit her…i, being the wise and patient mother that i am will kiss the owie and firmly say that she must not hit back, rather, she must use her words and work it out with her sister…after about an hour of this crap i find myself yelling that if they want to hit each other, shut the damn door and have at it! my oldest daughter looks at me in shock…i grab a glass of wine, go outside and sit on the ground rocking back and forth…
• i’ve begun to mentally label the many different stalling techniques a child will come up with to stay out of bed…i’m up to approximately 56…my favorite…there are monsters in the room
• i’ve convinced my littlest two that the monsters they are so afraid of are under my control and will only be released should they dare to come out of their beds again…
• i’ve used the word “pig sty” to describe my daughter’s room…what the hell is a pig sty?  am i spelling it right?  do i care?  i think the only reason i use the term is because it has the word “pig” in it…my mom never said it, she didn’t speak much english back then to insult us, stuck mainly to spanish…
• i can throw a shoe with enough force to take out a wall…my oldest has developed the reflexes of a cat and so far has only been grazed once…haven’t tried this on the littler ones yet…i think the oldest one is secretly training them
• i truly believe the children plot the evil deeds they will do the next day…i just know it…
• some mornings i love to honk my horn at my oldest as she is leaving the car and heading for her little group of friends in front of the school, i then yell out that i love her sooooo much…sometimes i’ll throw in a “learn much grasshopper!”  her walk becomes stiff…her friends all give me crazy looks and the other parents cheer…yeah, talk back to me again little girl! 
• my daughter told me the other night that she had rights…i agreed…i then exercised my rights and took her t.v., grounded her from the computer and phone and let her sit in her room to think about her right to remain silent…

the list is endless…as i sit here in front of my screen and wind down, i realize that without humor, i’d be in a lot of trouble…who am i kidding, i’m in a lot of trouble, but, at least i can find a laugh in there somewhere…

i am surrounded by little people…that is to say, my children, their friends…yes, my world is about children…except when i’m at work and even then, i go for the little people…bring home the bacon so as to see to the needs of my children…anyway…we’re at so many different phases in my house…the baby, Liset, is talking more and more and is so expressive…she speaks with a lisp i’ve noticed which, when she speaks spanish, has the spanish speakers thinking she’s taking after me…my dialect is one that consists of a lisp, castilian…her father, being from mexico, does not speak with a lisp…interesting…Jada, my four year old, has exploded on the scene with the word, “why”….why is it light during the day? why does the sun go away and the moon come up? why did bambi’s mom die? why did the men shoot her? why are you tired? why do we eat?  why do dogs bark? why, why, why…i’ve taken to asking her what she thinks might be the reason?  make her think of an answer…she’s not quite getting it…she’ll look at me when i ask her back the question and wait a sec…her face looks concerned like there’s something wrong with me for failing to answer her…then she’ll take a breath and ask again…it’s gonna take work but, i want to see what she comes up with…Sarah, my oldest…she just showed me that she can create a powerpoint presentation…she’s offered to teach me…which will be a great skill to add to my resume…crazy, she’s just shy of 12…i watched her slide show and was impressed by her wit…she’s a funny kid, smart funny…and she’s so contemplative, i respect that about her…yet, she’s so trying my patience these days and OMIGOD…it’s only just begun…what about ages 13, 14, 15, 16?  it’s no exaggeration when i say, i’m freaking scared…i really am scared…had a little talk with her, mother to daughter…i explained that the next few years were going to be tough…she’d be going thru changes that are going to blow her mind, physical, emotional, spiritual…dear God, hormonal…i told her that there would be times she wouldn’t like me, she’d even hate me but that i love her and it’s my job as her mom to drag her through those years if it kills me…i remember being so confused, so unsure, so insecure…yeah…tuf years for sure…oh man, oh man, oh man…

i was at least 15 before i started talking back to my parents…looking back, i should have held myself in check more often than not…my mother cursed me around, i believe, when i was 16…she said, “un dia, tus hijos te van a tratar como tu nos tratas.”  in other words…my kids are going to do me like i did my folks…years later, the first part of the curse came to pass…i gave birth to not one, not two….four girls…four….dear god….

the oldest began cutting her eyes at me at age 9…age 10 she started the shoulder slouch, eyes looking everywhere but at my face, hand sometimes on her hip…latter part of 10 and now close to 12, the child crossed over into the realm of talking back…this consists of a variety of attitude filled modes when relating to me, the evil, cursed…momma…she whines when instructed to do something she feels is beneath her, she argues my points, she grits her teeth while speaking to me, her eyes roll back into her head, she ignores me and then says she didn’t hear me…even if i spoke right into her ear…she has even slammed her door a time or two…ooooh, this one almost pushes me over the edge…i find myself so riled up i want to smack her upside her head…i’ve thrown my shoe now twice…and missed, she’s blessed with cat like reflexes.  i’ve yelled, i’ve screamed, i’ve threatened, hell…i’ve walked out a couple of times, come back in, poured myself a glass of wine and gone back out again, there are times i want to go screaming into the night…i’ve almost, almost succumbed and put the curse on her…i’m holding this one in reserve…

now, the four year old, who idolizes her big sister, is talking back to me…granted, it’s mostly jibberish, but the body language is unmistakeable…i suspect the baby too has talked back to me, however, her gross motor skills are not developed to the point where she can roll her head at me without falling down…it might not be too late for her to be stopped…

so, what i’ve found is, when i take the emotion out and simply hand down the consequence/punishment after the oldest acts up…i’m still faced with high pitched whining, knashing of teeth, barely controlled convulsions and bitter anger…however…my energy isn’t depleted to the point of my wanting to curl up in a fetal position…the trick is to catch my emotions before they spew forth…this is very difficult…i’m a hot tempered latina chick…in my house growing up, plenty of shoes were thrown (my mother had the arm of a world series pitcher…there was serious heat in those throws, i caught one once in the kidney…yeah…ow), glass would crack (due to my momma screaming at decibels no human being has ever screamed at, i don’t doubt many a bat falling dead from the sky on those nights), we were smacked upside the head so many times…i know what i know…but, i think this is the key…indifference displayed, even while my insides are in tumult…no emotions must be allowed to cross over my face…i must demonstrate herculean control and adopt a consistent way of raising these kids…if not, i can see myself placing the curse upon my girls…i don’t want to do that…i will not do that…i’ll send them to boot camp first…

no doubt…parenting is the hardest freakin job out there…

So, I take my 11 year old to K-Mart…ghetto store for the not so well off (hehehe…not so well off, yeah).  School starts tomorrow and Sarah has it in her head that she’ll just die if she is forced to wait for the first day to find out what the teacher wants her students to have.  So, I set out twenty bucks…this is the limit.  She roles her eyes.  I try to justify the limit, but, her eyes continue rolling and her shoulders slump.  I give up and head towards the school supply aisle.  There are sales!  Yes! I head directly for those racks.  Sarah, however, heads directly for the items that are selling full price.  I again explain to her that, 1.  We are just getting the basics today, that once the first day comes and goes, we will receive a note from the teacher detailing exactly what she wants her students to have.  2.  Red pens are not necessary the first day, what are you going to be checking.  and, 3.  I get paid Tuesday, suck it up.  Eyes roll further back in her head, whites are showing…shoulders slumping closer to the ground.  Good God.  I decide to load up the cart with what I think is necessary;  Pencils: 10 for $0.79, DOG binder: regularly $5.99-today $3.99, Pack of binder paper: 100 sheets for $0.99, Elmers glue: $0.99, eraseable markers: (omigod, i have to have these or i’ll die!) $3.99…finally, the end all be all must have….back pack:  $18.99 - on sale for $11.47 (all black, hangs from the shoulders just right, to below the knees…Sarah’s words, “ok, this is cool” said in the most indifferent voice possible.  I am so proud of my thriftiness.  Sarah however sighs throughout the experience.  She mutters under her breath when I tell her no, put that back, or no, don’t touch that or, no, I am not spending $35.00 on a back pack just because it has a freaking water bottle attached to it!  I did learn a valuable lesson today.  Why explain to my child…anything?  I am not cool.  I make no sense.  And, “Oh my God…like, Mom, are you serious?” is probably the most animated she will get with me for the next 3 to 4 years.  So, I’ve just got to do the best I can and forget trying to make her understand.  Why waste my energy? 

Here I am again, writing…I had a whole different topic in mind but, I’ve decided to write about what is happening right now with my kids…my oldest is with friends, pretty soon I’m going to go pick them up and take them to a cheer clinic put on at the high school.  She’s 11.  She says that she hates cheerleaders and that she’s no “girly girl”.  Yeah, that’s why every single hair product I own is in her bathroom and more than once I’ve made  her go back to the house to wash my makeup off her face.  The two year old is asleep…thank you Lord…she was so grumpy she was literally screaming at the top of her lungs yet, everytime I tried to meet her demands it wasn’t what she wanted.  This told me she was simply tired and a nap was in order.  Again, thank God…my ears are still ringing.  Now, the three year old…she is concerning me at this moment.  I have this distinct feeling that as soon as I post this thing and go check on her, I’m not going to be very happy with what she’s doing.  I’m not looking forward to what I may find so, I’m distracting myself by writing.  She keeps running in here, saying crazy things like, “how are you” and “i love you mommy” and “i’m watching t.v., really i am”….aargh….never a dull moment…..

and later….

Does anyone remember Cosby’s stand up comedy routine?  There was a part in which he talks about a ladder built by one of his children.  I listened to that skit and laughed so hard…what a visual.  This was years ago.  Little did I know that what I saw in my mind’s eye would transpire in my own kitchen.  Jada, the 3 year old, wanted the sugar.  But the sugar is up high.  Hmmm, what to do, what to do…ahhh, build a ladder!  Who cares if OSHA would come in and write her up for breaking every safety law in the books, the ladder is needed if one is to reach that sweet yummy sugar Mommie keeps way up high in the highest cupboard in the kitchen!  So she runs thru the house looking for building materials…periodically checking up on Mom who is busy busy at the computer writing.  OK, Mommie is distracted, the building can commence.  The materials are as follows:  Pizza oven box, unopened and very sturdy, the stool used to sit on when playing tiny yet annoyingly loud piano, couple of books and finally, the child can climb onto the counter top whereupon she reaches up and…finds the sugar.  Indiana Jones ain’t got nothing on my kid…so, I finish my last entry and, with my breath held in nervous anticipation I go to the kitchen and find all the evidence I need to put her away for a long time.  She’s sneaky but, she’s also three and the connection between scheming to do a forbidden thing and then cleaning up the aftermath hasn’t quite been made in her developing mind.  Luckily for me, she’s easily distracted.  And, here’s the list of incriminating findings:  there’s the makeshift ladder and the sugar container…from that high place in the cupboard brought down to the countertop.  What’s more, there’s spilled sugar on my counter, invitation to ants eagerly waiting somewhere to invade my home.  I make my way to the living room and find the culprit, standing in front of the t.v., oblivious to my presence and licking her fingers clean…softly I say to her, “just what do you think you are doing?”.  She looks at me and says, “My stomach hurts”.  I know where this is going, and I go anyway.  I ask her, “and you think the sugar is going to stop the pain?”  “Yes!” she says, seriously thinking I’m going to be swayed by this defense.  What would a jury think?  Would they buy her story?  I think not…however, it is really hard to ignore the eyes begging me to consider her plight, the head shaking up and down and her little hand on her tummy, rubbing it as though she really is in severe pain. 

I’m a pushover.  And, I’ve got sugar to clean up….

So, I picked up my two littlest cubs.  One is two, one is three.  Both are girls.  All told, I have 4 girls…11, 9, 3 and 2.  Anyway, the three year old, Jada, was pissed.  Suffice it to say, she wanted something, I dared to decline giving it to her and my punishment was to listen to her wail as I drove home.  I did my best not to acknowledge her fit because a basic truth about parenting is, when you acknowledge the tantrum, you are giving in.  You cannot give in.  You must ignore…act as indifferent as possible until the demon…I mean child stops her screaming, at which point you address the issue at hand. This can be very difficult because she will scream in ways not human and you will find yourself twitching, on the verge of screaming yourself.  No, you must be strong…as I am proud to say, I was that night.  Anyway…back to the story.  I think Jada realized she was not going to get thru my teflon exterior so, she turned on the two year old, Liset.   Liset is a pretty tough little kid…she has the reflexes of a cat and when she wants to, can inflict scratches to your face without you seeing her hand move.  She too screams although her scream is not quite as varied in style as it is in the heights she can reach.  Recently she was angered by her oldest sister and let out a sound so piercing, windshields in the parking lot cracked.  Thank God the owners weren’t around.  Besides, how could they prove it was my kid?  She’s too cute.  Anyway, Jada turned on Liset and hit her.  Liset in turn screamed, not her best work but, it still caused a ringing in my ears.  I asked her, once she stopped for air, why she was screaming.  She told me that Jada hit her.  I then told Jada, as is my duty, that she can’t hit her sister, it’s not nice.  At this point, Liset yelled, “Papi is going to hit you!”  “No, Papi is not going to hit Jada”, said I.  From the back I heard an indignant exclamation…”Huh?” She then said, “You!”, which translated means, “Ok, if not Papi, then you are going to hit her!”  “No, I’m not going to hit her!”  This, apparently disappointed her greatly.  “What?”, she asks.  I then asked her if her wish was that Jada be hit by someone.  “Yes!” said the littlest of my heathens….wow, and she’s only two.  God help me. 

i wish there were more choices of font offered on this blog…although, who am i to complain, it’s not costing me anything…but, a little garamond or bookman antiqua would be nice…lucida sans serif is cool too…

i’m just wasting time right now while i wait for two toddlers to scream out that they are done on the toilet, one is using the guest bathroom, the other is using mine…the noise is unbelievable…the two year old keeps yelling caca…so, apparently that is her goal…she first yelled pee pee…i think she has a need to tell me everything she is going to do…i hope she grows out of that…the three year old will yell incessantly that she is done yet, when i run in there…she suddenly has more to do…i really look forward to the day where i do not play such an integral part of this whole ritual….can you tell i’m not writing this all at once?  i’ve been up now at least 6 times to see to these little crumb chasers…the two year old is insisting she wipe herself…i would gladly give up that chore, however, she will use up an entire roll of toilet paper in the span of 3.45 seconds…then, i will wander into the bathroom only to find the toilet overflowing with no end in sight….ok….the ordeal is over, at least for a couple more hours…

i’m back…i just found my two year old stuffing cotton balls in her mouth…when she saw me approach she picked up speed…what the hell…i’m so confused…what is so yummy about a cotton ball…so, i tell her to open her mouth and she clamps it shut…lockjaw on a two year old is almost impossible to pry open but, there is hope…i held her nose…she is stubborn, turned a blue gray before she gave in…

i am now going to pour myself a glass of wine…my first of many…these kids are driving me to drink…

I’m watching my three year old put on lipstick….she’s getting her lips and the outside of her lips…it’s a struggle for her.  She purses her lips and gets really close to the mirror to survey her work.  Then she steps back and smiles and asks me, “Aren’t I beautiful, Mommie?”…yes, yes you are little girl…you are so beautiful as to bring tears to my eyes for the sheer joy of knowing you.  If you’re a parent you can understand well what I mean…this love is strong enough to move mountains and bring a person to her knees…I’ve heard it said that when your child is born you spend the rest of your life with your heart walking around outside of yourself.  It’s true….

Now she wants to give me kisses…she must be stopped…oh no…purple pink lipstick all over my face…ahhh, that’s alright, this is what it’s all about…

So, it’s 6 or so in the morning on a Saturday and my two year old is yelling at me that she wants “jugo, jugo!”  This is Spanish for juice, spanglish is the primary language in my household.  Anyway,  I get up and make my way to the kitchen.  I run into a wall, step on a toy that causes great pain, and somehow, make it to the fridge.  I pour the cursed “jugo” and then hand over the cup (complete with lid to prevent spilling).  I beg her to go back to bed; it’s still too early to be up.  She seems to believe me and lies down next to me, alongside the three year old still snoring.  I fall back into a deep slumber.  When I awaken, it’s an hour later and I am alone in the bed.  A panic begins to take over my body, starting with my toes and moving up my torso.  I struggle out of the bed and make my way down the hall.  There is laughter coming from the living room, mixed with the sound of the television, some infomercial about a vacuum.  Before I reach the living room, I see a trail that signifies the misdeeds wreaked by these two little heathens.  There’s a pair of scissors off to my right at the end of the hall.  The only way this could have been attained would have been if the taller of my two toddlers climbed onto the counter and reached the far back end of the top of my refrigerator.  I reach the kitchen and take note of a dining room chair pushed up against the counter….good Lord, give me strength.  I see the open refrigerator, the milk on the floor and the ham just being finished off by my loyal dog….loyal being a term used lightly.  He’s loyal to whoever holds the processed meat.  As I make my way to the living room I notice my cat….and his uneven whiskers.  He has a look of absolute disdain and hurt in his eyes.  It’s as though he blames me for the fact that these little girls have cut his whiskers….I reach for him and am met with a hiss and a flip of his tail.  I get to the the living room to find the two year old right in the middle of a mid air flip on the couch I’ve time and again told her not to jump on.  The three year old is busy trying to stuff a marshmallow in her mouth in the hopes that I don’t notice.  She doesn’t take into account the bag of marshmallows at her feet.  Wow…she could have only gotten those if she’d climbed onto the counter and stood on tiptoe, reaching into the highest of cupboards and all the way back.  She puts a whole new emphasis on, if there’s a will, there’s a tall chair and a little sister to blame it on, which is exactly what she tries to do…with her mouth still sticky full and her fingers pointing….”she did it”.  I know who the real mastermind is, I’m no fool.  And I wonder, is it too early to break open that bottle of Shiraz ?