I know it’s cliche’… but there really is joy in childhood. Moments where grins are full-on smiles and laughing isn’t just laughing but giggles and glee.
We took the kids to NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory this morning and came face-to-face with the many components of the Mars rovers. Yes, THOSE Mars rovers…the ones that the kids have only watched 3,000 times on the documentary that is now so worn it doesn’t play.
There were smiles, giggles, and glee.
Dinner time should really be that time of day when the family winds down and shares their day. You sit at the table, tell eachother how school/work/thepark went and calmly and quietly eat and talk.
I’d recommend it NOT be the time of day when an alarm blares loud enough to actually be painful to your ears and sheriff’s deputies, with guns drawn, surround your house and peer through your windows.
I can make this recommendation speaking from experience, because my 6-year old had 3 cops cars at our house the other night...the gangsta.
Raise your hand if you have a junk drawer in your kitchen…. uh huh…I know you do. We do too. In the back of that junk drawer is a little remote control with a panic button.
As my son searched for AAA batteries for his Robot, he found the remote and, being six, pressed the red panic button.
Not the green button. Not the blue one. Not even the yellow one. No…he went straight for the red “holy fuck we’re being attacked’ panic button.
I was upstairs putting away laundry and cleaning screwing around on the computer when I heard
BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP
and there was much gnashing of teeth and screaming and crying and chaos.
Flying downstairs thinking the rapture was upon us I found my son screaming “make it stop! make it stop! make it stop!”while my daughter had dive-bombed herself under a blanket.
As calmly as I could I asked my son to show me exactly how this ungodly noise started in our home, realized it was the house alarm, and went to press the code to, in fact, make it stop.
It seems in the midst of the chaos the alarm company called, we failed to answer (not hearing the phone over the alarm and all) and they immediately called the police.
So while I sat the kids down and had a nice discussion with them about NOT TOUCHING shit they aren’t supposed to touch, my brother exclaims “the cops are here…they have guns…I need my ID…”
I look out my front window to see a very nice sheriff’s deputy, gun drawn, at my front window.
Um…holy shit?
This news prompts the 6-year old to panic and cry, and me to sooth him with “don’t worry you’re not in trouble, the police just want to make sure we’re safe’ tones as I open the door and apologize to the …6 (?) uniformed deputies and plain clothed detectives out front.
Yes, I am fairly certain my son will never push another button again for as long as he lives.
Yes, I am really glad the cops showed up so quickly and were not hauling us all off to jail for screwing up.
Yes, I will- if this ever happens again- try and contact my alarm company a bit faster.
Yes, I cost my city tax payer dollars because I have a messy junk drawer.
and yes, even our quiet dinner times here are never, ever, dull.
No wonder the neighbors love us so much.
I love my daughter’s imagination. One minute her stuffed toys are getting on an airplane to fly to “Michigan or the grocery store” and the next she’s pretending to be scaling a wall to escape the evil Bowser.
She’ll ask you to play along, in her own way that really doesn’t include the “asking” part.
Now you be the Prince and I will be the Princess and you have to say ‘Princess I am here to save you’ and then I have to say ‘Oh I knew you would come!’
If you flub a line or miss a cue she makes you do it over again. And over again. And over again.
And you do. Because she’s 4 and she’s adorable and she’s twirling and doing that thing with her lips that reminds you she’s part you.
But I keep throwing a new line into playtime that she ignores. Ignores entirely as if it’s never been said, or doesn’t matter at all.
Princesses Save Themselves
She doesn’t even look up to acknowledge me when I say it, nor does she bat an eyelash when I launch into the 10 minute explanation.
Princess don’t need a Prince to save them. They can do it themselves. I know you’re just as smart as that Prince and you can figure out how to get down from this tower. You don’t need him, you don’t need anyone to help because you can do it all by yourself!
She thinks the Prince, or Mario, needs to save her. It’s every game she plays and every story she wildly imagines. Every. Single. Time. It’s how the story MUST go.
A boy must come save her from some large, hairy, evil monster.
Now I want to blame someone for this. Movies. TV. However she’s watched just as many Princesses get saved by their strong man as she has ones who have kung fu’d their captor’s ass.
And she has me, and her father, reinforcing the “you can do it without a boy’s help” constantly.
She doesn’t care.
Now maybe it’s because she has a big brother and she thinks he’s the greatest thing on earth. Greater than Mario and greater than any cartoon that has climbed a castle wall. Maybe it’s all those other Princesses who do sit around waiting for their Prince Charming.
Maybe it’s her mother who still gets a kick out of acting the damsel in distress for some y chromosome attention.
Maybe I need to lighten up about it. I mean, when my son pretends he’s attacking the bad guys with a sword I don’t immediately think he’s going to grow up and slay people. Nor do I feel the need to remind him over and over again that nice people don’t stab.
I’m not sure. But I am going to keep repeating it, just in case. Over and over again. This way, if nothing else, it’s stuck in the way back part of her brain that she will tap into whenever it is we tap into the stuff our parents told us but we didn’t believe…
Princesses Save Themselves.
I’ve been working hard on this…enjoy.
You can find out more at BlogHer.com
I wasn’t home while my son had his first bout of strep and…wait for it…Scarlet Fever. Not that I have guilt or anything.
Here’s the thing about this Scarlet Fever crap…it looks SO MUCH WORSE than it is. And apparently I wasn’t even home for the bad part. I got off the plane and my son had what looked like…POX all over his body. Head. Fingers. Feet. Legs. Arms. Chest. NOTHING was unpoxed.
Scared the shit out of me.
Of course he was apparently pox’d and bright red while I was gone, so I got the toned down version. Either way. I’m glad I’m home. If anyone else gets pox’d, it will be on my watch.
Why are you here?
It’s a simple question really. One that I am asking more and more frequently as I meet many of you. Because the lines are blurring and instead of guessing, I am just asking.
Why are you here?
The truth of the matter is I really don’t need to ask. I know why. I can tell. It’s obvious. However I like to give people the benefit of the doubt, so I ask.
Turns out a lot of you lie. You tell me you’re here to hang out. You tell me you’re here because you’ve made so many cool friends. But your site is packed with nothing but reviews and products and freebies and giveaways, so I know better. You want me to do you a favor, as a friend. You want me to read your link, click on your ads, enter your contest, use your product.
You’re here to get rich quick. You’re here to try and make some cash. You’re here to start a business.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that.
You may call yourself a Mommyblogger, but you don’t really blog about being a Mommy. You may attend the same events and tout your influence…but without any content. And just so you know, I’m not doing more than nodding, smiling, and dismissing you entirely.
I’m dismissing because you’re missing the heart of this whole thing entirely. The whole reason we’re here. The whole purpose of doing what we do. You don’t get it and you don’t care to.
You scream about your power and you yell about your influence and you position yourself in articles and demand attention, but there’s no THERE THERE. Why are you powerful? Is it because you write so wonderfully and make us all laugh or weep when we read? Is it because you participate and write endlessly about the rest of us? Pointing out who’s talking about breastfeeding or who’s got a great point about potty training?
No, you’re hosting a giveaway, selling all our souls for a new mop, and lowering the bar for the next to come along.
You know there is a beautiful old dinosaur of an idea that traditional media has taught us. You clearly separate ads from editorial. Ads and editorial are not the same and you don’t blur the lines. Reviews are clearly marked and disclosed. Giveaways are just that…giveaways, where in you admit you too got yourself the giveaway item. It’s what makes you”credible.” No really, it does. And let me tell you sister right now you are far from credible. But these companies are so desperate to get online and they find you and you find them and then ALL our credibility drops. Thanks for that. Not.
It IS a big Internet though, and this isn’t some exclusive club. You get to go peddle your snake oil wherever and whenever you like. Lucky us. I guess your “authentic voice” is an infomercial. Mine? Parenting, politics, and my life. To each’s own?
A woman with a blog can be a very powerful thing. A woman with kids and a blog can be a very powerful thing. A woman with kids and a BAD blog with no real content will, eventually, fall by the wayside.
Back to how you’re missing the heart of why the rest of us do this. And I think maybe we need a bit of a history lesson here. You see, for those of us who have been blogging since before the trips and free video game systems and parties, there’s a bit of a revolt going on. Why? Because some of you have forgotten the most essential part of what we do. The ENTIRE REASON why we do it…
Community.
Not to make money, even if we are. Not for the free stuff, even if we get it. Not to go off on trips and party without our kids in some hotel bar…even if, holy hell, we like that.
You see we actually did this, and still do it, because of the people we’ve met and the friendships we’ve gained.
If the free stuff and ads washed up tomorrow, I would still be here. If the free stuff and ads washed up tomorrow- would you?
Something tells me you’d be gone and on to the next thing. You wouldn’t be here. And that’s the difference between me and you. You’d drop us all in a heartbeat and we’d stick around to support each other.
It’s wonderful so many women, mothers in particular, can use social media and the online world to make a few extra bucks, or make a career. I am beyond lucky to get to hang with my girlfriends while earning a living. However if my job went away tomorrow, I wouldn’t. DO YOU GET THAT? Do you SEE the difference?
There is a strong and beautiful community writing about their children, their lives, their worlds. We were here before and we’ll be here after. Oh and in case you didn’t notice- we’re on to you.
I wish you the best of luck and I hope you make oodles of cash, but I also hope you move onto the next thing quickly. Because I like my community without the carpetbaggers. The good news is we know who you are, we know what you want, and we’re rolling our eyes.
Thanks to the few of you Mombloggers who pushed me to write this. You know who you are.
*”I want to acknowledge that I’m an employee of BlogHer, but this is my personal blog and reflects my opinion alone. In keeping with my journalistic training, I think there’s a way to do this and to keep your credibility. How?See the paragraph in bold above.”
After a night of trying to keep my daughter from sleeping in her vomit…I woke up at 530am to head to the airport.
Yes, am leaving a sick kid at home with a sick brother and I believe their sick father.
Why do these things always happen when I have a trip or I am crazy busy? I mean, why can’t they happen when I am home with nothing to do?
Arg.
I’ve only emailed twice, with instructions like “make sure you watch her” (duh) and I have to say considering what I left behind this morning, twice isn’t so bad.
I don’t know why I feel the need to dictate every small detail when I am away. I’ve gone on plenty of business trips and come home to children still intact. Yet there I go again, making sure everyone knows EXACTLY what to do down to the stupidest detail. I mean, does Dad really need me to tell him to check on the 4-year old?
Probably not.
I wonder if this is insulting to fathers. When we Moms micromanage how they parent. Or if they are just used to it and take it as part of the fun.
Because it’s true, I don’t think anyone else does it right. Not like *I* would do it, anyway. And I don’t think anyone else knows the things I know. Does he know she will flail around while puking and you really need to hold her? Does he know she wants the blue Pedilyte? NOT the purple, even though normally she wants purple everything?
Of course I think I know best. And I swear it’s true that I do. Yet time and time again these children are GREAT while I am gone and GREAT when I return. So what the hell is wrong with ME?
I’m crazy. I think that pretty much sums it up.
I feel like I’m taking off when they need me most. But when I am there…they seem to not need me at all. It’s a heartbreaking thing to find our your dispensable. That yes, everyone will in fact survive if you are not around.
They don’t need you.
I’m going to go send another email. They may not need it. But I’m doing it anyway.
