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Much More Than Attitude

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Maria sporting attitude

Maria and Mario have never been shy about their feelings.  If I upset Maria, she stomps away, sighing heavily, and usually blurting out some mean-spirited comment like “I don’t like you, Mom!”  If I upset Mario, he points his finger at me, crunches up his face until he looks like a 90-year-old man, and yells “No, mom, get away from me – I am mad!” 

I teeter on the edge with my response to these blow-ups.  Do I tell them that they may not yell at me when I sometimes yell at them and when they are, after all, part Italian (us Germans have no problem with anger management!)?  Do I allow them to yell but not make mean comments?  Do I let them get it all out and then ignore them until they calm down?  

 I err on the side of letting them vent but then I think about when they grow up and Maria is 30 years old in the corporate conference center yelling at the top of her lungs at her staff because they got her a coffee with three sugars instead of four or Mario playing in the finals of the World Cup and starting a  brawl with an opposing team member because he made a snide comment about Mario’s girlfriend while running down the field.  But is there a better result if I shut them up from the beginning? A heart attack from too much anger build-up? Fear of speaking their mind?  

 

Mario showing his attitude

I remember the “pre-kids” time of my life when I would be talking with friends who had their own children.  I spouted out all sorts of advice to their dilemmas: “I would smack their butt and put them in the corner; I would make them take a time-out for 15 minutes; I would take away a favorite toy: I would never let them talk to me that way.”  Oh yeah, that is a good one.  As if we have any control over that last one.  But what did I know?  It is not until those little munchballs arrive into your circle of life that you realize that all the advice and pre-conceived notions you had about motherhood and children was ridiculously naive. 

Just like I believe that it is impossible for me to understand the pain and exhilaration a triathlete must feel at the end of a competition, it is impossible to step into the shoes of a mom until you become one yourself.  You second guess all of the “sure-fire” advice you gave to your mom-friends in the past.  You worry about nearly every decision you make.    

So, in the end, I don’t think there is any “right” answer on how to deal with these “attitude” problems besides go with my intuition at the time of the incident and not doubt myself for the next five hours.  One thing I know for sure: Maria and Mario are happy kids.  They enjoy life.  They feel.  Surely, they get mad, sad, and disappointed, and they express it.  But they also, much more often, get excited, delirious, and captivated, and seeing them fully expressive in those states comforts me with the thought that I am doing something right.        

My Happy Girl

My Happy Boy

Coloring eggs

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Maria showing off her soon to be colored egg

Coloring easter eggs has been one of my favorite past times both as a kid and as a 20 something adult.  I vaguely remember coloring them as a child but I do remember hunting for them – their bright primary colors bursting out at me from behind grandma’s chair, nestled next to a plant, under a big oak tree.  The thrill of finding a brightly colored egg far exceeded anything else in the day (except for maybe the foot tall solid chocolate bunny).  Now I get to transfer my thrill to my daughter who developed a passion for egg coloring starting last year in my mother’s kitchen.  My mom bought an easter egg coloring kit for her.  I was hesitant at first.  All of the cups filled with water, easily cracked eggs, color dye everywhere.  But, we were at my mom’s house so what the hey?!  Maria loved it.  She colored each of her eggs with pride and wrote on them and put stickers on them and treated them like fragile Waterford crystal.  Hence, a tradition was born.

Maria spotted the easter egg coloring kit about a week after Valentine’s Day (yes, god love the retail shops with their easter items packed in stores the day after Valentine’s Day – just keep those holidays coming for our businesses).  We bought the kit, and I was able to keep it up on the shelf for a few weeks before we decided that we just had to color some eggs.  We decided that we would color some this early in order to get out enough eggs to all of our friends and family before easter.  Maria begged me to start the process as soon as we came home from school tonight but I stalled as I picked up all of the poop outside in our backyard (I do have my priorities straight!).  I kept pumping Maria up as I picked up the dog’s remnants so that when we walked inside, Maria was ready to go.  Damn, I forgot you had to hard boil the eggs before you colored them!  Ugh.  That was a mistake.  Maria broke down believing that it would take all night to boil the eggs and we would NEVER be able to color the eggs.  Meanwhile, I filled the pot with water, got the water boiling, and placed the eggs in the pot.  By that time, Maria had found the stickers in the box and the dye pills.  I got her working on filling the cups with water and by the time she finished that task, our eggs were ready (always the key – keep them busy so they don’t have time to stew!).  Maria placed one dye pill in each cup watching the pill slowly dissolve and commentating on what color the water was becoming. 

Mario and his own works of art

Meanwhile, her brother cut his construction paper and drew his “letters”.  He asks me what letter to draw, I state “A” or “J” or “B” and he acts like he is drawing the letter.  Actually, the other day I looked down after telling him to draw a “M” and he had drawn what looked to resemble a “M”!  He may be getting it – god knows he talks like a four-year old so he may as well start drawing letters like one.  He had no interest in coloring the eggs, which came as relief since trying to watch the water cups, the eggs, and two hyper kids would have been a little much. 

Maria was very concerned about cracking the egg while she placed it in the cup so I assisted her on most of them.  We waited patiently for the color to soak onto the egg-shell.  Maria would pick one out (with her hands of course), give it a scrutinizing review, and then place it back in the water for a little more coloring.  Finally, she had enough of the waiting, and decided that no matter what color they were, it was just the right color for her.  They dried pretty quickly and she began writing our names and hearts and designs.  She wasn’t too into the stickers (I don’t think we ever got stickers with our kit) but she liked the little round egg holders that came with the

Maria modeling her creation (and yes, she was trying to "model")

kit.  She placed them gently in the holders after she finished her creation.  She had a minor meltdown toward the end when we only had a yellow and two blue eggs left and Grandma, who was talking to Jon, asked if she would make her an orange one.  She fell to the floor after looking up on the counter and not finding an orange egg: “Oh, no, mom, Grandma wants an orange egg and I don’t have one for her!” She sobbed hysterically and repeated “NO” each time I tried to come up with an alternative.  Finally, I realized that we still had the cups of dyed water so I threw the pale yellow egg in the red cup and viola, we had an orange.  I knew that science class which explained color mixing would come in handy some day.  Maria immediately popped back to life and got that little orange egg all spruced up for Grandma and Grandpa.   

I think the hysterical sobbing wore her out because after the orange egg, she left the other two to head into the living room with the boys.  And there we have it, the 2010 easter season has officially begun in the household.  The blue eggs lead the pack with four, pink eggs with two, purple eggs with two, green eggs with two, and orange egg with 1.  Thank goodness for Grandma – she added a little more color to our world.         

M&M expressing their disdain with having to clean up after egg coloring and art time

From Monsters to Cherubs

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It has been a long week. 

Jon was gone two days.  I let the kids stay up late with me so they were grumpy and mean in the morning.  Mario had a horrid meltdown when I turned off the fan yesterday morning.  He flung his little body against his crib and wailed.  I tried to turn the fan back on and allow him to turn it off but that just pissed him off more.  “No mommy, go away!”  Wah, wah, wah, wah.  Ugh, I just want to scream at the top of my lungs during these moments and tell him to get a life. 

But rather, I walk into my room, lay on my bed, and breathe. 

It usually takes 3 minutes and then he brings his sobbin’ butt onto my bed.  Maria, on the other hand, turns completely silent when she is grumpy or angry.  While Mario was busy wailing and flailing all around, Maria was in her room, door closed, stewing over the fact that I told her I didn’t want to play Barbies 2.2 seconds after we woke up.  I need time to get into that Barbie playing thing.  Before I could even get out the words “not right now” she stomped away from my bed, slammed her door shut, and yelled “Don’t come in my room, Mom!”  Oh, that is so fine with me, little girl. 

After Mario got in bed with me, he realized Maria was not around.  “Where’s Ria?’ I think to myself “the prima donna spoiled thing is in her room wishing evil on me” but I paraphrase that thought to “Ria is in her room.”  He jumps up to check on her sensing something is wrong. 

I continue to lay on my bed, eyes on the cracked ceiling, thinking about what this life is all about.  I tend to get philosophical in times like these for good or bad.  After about 10 minutes of silence out of Maria’s room, I decide I better check on the insane children.  I go in and see this picture.  

Maria reading to her little brother

Every horrible thing they have done or said in the last twenty minutes is forgotten and I am consumed with affection.  Maria is such the mother hen to that little brother.  She is patient when he asks five questions about the same thing on a page and she allows him to choose any book he wants to read.  He is mesmerized with her as she reads to him and trusts her words completely.  The scene is heart-stirring.  

Why can’t it be like this every second of the day?  I mean, really?! 

In sum, it would be boring, I guess.  I wouldn’t get any philosophizing done without the craziness.  I need those meltdowns over fans and Barbies to genuinely appreciate such charming moments.

“Give Ria Big Hug?”

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Mario is a complete nut.  He is what you think of when you think of a two-year old boy: wild, rambunctious, ornery, spastic, loud, violent, obstinate, emotional.  It has been quite the ride over the last five months when he turned in to this little creature. 

The wildman at age 2

Maria was never like this at age 2.  She was an atypical two-year old girl: quiet, reclusive, thoughtful, serious, deep, soulful, clingy. 

Maria at age 2

Hence, my surprise and concern when Mario turned into this half boy-half animal after turning two.   If he is not jumping on the couch, holding any long object as a gun, pinching or scratching Maria, throwing a shoe, jettisoning his body on Jon, or running around yelling, then we know (1) he has been taken by aliens and replaced with one of them or (2) he is seriously sick. 

However, there are those few fleeting moments wherein Mario is a true gentleman.  We experienced these moments tonight as were preparing for bed.  Maria has a full size bed in her room with a rocking chair in the corner.  The usual routine is to read books together and then Maria climbs in her bed while I rock Mario.  I began rocking Mario tonight, and he looked up at me:

“Mommy??”

“Yes, Mario.”

“Go give Big Hug to Ria?”

“Mario, it is bedtime.”

“Please, mommy.”

Now, how could I resist if his true desire was indeed to kiss his sis?  Besides, Maria lives for that affection from her brother so she would have been devastated if I prohibited it.  Mario hopped off my lap and ran to her bed stepping his right foot on the ledge, grabbing the mattress with both hands, raising his left leg onto the ledge and thrusting his body onto her bed.  Maria sat up with delight.   Mario jumped from the bottom of the bed into her arms and smothered her with a big ol’ hug.  She hugged him in return and sang “Oh, you sweet little baby brother.”  

I called him back to the rocking chair, and he abided.  We rocked about one minute before he glanced up at me and said “Give Ria a kiss?”  I am such a pushover.  I let him down and he engages in the same routine but this time Maria is sitting on both knees with her chin out and mouth puckered waiting for her prince charming.  Mario sits in front of her and pecks her right on the lips.  Golden.  He then proceeds to jump on her again and they roll around together giggling and hugging. 

I watch them and fall in love.  I delight in them.  I call Jon in to see them.  And then I hear a sharp cry….

“Mom, Mario just pinched me right on the arm. Make him in trouble.”

Better fleeting moments than no moments, heh?!

Giving the Love

Now this is Winter

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Maria and Mario with "Frosty"

Frosty with armsWe woke up Saturday morning to at least eight inches of snow blanketing our front and back yard in addition to the double jogging stroller I accidentally left outside – ugh.   Also woke up to Jon moaning and groaning due to my virus deciding to move into him after attacking Maria.  Mario has been the only survivor in this house.  I think the dog even has a touch of it (or he is just moping around because we all are!). 

When I heard Jon moaning, I immediately felt a touch of anxiety move across me knowing that I had an entire weekend with the kids and with no ability to go anywhere due to the snow (I exaggerate only a little – they predicted temperatures in the low 20s, which is not conducive for outside play for the little ones).   Yes, it was my personal nightmare.  However, after a little self-pity and a few bowls of Honey Bunches of Oats, I reversed my mindset to one of excitement for having a full weekend to enjoy in our home, which I have not done in months (I would say that we spend nearly every weekend on the road visiting grandmas and grandpas, cousins or aunts). 

We started the morning with almost an hour of tv (I needed some initial “me” time with the newspaper and some couch vegging) but then we were off to the races.  We played school (Maria teaches Mario and me about “choices” (different games we can decide to play based on her daycare set-up), then how to do a puzzle, and then how to be quiet when she talks (which was most important by far, seeing that I tried to say something to Mario while she was speaking and she screamed right in my face “Mary, Be Quiet, I am the teacher and I only talk!”).  Which takes me on a quick tangent… 

If this daughter of mine does not become a corporate executive, I will be amazed.  The other day I asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up and she promptly responded “the Boss.”  No question about it.  No ifs ands or butts.  And my dad had a hilarious moment with her the other weekend when we celebrated my grandma’s 90th birthday.  He was kind enough to entertain her for a while, and asked her if she wanted to go to a side room to “have a meeting.”  Dad started it up by setting forth some initiatives he wanted to enact and asking if she agreed.  Soon after this charade began, she asked him when she was going to be the boss.  He kindly allowed her to take over, and boy, did she give him a run for his money!  She spewed on and on about things and he finally raised his hand and asked if he could add something.  “No! I am the boss!” she replied sharply surely putting anyone else in their place (grandpa was not deterred!).  He then responded with “You are not too nice of a boss” to which she quickly shot back “that is not a nice thing to say to your boss.”  Beautiful.  Then, if it could not get any better, dad told her that they needed to close up the meeting and he told her the question to figure out was whether they should buy a new car or not.  Maria looked at him intently, thought about the question, and replied “Weather, weather is what is in the air….”  Dad almost fell out of his chair.  She is the quintessential corporate executive – demanding respect, abrasive, ignoring questions she does not want to answer, and finding a way to answer them in some backwards upside down fashion – actually, a career as a politician may be up her alley, too….  Ok, long side note.  Back to our winter fest. 

After playing school, we moved onto storekeeper.  Maria got out the cash register and found some money to put in the drawer, and was all set to be the storekeeper.  However, that pesky little brother noticed that she had gotten it all together and decided that he wanted to take over the show.  He scooted in next to her, pinched her arm, and shouted “I’m storekeeper!”  Now, this is a fairly regular occurence with Mario and I attempt to stop him in his tracks when I am close by and hear it happening.  But there are  a few times when I am not, and in those cases, Maria graciously gives it up for her brother.  No whining, no crying, no stomping around.  She allows him to enjoy it and then takes her turn.  Amazing.  Thank the heavens that she came first.  Maria and I choose something to buy and Mario tells us everything costs 5 dollars.  We give him one dollar and we are off to our tent that is acting as a car.  We drive off with Mario the storekeeper saying “Be careful, don’t let spiders get you” (his latest wish goodbye to everyone he meets).  Then it is Maria’s turn to act as storekeeper and Mario and I engage in the same scenario. 

Next, Maria paints some valentines’ cards and Mario plays with play-doh (“playing with play-doh” is essentially throwing bits of it across the room and laughing hysterically).  After this activity, it is close to 11:30 am, and I think it is finally warm enough to go outside and build our snowman.  We run upstairs to layer ourselves up, and trudge back downstairs almost a half of an hour later with layers upon layers of clothes on our bodies.  Then, as if we could barely move at that point, the kids donned their snowsuits and boots, hats and gloves, and we were off for the great adventure of the front yard.  Our snowman came alive in no time.  We even got sticks for its arms. 

By that time, we all agreed that Stauf’s hot chocolate and muffins were in order so we trekked up to our old coffeehouse for some treats.  I loved every second of that trip.  The hike up there through the high piles of snow (and Maria finally walking the entire trip by herself!).  The warmth of the coffeehouse and the smell of the coffee beans roasting.   Sitting at the wooden table with Maria and Mario, eating our muffins and bagel, drinking hot chocolate, talking about what to name the Snowman (Mario looked at me quizzically and said “Frosty, mommy!” Duh!), what disney characters we liked best, what we were going to do during the week after we got home from school, how we cannot wait for summer so we can swim….  God, it was great.  We packed on all of our winter gear and took off after almost an hour at Stauf’s and with both getting sleepy.  Maria cried that she could not walk home due to a massive belly ache so I carried her on my back while carrying Mario in my arms on my front (yes, the neighborhood regulars do think I am insane).  We had to stop and situate ourselves every half block.  I tried to educate Maria that we would get home a lot faster if she would just walk, but her belly hurt and there was no rationalization on her part. 

We finally got home, tore off our winter wear, laid on the couch, watched a Max and Ruby, climbed the stairs to Maria’s room, turned on the lullabies, and rocked to sleep.  We were all shut-eye within 20 minutes.  What a well-spent day, and one that I would not have experienced if it wasn’t for Jon’s sickness, the piles of snow, and my ability to slip out of that “woe is me” victim mindset and replace it with that “get on with it” attitude.  Indeed, all the powers came together making it a most fabulous, memorable day.

My Night in Food-Poisoning Hell

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I do have some understanding of what my personal hell will be if I should end up in that place when I pass someday. I got some mean, mad, fired-up food in my system on Monday and it took a vengeance on me Monday night. It crept up slowly causing me to hold my stomach and sit on the couch from 6 pm forward on Monday night.

The kids received a royal treat – two hours of Little Bear and Dora. “Mom, you need to get sick more often!” By their bedtime, I could barely move and I felt like my intestinal organs were doing double flips and cartwheels. Thank goodness my hubby was in town and could put the two tv-infested children to bed. I laid in my bed moaning and freezing and burning up and freezing until about 9:30 pm when I felt this monster in my stomach rearing its ugly head. I shot into the bathroom and proceeded to regurgitate what had to be every meal I have eaten since the age of 5. Then, just when I thought it could not get any worse, I had to shoot up and sit on the toilet for 20 minutes.

Maria and Mario were absolutely appalled and beside themselves with disgust (I stirred them from their sleep with my exorcist-like regurgitation – one of the downfalls of living in such a small abode). This same scenario recurred all the way through the night into the morning.  Every ten minutes I stared at the clock thinking “how is it possible that it only ten minutes has gone by!” I prayed that life would fast forward itself and take me out of this misery – I was bargaining with a higher power at any cost.  I even think I offered my first-born (sorry Maria) at one point (I would have gotten you back, Maria – no worries).  Until finally at around 8 am, I was able to drink some water without throwing it up like a fountain in the plaza.

My thirst was unquenchable throughout the night. I swore I was on a desert island (minus the beautiful blue skies and palm trees) craving water, water, water.  It was like a piece of heaven when I could actually take a sip and have it stay in my system. Little by little I ventured a couple more sips until I was able to chug 4 ounces without a problem. Nothing like taking certain things for granted in life. Every time I drink a glass of water now, I will remember how precious it is (or at least for another week or two when my memory of this hellish night will fade)!

I am back with the living today, and making sure that I perform a lot of good deeds to avoid any thought that I will be down yonder upon my last breath. Where is the next elder I can help across the street?