Category: Kids

Conquering the bike

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Maria has conquered the art of biking!

She is now able to mount the bike by herself and get off the bike by herself.  She must have grown a half-inch over the last two months because that was the crux of the problem earlier.  She couldn’t quite get her foot down to the ground when she stopped the bike without falling over in a heap.  But now when she stops, she is able to get the very top of her foot onto the ground like a ballet dancer’s en pointe and that little move stops her from falling to one side.  And she has mastered the balance of putting one foot on a pedal while jumping on her seat and getting the other foot on the other pedal.  It is the coolest sight ever!

The babes riding away!

I am so proud of that girl. And she loves to bike up the street alone with me far behind her.  She does a great job looking down both sides of the street when she crosses at intersections and she doesn’t have to deal with any crosswalks with lights for a mile (and by that time I have caught up with her – albeit gasping for air). 

Mario wants so badly to catch up with her.  We took his training wheels off yesterday with the hopes that he would just pick up the art of two-wheeled biking.  Wishful thinking.  It is so funny how siblings have incredibly different strengths and weaknesses.  Maria is so good at biking and rock climbing.  Mario, not so much.  Mario is so good at baseball and basketball.  Maria, not so much.  He fretted the entire time we rode and made me bend down to hold the front and back of the bike.  My back screamed in pain when we got home (he did massage it for me though!).  He wasn’t too proud to ask to put his training wheels back on, thank goodness.  I was worried he would not ask because he would think it was a “defeat.”

Maria, forever the cheerleader, immediately zoned in on the potential break-down Mario could have exhibited over the bike.  She wrapped her arm around Mario’s neck, and said “Ahh, buddy, you will get the hang of it. You can do anything!”  Mario responded “I just want to win!”  Maria looked up at me, shook her head and whispered “Oh, Mario, Bo Bario.”

Saved again by Ms. Lamott

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I love Anne Lamott.  I can’t say it enough: I love her. Love her! Love her!  

The other night, we started the process of putting the kids to bed.  I have talked to many a parent, and all agree that it is a “process.”  It might be a five-minute process for some lucky souls.  Fifteen minute for others.  Half hour or hour for others.  We are lumped into that group.  So by the time we reach an hour of “processing” for bed, we are both shot.  One false move by either kid may lead to a reaction that is overblown and far too intense based on the circumstances.  But that is the result of a long day full of irritations, be it people or things.  We can’t blow up on these people during our day because they are our bosses or clients or colleagues.  So we blow up on our little munchos because they are with us late in the evening and they are needy and they can’t fire us. 

And then we feel like crap.  Like mutant beings.

I typically hit my final point when I have asked M&M five times to stop wrestling on our bed and to brush their teeth.  I hear a crash and one of them crying.  Then fighting. Then more crying.  Then the crying one tattling on the other, and the other tattling about the crying one and how the crying one started it.  And then the crying one hitting the other making the other cry.  So now I have two crying kids and I want to smash my head against the wall.  I yell and scream and occasionally throw a small object against the wall.  I stomp around.  I shake my head. 

And then Maria walks up to me and wraps her arms around my legs.  Or Mario says “I’m sorry, mom.” And typically my anger and frustration lower quite a few notches if not dissipates on the spot. I am thankful for their resilience and my ability to realize my demons. 

When they are flat on back, tucked in and kissed goodnight, I open up Anne Lamott’s Plan B Further Thoughts on Faith.  I read a passage where she describes blowing up at her son one night. 

“What has helped me lately was to figure out that when we blow up at our kids, we think we’re going from zero to sixty in one second.  Our surface and persona are so calm that when a problem begins, we sound in control when we say “Now, honey, stop that.” or “That’s enough.” But it’s only an illusion.  In fact, all day we’ve been nursing anger toward the boss or boyfriend or mother, yet since we can’t get mad at nonkid people, we stuff it down…. It’s your child’s bedtime and all you want is for him to go to sleep so you can lie down and stare at the TV – and it starts up. “Mama, I need to talk to you.” It’s important.” So you go in and muster your patience, and you help him with his fears or his thirst, and you go back in to the living room and sink into your couch and then you hear “Mama? Please come here one more time.” You lumber in like you’re dragging a big dinosaur tail behind you, and you rub his back for a minute, his sharp angel shoulder blades.  The third time he calls, you try to talk him out of needing you, but he seems to have this problem with self-absorption, and he can’t hear that you can’t be there for him.  And you become wordless with rage.  you try to breathe, you try everything, and then you blow.  You scream, “Fucking dammit! What? What? What? Can’t you leave me alone for four seconds?”  Good therapy helps. Good friends help. Pretending that we are doing better than we are doesn’t.  Shame doesn’t. Being heard does….  I lay on the couch with my hands over my face, shocked by how hard it is to parent.  And after a minute, Sam sidled out, still needing me, to snuggle with me, with mean me, needing to find me – like the baby spider pushing in through the furry black legs of the mother tarantula, knowing she’s in there somewhere.” 

She manages with such ease to normalize this episode with M&M; to take a deep breath and know that I am trying my hardest. To talk to Jon. To admit my faults. And finally, to keep loving on my munchos even with my tail between my legs.

Sleep Mask and Earmuffs

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Jon called down to me last night after he went upstairs to bed.  He directed me into Maria’s room when Maria was fast asleep at the top of her bed.  About half way down the bed laid Mario….

In earmuffs and a sleep mask. 

He has been fascinated with sleep masks for the last week, and he has a coronary every time he can’t find his before bed.  Last night, he told me I was being too loud so he grabbed his earmuffs, too on his way upstairs.  Maria falls asleep in a heartbeat without any aides. If a sleep mask and earmuffs do it for Mario, bring ’em on.

Tuesday ramblings

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My mom came up from Cincy tonight with the hope that she could help me figure out what were weeds and what were flowers in my garden, and also see the grandkids on the side.  She picked up Maria from school, a treat Maria absolutely loves.  If she could have each of her grandparents pick her up everyday of the week, she would be in heaven.  When they got home, Maria helped my mom in the garden a bit and then asked her if she could ride her bike to the park.  This question floored my mom who expected Maria to ask to watch tv or play a game.  They biked down to the park, and Maria gave my mom a mini-stroke when she climbed up her favorite tree to the near top.  My mom made her stop way before she typically stops, which majorly irritated Maria.  Mario and I arrived soon thereafter.  We walked down from the house.  I had given him the option to bike but he wanted to race.  He set forth the typical prize for winning the race – a chocolate cake.  We ran about a block and then he asked me to carry him.  As I carried him the six blocks to the park, we talked about the green leaves and why they were green now and brown in the Fall time.  He also asked me if he would die, and we talked about how everyone dies eventually.  He asked if I would die, and then covered my mouth when I started to answer.  He shook his head while holding my mouth and confirmed to me “mom, I know you will die, too, just like me.”  Nothing like some light, uplifting conversation with your four-year old on the way to the park. 

After the park, we headed to the police station to go to the bathroom, and to say hi to our former neighbor, Kim.  Maria biked from the station to Panera.  Mario ran most of the way.  I love it when they enjoy being outdoors on their own.  At Panera, they learned how to make “lemonade” from Grandma Lolo.  They squeezed three lemons into their water and added one Splenda.  Maria also wanted to add a Sweet-n-low, which made her water taste like something a hummingbird would love. We walked home from Panera with much pomp and circumstance.  Maria crossed a street without looking, which prompted a major smack-down from my mom on me.  She was completely right; I need to do a better job of making these kids look both ways or stop at the edge of the street.  But I still felt irritated.  After a few minutes, I realized it was not so much irritation as it was hurt.  It’s funny how we, as adults, still look to our parents for moral support and adoration.  We still want to impress them with our skills – only it’s parenting skills rather than algebra brilliance. 

But I am 40 years old – really, Mar, let it go.  In the end, a lot of the hurt has to deal with me realizing that I am letting myself down.  I know I need to set more rules and work harder at imposing more boundaries and structure at certain times (like at an intersection!).  I am pissed at myself for not working harder at doing just that.  So, learn from it and do it better (you all just got a little glimpse of the dialogue raging through my head – lovely, heh?!).

After we worked in the garden a bit more, we decided to treat ourselves to Orange Leaf.  A car trip later, we were eating yogurt with oreos and brownies and lucky charms on top.  Maria sat slumped in her seat with her sunglasses resting on her head and Mario sat in his seat staring at Shrek and eating pineapple yogurt.  My mom looked at me and said matter of factly “Your kids are mod.” 

I am still trying to figure out whether she meant “mod” to mean dashing and smart or to mean offbeat.  Either way, I will embrace the compliment, which I know she meant it to be.  After all, what grandma gets to hang out with a pirate grandson and a granddaughter who engages in questions about past relatives and their spirits.

Congratulations all around

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The little sneak...Maria finally got on her bike by herself tonight!  Yes, sounds strange but that’s life for ya.  She is right in between bike sizes and we went with the bigger size for her.  Therefore, she has trouble getting on the bike by herself and stopping the bike herself.  When she stops, she used to have to fall into the grass or onto the sidewalk because she could not reach her feet to the ground.  She has recently gotten tall enough to lean to the side and place her foot to the ground.  It is much easier to the eye to see her do that versus falling to the ground with her bike on top of her.  Two nights ago, she stood by her bike on the driveway, raised one leg over, and jumped on her bike as it rolled down the hill – she got on the bike all by herself!  I was so pumped up! Maria was even more excited asking me to watch her over and over until I yelled “My baby is getting on a bike by herself!” at which time she promptly told me to hush because I was embarrassing her. 

Mario, not to be one-upped by his sister, got out the scooter and tried to ride around on it to impress me.  After I congratulated Maria again for working hard on her bike, Mario looked up at me with sad little eyes and said “Mom, why aren’t you being nice to me?”  I tried to explain to him that Maria was accomplishing something at the moment and he would have a time when he was accomplishing something big, and I would congratulate him.  It fell on deaf ears.  He held his hands up to cover his ears and ran away.  When I went inside to talk to him, he ran to his bedroom.  He only came out after I tempted him with baseball. 

I pitched the ball to him and he whacked the ball all over the yard.  I kept congratulating him for his stellar performance.  After a few more hits, he looked at me and said “Maybe we should let Maria try to hit.”

Maria swung and missed.  Again.  Mario looked at her and said “Too bad, Maria. When you get better, you will get congratulations.”

That little sh–.  He was setting it all up and I did not even see it coming.  He has always got to one-up.  Maria is luckily unfazed by his behavior, but I am going to break him of this nasty little habit eventually (although I am sure there will have to be some congratulations involved).

Cheering in the Bleachers

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Maria wanted to ride her bike tonight.  I was so tired and had not eaten dinner yet but I agreed to a bike ride because (1) it’s good exercise for her and (2) it gives us some time together after a long day at school and work.  Mario ended up meeting us at the park (Jon dropped him off because he was so upset that Maria and I had left without him).  The two of them bee-lined straight for the spruce tree with the awesome climbing branches.  Maria climbed up to nearly the top of the tree like a little monkey and Mario stared in amazement.  He got up the guts to climb up a few branches. 

While they sat on their branches, a group of boys ran over and shouted to each other about how cool it was that Maria and Mario were up in the tree.  One little boy started to climb up the tree when I heard his mom yell “Charlie, get down from there right now!”  The mom glanced over at me and shook her head in disbelief.  I could hear what was going through her head “what kind of mother would let her kids climb a tree and risk them getting hurt.”  When they finally had enough of the tree, we ran over to the swings.  I saw a mom I knew from Mario’s preschool.  She had her grapes and strawberries packaged up for her two kids.  I told her I was starving, and she offered me some.  I declined telling her that I thought we may hit Orange Leaf frozen yogurt for dinner in a bit.  “Frozen yogurt for dinner?” she questioned, amazed.  “Yep, with oreos and animal crackers – nothing better”, I responded.  Again, I could hear the bells going off in her head and the desire to cart me away to bad parents’ camp. 

So, when I got home tonight and found Harley Rotbart’s piece, Just Parent, No Philosophy Required, I took a deep breath and patted myself on the back.  We all have different parenting styles.  I am not going to shake my head at the mom who refuses to allow her kids to climb trees because maybe she had an awful experience of falling when she was little or witnessed another child have an awful experience or maybe she just gets anxious about it and doesn’t want to be sick to her stomach as they climb.  Who knows why she is prohibiting it but at least she is at the park with them allowing them fresh air and swings and slides.  And I am not going to poo-poo the fruit mom who refuses to put one unnatural food in her childrens’ bodies.  Maybe she had a parent die from cancer or maybe she is a dietician (my mom used to be a dietician but I think I rebelled completely).  I am trying so hard to not judge people – even when they may be judging me until the cows come home.  Because in the end, all three of us moms tonight were there for our kids in the park – in the metaphorical bleachers cheering them on – and that is all that matters.

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Sleeping munchos

Dreaming?

Kisses all over those plumpilicious cheeks

and Gentle squeezes to their baby toes

Wanting to capture this moment forever

Our two pumpkins snoozing away and

Oh, So Quiet!

Awkward Talks about God

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I sifted through Salon articles tonight as I listened to news about missing dogs and weekend weather.  I found a gem of an article by a writer that I had not heard of to date.  Sue Saunders’ Our Awkward Talks about God.

I connected with her story immediately; I struggle with how to talk to Maria and Mario about religion.  We have many family members who are catholic, and who have a strong faith.  We have family members who do not practice any religion but believe in living a moral and just life.  Jon and I were both raised catholic but do not practice.  We got married in a church and had Maria and Mario baptized but have struggled with where to go from there.  I firmly believe in treating all with respect and compassion.  I firmly believe in empathy and “stepping into the shoes of another.”  A lot of these beliefs were promoted during my years in catholic schools but as Sue Saunders also witnessed, there was a lot of hypocrisy witnessed during those years and long thereafter, too.  I can’t fathom people of faith who espouse how they love others – but shun homosexuals.  Or people of faith who judge others for certain actions but then turn around and engage in the same acts or worse.  Judgmental behavior gets under my skin like no other. 

Showing their compassion with homeless pupsLike the author, I have tried to be honest with Maria and Mario when they ask me about God or ask me where the deceased go after they die.  I also allow family members to talk to Maria and Mario about their faiths and beliefs.  I don’t want to mold their minds for them one way or the other.  They should have the ultimate choice what they want to believe and what they want to practice.  But I do, no matter what, want them to embrace certain virtues – compassion, empathy, care, respect.  I think that is everyone’s moral duty – religion or not.

Making it to the top

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“Maria’s mom, Maria needs your help. She is way up in the tree.”

A boy in Maria’s first grade class ran towards me yelling those words.  I asked how high she was in the tree, and his eyes widened “she is really high!”  I walked over to the pine tree with him, ducked underneath the needles, and scanned my eyes from the bottom to the top.  I passed over a few kids on the first two branches.  Then no one.  As I scanned up towards the fifth or sixth branches, I spotted my little climber.  She was sitting on a high branch with her legs dangling over looking down at the crowd gathered below. 

“Do you need my help, Ri”, I asked her.

“No, mom, I can get down by myself.”

She stayed up a while longer.  It was only when everyone began to leave and I offered her a trip to Orange Leaf that she finally climbed down – without a problem. Maria is strong like her dad and me.  Her nickname in preschool was “the Muscle.”  She can tolerate pain better than most 6 year olds; heck, better than most 30 year olds.  We rode our bikes yesterday and she fell off right on her knees and hands.  I gasped fearing that she was really banged up.  As I approached her, I did not hear crying.  I picked her body up off the ground, and asked if she was ok.  Her friend ran over horrified asking “Maria, are you hurt?” 

Maria brushed her legs and arms off and told us she’d be ok.  She walked around for a minute, and then stated “Come on, let’s get to the park, people!”  Her friend stood amazed that she was not hurt.  While we walked down to the park, her friend admitted that she would have been bawling to her mom had it been her that fell.  “I know.  Most kids would be scared and hurt.  But Maria is a machine just like her mom and dad. She can take some pain.”

Maria looked over her shoulder at us and kept walking.  I could see a bit of a smile on her face as she turned around; I think she is quite proud of her pain tolerance.  That pain tolerance is what helps her climb so well, too.  She has to deal with the pricks of needles as she ascends, and the poking of tiny branches located randomly throughout the tree branches.  She has no fear of looking down from high above; if it was me, I would be sick to my stomach.  She is the same way when it comes to climbing walls.  She can scale up those things like it is nothing.  I have a feeling Jon and I are going to be watching her climbing some big ol’ mountain in Europe one day.

And I loved how all the boys were running around reporting that “Maria had climbed all the way up the tree.”  They were in awe without realizing it (heaven forbid that they were found to be in awe of a girl!).  I am in awe of her, too.  She is one strong, intrepid girl, and I am quite sure she will continue to produce more “awes” from all of us as we watch her grow up.

Riding it out

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This weekend felt long.  

We had Maria’s friend Janira over on Friday night for a play date.  Mario got himself all worked up wanting to be near Janira even going so far as to ask for her autograph on his arm.  If she didn’t have any self-esteem prior to coming to our house, she sure has it now.  Maria gets annoyed and begs Jon and I to keep him away from her.  It works for a bit but then he sneaks upstairs to see them.  Every once in a while, if he acts like a pet dog or a new-born baby, the girls will allow him to play with them.  If he refuses to engage in the act, he is not wanted.

Saturday brought a hectic morning getting Maria ready to go over to Janira’s house for a play date and a movie and getting Mario packed up to spend a few nights with Grandma Ionno.  I hit the road at noon to head to Hamilton, Ohio for my cousin’s baby shower.  I was praying for sheet cake – I will take on a two-hour drive in the pouring rain with no issue if I know there is sheet cake waiting for me.  Alas, no sheet cake but there were cute, yummy cupcakes.  And there was good conversation with Meg’s sisters and nieces.  There is always a lot to talk about with them since I don’t get to see them much during the year.  They are down-to-earth and make me laugh.  We have two weddings this Spring for two of the cousins so Maria is in seventh heaven – she loves seeing the gowns and the ceremony and rockin’ it out at the reception. 

I got back to the house with only my hubby sitting in it.  Strange, yet peaceful.  No kids screaming.  No pulling at my shirt. No begging to play a game.  I actually got quite a few hours to just veg yesterday.  I thought a little about work and a little about tasks in the coming week but I spent a lot of time just listening to music and the scenery.  Just being.  Nice. In the evening, Maria traveled to the horse show with Grandma Meg and Peepaw.  She didn’t get home until 11 pm – Jon and I only stayed awake by watching Indiana Jones.  When she got home, she had an attack of the giggles.  She ignored our demand to sleep in her own bed (we allowed her in our bed because her neck hurt and we both were freaking out she had some strange disease).  She laughed at everything Jon said or did.  He sneezed, she laughed.  He said “goodnight”, she laughed.  Finally, Jon stopped talking and we all fell asleep. 

We woke up on Sunday morning at 7 am (can our kids ever sleep past 7 especially when they go to bed so late?!).  Jon headed to Marietta for a few hours.  Ri and I spent the first hour or so of the morning cleaning up her room.  We (actually just me!) gathered a lot of clothes for Baby Grace and a lot of toys for Goodwill.  After a bit, we both realized we were hungry and jumped in the stroller to head to Bob Evans.  It was packed – we got there just a bit late and all of the drunk college kids were strolling in with their hangovers.  We turned around and went to McDonald’s for sausage burritos and hash browns.  Not quite the same but it filled our bellies. 

On the stroller ride home, Maria seemed a little sad.  I asked her what was wrong, and she kept telling me nothing.  Finally, she admitted that she just wanted a play date with someone.  I told her we’d need to clean up a bit before someone came over, and she went into whine mode crying “Mom, what do we need to do?”  It got under my skin.  I thought what do I need to do to make her more appreciative of what she has and what more do I need to do to make her more willing to do chores.  How could I raise a daughter that thought she could just play all the time and not do any work?  How did I raise a daughter that was so moody at times?   

We stopped at the park before we headed home.  As I pushed Maria on the swing for the tenth time, it hit me.  I promote this behavior – I just stopped at the park after I told her we needed to go home and clean!  I help them clean their rooms after I tell them to clean their rooms themselves!  I go everywhere with them and take care of their every concern!  Ugh, no wonder she is acting this way.  What a dumba–!!! 

I sat her down after the swings and talked with her about my irritation.  I explained to her my epiphany and how I wanted her to be independent and respectful and driven, and how I had fostered a dependence on me by doing a lot for her instead of having her do it.  I explained that I did that out of love for her but that sometimes you need to push someone out on their own in order to show your love.  I told her that I was going to do that more and I needed her to work with me.  I looked down at her and she looked up at me.  Her reply: “Ok.”  I am quite sure she was thinking “what a whack job” but she has too big of a heart to say that to me. 

We went home and cleaned up some.  I also realized how ADD I am when it comes to housework.  I clean one thing and start on another but then I get side-tracked on something else.  Maria only follows in my footsteps. So, we have another day, another week, another year, to work on it all.  We threw down the dirty laundry and biked to pick up Janira and to Orange Leaf for a big ol’ yogurt with cookies and M&M’s sprinkled on top.  Much more fun than housework.  Then we went home, and the girls created a spa for me.  They filled bowls of water with flower petals and “mint” (green leaves from the plants outside) and scented lotions.  They got kitchen scrubbers and gels and a brush.  

I must admit that they did a half-way decent job.  Janira gave a mad foot rub and Maria rubbed my head with hair gel (I looked like a peacock afterwards but who cares when you get your hair pulled!).  They were just getting started when big ol’ bumblebees came swarming towards us surely smelling the scented lotions.  We made a mad dash inside and closed up the spa.  Barbies came next, and when I asked Maria to clean up before we took Janira home, she promptly abided.  My girl.