Maddie's First Day of School

Today was a hard day.  Today, I put my baby on a school bus and entrusted her to strangers.  Letting go was hard.  I wanted to take her to school this week, walk her inside, and help her put away her belongings until she becomes comfortable on her own. 

 

But she insisted that she ride the school bus.  She told me that she already knows where to go...and her friends will be there.  She couldn't wait to FINALLY ride a school bus and was the first one on the bus at her stop.  She didn't even look back and wave.

As I go about my business today, I am thinking about how lucky I am because I know that my little girl is in good hands.  That is the only thing that makes letting her grow up bearable.  She is attending an EXCELLENT school district and has been assigned to an outstanding teacher.  Not all kids are this privileged.  We are lucky to live in a high-performing school district focused on academic performance, that employs effective teachers who utilize high-yield instructional strategies and state-of-the art technology.  She will learn so much this year, and we parents will, too!

It will be a great school year for Maddie Lu.  I can't wait to hear about her first day adventures.  Dad and I will both be standing at the bus stop when the bus rolls to a stop this afternoon! But what I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall in that classroom :)



Out-of-Pocket

I've been out of pocket for the last week or so.  Where? No where really, just trying to tie up some loose ends at work before my last contractual today (which is today....can I get a woo hoo?)!

Tomorrow begins a busy summer. I am going to teach a two week workshop on digital film making to a group of sixth graders who will be documenting a summer school thematic program on China.  I am also conducting several iPad workshops for Arkansas teachers.  Can't wait for either of these!

I am also contemplating taking 2-3 classes toward my Ph.D. this summer.  Classes start next Tuesday and I can't get my advisor to call me back though.  I consider this a sign that I should take the summer off!  The id, ego, and super-ego are at war daily on this topic (and MANY others).

As I mentioned earlier, I am switching the girls' rooms.  I've been painting and shampooing carpets, shopping for bedding and accessories, and generally having a blast doing this.  I wish I was rich enough to do the ENTIRE house.  Don says no cause we aren't rich.  He is such a party-pooper sometimes!

On a sadder note, one of my students lost her little boy last Saturday.  She has been on my mind all week.  I don't know how people who lose their children go on.  It is devastating.  I am so thankful for my kids.  They drive me nuts but they are blessings and the joy of my life.  I am so blessed with SO much!  I love my life.

Being a Single Mom (Temporarily)

This has always been Don's "busy" time of year.  It would seem with the school year winding down that it would actually be slow, but nope.  He is preparing for the state technology conference (he's the coordinator), preparing for the summer courses he will teach at the university, and consulting for schools writing ERATE grants for next school year.  At this time of the year, I feel like a single mom.

This morning, the baby didn't get a bath.  I washed her down with a warm washcloth, pulled her tangled (sticky in places) hair back into a "top knot", and gave her a quick spray of her baby perfume (Degree Honeysuckle Spray - makes stinky babies smell fresh).  We skipped breakfast at home (she usually eats again at school anyway) and settled for a sippy of milk. 

Tonight, we will have the house to ourselves.  Don is working.  The teenager is working (yes, she is employed again, thank God).  It's just the two of us.  We may go out to dinner....Subway, Taco Bell, something quick and baby-friendly.  Then home to wash the baby so she will smell fresh tomorrow morning... 

Potty training assistance needed!

I am out of ideas with this one.  The teenager was easy go wean and easy to potty train.  Everything was on schedule, without a bump.  Not this new baby.  She is capable of using the potty, but has decided against it.

The current view on when to begin training a girl is 18 months.  When she reached that marker, we purchased two different chairs, one for upstairs and one for down, and got busy.  It looked like it was going to be a breeze.  We also thought it might help that she is the youngest in her class at school and everyone else was trained or training.  She played and practiced for a month, pulling her pull-up up and down, sitting, wiping, and washing her hands.

Then something happened.  She lost interest.  We still work with her, offer bribes (incentives is the politically correct term), and cheer loudly at her rare successes.  But at the end of the day, she prefers to pee and poop her pants.  We tried letting her wear them dirty for a little while, hoping the discomfort might encourage her to stop going in her pants, but this kid really doesn't care.  She doesn't even want her diaper changed.  A dirty bottom is just fine.

I know it will happen in time, her own time.  However, any ideas or suggestions from you guys would be greatly appreciated.  I'm out of ideas.

Mother's Day...For Me???

Well, Mother's Day is this Sunday (for those of you who might have forgotten).  It's our special day, the one day each year when we get to be the center of attention, doted upon, spoiled, etc.  The day when our husbands and children express their thankfulness, love, and adoration for all that we do each day to make their lives wonderful.

Hmmm.  That really never happens (for most of us anyway).  My Mother's Day usually entails a hug and "I love you" from the teenager (once she wakes up around noon and is reminded), and a homemade something (this year a glittery heart made by her teacher) from the baby.  During the afternoon, I slave over a hot stove and prepare a feast for my own mother, grandmother, and mother-in-law.  Don is usually kind enough to clean up the mess afterwards.

But not this year.  I have decided to ask for more.  For Mother's Day, I want:

• The teenager to stop smoking (she promised last night) and for her to behave herself on prom night this Saturday.
• The baby to get well for awhile.  She's been ill for twelve days straight!
• Someone to cook lunch or dinner for ME on Sunday (or better yet, take me out).

I've been thinking all week about what I need to do for the mommas in my life on Sunday, and then it occurred to me: I'm a momma, too.  This year, everyone's getting a gift certificate to the nail salon and a card.  Sorry.  This momma's tired.  Everyone is still loved and appreciated....just as much as in previous years.  I've just decided to celebrate me this year.

Rule #10: Milky Way

The Good Mother Guide warns mothers in Rule #10 that "Drink your milk!" should not be just a mother's "pleading request", but the anthem across America in the quest for strong bones and healthy teeth."  I couldn't agree more.  I do, however, take issue with parents who add flavorings to their children's milk.

I understand that many children, as they age especially, do not care for milk. What brings about this dislike?  When these kids were babies, they happily suckled milk from their mothers or infant formula, but somewhere along the way (perhaps during the transition of weaning), they began to dislike the taste of milk.  Or did they?  When I see a toddler with a sippy cup full of chocolate or strawberry milk, I ask their parents why.  The response is always the same, "He/she doesn't like milk."  I don't believe it.  I think someone in the family believed that the child might enjoy some flavoring in his/her cup, and NOW the child doesn't like milk otherwise.

I never sweetened the teenager's milk and she drinks milk daily.  We go through at least two gallons of milk per week.  We don't sweeten the baby's milk either (although some family members try from time to time and she sees her cousins getting pink and brown milk instead of white).

Does it matter?  Well the research is conflicting and the topic somewhat controversial, but there are some major questions that parents should be asking themselves when grappling with this decision:  Does the added sugar lead to tooth decay?  Does the oxalic acid in chocolate block calcium absorption?  Does this early accessibility to sweets contribute to childhood obesity?  Does the consumption of sweetened milk suppress a child's appetite for food?  There isn't enough definitive research now, so possibly.

The long and short of the issue is this: I want my children to enjoy eating healthy foods for themselves without any added flavorings or additives.  Milk is good plain.  Broccoli is good without cheddar sauce or butter.  Cornflakes are tasty without adding a couple of tablespoons of sugar.

As parents, we are responsible for instilling healthy eating habits in our children.  The more they are exposed to junk food and allowed to consume it, the more they will desire it over healthier options.  Someone has to be the grown up and say no.  It's our job.

I have one last remark to make on this topic of child nutrition. I think it's OK for a child to have a couple of cookies or a cupcake after dinner as dessert or a reward for eating his/her real food, but PLEASE stop offering these items to my kids before dinner! 

Bad eggs

It's unfair to blame the parents for a bad egg's behavior.  I've witnessed this in many families and among friends. A nice, respectable, responsible couple will raise a child or multiple children and something will go wrong with one of them. You know the kid. There's one in every family. He still lives at home at age 30.  She's in her sixth year of college, but still hasn't declared a major.  He's been arrested three times this year and been unemployed since this time last year.  She has three kids by different fathers and a drug problem.

Why and how does this happen?  Blame it on birth order, blame it on over-indulgence, blame it on genetics, but don't blame it on the parents.  I spent most of yesterday in the hospital ER because two "bad eggs" decided to get drunk, hop in a two-person ATV, and then flip it.  Both survived, but this was just one more story in an epic saga of car accidents, police arrests, etc.  Their parents waited outside their rooms, wringing their hands with worry and awaiting their prognoses.

I heard one of the patients (age 34) remark to his mother that his behavior was her fault because she doesn't love him enough.  He drinks because of this reason.  Never mind that he still lives at home, has little to do with his own four children by three different mothers, and is abusive toward the woman who rushed to the accident scene half-dressed and without pausing to brush her hair.  This is the same woman who never missed a parent meeting or baseball practice when she was raising him all by herself, and the person who still pays his bills and never closes her eyes at night without praying for his safety.

Even so, he blames her for all of his problems.  And he has a lot of them.  This was his second major accident in a week, just following his most recent arrest.  I guess what I find most upsetting is that these parents DO blame themselves for their children's mistakes.  No one else needs to point a finger in their direction; they already feel responsible and like general failures as parents.

It disgusts me. I pray that my girls don't turn out like these people, but I know that it is a possibility beyond my control.  It happens to good people, good parents all the time.  I just hope that if it does, I am able to withstand the manipulation and guilt that these rotten eggs seem to enjoy wielding toward the only people who still give a damn about them.          

Rule #8: Have a Lark!

"All work and no play can leave any mother elbow-deep in the doldrums."  Maybe this is why I've been such a grouch lately.  I haven't been attending the "bi-annual rotary club meetings" or "joining my lady friends for a bridge game while the kids are napping".  Wow!  It all makes sense now.

Well, last night I attended a Delta Kappa Gamma meeting (my last meeting as president!) and afterwards I went out for drinks with the incoming president (to discuss DKG business, of course).  It helped.  I feel a lot better today.

Instead of dreading the houseful of company that will arrive late tonight and stay until Sunday, I am actually looking forward to seeing them.  Don't get me wrong, I love them.  I've just been tired and grumpy.  A couple of hours with a friend and two glasses of red wine really knocked the edge off.

I blogged yesterday about the guilt that I feel for not spending enough time with my daughters.  The fact is, I can't help it.  I have to work if we want to continue to live where we do, drive what we drive, eat what we eat, and play when and where we like to play.  I started to say no to that drink with my friend last night, but after a couple of minutes, decided that I needed it and deserved it.

Rule #8's wisdom still rings true today.  Moms need to make time to "have a lark" occasionally. After last night, I feel like I can survive the weekend.

Don't take a baby shopping for a prom dress...

We just returned from prom dress shopping.  I have dreaded this excursion for three months because I knew that it would be riddled with drama.  I was wrong.  We started shopping at 10 a.m. and were back home by noon with a dress, shoes, and accessories. She found several that she liked at Dillard's and had to decide on one, but overall it was pretty easy.

This mother-daughter day out wasn't fun though.  Don had some things he needed to work on, so we took the baby along.  The "terrible twos" kicked in as we backed out of the drive way. Her newest thing is to lament over some pain or nonexistent booboo.  These ailments shift around on and in her little body.  Today, her nose, eyes, mouth, feet, and tummy hurt.  When she wasn't complaining about these, she just cried or screamed for any random reason. The clerk assisting us gave her a graham cracker which she rubbed into several of the gowns before we caught her.  She escaped several times, once making it all the way to housewares.  She feel once trying to climb back into her stroller, leaving s huge goose egg on her forehead.  Then, she pooped her pants.  I was as crazy as a betsy beetle (bessie bug) before we checked out.  The moral of the story is simple: Don't take a baby shopping for a prom dress.          

Back to the womb...

I have never considered sending my children back from whence they came (reference to woman who sent her adopted Russian child back to Moscow lat week because she couldn't deal with him).  However, I have wished that I could send them back to the womb for a few hours.  Mostly though, when times are trying (like right now), I think about running away.  I wouldn't go far, probably just for a drive.  Sometimes you just have to escape.

What is prompting this entry, you are probably wondering? The little one is having a bad day. Therefore, we are too.  We went to dinner across town (Taco Mama's) and she screamed from the time we left the house until her big bowl of guacamole arrived at the table.  She was quiet until she sucked the last bit of green slime from her baby thumb, and then let out a howl a that hasn't ceased in over an hour.

Don said that when he was a little boy, he once saw a woman swat her son off the front porch with a broom.  He thought then that she must be meanest woman in the world.  He stated that if he had a broom right this instant, he'd shoo Maddie off the porch too.  Funny how perspectives change.

Rule #9: Oh, Behave!

I am skipping Rule #8 for the time because the topic addressed in Rule #9 is receiving media attention (once again).  Check out this blog on the New York Times website for a heated debate on the topic (something I am not trying to insight here). 

At my house, we spank.  We aren't embarrassed about it.  We don't try to hide it from our family, friends, or colleagues because we believe that it works and sometimes its the only thing that seems to!  Don't get me wrong - we utilize other disciplinary methods as well, but sometimes find it necessary to bust out the ol' paddle (BTW, Don is a top-notch paddle-maker and has made several for our close friends!). 

"This is going to hurt me worse than it hurts you."  I have never believed this statement.  It doesn't hurt my feelings one bit to administer a swat or two to the booty if the occasion warrants such an act.  Afterwards, I sometimes feel bad about having to do it, but never regretful. 

My husband and I were both spanked as kids and we both needed and deserved them.  Neither of us received many, but when we did, our parents made them count.  Did the spankings make us violent? No.  Did the spankings make us resent our parents? No.

We do it a little differently than our folks.  We use a paddle or hand to the bottom (This works best if you catch the kid off guard and just snatch them up if the behavior persists after a warning or two).  My mom liked to use whatever household item was closest to her (hairbrush, flyswat, belt, extension cord, wooden spoon....I guess it depended on the room of the house that the misbehavior took place in).  Sound like abuse?  Na.  Mom was/is small in stature and couldn't spank very hard.  I usually made it to the next room before bursting into laughter.  Child abuse is having to cut your own switch, my grandmother's preferred tool of discipline.  Anyway, we remain calm and spanking is used only as a last resort, but again, we don't feel bad about it. 

So, there's my stance on corporal punishment.  You can agree or disagree and that's your prerogative.  I will still respect you tomorrow.

In closing, the advice for Rule #9 is as follows: "Don't bear the burden of doling out punishment alone when you can just as easily pass the buck to the man who had the luxury of avoiding the little demons all day."  In other words, if spanking makes your feel like a bad mother, make your husband do it. 

Rule #7: Accidents Will Happen

Rule #7 is all about a mother's responsibility to be prepared when her child has an accident or becomes ill.  I was surprised that the article didn't chastise mothers for not foreseeing and anticipating accidents/sicknesses before they occur.  My favorite little nugget of advice from this chapter was, "When your medicine chest doesn't provide relief, a little nip of whiskey should do the trick...for you, if not for them!"

I think most parents live in fear of DHS these days.  I don't recall going to the doctor very much as a child.  When I had a sore throat or chest cold, my mother followed the advice above and admistered a little whiskey, sometimes mixed with honey and lemon.  That seemed to do the trick.  She also used several other backcountry remedies (green walnut shell for ringworms, tobacco for a wasp sting, etc.) Today, many parents are terrified that someone will report them to DHS if they don't drag their kids back and forth to the pediatrician at least twice per month over the silliest of ailments.  We seldom give an illness time to run its course anymore (which is why many common strains are immune to antibiotics).

Aside from this fear of being reported as a bad parent, I think a lot of the parenting principles in place today are founded on guilt and peer pressure.  At daycare drop-off this morning, Lucy's mom mentioned that Lucy would be getting tubes in her ears; Jimmy's dad reported that his little man was being fitted for leg braces because his feet turn in a little; at 18 months, baby Anna is being treated for allergies.  The stories never end!  As humans, can we really be contracting more illnesses than we did 30 years ago?

Anyway, accidents WILL happen.  Children WILL get sick.  In most cases, they will survive.  The teenager suffered a broken arm the first time she put on roller shoes a few years back.  A few months later she skated down a steep hill on her razor scooter (no safety gear), destroying her face, elbow, and right knee.  We picked her up, dusted her off, waited a little while so as to better assess the seriousness of the situation, and then as parents decided about the need for a doctor/ER visit.  She is fine and dandy today.

The baby seems to catch every virus and cold that runs through her class at daycare.  We give it a few days and she doesn't begin to improve, we make an appointment with the pediatrician.  Nine times out of ten, she is better in a couple of days.  Don't misinterpret this and report me to DHS.  If she has a high fever or serious symptoms, we call immediately.  I'm just referring to coughs, colds, and tummy aches.

In the end, Mommy (or Daddy) must make the call.  It is sometimes better to err on the side of caution.

Now back to that nip of whiskey...

Rule #6: The "Buck" Stops Here

I had to take some time off from this series because I was beginning to lose interest, but Rule #6 went along with my morning scuffle with the teen so I must spew a little this afternoon.

According to the book, "Children who are never taught to save their pennies for a rainy day run the risk of growing up to be fiduciary failures content to live on the dole, or even worse, in your basement rumpus room for the rest of their adult lives."  At my house this morning, the teenager was running very late (as usual) for her 6:00 a.m. observation of a surgery at the local hospital.  Instead of checking the details for this part of her clinical experience, putting gas in her car, and washing her scrubs last night, she waiting until this morning to recall these necessities.  Somehow, I was partially to blame.

As she was leaving this morning, she yelled from the kitchen that she needed gas money.  I hate shelling out gas money because she doesn't value it.  It is expected from her.  The rule when we handed down the 4-Runner was that we would pay the insurance, but she would pay for fuel and maintenance.  Well, she's unemployed again.  I know that she needs gas to go to and from school and her clinicals, but she spends a great deal of time cruising and giving friends without cars lifts to their various destinations.  She needs gas money at least three times a week, and I am sick of it.  I gave her all that I had, $6.00.  She looked me dead in the eye and said, "Really?" Then she turned on her heal and stomped angrily to the car.

Our good friends, who have a daughter of the same age, recently experienced a similar situation.  Their daughter decided to decline a summer internship in DC (all expenses paid plus a $3,000 stipend) because she preferred instead to go to two or three hokie little camps around the U.S. (all of which cost quite a bit of money).  Her father flatly refused to fund the camps and advised her to get a job and pay for them herself.

Tough love.  Its difficult for everyone.  I know one thing for sure:  I don't want to be an enabler or a helicopter mom anymore.  I've spent 18 years providing Skyler with everything that she needed and many things that she desired because as parents, its expected.  How much you spend on your kids is part of "keeping up with the Jones".

Skyler's days of "living on the dole" will come to an end in two months.  She will graduate and start college.  Of course, we will pay for her necessities.  However, she WILL work to fund her own designer clothing, gas, etc.  And I really don't give a flip what Meghan's and Jennifer's parents will be paying for in the fall. The buck stops here.

Rule #5: Safety First!

Well, Rule #5, unlike the first four that I blogged about, is still somewhat relevant in 2010.  The author warned mothers about objects, behaviors, and actions that were potentially dangerous for children.  These included sticking fingers into electrical outlets, running with scissors, and playing in abandoned mine shafts.  For the most part, these still apply today.  I can think of some others that should have been considered in the 50s, like the use of car seats and minimizing exposure to cigarette smoke.

I don't think that I ever stuck my finger in an electrical outlet, but my little brother once made a bomb that blew his hair and eyebrows off his face.  My mother provided him with the supplies because he told her that he needed them for a science fair project.

We didn't run with scissors, but I was frequently sent to the kitchen to retrieve a butcher knife for my grandmother who waiting in the garden.  She always seemed to forget that one was needed to cut the okra from the stalks.  My brother always carried a pocketknife and was given his very own chainsaw when he was six years old.  It was real and a gift from the local saw shop owner whom my grandfather patronized throughout his career in logging.  My brother accompanied him every Saturday. 

We didn't have access to abandoned mine shafts, but played all around the concrete surround of the old well in the backyard.  We survived all of these things.

I guess my girls have never really been exposed to dangers such as these.  We warn the oldest one about sexual predators, texting while driving, and the dangers of alcohol, drugs, cigarettes, and unprotected sex.  We make sure that the baby rides in a carseat at all times and every outlet in our home has a protective cover.  The cabinets all have child safety locks and we use monitors to keep check on her at night.  My girls are city girls; the threats and dangers that they face will differ from those that concerned my mother and grandmother charged with rearing two children on a small farm in rural Arkansas.

The objects, behaviors, and actions associated with danger have changed in the past 60 years, but the need for parents to stay abreast of potential dangers has increased.  Sadly, we have alot more to worry about today.

Rule #4: What Lies Beneath

My mother always made sure that we were wearing clean underwear before we left the house and that we washed our feet before we went to bed.  She said that we could get into a car accident or need to go to the hospital at any given time, and we needed to be clean from butt to toe when (not if) it happened.  I know that this was a common concern among mothers at that time (apparently, someone's child had been in an accident and they all learned by way of the grapevine that the child was wearing dirty drawers) and apparently it dates all the way back to the 50s because this entire chapter is dedicated to the topic.

According to Rule #4, "Perfectly ironed knickers, starched shirts and spit-polished shoes won't hide a mother's shame if and when her young'un ventures out into the world sporting day-old unmentionables."   The solution, according to the chapter, is to teach Little Timmy to change his briefs on a regular basis.  In my opinion, the solution is to teach Timmy to clean his bottom a little better and to better monitor the difference between a toot and poop pain (women are SO much better at this!). I understand that "sharts" happen from time to time.  As mothers and wives, we are eyewitnesses to this on a weekly basis when we wash and fold underwear.

On my commute to work this morning, my favorite radio show was featuring a comedian who will be performing at the Looney Bin tonight.  He, along with the two male radio hosts, were discussing a list of 30 things that a person should be able to do or possess to live on their own by age 30.  One of the top 10 things was to own enough underwear to make it through one week.  The number varies by individual, apparently.  Some people need more, others less.  The comedian said that he had at least 19 pairs buried in his backyard because they were so dirty that he was ashamed to let his wife see them.  It made me wish that some of my family members were a little more embarrassed by their own skidmarks.

Rule #3: Bottoms Up!

I could also have entitled this, "My hands are just too big."  This post is a critique of the book's third chapter which provides a comical view of diaper duty and potty training.  According to the author, you can't "train an elephant to rollerskate" and its just as silly to think you can train a man to change a baby's diaper.

I beg to differ.  My husband changes diapers and he is very good at it.  He hates it, complains bitterly, gags, and sometimes gets poop on his fingers, but he changes them.  However, I think he still may be an exception to the rule.  I know several men who have never changed a diaper and never intend to. Their "babys' mommas" grumblingly accept this, but allow the behavior to persist.  This would not work in our family or in my marriage.  We go halfers all the way.  What few couples realize is that having a baby is a lot like adopting a pet.  A couple must come to a firm and clear agreement well in advance of any living addition to a household on who will be responsible for changing the diapers (or cleaning out the litter box, walking the dog, etc.).  In my opinion, if you helped make the baby then half the poop belongs to you, so man up and dive in. 

Speaking of diaper duty, I have a funny story from a couple of evenings ago.  Aunt Sha Sha was visiting and the baby pooped her diaper. While I changed the baby, Aunt Sha Sha held her doll during which time she thought it would be funny to smear the doll's bottom with peanut butter and then insert a Tootsie Roll into her little diaper.  When I finished changing Maddie, Sha Sha told her that she believed that her baby needed a changing too.  Maddie was alarmed at the diaper's contents and recoiled in disgust.  She fretted and carried on about the baby doll's poop for almost ten minutes before losing interest, much to our amusement.  When I laid the baby down that night, she looked at me and said, "Sha Sha pooped in baby's diaper."  This explained her surprise.


P.S. Don also cleans the litter box.  I am allergic to cat dander.
:)

Rule #2: No More Tears

This chapter discusses crying and tantrums (not yours, but the baby's).  Rule #2 states, "The attentive mother is one who can anticipate a child's needs at every turn."  In other words, if your baby is bawling, it is due to your motherly shortcomings...their words, not mine.


Everyone feels like crying sometimes, especially babies and new mothers.  They have a lot to cry about.  Its difficult to maintain a happy disposition when you are sleep deprived and your bottom hurts (i.e. childbirth for you, diaper rash for him). 

As far as "anticipating" your baby's needs, well, you can attempt to do that by checking the baby's diaper on a regular basis and remembering to feed him or her.  It also helps to keep them on a schedule.  But, crying and tantrums will continue to occur from time to time. 

For example, both of my children cry daily.  The teenager's crying is usually the result of an argument with her boyfriend, because she has gained weight and "hates her body", or because she is grounded and must endure riding the school bus, where the "little people touch her".  There is no way that I can anticipate any of these things because they are all the result of her own behavior or attitude.

The little one's tears are usually more justified.  She cries because she is teething (we are cutting the last two right now!) or has a booboo of some sort.  Lately though, she cries when someone else has something that she desires or someone is touching her.  Both result in huge crocodile tears and tattling.  I am not good at anticipating these latter two situations.

Some things are just beyond the control of mothers.  Kids cry.  It is our job to console them when they do, but it is not always possible to anticipate the tears or tantrums.  I have plenty of personal shortcomings without adding this to my list.  I'm sure you do too, so let's not beat ourselves up over this one.

I can't help but to be reminded of two of my own mother's expressions when I was reduced to tears or a tantrum as as child:

"Dry it up"
"Do you want me to give you something to cry about?"

Rule #1: A Child is Born

As I mentioned two weeks ago, I picked up the The Good Mother Guide at Books-a-Million while looking for something interesting to read while on the cruise.  Being a "new" mother again, the title and 1950s style cover immediately caught my attention.  The chapters are brief and each features comical (when read today) excerpts from Ladies Homemaker Monthly, a popular magazine during the 50s.  To follow through on an earlier promise to blog through each chapter, I am going to begin today with a response to "Rule #1: A Child is Born".  This chapter offers an insightful discussion on the typical woman's emotions and appearance on the day that she gives birth to her child.  I won't go into great detail (to prevent a copyright suit) and because you should read the book yourself if you're that interested.  My goal is not to provide a Cliffs Notes version.

To begin, I couldn't help but to compare the photograph in the book with my own photo, taken shortly after 15 hours of labor and delivery.  The contrast startled me a little.  The young mother in the picture was dressed in a white lace nightgown (not practical, considering what had just taken place), and was in complete makeup.  Her hair was perfect and featured a white bow.  Her bundle of joy is a yawning cherub.  He/she is also perfect and doesn't feature the disformities that I've seen in most newborns.

In contrast, I am wearing a green hospital gown and my hair looks like I combed it with a firecracker.  I remember writhing in pain to the point where my hair was completely matted to my head.  I didn't bother trying to comb out the tangles for two days. 

I am not wearing makeup.  It never crossed my mind to apply any, and why would I?  My face is swollen to twice its normal size and makeup would have only drawn attention to this.

My baby does not look like a cherub.  She looks like a conehead.  The top of her head stuck out for over an hour before the rest of her body emerged.  The cone remained until the next day.  She is a little jaundiced, but mostly beet-red and very wrinkled.

The magazine stated that, "A woman never feels more beautiful, more blissfully radiant, than on the day she welcomes her bundle of joy."  I felt neither emotion.  Instead, I remember feeling lots of pain, an internal promise to "never do this again", some disdain for the baby's father, and a thorough annoyance directed at all others in the room who didn't have a baby poking its big head out of their lower extremeties. 

After reading this first chapter, I realize how ridiculous and artificial society was at the time.  "Good" women were really expected to apply makeup and slip into a lace nightgown before the father (who was smoking a cigar in the lobby) and other visitors entered the room.  Well, times have changed.  I've had the displeasure of being in the delivery room with several friends and relatives through the years, and they all look like hell at the end (except for my two cousins, Christy and Dana, who never broke a sweat or mussed their faces and hair during the ordeal).

I've heard some call the birthing process both beautiful and miraculous.  What I've seen cannot even be called pretty.  New babies are smelly and kind of ugly.  Mothers are nappy-headed and bloated.  That's just how it is and that is acceptable now, thank God! I guess I broke Rule #1.

"The Good Mother Guide"

After spending most of the day running last minute errands and packing for vacation (my suitcase, Skyler's and Maddie's) I decided to run to Books-a-Million and pick up a few more books for the trip (Yes, I plan to immerse myself in smut and spend this much-deserved time off ignoring reality).

Maddie was taking a late afternoon nap in her carseat and Don was starving so he dropped me off and ran to Burger King for a snack.  He said this was to provide me with a little quiet time, but I think he is scared of books, or atleast large numbers of them housed in the same room.  Libraries give him the heebie-jeebies too.  Skyler was hanging out with friends in some undisclosed location.

At a big discount table set up at the store's entrance, a book entitled, "The Good Mother Guide: 19 Tips for Keeping a Happy Home" caught my attention.  I spent the next few minutes skimming the 19 rules and chuckling to myself.  I couldn't help but to apply the rules to my own practices and those of my mother and grandmother.  My final thought before pitching the book into my basket was, "Motherhood has definitely changed in the past 60 years."  No longer are we still expected to change all of the diapers and pretend that childhood doesn't hurt a bit (thank God!) I decided then and there that when I recuperate from this vacation, I'm going to personally examine each rule in turn and then present my own perspective on each.

This book is based on excerpts from a Midwestern magazine called "Ladies Homemaker Monthly."  I do not know if it is still in publication.  I hope not, but if so, I hope they've changed their way of thinking.  Being a good Southern girl and a touch redneck, I don't know that folks from these parts would have ever adhered to any of the 19 rules presented here.  During the vacation, I'll share the rules with my mother and get her input.  That should be an interesting conversation.  Her favorite quote from the Bible, is "Spare the rod, spoil the child."  Let's see what she has to say about the 18 rules that don't deal with discipline.

Spring Break can't get here soon enough...

Everyone in the house is sick or recovering from some illness.  Madilyn and Don have both been fighting chest colds and Skyler and I aren't feeling too hot either.  It could be spring fever. 

Spring Break is just around the corner and I am trying to get everyone well before we leave on a seven night cruise to the Western Caribbean.  As you know, Skyler graduates from high school in May so she got to pick our destination.  My parents and niece, Lexi, will be joining us.

I am looking forward to having some time off work, but dreading the trip at the same time.  We are driving to New Orleans a day before we depart and will be trapped in the vehicle with the two big girls and Maddie for 10 hours.  I am sure to be as crazy as a loon by the time we get there.

We bought Maddie a new music CD for the trip and a scribble dibble thing.  We are taking the DVD player and several videos for the big girls.  Don has a book on CD and I have a couple of magazines and NYT bestseller packed.  Those items should keep us entertained until we reach the city limits of Hot Springs. 

I have to take Maddie to the doctor for a final checkup before we leave and then I am taking myself for a pedicure.  I plan to spend the rest of the day tomorrow doing laundry and packing.

Spring Break can't get her soon enough....