Monday, January 23, 2006

Lending calm

Somebody very wise once wrote that the best way to soothe a troubled child is to "lend them your calm."

My poor J was overtired tonight and wound herself up into a state that even a strawberry ice pop couldn't cure it. It was that bad.

Although F was convinced she was on the brink of schizophrenia (she was playing happily not two minutes before her rage took flight, for no apparent reason), I sensed she had just reached her limit for the day, badly needed sleep, and that it was going to be a rough night.

So I took a deep breath, gave her a time out when she hurled a hardcover book at her Dad, and then poured on the calm. I didn't try to reason, cajole or tease her out of it (I knew from experience that never works). Instead I patiently waited for the storm to blow over and for her to come to me.

It takes extreme stores of patience to be a parent. And I think it also requires a deep understanding of your child's individual personality, her verbal and non-verbal cues. I was in a calm mood to begin with, so that helped. But I watched her, I really watched her as she went through each stage of this tantrum, banishing us all from the room one minute and then running to me for a quick hug and then a push away. Trying to shake herself out of it by ordering the cat not to stare at her, laughing for a second and then shooting death rays at anyone who dared join in.

"Oh, I am in such a bad mood and I can't stop!" she told me at one point. "I know, honey," I told her. "Sometimes I feel that way, too."

She still didn't stop, and she needed a second time out with the door closed for throwing another book, but as I softly spoke to her through the door, I know that somewhere deep in her little 5-year-old brain and heart and soul, she was responding to me - even if she still couldn't let go of her rage.

Finally, I wielded a parent's ultimate secret weapon - distraction -- to great success.

I told the story of Princess Criesalot who was angry almost every night and would go through the castle saying, "Stomp, stomp, stomp, no, no, no - everybody must go, go, go!"

One day she was walking in the forest near the castle and tripped over a tree root. When she cried out again, ""Stomp, stomp, stomp, no, no, no - everybody must go, go, go!" a squirrel looked up at her quizzically, and then an owl looked down and said, "Who?" (The girls loved that part).

Princess Criesalot got so angry that she began crying, because that's what happens sometimes when you get really angry - it's so frustrating that it makes you cry. J perked up at this, although she still wasn't won over.

The story devolves into a simple mistaken identity fairy tale, with the Prince of Heart Mountain disguised as a woodsman happening upon the crying princess. They talk, both neglect to tell the other of their royal heritage, go their own ways, and then finally meet again, discover their mutual nobility, they laugh, he proposes, happy ending.

J fell asleep in her clothes before the secret identities were revealed, but she was definitely enjoying it, lying with her tear-stained face in my lap before she finally dozed off, exhausted, just as the prince and princess were about to have a second rendezvous.

I've been making up my own bedtime stories for the girls for a few years now, and it tickles me silly that they enjoy my tall tales. Now that they're at the age of memory, I hope I'm helping create some images that they'll share one day with their children.

And that they'll learn how to share their calm with their own children. It's a wonderful gift to lend.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

Ipod Nano Nano

For those of you from my era, "Nano, Nano" signified the "Mork & Mindy" show, the slightly deranged situation comedy which launched Robin Williams' career in the 1970s.

As a middle-aged mother of two kindergarteners, it has gained a deeper meaning to me since I have become the proud, slightly deranged owner of an Ipod Nano.

Up until I received this sweet little package for the holidays, my musical tastes were lodged firmly in the mid-60s to mid-80s, somewhere between the Beatles and Terence Trent D'Arby.

Then I discovered Itunes.

And while I spent the first few days downloading long-lost favorite tunes from cheesy girl-bands like the Go-Gos and the Bangles (I raise a symbolic lighter to "Eternal Flame") and long-forgotten bands like Yaz ("Only You" and "Misty Blue" - I missed you!) , I slowly started sampling some of the Imixes and nosing around where I imagine navel-pierced 15-year-olds would be appalled that I dared to tread.

My 21-year-old niece may deride Green Day as "so junior high" but they're a new taste for me, and bring me back to my college years when a friend turned me on to The Clash (who GD definitely worshipped when they were in diapers). "Give me Novacaine" is my new anthem and "Are we the Waiting" makes me feel like I'm once again a disaffected youth, even though I'm listening to it while trekking from commuter train to work...in my Tahari suit.

Then there's Carlos Vives, who sings so beautifully in a language I don't understand. And Motion City Soundtrack, whose song "Everything is All Right" is hysterically funny and poignant, all at the same time.

Unlike the teenagers out there who are probably racking up massive debt downloading songs (I have at least a $5 per day habit and I can see the day where I will refer to it as "I-Crack"), at least I've got the disposable income to feed my habit.

And although it may only be another symptom of my burgeoning mid-life crisis, it's still a lot of fun.

And although I haven't yet learned how to use this feature, I can also download and store color photos of the girls, so I'll have them with me when I travel next month to Vegas. I can just see me now, winning the jackpot on Wheel of Fortune, while glancing at the girl's holiday pics and listening to Kanye West.

Monday, January 09, 2006

Joy and fear - I have been tagged for my first meme

Nevermind that I had to google "meme definition" and read an "About.com" explanation to finally understand what this actually means (I got the gist by reading other blogs, but being tagged forced me to actually understand it before responding).

So, landismom tagged me, and now I'm forced to reveal five "weird" things about myself.

Hmm. Truth be told, I'm fairly un-weird, so this took some thought. And I'd probably be laughed right out of a weird convention for what I'm about to write, but so be it. This is as weird as I get.

1. My pillows and sheet have to be crisp and cool or I can't get comfortable, and I habitually turn the pillow over and over every night to find a "cool" spot. This must be genetic, because J does this, too.

2. I once had (and occasionally still have) an obsession with reading words and phrases backwards and finding the results hysterical. In fact, I still think Niknud Stunod is laugh-out-loud funny.

3. As a weekly newspaper reporter and then a daily reporter for a wire service for a number of years, I wrote hundreds and hundreds of stories, many of them filled with much detail, analysis and many sources. Now I'll look back at my clips and can't remember the events detailed within them, much less having written them myself. But there my byline sits. This may not be weird, it may be early onset Alzheimer's.

4. Here's one donated by my husband. Every time I make up my face or check myself out in a mirror, I purse my lips in a 'vogue-ing' kind of way.

5. On the rare occasions when I eat at Burger King, I order a Whopper - no onion, and a side order of - onion rings.

I told you, I'm not that weird.

Saturday, January 07, 2006

Adventures at Chuck-E-Cheese

I'm not in favor of evening birthday parties for anyone under the age of 25, but that's just me. I believe children's parties should either take place early enough in the morning that you're not completely awake, or close enough to a meal that the children can have fun for exactly 40 minutes, scarf down pizza and cake and we can all get home before bathtime.

Other parents apparently harbor distinctly different notions about such things.

Which is how my Friday afternoon turned into a rush to buy a 6-year-old presents at Wal-Mart after taking the 1 p.m. train home to the burbs, a mad dash home by 3 p.m. in order to not miss the girls' bus home (I only do this at-home mother thing once a week, so I know I'd better not f#%k it up or the bus ladies will forever brand me as "that bad working mom").

That was followed by the delighted squeals and smiles from two 5-year-olds who are pushed beyond ecstasy when I play the stay at home mom role that one day each week (the flip side of working motherhood guilt - they practically get apoplectic when they see me - it's a real ego boost).

After they made homemade cards for their friend, had a snack and watched enough Fairly Odd Parents episodes to sate them for a few hours, we headed out the door toward Chuck-E-Cheese's. Not my ideal party spot, but the girls were stoked, and their happiness is, ispo facto, my happiness, so I buckled them into their seat belts and was just about to go when I somehow slammed my index finger into the spot between the window and the door.

For a few agonizing and somewhat transcendental seconds, I looked at my finger - wedged tightly in a closed door, and had this succession of thoughts:

"My finger is stuck in the door.

"How the hell did I do that?"

"I'd better open the door and get it out."

"This is going to hurt."

"A lot."

When I finally disengaged my digit, it quickly swelled up to three times its normal size, I pushed back tears, and silently wondered if the girls' evening of fun was going to turn into a trip to the emergency room.

Luckily, my father rushed out of the house with a boo-boo bunny and some extra ice packs, and once we got to the party, the swelling decreased and it soon became clear that I had not done any permanent damage.

The girls did fine, and thankfully the place wasn't too crowded (did I mention that I routinely turn down invites to parties if they're held at Chuck-E-Cheese? Now that the girls are learning to read, this is going to get more difficult).

My impaired state only forced one concession - I gave in, I mean completely caved in, to a tantrum L was having because at 9 p.m. (what children's party ends at 9 p.m. when my daughters' demons are just waking up?) she wasn't ready to leave and wanted - in this order - more tokens and ice cream.

So I gave them to her. Then I lied about how many credits we had from the tickets they earned, they both got a sticky eyeball (did I ever mention I am not raising girly-girls?) and we went home.

Then J balked when told she couldn't watch more than 10 minutes of the Lion King 2, and launched into a hysterical, I am so tired I can't even see straight tantrum at 10:30 at night, complete with pillow missiles aimed squarely at my head and kicking arms and legs whenever I got near her. She finally fell asleep after a final exhuasted (but still determined) demand - "I-want-to-watch-the-Lion-King!"

When she woke up this morning (completely rested and sweet as spun sugar), I asked if she remembered her tantrum the night before. She smiled slyly and said she did.

"I turned off the TV and told you you had to go to bed because you were so tired and I knew you needed sleep," I said, in the hopes of teaching her how NOT to behave next time this kind of drama threatens to unfold.

"I wasn't tired," she asserted at first.

"J..." I said.

"OK, mommy - I was sooo tired. I was tired even before I got in my room!"

Thanks for telling me now, little one. Thanks for telling me now....
motorola razr v3
motorola razr v3