Night Terrors

We hit the playground for a play date yesterday and found out that my daughter’s pal, who is a boy almost exactly her age–3 years 9 months–has had nightmares for about five months. Nightmares on a variety of subjects that wake him (and the whole family) 5 out of 7 nights a week, and usually result in heading to bed with mom. She’s tried the “practical approach” i.e. there are no killer dragonflies in your room, see?; the “play along approach” i.e. okay, mommy has the magic dinosaur repellent spray and now they’re all gone… and a whole lot of other tactics besides, including high powered night lights, door open, white noise, etc…

Well, she asked for any advice I might have and frankly, I had little to offer. I suggested one trick we use when traveling: A protector stuffed animal that is posted at the foot of the bed as guard. Yet Night Terrors are quite different from “afraid of the dark” or your basic nightmares, which my girl has once and a while. Besides it also seems that, unfortunately, they are already well into a habit of an interrupted sleep cycle in which the lad gets to sleep with mom more often than not (dad can’t cope with that and heads for the guest room). So part of me fears it is now self perpetuating in that way. At the same time, she says he is truly terrified, shaking, crying, etc. so that it seems he is really afraid and that they may well be actual Night Terrors. What to do? I looked this up online and it seems that her pediatrician wasn’t just blowing her off: that the “treatment” is outgrowing them. One site I saw suggested waking the child before they normally happen. Eesh. I’d welcome any suggestions we could offer this sleep deprived family.

Epic Mealtime

We all treasure meals together. We are so lucky that we can almost always have breakfast and dinner together. Except for the newest thing: the never ending meal. My dear daughter takes about six weeks to consume a meal. She will eat one noodle at a time. She will claim an inability to operate cutlery, despite two years of evidence to the contrary. She will spend 10 minutes arranging the food around the cartoon images on the plate. Oh the dawdling! The only thing that prompts her to put any bites in her mouth at all is the threat of no cookie for dessert (yes, she always has room for that).

I have wondered if it is the opposite of the ravenous growth spurt eating cycle; if perhaps now she has slowed down in caloric needs and simply isn’t all that hungry. I doubt it, though, because she never says she’s full or not hungry. Maybe it is a new toddler control issue: How long can I keep my itching-to-clear-the-table mom trapped here? I even have one sort of bitter sweet possibility: Perhaps she’s simply trying to prolong what are often our only relaxed, fully focused on each other (and food, of course) times of day.   

Thanks for Making me Look Good, Kid

I often joke with my young assistants that I am  never one to take credit for their accomplishments at work because the fact is: When they look good, I look good. I am a very shallow person. I want to look good. Because I am a 40-year-old-workaholic with a toddler, this will no longer be manifested physically. So I take the self esteem builders where I can get ’em.

My daughter–like every toddler before her, and probably like every one yet to come– resists me on issues from the mundane (what to wear) to the obscure (“don’t say that word, mommy” uh, okay, but what’s wrong with the word litigious? “just don’t say it!). And while she is what most moms call “a good eater,” she develops random loathings for once-loved foods, and control issues with what textures and tastes are acceptable at any moment (though thankfully, she is drinking water again).

So it was that I went to Thanksgiving day at my in-laws with trepidation. Nothing like a child that refuses to eat orange food, or mashed food, or whatever in front of your husband’s parents, right? As we sat down, and I anxiously gulped my second Vodka gimlet, my dear girl took her seat across from me with daddy, as the dishes began to be passed. Okay, despite the fact that she’d eaten two Brussels sprouts earlier at home, she refused to take any on her plate. Gulp. But then she warmed to scalloped potatoes, portabella ravioli, pine nut stuffing, turnips, Tofurky, and every other item that passed before her! And she cleaned her plate! Then, in the piece de resistance, Grandpa offered her the cranberry sauce I’d made for just him and I (as no one else eats it in that familial branch)–and she tried it… and liked it! After that, she ate the most bacteria-laden blue cheese I have ever seen!

Oh, my sweet girl, I shall strive to be more patient at breakfast when you suddenly want me to strain the seeds out of your raspberry yogurt or refuse a strawberry that you feel has displeasing proportions. For you, my girl, made me so very proud (and yes, thankful) on Thanksgiving Day.

Going Swimingly

So, among the list of activities I think I must involve my daughter in, swimming lessons rank high on the list. I took them as a kid, and am very confident in the water (and love it). We also have a pool, so it seems requisite to feel more confident about having our daughter swim safely.

Well, like all things I do, I compulsively researched all the options and quickly realized that most swimming lessons are designed around the non-schedules of non-working moms. Unless I want to kill 8 consecutive Saturdays with 11 a.m. lessons, then my options are during the workday. Fine. I’m lucky enough to have a pretty flexible schedule, despite a demanding job. However, this means that I’m scrambling to get my girl there on a now insane Friday schedule. So all you moms out there know that, since the stakes are high, stuff ain’t going as planned.

Plans. Ha. Needless to say, the first lesson was a near fiasco. Despite having been told that moms were discouraged to watch the kids in the water, as they’d be a distraction, when I got to swim lessons–laptop in tow–all the moms were lined up in chairs next to the water. When my girl refused. Yes, REFUSED, to go near the pool, the teacher told me that I was encouraged to get in with her–“swim lessons shouldn’t be a punishment, mom, you should try to make her feel comfortable in the water… this is why we encourage kids to start younger.” Ya? Thanks for sharing.

In fact: We did “mommy and me” swim lessons (on that crappy Saturday-killing schedule) and, as I’ve mentioned here, we have a frigging pool. This kid IS comfortable in the water. She jumps in, she roams about, she goes under, she just can’t SWIM. But with all “good mommy” eyes on me, I had to kick off my new shoes, roll up my pants, and wade down the stairs to get my dear girl the least bit wet, much less “swimming.”

 

However, the teacher did show great promise: I saw a child only 6 months older than mine floating and using his arms in a swimming-type-way. And more importantly, at the end of my daughter’s class, she suggested I find a swimming related bribe sufficient to get the child into the pool (or wear my suit next time).

Oh, the power of the bribe! My daughter is going through a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle obsession. Ya, the mom’s at the pool already looking on me piteously almost gagged when I had to call my daughter Michaelangelo to get her attention. So I dug through my things and found a TMNT band aid from my youth. Yes, yellowed with age, saved for something important all these years. And…

It worked! The second lesson, she got into the pool, retrieved objects from under water, sang with the other kids and even wowed the teacher by “pulling with her arms” when the teacher was whisking her through the water! Lesson three is yet to come, but if all else fails, I have a few more Band Aids.

You can Lead a Kid to Water

My daughter doesn’t drink milk, juice, soda… never did. Drank breast milk and since she quit that, been on water and seltzer water. Never had a problem. Ya, you never have a problem until you do, right moms? All of a sudden, my daughter is on a water strike. Despite concentrated urine (she thinks that it is prettier such a dark orange) and painful poop (which I’ve explained is related to her hydration fast), she has to be coaxed, nay, bribed to ingest a few sips of water. Oh I can hear you now: try giving her something that tastes good, beverage facscist! Well I’ve offered. I thought that perhaps a bit of forbidden fruit juice would be just the ticket. But no. Clearly if I want her to drink it, my daughter wants nothing to do with it. I’ve also offered different cups and darling little containers of things. And I feel fairly certain she won’t actually refuse to drink, uh, until she collapses or anything. At 3.5, she’s still very biologically driven. But I do marvel at the control issues a child of this age comes up with. I’ve heard about kids who go through “only white food” phases, for example. What’s next?

Going Back to Work

This is going to be a little heavier than the drivel I usually write, but I think that for the benefit of other mothers that may be considering going back to work, I will discuss what going back to work meant to me.  After spending four years at home waiting on my family hand and foot, I was feeling alienated and depressed.  I adore my family, but somehow, I couldn’t take anymore.  My patience was wearing thin and my sanity was all but gone.  I spent six months feeling miserable, but not knowing what I needed to do to make myself happier.  I toyed with the idea of going back to college, getting a dog, moving to a new house, going on vacation, joining a gym…. the list went on, but nothing seemed like it would fill in the emptiness.  One day a job offer showed up from a place I always thought I might like to work.  I didn’t think I would really get the job, or take it, but after a great interview I decided to give it a try.  What did I have to lose? 

I thought my kids wouldn’t be able to handle the transition.  How would they manage with out me?  What kind of mother lets someone else raise their kids?  I threw the idea out to the kids, “What would you guys think about going to school so mommy could go back to work a few days a week?”  My oldest was already in preschool and was hardly affected by my decision.  My youngest was my big concern, but he replied with an excited, “Can I have a lunch box?!?” 

So, with out any excuse not to, I went back to work.  The kids were fine.  Dare I say they were actually happy.  They found scads of new friends to play with and made crafts they were so excited to show me.  When I picked them up after work they were happy to see me.  Me.  The mommy no one gave a rat’s ass about last week.  I was happy to see them too.  Their little voices no longer resembled fingernails on a chalk board, they were music to my ears.  The few hours a week I spent away from them was enough of a respite for me to be the mommy I wanted to be.   The kids were learning to be more independent too.   I wasn’t letting someone else raise my kids, I was giving my kids a chance to grow up a little.  In fact, now I wonder if I really was depressed, I think I was just really bored. 

In any case, going back to work gave me a little independence from being mommy, and gave me a little glimpse of the person I used to be.  Quite frankly, I was really starting to miss her.  I admit, the transition hasn’t always been easy, I have to drag my kids out of bed in the morning and I occasionally have to deal with a kid who is crying because he wants to stay at home.  I also have to wrestle with my own neurotic guilt, but to be honest, I would have to wrestle that no matter what, all mothers do.  But, at least I don’t have to wrestle with my own self worth.

Decision Difficulty

I assume that the world has been spinning for the last four years.  I can only assume this, as I have not actually witnessed it for myself.  You see, I have spent the last four years at home with only two toddlers to keep me company.  While I love them dearly, spending every moment with them has left me feeling, for lack of a better word, alienated.  So, when last week a woman called me up and offered me an ideal job, at a place I had often thought I would like to work, I took it. 

Accepting the job left me emotionally conflicted, somehow, getting what I wanted made me more stressed than ever.  I was thrilled with the job offer, but suddenly I had to make a big decision.  Going back to work might make me happy, but what would it mean for my family.  My children’s happiness meant so much more to me than my own, how could I consider compromising it for a little personal fulfillment? 

Then, even more questions arose.  While they may be happy at home with me, was I giving them enough stimulation?  Was I giving them everything they needed to grow up?  Was I being selfish in thinking they needed me?  Did I need them?  Why couldn’t I quit talking in questions? 

After some soul searching, and opinions from everyone I ever met and some I didn’t,  (everyone wants to weigh in on this one) I decided that maybe it would be good for the kids to have a little time to grow up independent of me and each other.   Besides, opportunity doesn’t knock too often, best to take the job and try it, rather than burn the bridge.  In nine months my oldest will be in kindergarten and my youngest will be in preschool, then what will I do (I mean after I dance the jig and do naked cartwheels up and down the street (just kidding, I can’t do cartwheels)). 

Once this was settled, a new drama was unfolding… daycare.  I had no experience with daycare.  I had no idea how hard finding adequate day care was.  Actually finding inadequate day care is kind of tricky if you want to know the truth.  There are only limited numbers of slots for kids of each age group.  It is actually easier to create weapons of mass destruction than it is to obtain one of these slots.  It seems women sign for these slots years before conception, and in most states, must give at least one vital organ as a deposit.  When I called around town looking for a day care, there were audible snickers coming from the other end of the line when I told them that I needed to start in two weeks.  It was only by the grace of God that I happened to call a school the same day that another child’s family gave notice that they were moving out of state.  This final hurdle passed, I was able to start my new job.  Many adjustments have taken place and I know many more will come, but right now, I’m happy with my decision.