Laughter and Noise

A lover and a fighter

2011-01-24T17:10:00.000-05:00

I know that I’m destined to have a conflicted relationship with my daughter. I have one with my own mother, and I’m well aware of how closely we all follow in our parents’ footsteps, whether we like it or not.

When I say conflicted, I don’t mean to imply that my relationship with my own mother is fundamentally broken in any way. On the contrary, we have a very good relationship: We talk all the time. I tell her (nearly) everything. I’ve asked her and my dad to be the ones to take care of our own children should, god forbid, anything ever happen to us. I had a happy childhood. And I’m basically a well-adjusted, productive adult. And I realize that’s thanks in large part to the good work my mom and dad did raising us.

So, our relationship isn’t broken. We just know how to push each other’s buttons. And we’re both fiery Irish women, so man-oh-man is it something to see!

After marrying my husband and seeing how he and his family interact, I realized there are two kinds of people in this world: fighters and non-fighters. My husband is a non-fighter. His mom does things that would make me fly into a fit of rage. Or at least to call her out for being completely and utterly ridiculous. He just kinds of accepts it and moves on. And I literally can’t understand this behavior.

That is, of course, because I am a fighter. So is my mom. And therein lies the challenge. Oh, the battles we used to have! We used to have knock-down, drag-out fights regularly. Like pretty much every morning. I can’t tell you what a single one was about—how I buttered my toast, probably—because we don’t really argue about anything that really matters. We argue mostly about stupid nonsense.

But this is how we interact. We occasionally push each other’s buttons. We scream. We cry. Then we usually laugh and get over it. And things go back to normal.

I'm sure this probably sounds ridiculous. And while I’m sure a shrink would disagree, I believe that kind of relationship is at its core healthy. After all, it taught me that, there is nothing that can happen that would make your family stop loving you. Parents love you. Husbands and wives stay. People fight. Such is life.

That said, I’m not going to pretend it’s particularly enjoyable to fight all the time. It does make relationships complicated. And I’m sure my husband wants to throttle my mom from time to time for passing on this fighter gene.

But, helas. We all come with our baggage. This is mine. And so, on some level, I’ve always known that my daughter and I were destined to follow a similar path. I always figured that when she was 12 or 14 or 16 we’d have similar battles over curfews and boyfriends and clothes and god-knows-what-else.

I guess I never thought that those battles would start at TWO, though.

But, then again, this wouldn’t be the first time I wildly underestimated potty training.

So, yeah. Potty training is not going well.

Well, that’s not entirely true: since my last post on the topic, Button has essentially fully trained himself. Color me stunned, because I never thought it would happen, but he wears underwear all day long—naps included. He wears diapers only for bedtime. And he’s has barely any accidents.

Go figure.

Bear on the other hand? What a clusterfuck that’s been. She’s ready. We all know she’s ready (physically). And we know she wants to be ready (mentally) but that she’s scared.

What we didn’t realize was that she’d essentially use potty training as a way of battling with her mom. But, my lovely, fiery, fiercely-independent daughter has done just that. She wears underwear and goes potty with just about everyone—my parents, our nanny, school.

But for me? She BATTLES me. Seriously—she, in fact, instigates the battles. Much like I used to instigate battles with my own mom. For no good reason, I would bait my mom and start fights. I didn't do it on purpose. Well, that's probably not entirely true. On some level, I'm sure it was intentional. It just wasn't exactly a conscious decision. And I'm sure I did it because I was working through my own sh*t and had to work it out somehow and, because I’m a fighter, getting all emotional and fired up is one way I sort through my emotions. (I'm not particularly proud of this, by the way, but so be it...)

So the real problem is that I’m sure that she’s battling me and picking fights with me because she’s deeply conflicted about potty training. And it’s becoming clear--to me, anyway--that she’s inherited my fight-only-with-the-people-you-love-best tendency. You see, if I met you tomorrow and even if we became fast friends and knew each other for decades, we’d probably never fight. I’d be your calm, understanding, even-keeled friend. I save the firestorm for a very select few: my mom. My husband. And, very occasionally, my dad.

And I can see that’s what Bear is doing. She’s dutifully doing what she knows is right with everyone else. Everyone.

But with me? She saving all her conflict and all of her stubbornness and all of her tears for me. Because we have a very special relationship. She’s a mommy’s girl. And for that, I know I will be blessed to know her better than anyone on the planet. But I'm also realizing that, because of that, I’ll will bear the brunt of the fallout for every conflicting emotion she will ever feel.

And I guess, in the end, I’m okay with that.

Princesses

2011-01-17T22:03:00.000-05:00

Are you a princess? I said & she said I’m much more than a princess, but you don’t have a name for it yet here on earth. --Brian Andreas

Okay, I am starting to realize that one of the many ways I’m going to be forced to eat crow as a parent is over the issue of princesses. I admit it: I’ve been somewhat smug about the princess fascination that is everywhere these days. I’ve been known to go on a rant or two about it. A justifiable rant, in my opinion. I mean, seriously, sometimes princess-themed goods are the only “girl” things you can find. Cards, clothes, you name it. And it starts at birth! We received a “daddy’s little princess” onesie* for Bear when the kiddos were born that I basically never put on her. I mean, really? Is the most I can hope for from my beautiful daughter that she grow up to be a beautiful trophy for someone else to win? That she get recognition solely for the family to which she was born or the man to whom she’s married.

No way. Not my daughter. She’s beautiful, yes, but she’s strong and independent and I hope for much more. I hope she makes a world of her own creation, not that she lives as a prop in someone else’s.

And so on Halloween, when I saw toddler after toddler and little girl after little girl all dressed up in princess variants, I jumped onto my smug horse. I mean, come on! Isn’t it our fault as parents if that’s all our daughters want to be? Shouldn’t we be encouraging our girls to be something…else?

But then today, I took Bear to her first “princess” movie, Tangled. And she loved it. And I loved going with her. And she loves dressing up—she plays dress up everyday—and I can already see where this is headed.

But the thing is, I just found the whole thing incredibly cute and sweet. For the first time, I saw the princess fascination differently. As I saw my little girl’s eyes light up, I realized that her fascination wasn’t about princesses per se. It couldn’t be, since we’ve never even talked about what a princess is. No, it was more than that. It was part of her figuring out, in her own cute toddler way, what it means to be a girl, and how that makes her different from her brother or her daddy. She talked about Rapunzel’s long hair, and how she and mommy have long hair—and how that’s different from daddy and Button. And I’m sure—knowing how much she loves to dress up in her pretty dresses—that she loved Rapunzel’s dresses and the pretty braid she had her hair done in.

So, my heart softened a little bit about the whole thing.

Of course, I was also glad that Disney seems to be straying, at least in part, from the woman-as-helpless-victim caricature that has plagued almost all of their movies (except, perhaps, Mulan). Sure, I wish Disney and others would do more—that they would create heroines who were compelling and interesting and not princesses at all. That movie studios and authors would realize that they are helping to shape little girls and little boys perception of gender roles.

But, for today, I just really enjoyed taking my sweet daughter to her first movie and hoped that the strong women in her family will give her more nuanced role models to emulate so that, even as she enjoys watching princesses, she'll know that she's destined to be much, much more.

*My fabulous husband, after I ranted about the daddy’s little princess crap that was EVERYWHERE, had a onesie made just for my little Bear that said “daddy’s little architect.” I love that man.

Welcome to my new nieces!

2011-01-14T16:13:00.000-05:00

This past summer, my sister-in-law found out that she was having twins. We were all excited because this meant that, like us, they were going to have three kids under three. (We have 2.5--almost 3 year old twins and a now 4-month old. They were to have an almost 2.5 year old when their twins were born.)

A few weeks ago at a routine ultrasound, they found out that one of the girls wasn't growing well and diagnosed her with IUGR (intrauterine growth restriction). They've been monitoring her closely since, and at yesterday's 34-week ultrasound, they made the call that it was time to pull them both.

The girls were born this morning and, happily, both came out breathing on their own and haven't needed breathing support yet. I'm sure they've got a long road ahead of them, with likely several weeks in the NICU, but everyone seems to be doing well.

Here's hoping the news only gets better and better as the days progress and that, in a few months time, all six cousins under three will be creating mischief of one kind or another.

Nature v. Nurture

2011-01-13T14:49:00.000-05:00

You’ll notice that, conspicuously missing from my snow day pictures is a photo of Button. One of the things that fascinates me about having twins is that it’s like having your own little nature v. nurture experiment. We raise both kids exactly the same. They share a room, toys, activities, friends, etc. And yet, their personalities could not be more different. In a lot of ways, their preferences follow the stereotypical gender preferences—which I find fascinating because I was always in the "gender is a social construct" camp and wouldn't have expected to see some of these preferences come out so strongly. (For instance, Button LOVES trucks, cars, trains--anything that moves, really. Whereas Bear adores clothes, shoes, dolls, etc. How did this happen? They both have "babies" and strollers and trucks and trains, etc. And I've consciously tried not to cultivate gender differences...)

But, I digress...

When it comes to playing outside, they two are complete, polar opposites. (And this is one place where their preferences don't fall along stereotypical gender lines--hooray!) Bear is my outdoorsy girl. She can outlast just about everyone, no matter how cold it is. Nearly every day, within about 30 minutes of waking up, she asks to go outside. And while she’s outside, she loves to run, climb, slide, play sports, the works.

Button, on the other hand, is content—too content for my likes—to stay inside and play. Sure, he loves to run around, but isn’t as outdoorsy or “sporty” as Bear seems.

Button is, however, incredibly musical. All he wanted for Christmas was a violin and a guitar. (Yes, he’s 2.5. Go figure.) He was first introduced to a guitar at my in-laws’ house: my brother-in-law has one and can play and Button was mesmerized. He followed Uncle Mike around for hours just watching him play. (And he’s not the “follow other people around” kind of kid. On the contrary—he’s very shy and usually stays close to me or hubby. Unless there’s a guitar involved, apparently.) From that day, he asked for a guitar every day until Christmas.

A few weeks before Christmas we took the kiddos to Lincoln Center to see the Nutcracker. While we were waiting for the performance to begin, we went to the orchestra pit to watch the musicians tuning up. Again, Button was mesmerized, this time by the violins. From that day forward, he asked for a violin every day until Christmas. (Thankfully, on Christmas morning, the guitar placated him, because I had a hard time justifying paying almost $100 for a violin for a two-year-old!)

And while Bear likes music and loves to dance and sing, she’s displayed only lukewarm interest in anything resembling an instrument.

I can’t help but wonder, though, if we’re more apt to “push” twins in the direction of these early preferences almost as a way of solidifying their individuality? I know that I think a lot about wanting to make sure they have individual experiences and that we’re sensitive to their differences. But, in the end, does that mean that we’re more apt than parents of multiple singletons to cultivate (or encourage) differences?

Or, are all kids just this different? Because, I swear, sometimes I wonder how these two little beings are even related, let alone twins!

Snow Day 2011

2011-01-12T13:33:00.000-05:00

Go, Bear!

2011-01-11T15:33:00.000-05:00

So, Bear went to school in her big girl underwear today! This was a B-I-G step! She did, of course, have an accident there, but that's inevitable, I think. I'm hoping (hoping!!!) that we can recreate this and just coax her out of diapers for good.

Unfortunately, we haven't been able to coax her out of diapers so far this afternoon. (She wore the diaper for nap, which I think makes senes.) She is to aware of the accident possibility and it's a real setback for her. The problem is, she'll never be trained without accidents, so I don't really know what to do there.

I think one of the things complicating this process for her is that her brother is totally and completely disinterested in the potty, so we can't rid our house of size 7s anytime soon. Which means that there are diaper temptations all around her and she reverts back to it when she's feeling uncomfortable. And I feel uncomfortable saying, "no YOU can't wear diapers anymore, but Button can." That just seems confusing and wrong.

*sigh* The saga continues...

Frauds

2011-01-10T19:54:00.000-05:00

I am a machine. That is to say that I approach (most) things with logic, discipline, and vigor. When our twins were 11 weeks old—and my husband and I at our wits end, wondering why sane people ever have children and how the hell you were ever supposed to survive twins—we decided we needed to change. We needed a moment in our lives where we weren’t holding one or two babies. In short, we decided our children needed to transition out of our room and into their cribs, or we would literally never have a moment to ourselves again. It was…hard. It involved a lot of wine, many tears (mine, mostly) (and three little letters that I won’t even mention here for fear of igniting a firestorm over sleep “training” techniques).

But, after a few days, we were actually able to EAT DINNER! Without holding a baby each! It was literally transformative.

Since those early days, we have followed the exact same routine with our twins. Every night. For two and a half years. Bath. PJs. Milk. Book. Goodnight Moon. Bed. I don’t think we’ve deviated from it more than twice. Including when we brought them to Disney and recreated it down to the positions we sit on the couch while reading Goodnight Moon.

You see, our kids are great sleepers. They’ve slept through the night—not exactly since 11 weeks, but since some early day between 4- and 5-months. And, I mean, if it ain’t broke…

We have many times high-fived about how we must be the most awesome parents in the world to accomplish such a feat after all, sleeping is the hardest part of parenting, right? Everything else is cake!

(Yes, you have my permission to laugh.)

Between the time the kiddos were four months and 2.5, there were lots of things that made us lose our balance and almost fall from the pedestal we’d constructed for ourselves. It wasn’t until four months ago, though—when the twins were 2.5—when the pedestal itself vanished into thin air and we came crashing down into the abyss of toddlerhood and all that entails.

Oh, and did I forget to mention that in that exact same month, we added an infant to our brood?

Yeah, so essentially, in the past four months, we've been exposed as the parenting frauds we are. Our new reality: we have absolutely, positively no idea what we're doing.

Phew! There's almost something liberating about that. I mean, perfection can no longer be my goal since I'm now so wildly off the mark.

Of course, at the same time, holy s*@t, there's a lot we don't know! It's kind of amazing how many time, in the past several months, we've been forced to realize that we aren't quite so much in control as we'd like our children to believe. I plan to catalog all of the ways we're faking our way through this parenting thing here...I guess mostly so my kids will have a record for our commitment hearings someday.

So I’ll start today with potty training. The first (first?) of my many failures...

We’ve been potty training on and off for…oh, I don’t know…a thousand years? We introduced the potty ages ago—a year ago? I can’t even remember. Our son even used it. Several times. To pee AND poop. (We high fived then, too. Idiots.) But, because we didn’t want to “push” them, we didn’t ditch diapers. And now we fear we’ve created a potty training monster from which we’ll never escape.

Our son, quite simply, has no interest. None. I’m pretty sure he’ll go to college in Depends, change them once a week, and be perfectly happy about it.

Our daughter…well, she’s very interested. Very interested in how she can use potty training as some attention-seeking manipulation, I fear. You see, she loves her big girl underwear. She wears them all the time. Correction: she wears them when SHE wants to. If you deign suggest it, holy hell. She’ll throw a tantrum the likes of which you’ve never seen.

She can use the potty, too. But, again, entirely on her terms.

I know it’s partially that she’s conflicted. When she’s in her underwear and has an accident, she gets very upset. No matter how much I try to convince her it’s no big deal.

And I can see how much she’s struggling in that in-between world of toddlerhood—where she’s teetering on the brink of some scary independence and frequently clinging to a few familiar trappings of babyhood.

But now we’re kind of stuck. How do I convince my son that, no really, using the potty is a good idea even though it does, in fact, distract from whatever it is you wanted to be doing?

And how do I get my daughter over the hump without turning this into an epic toddler/parent contest of wills?

Several weeks ago, I made a somewhat pathetic attempt. I decided it was time to pull the band aid off, and I explained that, after Christmas, we were saying “bye bye” to diapers. We talked about it. We bought big girl underwear (again). We planned and practiced.

Then Christmas came and went and I, quite frankly, wimped out.

I had some good reasons. First, everyone in my house started the holidays by getting sick. Some yucky diapers escalated (eventually) into a full-blown stomach virus. (We are still feeling its effects—but that’s a story for an entirely different day…)

But really, much as I’d like to blame it on the virus, it really comes down to this: I told her it was time to say bye-bye to diapers, and she told me, tearfully, that she wasn’t ready. And I guess I realized, neither was I.

You see, I don’t know what this will mean or how to do it right. And, as I mention, I like to approach all things with logic, discipline, and vigor. But here, I fear I’m in way over my head.

And so now here we are. Christmas is over. My deadline/ultimatum has been revealed to be utterly and completely meaningless. And now I’m left wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do?