It Gets Better When We Get Better

Maybe you have seen the recent “It Gets Better” campaign, in which celebrities urge LGBT youth not to take their own lives. It’s a tragic campaign really, putting the spotlight on how trapped today's kids feel by bullying.

It made me wonder how kids can be so cruel to one another. Then it made me mad. Why is everyone trying to convince the victim not to commit suicide? Why isn’t anyone telling those bullies to stop? And what about their parents? Who are the horrible parents of these horrible kids?

Certainly I’m not one of those parents. I’ve never taught my kids that it’s all right to take out my anger, frustration, and insecurity on someone else. I’ve never acted in a way that would encourage such awful behavior in my children.

It’s not like I’ve ever had a bad day at work then yelled at my five year-old for something as trivial as spilling his water on me at dinner. Or been embarrassed by my three year-old pooping at the public pool then humiliating her by scolding, “only little babies poop in their diapers” in front of her friends. I’ve never made a side comment to my husband about how the waiter at Chevy’s must be kind of stupid to get our order wrong three times in one visit and will be lucky if I don’t complain to his manager. Nope, not me. Or maybe I did – once or twice.

But surely the parents of these bullies do more than lose their temper. They must beat their kids. Or drink themselves into a stupor in front of the children. Or completely neglect them and leave them to lead “Lord of the Flies”-like lives at home. Losing one’s cool occasionally in front of the kids can’t turn them into bullies, right?

Then again, my kids have been yelling and taunting each other a lot. That’s just siblings being siblings, and a kindergartener learning delinquent behavior from the more belligerent kids at school. It couldn't be me. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe I had something to do with their recent aggression toward each other.

So I have been trying very hard the last few days not to yell at them at all, not to lose my temper over a five year-old acting five and a three year-old acting three. It isn’t easy – five and three year-olds are pretty evil – and there is a lot of stress in our lives from our environment, the economy, and an ever-growing sleep deficit.

What amazes me, and shames me, is that it has made a difference. They listen about as much as they did before (which is to say, not much), but they treat each other more civilly. They treat me and my husband more civilly. We’ve had fewer tantrums from the kids because their mom is throwing fewer tantrums.

It’s a disturbing realization. How many of us suffer incompetent co-workers, bad drivers, and apathetic service providers all throughout the day and go home feeling just a bit pent up? How many parents take out all the inequities of their crappy day by inadvertently letting off steam at the stupid (sometimes colossally stupid) things their kids do? How often are bullies passing on the hell they catch at home – over getting a bad grade, forgetting to do their chores, talking back to a parent, or being generally lazy and recalcitrant – to someone who is going to shut up and take it (until that someone can’t take it anymore)?

In other words, how many parents essentially bully their kids without realizing it? After all, bullying is inflicting emotional pain and creating a threatening and hostile environment. What’s more painful and hostile than to have your mom or dad go crazy mad at you?

It’s really difficult as a parent to recognize when we’re treating our kids like emotional punching bags. At the end of an immensely bad day, if you come home to a whiny son and a daughter who decides to paint your skirt with strawberry yogurt, the first reaction is to yell and punish them. But that doesn’t make the day any better. Nope. It gets better when we get better, about managing our own hostility and giving our kids a good example of how to treat others.

Being a Full-Time Mom

I need to state for the record that I am a full-time mom. I also work full-time. I am still a mom, even when I am at work. I am still a mom when I am at the gym. I am a mom at 3am when V is screaming because she got a bloody nose. I am a mom when I take PTO because E has a fever and cannot go to school.

I am not a stay-at-home mom (quite frankly, I do not have the patience and fortitude that SAHM's have, and bless their hearts, they are stronger women than I am), but that does NOT mean that I am not a full-time mom.

Please note for future reference that just because a mother needs or wants to contribute to the household income that it does not diminish the full-timeyness of her motherly duties.

School's In Session

E officially started kindergarten this last Tuesday. After all the worrying and stressing over private vs. charter vs. public schools, whether to put him back in his bi-lingual daycare after kinder or keep him at the on-site after-school care, who would take him, who would pick up, and all the million other things that kept me up, it was a very anti-climactic first week.

Somehow he made it through his first few days without crying about not being with his sister or pre-school friends. Amazingly, I was able to wake up in time to get him to school before the bell rang. He made friends. He ate his lunch.

Lesson learned: I don't give him or me enough credit to transition to the next stage of his life without trauma.

And now that I've figured that out, I can return to my regularly scheduled program of worrying whether V will ever be able to quit the diapers.

Gratitude: The First of Many (Hopefully)

I complain about my kids. A lot. A lot a lot. They are whiny, they are high-maintenance, they don't listen, they are hyper. But at the end of the day, they are pretty good kids (of course, there's still plenty of time for me and the hubby to ruin them).

I need to complain less and be more thankful for having them in my life and be more appreciative of their virtues. So herewith, the first of what I hope will become a new series of posts about the shiny, happy side of my kids.

If nothing else, I will have some posts to re-read on those days when they are fighting or screaming or not paying attention or not paying attention while they fight and scream.

I am grateful that my kids like to eat their vegetables. I hear stories about moms who have to hide zucchini in spaghetti sauce or chop spinach down to the molecular level and mix it in with their meatloaf or meatballs. Some people have told me they bribe their kids with candy just to down a leafy green.

I don't have this problem at all. My kids LOVE spinach; I have to cook it 2 bunches at a time to have enough to go around. In our home, you might hear weird statements like, "No, you can't have more spinach until you eat some spaghetti!" They love cauliflower, broccoli, bok choy, and sweet potatoes.

I'd like to think it has something to do with my great cooking skills, but I think that it boils down to the fact that we're just lucky.

Words To Live By: Oh Heavenly God

E has been learning a little bit about God (aka "the Big Guy") from a few of his church-going friends at school. Even though we are not a religious family, I think it's good for him to have some exposure to religion and to explore ideas about God and spirituality and develop his own ideas.

I have to admit that some of the things he says really tickle me and even touch me so I thought I'd share:

On Death/Going to Heaven:
"Mommy, how did Great-Grandpa go to Heaven? Did he take a rocket ship?"
"Lucy went to Heaven to keep Great-Grandpa company."
"Mommy, I wish Lucy would come home from Heaven because I miss her. Are you going to cry now?"
"V, hold my hand because we are in a parking lot and there are lots of cars and I'm small. If you don't hold my hand then a car will squish me then I'll go to Heaven and then Mommy will have only one childrens and then be really sad and cry all the time. Do you want that to happen?!"
"Mommy, do they have TV in Heaven or is it so boring?"

On God:
(upon being asked who God is) "God is the Big Guy! He's the Man."
"Mommy, I think I'm getting sick because God used his magic powers to make me cough and plugged my nose all up."
"God made all the grandmas and grandpas, but then they made us borned the regular way."
"Mommy, did you know God is so, so big but can fit into someplace really small, like someone's heart?"
"I think I drank too much orange juice and now it's all the way up to God. You know, it filled me up to here (points to his heart)."
(upon being asked how his friend knows so much about God) "I don't know. I think he makes it all up actually."
"God can be really big or really small because He's magic. And He can be any color, even white!"

Belated Birthday Wishes to My Kidlets!

The first half of the calendar year is pretty birthday-intensive for our family, with my father's birthday in January, my mother's and my birthdays in February, E's in March, and V's in May. It feels like every other week is a family dinner to celebrate someone's birthday.

And now that the kids are old enough for parties, it feels like I have to skip my birthday altogether and go straight from planning my dad's birthday dinner (I don't usually plan my mom's because we have always been lumped together - it's not like I don't love my mom. Mom, if you read this, it's not that I don't love you) to planning E's birthday party. The second the last of his little party guests leaves, then it's time to plan for V's birthday party. Having their birthdays two months apart was clearly a grave tactical error on my part.

In case you don't have kids or haven't gotten to the point when your kids have opinions about their parties, I need to disclose that birthday parties are monumental events that require top-notch project management skills. But that's a topic for another day; the point is that only now, about 3 weeks after V's birthday party, do I feel like I've recovered and gotten a chance to breathe.

So *inhale*, *exhale*... Happy Belated Birthday to my two favoritest kiddios!

Ice Cream is IN!

E completed his allergy panel last week, and while he still tested positive for a skin reaction to milk protein, he had no reaction when we tried milk in his oral challenge. I am thrilled to report that he was able to consume four large spoonfuls of plain ice cream without any kind of reaction.

Dairy was our last major food allergy to overcome, and I'm not going to lie, it was the biggest one. Of course, that's what I said when we got the OK from the doctor to give him wheat. Then eggs. But I've really been looking forward to the day when he can have dairy. It means that he can eat pizza and ice cream. It means I can go to a regular grocery store and get regular yogurt. He can go to a birthday party and not be the weird kid who doesn't have any cake and brings his own food.

Now we have a different challenge, which is untraining him from staying away from all these foods he's learned not to touch the last 4 years. I daresay he is probably the only kid who says that real ice cream is "slimy and weird". And he's literally afraid of cheese.

But I welcome this new problem. It's a lot less stressful than the days when I worried about lunch snack trades causing a trip to the hospital. And really, it's just a variation of a picky eater, albeit a really strange case where the child would prefer broccoli on rice over pepperoni pizza. Yup, it's a good problem to have.

Love Thy Brother

Anyone who knows me knows that my brother and I didn't get along growing up. We didn't completely despise each other, but we bickered - a lot. Now that we're adults, we've (gasp!) matured a bit and we're getting along and making an effort to be closer.

Back then, if you asked me why I didn't care for my brother, I would have told you he's self-centered and underhanded, that he gets more everything for doing less and for caring less about his family, that he's immature, and a lazy, spoiled brat.

If you could have asked him why I suck, he would have probably told you that I'm mean, that I always point out every little thing he does wrong to Mom and Dad, that I try to make him look bad by parading my good grades in front of him and our parents, and that I don't treat him super nice like everyone else does.

After some surprisingly frank coffee-side conversations with my brother, we realize that at the heart of the matter was a feeling of unfairness. It wasn't fair that I got straight A's, obeyed all the rules, and did more chores around the house, but when we each got our drivers' license, my first car was the 6 year-old family car beater Jeep (OMG, the loser-mobile!) and his was a brand new, fully loaded Forerunner (because a BMW would have been a little too extravagant).

Likewise for him, it wasn't fair that I got a bigger allowance. That my parents nagged him about homework and piano practice and they never bugged me about those things. And I'm sure a ton of things he still hasn't told me.

I have two of my own now, and I can safely say that this rift between my brother and me is due in large part to my parents. Yes, it's cliche to blame your parents for your own failings. But the thing is, as a parent, I know that right now, my husband and I are the biggest influence on our children.

And I know from personal experience that one child doesn't automatically love another one just because they share parents and a home. In fact, sharing usually breeds jealousy and resentment. It's the parents' responsibility to nurture the relationship between their children.

So far my kids get along really well (they're only 5 and 3, there's still plenty of time for the wheels to come of this wagon). I'd like to say I'm lucky, but in truth, my husband and I work really hard to strengthen their relationship. Our efforts don't always work; my son recently asked me if we could sell his sister on eBay for $1 million.

From what I remember of my own childhood relationship with my brother, I've learned a few things about what can hurt that bond between siblings, and we try our best to avoid these:

Comparing them to each other. "Why can't you eat your vegetables like she does?" "Your brother could already write his name at your age." "I never have to tell your brother to do his homework." My brother and I got a lot of this growing up. It totally bites. You may not think you're doing damage, but to this day, when my brother and I get into a room together, I feel ugly because I was always told to care more about my appearance since I wasn't naturally as good-looking as my brother.

Not sharing intentions with them. My parents are hard-core, old-school Chinese when it comes to certain things. One of them is that it's not a child's place to question a parent's actions. But at 10 or 12, I couldn't see why they did what they did. All I saw was inequity. My brother was allowed to go to slumber parties but not me. I felt embarrassed I was the only one who couldn't spend the night at a party. It wasn't fair that he was able to go to his friends' houses for overnights and I wasn't. How was I supposed to know that my parents were worried that I might get kidnapped (a la Polly Klaas)? For one thing, they could have told me what their concerns were instead of flatly telling me that overnights were forbidden.

Passing judgment on their arguments. Let the records show that to this day, in any disagreement between me and my bro, my mother will ALWAYS take his side. At 38, I know it's not because she loves him more, it's because she feels like I am the stronger person and the more mature person, and she feels like I am more likely to take the high road. But damn if it doesn't feel like she loves him more. With our kids, we will mediate (you know, so they don't end up throwing forks at each other) an argument, but we try not to take sides and instead make them work it out directly between them. It's hard - in most cases, it would be faster and easier to tell so-and-so that he or she is being a brat. On the upside, I am a lot more patient now than I used to be.

So now you tell me - what are your strategies for strengthening the bond between your kids? I need tips so that 30 years from now, my kids are not blogging about my sub-par relationship-building skills.

Kindergarten: The Throwback Year

We are in the middle of Kindergarten registration season, and even though my husband and I have made the decision to put E into public school, it's still causing a lot of stress.

You may think the stress comes from knowing that the charter school we registered for is expecting to receive over 500 applicants to fill only 40 spots.

Or you might think it's due to knowing that our public school's enrollment is at near capacity and some residents may get re-districted to a sister district.

But mostly what is stressing me out is the very establishment of Kindergarten itself, which seemingly still operates on the assumption that there is always one stay-at-home parent who has no other scheduled priorities beyond his or her child's school schedule.

When our kids enter Kindergarten, we will be tethered to 4-hour school days, 8:30am - 12:30pm (or even worse, 11:00am - 3:00pm - I might as well throw my whole day away). What do we do with E the rest of the day? There's no after-school care program through the school district, so now we have to find some alternative child care in addition to making a decision about school itself (I refuse to think about what to do if he gets put in the 11:00am class, I have no idea how to work my job around those 3 hours in the morning until he would go to school).

I really don't understand why this is. E's pre-school allows me to drop him off at 8:30am and pick him up at 6:00pm. He has structured lessons in pre-school: math, reading and writing, art, and PE. He is used to this schedule, it's not too much for him. He doesn't feel abandoned by his parents. When he goes into first grade, his schedule will be 8:15am - 3:30pm. So why is there this one school year where parents are forced to scramble to figure out what to do with their kids for half the day?

Now we have to consider hiring a nanny to shuttle him to and from school and watch him for the time he's not in class. The cost of a nanny who has driving credentials: almost the cost of a private school that does offer full-day kindergarten. I'm starting to see why people thought we were crazy to go the public school route. But really, it shouldn't have to be crazy to support our public education system.

I'm sure there's some method to this madness that I can't see. Maybe someone can explain it to me. Or better yet, maybe someone can tell me how to solve the dilemma we'll be in come September.

Wearing Mom Genes

Recently, I had one of those calls with my mother. You know, the kind that starts out innocuously enough and casually takes a turn to disaster when you least expect it. Mom knows all your insecurities and exploits them willy-nilly on a whim. In this case, it began with a simple phrase that should always be accompanied by foreboding, slasher-flick music whenever my mother utters it, "Oh, I need to tell you something..."

Apparently, I have a smart mouth. And I shouldn't be dispensing advice to my cousins or siblings (or any relatives or even friends, for that matter). I guess an off-handed comment I made to a cousin caused a cataclysmic tear in the very fabric of my cousin's relationship with her parents. I didn't know I have such POWER. Neat-o.

It doesn't really matter that when I called to apologize to said cousin, she told me that my comment had nothing to do with the argument she had had with her mother and that it had already blown over. It's irrelevant that my mother blew the situation out of proportion by just a wee bit. The damage had been done, I was an emotional wreck for days. Now that's power.

It's the power of Mom, to undo someone with just a sentence or an intense glare. And it's in every mother's genes, as I discovered from E's teacher after I scolded him one day by simply telling him, "I'm really disappointed in you." E's teacher told me he was nervous and scared to do the wrong thing all day, that he didn't want to disappoint the teacher, that he hoped I wouldn't be disappointed in him anymore by the time I picked him up if he was a good boy all day. With V, if I look at her the wrong way, she spontaneously bursts into tears, not one word needed.

I'm really ambivalent about this. On the one hand, I know what it's like to be on the receiving end of a Mom-whammy, and I feel for my poor kids. On the other hand, sometimes it is the most efficient and effective way to influence their behavior. With great power comes great responsibility, but Peter Parker never had to figure out how to get his son to stop using his daughter as a battering ram. I guess there's really only one solution: save up for the kids' therapy bills when they get older.

Do you have Mom-guilt? If so, how do you cope?