"Accio MOUSE!"

The 2.5 year old decided he wanted to read our nighttime book, the popular Goodnight Moon, by Margaret Wise Brown. Illustrated by Clement Herd.

He read it as Harry Potter.

“In the green room, the kitties WAKE UP! And a balloon. And the fire. The cow and the moon. (Sings) Cow! Cow! Coooooowwwwwww! Goodnight, moon! And the mouse. Cute mouse! Where the mouse go? He at the window! Hey, where’s my wand? You have my wand?”

I'm problem-solving, heroic, and adventuresome. And a little bit eccentric, but in a helpful, quirky way. So, naturally my pronoun of choice is "he/him."

I’m planning a Star Wars party for my two older kids (May the Fourth be with you!). So my brain has been working out details such as which order we should show the movies in (the answer: 4-5-2-3-6), and what themed decorations/foods should I have on hand. I’m only a little sad to leave out Episode One, as that’s where we first meet many of the VIPs of the series. But I couldn’t remember in which (prequel) episode we first meet R2D2. I asked my husband this morning to refresh my caffeine-starved memory.

“Honey, is it episode one that R2D2 is introduced? I don’t remember the scene.” Because, really, I’ve been trying to forget most of that movie, ever since the first disappointing viewing in the theatre. Uugh.

The husband was in the middle of a big gulp of coffee. He gave me the “hold on, one second” finger.

My 10-year-old, who happened to be sitting at the table eating breakfast, jumped at the chance to respond, almost choking on a mouth full of juice, dribbling it instead on to a very faded Star Wars T-shirt. “Oh, well he was with a group of other R2 units on Princess Amidala’s ship, and all the other units were destroyed except R2D2 (“Artoo”). He kinda saved the ship.”

My husband nodded, approvingly. He and his geeky kid shared a fist bump and returned to their respective breakfast beverages.

So then I asked “Why do you use him and he when talking about a robot? Does Artoo have a gender?” Both nodded, and agreed that Artoo is a male robot. Their argument, paraphrased, was “Because the character just … is a male.”

Prodding further, I asked “Why? Do robots have to have a gender?” which actually made the 10-year-old pause to consider. I watch my husband closely. I can tell he is looking through his memory banks and about to tell me the name of the actor who played Artoo in the movies. Before he could answer, I stopped him. And I asked both of my beloved family members to do something very simple.

“Try to picture Artoo as a teenage girl.”

I could see my husband’s brain breaking just a little bit as he considered this.

The 10 year old looked at me, distastefully. But I could almost see the wheels spinning in that awesome brain. Gears turning. Assumptions questioned.

In the Star Wars movies, Artoo is called “he” and “him” by other characters who interact with… it. Why did George Lucas envision and write this spunky little robot as male? Why did he NEED to (besides, well, living in the patriarchy and wanting to make a huge pile of money)? Oh, wait. Did I just answer my own question? *grin*

How many movies that feature robots can you recall that star “female” robots? How does a “female” robot act?

The movie convention of assigning gender to robots has a long and storied history, which I’m rather fascinated by. And it makes you think about our basic assumptions around the need to know and perceive characters as gendered things. Is it possible to empathize with or grow emotionally attached to a robot character if gender is left out of the equation?

Is it always the writers/filmmaker, who prescribes gender to robots? Go back and watch sci-fi movies through the last few decades. Is it YOU assigning a gender to the following robots? Or do you notice a definite pronoun being used in the dialog? And why do you believe that assignment? A voice? A way of acting? Is Hal male? Johnny 5? How about Ben from Treasure Planet? Marvin the Paranoid Android from Hitchhiker’s Guide? Sonny, from I, Robot? Do we perceive Eve from Wall-E to be female simply because its voice is higher? Do you think Wall-E is male? Why? Switch your thoughts around and try to play these characters in your head as another gender. What happens?

We are either programmed or being manipulated. Or both. We assume a lot. And our assumptions are reinforced in the movies. It is our nature. And, for many, it’s uncomfortable to shift that around, isn’t it? *wink*

Now. Speaking of assumptions. For my readers who don’t know my family or the gender of my children: Did you read the first few paragraphs and assume that my 10-year-old is a boy?

How do you think robots will be written/filmed in the post-patriarchy? Do you know of any robot characters who act contrary to/different from our culture’s traditional gendered stereotypes? 

I Black&White'd this one for artistic purposes!

Some days, my job as a stay-at-home parent is to intermittently play with a busy 2 year old, and do house-related mundane tasks: wash the same dishes and pans over and over again. Launder the same damn clothes. Tidy the place. Sweep. As today unrolled, I decided to ignore ALL the household chores and do something I really enjoy. So, I sat down at my computer to calmly and happily do some post-production on photos from the oldest’s birthday party. The 2-year-old was happily watching Caillou.

He was dressed in rainbow pants and a green onesie when last I saw him. But 10 minutes ago, he reappeared at my elbow as I am focusing on brightening the pale cheeks of my digital 10-year-old and red-eye correcting her sinister-eyed friends.

His smell reached my nose before his words. “Mommy? I cryin! Poo!” He was naked, of course. And I’m happy to say that he looked a little disgusted.

To say he was covered in poo is, of course, an exaggeration. So let’s just say that parts of him were poo-encrusted. As was the couch. And the floor. And one of my new couch pillows. Not to mention the clothes. And the bathtub. And now, my calm.

Poo. Encrusted.

Yes, we'll have the table that seats 5, preferably in the noise-proof chamber near the bathrooms?

I’ve been reading advice on Internet parenting forums lately on how to take toddlers out to a restaurant. There’s lot of great tips out there, most of it really constructive. And then there are some opinions that really don’t need expression. But opinions are like forums. Every one has an asshole. Or something like that.

It seems there are 3 groups of respondents:

1. Those who have observed and want to replicate in their own lives that perfect trifecta: great kids, thoughtful parents, and happy restaurant experiences! (Put me here!)
2. Those who want their friends/loved ones to teach their kids good restaurant etiquette because OMGZ are they the obnoxious, loud table at the restaurant (put my mother here), and
3. Those who very much wish people with children would leave their little noisy chaos machines at home and stop inflicting them on the general restaurant-going population (the haters)

Since I happen to be a restaurant-going parent of 3, and it is, I hope, perceived that my children are not raving buttheads at restaurants, I figured I had something to add to the conversation!

Slow down on the vino, honey. I was able to wrestle the steak knife from the toddler's grasp.

While it’s true that the spouse and I have been attending restaurants with our children for more than a decade now, and that we have 3 experienced restaurant-going offspring, we can admit that it didn’t come without some difficult learning moments. There were times we had to ask our waitperson to make dinner a “to go” order. Or we had to leave before ordering because we could tell things weren’t going to go well. There were dinners we ate quickly, and left very big tips for the waitperson, as penance for leaving a huge mess on the floor. And then, of course, there were times when we decided it would be best to not go to a restaurant.

Like everything else I’ve learned about parenting along the way, there is no consistent perfect restaurant experience. No truth or way of doing things that will result in 100% success at every try when you have young children. Everything is a variable.

The important thing is that we keep trying. Because the worst thing you can do is not even try. I don’t agree with the opinion that you should leave your kids with a babysitter until they are at an age when you can be assured they will be perfect angels. Going out to a restaurant with your family is an important part of socializing your child and teaching about expectations and self-awareness. Should this experience come at the cost of annoying and pissing off other restaurant patrons? Absolutely not. If you’re the kind of parent who doesn’t like to set limits and expectations, who likes to let your children figure things out from natural consequences, this might not be the article for you.

So. How do you take your infant/baby/toddler/child** out to a restaurant? The same way you do anything. You prepare! You spent months or years waiting to have a child. In the grand scheme of things, there are only a few years in your life you will have challenges with taking an infant/baby/toddler/child out to a restaurant. Be patient, keep your expectations reasonable, be prepared, and follow this age-appropriate guide for how to enjoy a positive restaurant experience with your children!

Newborn – 6 months

All I need is this spoon.

In these early months of having a new person in your family, going out to restaurants can be easy. Sleepy infants and (most) babies under 6 months’ old can nap in the car seat while you have a meal with a loved one. You might even think smugly to yourself, “Geesh, this is easy!” And it usually is! Choose a sleepy time of day/evening. Put an extra diaper layer on, and make her cozy. Have a babywearing device with you and a bottle, if you bottle feed. If baby wakes, nurse/feed her and cuddle her back to sleep. Continue eating and conversing!

As your baby grows, that ease gets a little more difficult to reach. But there is no reason you can’t figure out the ways to make going out to restaurants work for you and your family.

6 months – 8 months

When you are at that in-between stage, when your baby has reached the developmental stage of sitting up but before full-on mobility starts, going out to restaurants has a lot to do with timing. If your baby is still small enough to carry in the car seat or is happy in a stroller, choose a time that is usually close to a nap time. Make the journey to the restaurant a quiet time when your baby can get sleepy. Don’t over-stimulate the baby. Some people think if they keep baby awake until they arrive at the restaurant, the baby will pass out into a blissful slumber, giving the caregivers more time to indulge! This method often ends in the opposite result: You have a wound-up baby who is, all of a sudden, overwhelmed with noise, light, different smells, and the energy of dozens of people all around. This doesn’t end well for a lot of parents.

In your bag of tricks, you should have a few comfort items: a bottle (if your baby is bottle-fed), a pacifier or chew toy (a quiet one), a blanket, a favorite toy, and some kind of babywearing device. If things don’t go well, you can often hold/feed your baby, or one of the caregivers can wear the baby and walk around a little. The closeness of your body will calm your baby.

Even if you don’t time it perfectly, you should have the time to eat a meal, albeit with a little help. You may not have time for dessert and coffee, but that’s not too far in your future, either.

8 months – 12 months

OK, things are getting a little bit more challenging. Your baby is sitting up, practicing standing, crawling, or walking. This is an amazing time for your baby, full of new experiences and developmental milestones. It’s no wonder this is one of the hardest times to get consistent positive results in a public place.

Timing is important. Pick a time your baby is in his best mood. You know what time this is. If your baby melts down at 5pm, like my youngest did, you know that’s not a good time to try going out to a restaurant. I used to choose a time that followed “freak out o’clock.” So, 6:30pm was good. He was awake, past his emotional breakdown, yet not far from his next nap.

Before you leave, get him ready. Double the diaper (or if you use cloth diapers, insert a second layer). Put him in comfortable clothes/pajamas. Put a bib on him (you may need to later, anyway, so it’ll just save you a step). Pack your bag with distractions of all kinds. Your baby is now possibly trying out some solid foods, probably teething, learning/using some words, and working on fine motor control of his hands. So your bag should have toys that let him explore and uses his new abilities. Things that distract him while you put food in your mouth and attempt the “talking to other grown ups” thing. When one toy/distraction gets dropped/ignored, reach into the magic bag for something new. Suggestions for what to bring include the following: a bottle (again, if your baby is bottle-fed), a sippy-cup of water, a pacifier, a visual/busy toy that makes noise (not an electronic noise), small containers with things like Cheerios or small bits of soft fruit so he can practice fine motor control. Pack a few infant spoons and a couple of baby toothbrushes–things he can hold and stick into his mouth. Always pack his favorite toy/blanket and a babywearing device — these are your staples. Bring a lot of extra wipes to help clean up the mess on the table/floor. Being thoughtful of other patrons/waitpersons is something every caregiver of a baby should think about.

When you get to the restaurant, make sure you are seated in a place that is away from others, if possible. If your host tries to seat you near a large table full of grown-ups your age or older (with no children present), ask to be seated elsewhere. Those people might be either without children (and therefore not sympathetic if you have a parenting challenge), or they might be out for some no-kid time themselves. Be thoughtful! Hosts should seat caregivers-with-babies in an area where there are similar grown-up/baby groups, or at the edges of the dining area, or near the bathroom or an exit. Try to get the optimal seating for having a small one in your company, for the sake of your own sanity and for the sake of the other patrons.

Feed your baby before your food arrives. Nurse him/give him a bottle. Taking care of baby’s needs first means you have more time to take care of your own/your guest/partner/spouse’s needs. If the baby is still awake when the food comes, put him in a high chair. When the food arrives, give him food from your plate if you think he would like to try it. Put pieces of food in front of him at the table. You are doing a couple of things here. First, you’re giving him a distraction. Second, you’re teaching him that this is a social experience with a positive result: new tastes. Third, you are including him and giving him some of your attention.

Why do you take children of this age to a restaurant? You are trying to lay a foundation. You’re teaching him that going out to restaurants can be interesting and full of new experiences. These are positive feelings, and your baby will associate being at a restaurant with being happy.

12 months – 2.5 years

I'd really rather eat sand, Mom.

I’m grouping this age together because there is such a wide gap in development here. You know, from past experience, how important it is to pack the bag with interesting AND needful things. You know that you need an extra outfit, extra diapers, etc. All the feeding equipment for your toddler. Everything your child would need if you were leaving your house for a few hours.

This age brings a new tip: Bring a second bag. You need to teach your toddler how to pack her own bag for the restaurant. Choose a special bag for your toddler. Let her pick out toys/books (quiet ones, please)/art supplies/special friends and put them in the bag. Allow your child to carry the bag to the car/restaurant. While you’re packing the bag, talk about what you’re doing. Discuss the positives of going out to dinner. Even if your child doesn’t understand everything you’re saying, she is hearing your positive tone. You are setting expectations for behavior without having to do so verbally. With your actions, you are saying “Here is a bag of your favorite things, so you can amuse yourself and be happy during this experience.” It’s the same thing you do when going on an airplane or train.

Choose your table wisely. Your toddler may be noisy or wiggly, so it’s important that you can get up and make an escape if needed.Toddlers are usually very social, so you should expect that your little one may need more of your attention. Invite more caregivers! Take turns helping keep the toddler busy so that everyone gets to enjoy the experience.

Use all the tips for the prior developmental stage. Feed her first. Always bring something tasty that comes from home. Put her bag next to her, or take out a few items at a time. As your child gets older, she will want to decide which toy to play with. She will, I hope, know that this is a time to amuse herself and have a good, positive experience out with her caregivers, trying new foods and taking in the new sights and sounds.

If she gets wiggly, as children do at this stage, take her to the bathroom with you. Walk the long way, and point out interesting things in the decor. Make it a positive experience. In the bathroom, wash her hands. You’re trying to reset her a little, so let her walk on the way back to the table. If you are comfortable doing so, let your partner/guest/co-conspirator take the child for a longer walk or for some interaction while you sit down and eat some more of your meal. Take a break so that every person at the table is able to have a positive experience.

If your child starts to get hard to handle, and nursing/bottle feeding/nurturing/baby wearing isn’t working, it’s probably time to leave. Trying to placate a tired, over-stimulated child is hard to do in a restaurant, and it’s also NOT the place for discipline, time-outs, or long talks correcting a behavior seen as undesirable. For the sake of your child’s future restaurant experiences, and because you are a thoughtful person who knows it’s not OK to inflict such behavior on other patrons/waitstaff, please leave the dining area. One of the grown-ups can take the child to another part of the restaurant, or for a walk outside, or to the car, allowing the other grown-up(s) to finish the meal. Trade out caring for the child so that everyone finishes the meal and leaves the table without a huge mess.

If you are in the middle of toilet-training, you have another set of serious distractions. Consider well the timing and how your child is dressed. It may be more difficult to have time to eat and carry on a conversation with others, but you can still have a positive outcome.

The closer your toddler gets to the magic age of 2, the more he/she will (I hope) find ways to amuse himself/herself. I’m not sure why American culture calls this time the “terrible 2s” — when it’s an action-packed time of discovery and amusement. If you know your child well, you know the best times to go out, what to pack, and how the experience is likely to go.

At 2+, washable crayons/markers and paper are a big hit. I bring play-doh with me. I keep an extra special toy hidden in my bag. I always carry his special sippy cup and my little guy’s favorite snack. He loves Cliff Bars. You know the tricks to keeping your child happy and busy.

Knowing Your Limits

If I can't bring every toy I own to Macaroni Grill, I'd rather eat here, on the floor.

Don’t doom yourself to failure. If he is teething/sick/having an “off” day, don’t go out to dinner. Order in. Have a picnic on your porch/living room floor. Set up a restaurant at your dining room table and role-play the behavior you want to see. Reinforce good table habits. And remember: these times of seclusion aren’t forever. In the years of raising children ahead of you, these first few years have the most challenges when it comes to sharing restaurant experiences. Go easily with yourself and your loved ones. It’s a relatively short period of time when things can be difficult.

From my own experience, there were times when going out to dinner wasn’t an option. We respected their age/stage, and didn’t set ourselves up for disaster. Even now, going out with all 3, while our youngest is 2+, is sometimes hard on all of us. Sometimes we’re close to being that table–the one with the screaming, crazy toddler. So we go home. And try again another time.

It’s good to set expectations and to teach acceptable restaurant behavior. And it’s good to know when to stay home. You’re always teaching. In restaurants, we’re still teaching the older kids important stuff, like good eye contact, manners, how to order food that’s good for you, and being kind to the waitstaff. The lessons never end. And the outcome is that you can have well-mannered, polite, courteous humans who know how to act in a public setting. And those humans will grow up to be fabulous people who respond positively to other positive parents in those same forums.

And thus the cycle will continue; we will we populate the world with awesomeness and once again make restaurants magnificent places in which to enjoy our dining experiences!

Do you have any magic tricks when going out to dinner with babies/toddlers? Any helpful suggestions for bringing young children to restaurants? Tell us about your experiences!

**My advice is for babies who experience a typical rate of development. I am NOT a child expert, nor do I ever pretend to have information on babies whose development is not typical.

8 amazing years of this person right here. Wow.

I dearly hope this year, when my awesome little red-haired middle child turned 8, will not go down in MotherMirth history as the birthday with the puking and the nits.

The year started out so well! A few days before her birthday, we had our family-only party with Grammie and the big awesome so-grown-up cousins! And then, on the special day of 8-ness, we had a Harry Potter birthday cake and friends over to sing the song. But I had grand plans to make Laurel’s big, official birthday party (scheduled a few weeks later, for optimal post-winter holidays’ attendance!) the bestest birthday party she had ever had. To make up for my parents’ totally breaking my newly 8-year-old heart by telling me I couldn’t have a party. Because having kids is all about getting over your own childhood disappointments and traumas, right? It’s all about me! Right?

This was cake #2 -- the first one was a disaster, made by yours truly for the family-only party. A friend made this beautiful, nummy cake.

Ahem. Anyway, Laurel’s 8th birthday party was going to be epic. It was planned to occur at the Boston Museum of Science–the coolest place for a birthday party ever. I ordered nifty stuff from Oriental Trading for the goody bags. We invited 20 small humans, arranged transportation, and did the math for a good kid/grown-up ratio. Laurel sorted kids’ names into groups so she could spend time with all of her guests in different parts of the museum. I planned the logistics for bringing in an awesome cake. We were about to buy tickets for the butterfly garden exhibit. When THE SICK started happening.

About 10 days before the party, Noravirus exploded all over the Boston area in all its projectile horror. Laurel awoke Thursday at sick-o-clock, AKA 2am, and spewed all over her pretty pink comforter in her bunk bed. We immediately canceled plans for our traditional geeking-out weekend at Arisia–the Sci-Fi/Fantasy convention in Boston. Instead of learning new Jedi lightsaber moves and kicking some Dominion ass, we all 5 took turns sticking our faces into the throw-up bowl. The birthday party, scheduled for the following weekend, was scrapped. Most of our social circle were likewise afflicted with intestinal armageddon. The month of January, sadly, passed without a party for my disappointed 8-year-old.

In February, lice invaded our household, making it impossible to have a bevy of children frolic in party-time splendor at our house without fear of sending them home with goody bags and buggy hair-hitchhikers. It took weeks, a quart of vinegar, 4oz of tea tree oil, and thrice-daily combings to convince the hair horde that this was not friendly territory for their kind. And then we all got sick with the upper respiratory oh-gods-when-will-the-phlegm-cease infection. To sum up, February is where things crawl off to die. Not a good month to celebrate the awesomeness of being 8.

Well, it's a bit messy, this "science" stuff.

Finally, March happened. And in a fit of health and inspiration, I proposed a SCIENCE party at our house, and the 8-year-old agreed. I think, secretly, she would have preferred an art party, but we’re in the midst of trying to inspire her toward different expressions of creativity and motivate both of the older kids more toward the sciences. Because artists starve. Science is where the money is, and someone has to care for us in our old age! (OK, I’m totally kidding here! Rachel Mello is so going to come to my house and beat me over the head with pointy art supplies!)

Science is really quite out of my comfort zone. Really really. Art is easy for me. I have boxes full of art supplies–felt, beads, every color of glitter, yarn, string, paints, charcoal, clay, sculpting tools, sewing stuff, playdoh, stencils, markers, 3 different kinds of glue…. To me, science is something I attempt in the kitchen, when I’m trying to make something edible happen out of overcooked shoulder roast. I am no scientist.

I call this experiment "what happens when I add baking soda to everything!"

Science. Takes. Work. I obsessed for 10 days on what experiments to run. What our Laboratory would look like. Seriously. My spouse talked to my vacant stare about, I’m sure, all kinds of fascinating pop culture crap and goings on in the world while I contemplated Alka-Seltzer rockets, baking soda/vinegar volcanoes, solubility tests, and how to pull off a science party that had a good balance of educational and fun.

Because overwhelmed girl gets overwhelmed with large groups, we only invited 6 other kids to join us.

(sing with us!) Happy Birthday to you! You sprung out of a portal! From ano-ther di-men-sion! Happy Birthday to you!

We ordered personalized lab coats for Laurel and her sister. Amazon sent us test tubes, pipettes, petri dishes, and safety glasses. We set up the living room as the lobby, with experiments and posters all around the room to look at, and the dining room transformed into a science laboratory. Allen and I, with the help of a few awesome parents who stuck around, talked a little bit about scientific method, ran a few experiments, and set up a free-form experiment table with supplies and let the kids make their own experiments. I prepared for 6 experiments because I’m, as you know, totally compulsive. But we had time for only 4. Kelsey ran the Diet Coke & Mentos explosion in the backyard while I set up the snacks and drinks, and then we all ate Portal cake.

Those are NOT aereolae. They are PORTALS.

Diplomas were awarded. Kids dispersed. Allen and I lazed around for the rest of the day while we allowed Phineas and Ferb to entertain our 3 kids for a few hours. We had pizza delivered, got kids pajama’ed and teethbrushed, and threatened them into bed by 8:30.

And a happy and content Laurel went to sleep feeling loved and officially very much an 8 year old.

Today, I transformed the bedroom we share with our toddler back into the bedroom I share with my husband. The ultra-huge king+ size bed (a queen and a twin put together) that took up most of the room was reduced to just the queen bed. I returned furniture to the room. Put the lamps back. Hung things on the wall. Cleaned out the baby clutter. I’m taking back my space. I do this at the end of bed-sharing with my babies. And today I decided that it’s time to get that ball rolling. To get my boy to take the next developmental step. To sleep on his own, out of range of the comfort of his mother.

I’m ecstatic to think of sleeping for more than a few hours at a time. It’s been 2 years+ of having many of my executive functions .. not functioning because of lack of sleep. I wonder what it’s like to get sleep.

I know I’m a long way from the goal I’m beginning tonight — to have my toddler sleep through the night. Likely, it will be weeks or months until I can claim that success. But it’s beginning. It’s the first step.

Part of me is already mourning. I love sharing bed space with my kids. But that other part of me has a lot of pull. The part that is hope. Hope that I’ll get a little bit more of myself back. I’ve given a lot. I look forward to reclaiming some of that lost power and functionality.

Goodnight.

cultural pluralism. noun Sociology.
1. a condition in which minority groups participate fully in the dominant society, yet maintain their cultural differences.
2. a doctrine that a society benefits from such a condition.

I hope that young mother reads her Yahoo news this morning. My husband pointed me to this link, about a young child who was born with boy parts wanting to join the Girl Scouts in his hometown in Colorado.  At first, the local leader said “no” because of said boy parts. But up the chain of command, the Colorado leaders did a very amazing and forward-thinking thing: they invited him and his family to join. Because Girl Scouts is an inclusive organization.

I’m proud and awed that this organization that my girls are a part of, that was such a big part of my own childhood and young adulthood, is growing up and opening its doors to families of all types, and supporting the families of transgender children.

Girl Scouting isn’t all about cookies. Or about teaching young cisgendered girls how to become strong cisgendered women. It’s not about turning out cookie-cutter people into society with a boxed set of beliefs and a road-map toward finding a suitable life partner and career. It’s about teaching young people to have a voice, to take action, to make things happen. And to be a part of an experience wherein we not only respect cultural differences but celebrate them.

Hooray for Girl Scouts of Colorado for setting this very public precedent of supporting families with transgendered children.

I’ve got three great kids and a healthy, wonderful marriage. Loving relationships with amazing people. An extended family with whom I get along very well. I get to write and take photographs, hang out with cool people. Contribute. As a parent, I’m helping out in the classrooms for both of my school-aged kids. I’m taking evening classes to become a Girl Scout leader so I can be there for my girls in an organization that does awesome things. I’m scheduling a weekly playgroup so my toddler gets socialization and learns to not be a grabby monster. I’m starting to fulfill educational requirements to begin a whole new career when the time is right. And in between, I’m doing crafts, and calling my Mom, and flossing. I’m helping out a friend or two. I’m cleaning out the van and putting out the trash. Big, grown up stuff.

But then there is the price. For every mountain I conquer like an amazing conquering thing, there are times when I’m wallowing through the valleys, in a fog of under-performing. And I feel very much like I’m just… pretending to be a grown-up. Going through the motions. Because I can’t get AND KEEP those highs. The difference is dramatic between success and failure in my life, on a day-to-day basis.

Some cases in point: For the last few days, my kids have had few clean clothes to wear because I’m so busy that I can’t keep up with laundry. Last night, I was so busy preparing a good dinner for my family that I forgot all about my Girl Scout first aid training session and had to bolt out the door – to arrive 20 minutes late.  Yesterday, I dropped my girls off at the Boys and Girls Club for their weekly swim lesson, only to learn that the session had ended the previous week.

This is how a person with an attention disorder functions. I’ve long suspected that I am among the large percentage of adults who have some version of attention disorder.  It is estimated that up to 15 percent of the population world-wide suffers from some kind of attention disorder. Mine is one of hyper focus. Of not being able to moderate between extremes. I find it incredibly hard to discipline myself, to follow a routine. I go from one extreme to another. I’m either killing the plants with over-watering and love, or I’ve completely forgotten them until they are brown and stiff.

There is, at least, a hierarchy to my disorder. My kids don’t suffer as my plants do! I put my kids first on my list, so their emotional needs come first in my life. I mean this literally. They may have no clothes to wear, but I’m focusing very hard on parenting them with kindness and patience, paying special attention to ensuring that they are emotionally and intellectually prepared to face every day. For instance, this morning, my eldest spent 30 minutes NOT getting dressed. She lost computer time for a week, just because she refused to put on the [only clean pair of] jeans– the ones with sparkles on the pockets. And I was furious with her. Still, I parented well. She received a red mark on our chart. I kept my temper. I found an acceptable pair of pants and sent her out the door with a loving hug and a plan for changing how we choose clothes so that this doesn’t happen again. Because, you know, I’m a grown-up and can handle my own shit! But… my next step has to be to delegate this new change to the routine, or I will forget. And this will happen again, and I will remember and hate myself for not following through. So I now have to remember to send my husband an email so that he adds “choose clothes for the morning” to the bedtime routine with the girls. Or else it won’t get done. *sigh*

My children have reasonably good food to eat, activities planned, and I am available to them. I’m so available that my self-care suffers. My relationship with my long-suffering spouse suffers. My friends and loved ones know about this particular quirk, and for some reason they stick around. I sometimes wonder why.

I am undiagnosed, and I’m not even sure I would bother with getting a diagnosis and therapy. I know myself. I can’t read a book while parenting, for instance, because I can’t do both. I know that I have crazy focus.  So when I get distracted doing something new in my life, everything else suffers. I’m all or nothing.  If I begin a new exercise regimen, for instance, I can’t also keep groceries in the house and prepare meals on time because I’m doing exercise charts with my free time. Or researching a new online exercise-tracking program. Most times, I give up on the new thing so that I can maintain normalcy in areas that require my full attention.  Because I can’t seem to do a little of one thing, and a little of another.  I don’t seem to be programmed that way.

So, how do I function? In part, I chose a partner who complements me. We are a functional unit. It wasn’t a conscious decision to find a mate who would save my life and sanity. But it happened. He helps me moderate. I help him be spontaneous and unleashed. It works. Good thing, too, as he’s also my best friend. The only problem is that I expect too much from him. And I would like to work better solo, for my own self esteem.

So.What will happen now? Will I follow through with making changes? Will I attempt yet again to learn new skills to help me function better? And if I do so, will I keep it up? Or will I give up because it’s interfering with my kids’ lives or with the laundry? Do I add one more thing in my life to potentially fail at? Or will I just keep muddling through the valley of fog, feeling like a failure until I find the next mountain to conquer with my short-lived awesomeness?

I turn 42 in two months. Is it too late to learn some new tricks? Where do I go from here?

"I've got some advice for you! Pull my finger!"

So. You’ve been a parent for a day. For a week. For a month. For EVER it seems. I have no doubt that you’ve got some advice to share! So I’m asking you now to share your thoughts. What would be the ONE piece of advice you would like to pass on to new parents? Just choose one. You know, a post-partum piece of advice. Something beyond “Whatever you do, don’t look at the placenta!” Sure, the placenta is like a huge metaphor for parenthood. It comes out after the baby. It’s frightening as all hell, but it’s also miraculous and cool!

Ah. Placentas. So distracting! OK, back to the subject at hand. So, oh fabulous bastions of parental wisdom, what advice do you want to pass down to new generations of parents? One sentence. That’s your assignment.

Send it to me via email. Reply to my Facebook page. Phone me. Twitter it. Use that Google+ thing. Or reply in comments here. I really want to hear what you have to say. And, of course, I want to selflessly share it with the rest of the blogosphere! I’ll play too! Most likely I’ll write more than a sentence because HEY, IT’S MY IDEA!

Process those horrific nightmare moments you’ve worked so hard to forget, synthesizing the terror down to a sentence. Or that unbelievable moment of epiphany, when you just… totally got that thing. Then write it down. Refine it. Craft your sentence. And then send it to me. email: terry@mothermirth.com

Bring it on!

I try. Sincerely, I do. I have so much to say! But I’ve come to the conclusion that my son hates the Internet.

The usurper.

How else can you explain the behavior I face every day: I sneak away when he is occupied or napping to write or surf the Internets, and he comes running into the office, bellowing his disapproval. He swivels my legs around so that I am NOT facing the computer and then attacks me, smacking his head like the battering ram at the gates of Troy. “No no no no no no!!” *horrific crying noises, with tears and drama*

I’ve put a basket of toys beside me. I’ve tried writing in the same room as he is playing, sneaking my laptop in so that I’m right there for him. This does not appease him.

A friend suggested that I should try to write more after he is asleep for the night. But 95% of evenings, as I’m nursing him to sleep, I also pass out. Every night, Allen says his goodnights to his son, and he says goodnight to me. And every night I say, “Oh, I’ll get up after Andrew gets to sleep!” And my husband looks at me with doubt. Because it’s rare that I can stay awake long enough after Andrew passes out to sneak away.

I know you miss me. Don’t take it out on Andrew. Look at that face! Did you melt? Or is that just me and all my mommy hormones? *melts*

So, a ridiculously quick update: what’s going on in my world? In a few words, I’m doing GREAT! I’m busy. Riding my bike. Buying crickets at the pet store for Kelsey’s new bearded dragon. Doing errands with the world’s most adorable boy riding in the sling. Nursing at the playground. Speed reading through the A Song of Ice and Fire books. Checking Facebook from my phone, but not facilitating my baby’s demise in any way at the same time. Going on hikes in beautiful places when I can slip away on the weekend. Trying to spend time with the important people in my life. Taking photos. You know. Living in the moment.

Just… not on the Internet!