Archive for the 'Kidsters' Category



Books are our friends. A small sign with this adage hung over the blackboard in my favorite class (College Prep English. High school) and saw me through the usual suspects (To Kill a Mockingbird, Catcher in the Rye) as well as extracurricular reading (Kristen Lavransdatter, Les Miserables). School was a safe haven of order and schedule and relatively easy success. As with so many other kids in my situation, books and school and for awhile religion, were a triumvirate of powerful support that carried me away from all the present troubles.

As we make ready for Talky and Tempest to enter Kindergarten next week, I’m reminded (over and over and over) that my love of reading, of school, of pencils and papers and lunchboxes and chalkboards is the religion I hope they carry with them as they grow older.

We visited their Kindergarten a few days ago and met the other kids and the teacher (for the second time). Seeing the little desks and sweet decorations and reading corner was like gazing into a secret hobby hole, where my first babies will be kept safe and learn to read and write. And gratitude and excitement don’t even begin to cover it…



Channeling a Teenage Boy

“Mommy those are cute boobs.”

-Bubbles, Age 2 1/2


Wind Sprint

After several days of loving up on my girls, we descended straight into Hell. Isn’t that the crux of the challenge of parenting? Just when you think you’ve reached some new state of loving adoration and peace, they learn an evil new trick.

For the past three nights running, all three girls have gotten up 8,000 times after bed for reasons ranging from “I need ice in my water cup” to “I love you bigger than the world” (which, if not told to you at 11pm is a very adorable thing to hear).

I’m a member of the Church of the Early Bedtime. I’m a worshiper of the Goddess of Sleep Ritual and an acolyte in the Parents Free Time is Essential to Mental Health spiritual practice. Kids getting good sleep is my thing. My main trick (aside from acting goofy so they laugh off a tantrum).

The past few nights we all devolved into an exhausted cranky, crying, yelling family from Hell. And I was Queen.

So tonight? Wind sprints and milk with a dash of Benadryl. I kept the girls up one hour later then usual and made them run between the two fences while I counted loudly and cheered.

And peace is restored. For now.

Me? Trouble?kids0002.jpgme? trouble?

Us? Trouble?


Tantrum Zen


Tantrums are an opportunity to find the depth of patience and love and failing that, a sweet secret quiet place to hide while the storm passes. If one were a zen monk, perhaps some cross-legged chanting would do the trick. If one were a sanctimommy, perhaps a good “use words!” discussion would ensue. If one were a grandparent, long long since well rested, vacationed, and slept, one would laugh it all away.

But alas, CrankMama is neither a monk, nor a sanctimommy, and certainly not a grandparent.

At best, the impact of a tantrum on the nervous systems of adults in my house is similar to the visceral gut punch of listening to George Bush talk about the Iraq War: It just ain’t right.

You know that old saw about a premature explicator repeating in his mind “dead puppies, dead puppies, dead puppies”? Well, a similar (if perhaps not as effective) mantra is: “She’s a puddin’, she’s a puddin’, she’s a puddin'”

And when the three of them are Stalin and my ass is thrown in the Gulag, I simply concentrate on them as babies. And think of how darling and precious they were. Back then before they could sass.

Sometimes this operation is more successful than others.


Funny is the New Beautiful


Weird children make me proud.


Mommy Juice

Not that kind.. this kind…


I’m attempting to wean V. Again. Because nursing a toddler? Is like being attacked by a pack of wolves.

A few weeks ago, breastfeeding became an integral part of her louder and more demanding tantrums. They now include her chasing me around screaming “Boob!” “Boob!” It’s time for mama to have her body back.

Weaning is such a tricky business. There are the “child led weaning” advocates, the “What? She’s still breastfeeding?” people, and then there’s me. V is my last baby. My sweetest pudding. I have been ambivalent about cutting her off because that will require me to face up to the fact that she’s not a baby any longer. She’s a full-fledged-mini-Mussolini-with pretty blond hair.

A screamer, biter, kicker, firecracker, who took the place of my mild-mannered cheerful sprout.

She and I have come all this long way together. And who doesn’t appreciate the worshipful attention and nutrients served up at one’s own body store? But then the time comes and you have to say goodbye…. to this phase… It’s not going to be easy.

Meanwhile, thanks to the nice peeps over at MomJunction for linking to CrankMama all week. Give them some love and go check them out!


Role Play

The people. They’ve finally taken over. Mommy is down with buggy bugs and has handed over home rule to twin five year olds. Unsure of their intentions, but it’s not looking good from the couch. Send help.