Overscheduling Our Kids

I signed Daughter (3) and Son (5) up for soccer this Spring. Many of Son's friends have already played a Spring/Fall season or two so we're late to the game. But I've also heard that some of these same four year olds were in tears or unwilling to play last year. So balancing my fear that I've held Son back too long is my instinct that I waited until the right time when he was ready to join an organized sport. (And my memory of our attempt at a week long summer soccer camp when he was two. He refused to play, I hustled around the field with infant Daughter in Baby Bjorn, and we stopped going by the third day.)


Now, I'm also fretting about what summer camps to put them in. This has become the discussion of the month as we mommies feel the impending open ended days looming a few months from now.


What will I do with them all day?

I don't want them to be bored!

I'll go crazy!


Last summer, I opted for the "let's have lazy days of beach combing, playing on the backyard, swing set, picnic dinners and play dates with friends" approach. Lulling me into this fantasy was a hazy memory of my own idle summer days in childhood. Wasn't this the way it's supposed to be?


Well, there were two faults to my delusion. One: Few of Son's friends were around for play dates (and mommy company for me) because they were all in camp. Two: I did go just about crazy by mid-summer from our long idle days together.


So, this summer I'm opting for a combo approach that will hopefully engage their little energetic bodies and creative souls yet leave time for free play.


At Daughter's three year check up yesterday, I asked Doctor how much camp to put her in. "I don't want to over schedule her at such a young age," I proclaimed.


"You know, people complain there's not much to do in our town," she replied. "And while I agree this can be a problem for teens (her daughter is fourteen), I tell them to start something themselves. Come up with something to do. But, many kids don't know how to do this because their parents have always scheduled activities for them."


Hmmmmm. Her comment reminded me of an article I read in an old Redbook Magazine at the nail salon. Titled "How to Let Kids be Kids" it discussed the pros and cons of over scheduling. The author, Judith Newman, was fighting the same fears we all consider: Don't our kids need more stimulation and challenge? "What, I wonder, will they be missing if they come home from first grade and do what I did as a little kid: nothing?" She asks.


The article goes on to quote several experts on the subject. "Children learn through playing, through active exploration that feeds their imagination, not by always having others organize the world for them." Said Susan Linn, a psychologist at the Judge Baker Children's Center at Harvard Medical School and the author of The Case For Make-Believe: Saving Play in a Commercialized World


That makes sense to me and has been my predominant philosophy with my kids so far. But am I being too old-fashioned? Am I kidding myself that my summer experience from the 1970s is the right one for my kids in 2009? Do idle summer days prepare them for a Facebook, Twittering, only-a-Google-search-away, who-knows-what-else-will-be-invented-by-the-time-they're-ten world?


The truth is, free play is a perfectly valid skill for a hyper-connected world. I can give my kids some organized activities that weren't available to me when I was a kid and make sure they also have free time for creative play. As Linn goes on to say later in the article, "Play is about discovering what the world is for yourself." Not what programmers, producers, teachers and coaches make it for you. "...To develop into a creative being in this noisy, fast-paced, electronics-filled world, children need 'time, space, and silence."


So, I'll take them to camp in the morning for a few weeks. We'll go to the beach some afternoons. Run through the sprinkler on others. And, I'll probably hire a mother's helper to help ensure my sanity and "encourage" their free play.

Finding the Right Pediatrician

This morning we changed pediatric practices. I've changed pediatricians four times since my first child was born, but this time we changed practices. The truth is, I didn't know what to look for when Son was born and as I sampled Dr's in the large practice, I moved around a bit. Two men, two women.

Our first pediatrician, Dr. M, seemed nice, well educated and was referred by a couple friends, but she only worked part-time so we frequently saw other doctors when my kids were sick. And then there was the episode when she said no, she didn't need to see my 6 week old for the noisy breathing I described over the phone (we're talking flock of seagulls here). When we later learned he had laryngomalicia, which led to learning he had mild acid reflux and explained the trouble he'd had breastfeeding, I switched doctors.

I'll spare you the details of my next two pediatricians at the practice but say that the third was excellent and explained her diagnoses well each time we went. However, we frequently waited an hour to see her. That's one hour with two toddlers in a hectic, germ filled waiting area then exam room when one or both are sick. Last summer, when Son was very ill, I announced to the nurse that I was taking my children down to the car and she could call me when the Dr. was finally free.

Thus began my search for a new pediatrician. I considered a male doctor in the practice (recommended by a new friend) but after growing up with a male pediatrician myself and dreading physical exams, I was committed to finding a female Dr. for Daughter.

That's when I started to hear more and more about a little practice in town with two female doctors who had excellent education and great reputations. They made house calls! You could make an appt for the annual flu shot (no more waiting in line out the door for the yearly cattle calls at my old practice).

Well, I met the doctors today and my kids played happily in their quiet waiting area. They have books, toys, a kitchen, a train set. They spend time getting to know you and I know that both doctors will have a relationship with my children and be better partners for me in managing their health and well being.

Lessons learned:

1. Don't just take the first recommendations you hear or go to the most talked about practice in town. Research everything that's available and visit it. This is hard when you're pregnant and working full-time. But if I'd known before I had kids how much time we'd spend at the pediatrician's office after they're born, I would have spent much more time finding the right doctor for us.

2. You don't know what you don't know. So, as you interact more with a doctor or practice, don't hesitate to consider a change. This is also daunting when you have started to build a relationship with a doctor and are managing daily life with young kids. But, looking back, kids are most sick before they reach age five since they're getting exposed to all the germs. I could have used the right doctor and practice earlier.

Are you happy with your pediatrician? How did you find the right one? Share your Mommy Truth.

Investigating Things That Go Bump in the Daytime

The buzzing started shortly after breakfast. Ice storm, no school, too many pancakes. Kids played with play do, I circled the house, searching for the mysterious buzz. Not upstairs. Not downstairs.

Finally, I turned off the radio, "Shhhhhhhhhhh!"

Kids and I walked towards big television in living room. It seemed to be emanating from above, behind, below.

"Shhhhhhhh!"

I put my ear next to the flat screen, against the speakers, down in the cabinet. Turned the cable box off and on.

"Shhhhhhh!"

"Okay, down to the playroom," I herded the children downstairs so I could focus on finding the source of the noise.

Husband called just then. Yes, no school. Lights have flickered on and off but we still have power. And, there's a strange noise buzzing from near the stereo equipment.

"Could it be dangerous?" I ask.

"Well, you can move the speaker and see if that's it." Done. Nope.

"Try unplugging the Sonos system." Done. Nope.

He's so calm in his cozy office while I play neurotic housewife, keeping him on the phone to walk through this investigation with me.

"Okay, it seems to be coming from the floor. Could it be wires underneath? It's not dangerous, is it?"

"Probably not."

"Wait, it seems louder over here by the end table. I'm next to the couch."

(Picture me on hands and knees. Ears to everything.)

"It's getting really loud. WAIT A MINUTE!"

I bring my head up to view mini pink Barbie computer sitting on top of end table, emanating a loud, really loud, buzzing sound. Pop open the case, turn power to off and voila, sound is gone.

"It was Daughter's Barbie computer." Okay, bye.

I thank God that the $14.95 impulse purchase for two year old for Christmas didn't cost me a $200 visit from the electrician.

Then again, it wasn't too long ago a repairman found Son's colossal mistake.

In November we returned home from a week in SF over Thanksgiving to find our backyard and garage flooded. After learning from neighbors that it hadn't rained much, we thought the underground well-pump must have broken. A well engineer/fixer guy was called.

He circled the house and looked at me. "Your well is fine. Your garden hose has been on full blast." That would be for ten days. Ten days! A dim, fuzzy memory creeps into my brain. The warmish day before we left for SF, Son is outside, asking to turn on the hose.

"No, it's winter," I reply. "We don't use the hose at this time of year." Guess he did. Must have been while I raked those remaining leaves. And we never saw it since we went inside shortly afterwards and left for the airport in darkness the next morning.

Fortunately, there's a strange CT state clause that allows home insurance to pay claims on water damage for human accidents like these. "Yup," the adjuster said. "There was a kid upstate who turned on a fire hydrant and the water ran all the way down the street and into a driveway and flooded a home's basement. Ruined everything." Okay then.

"How old is your son?"

"Four."

"Oh, I see."

Strange household noises or floods? Check with the kids first.

Believing in Santa Claus

When I picked up Son from preschool Lunch Bunch, he pulled me aside and excitedly said,

"Mom, guess what happened today?"

"What?" I asked.

"Well, we were eating lunch and Miss Jill was getting coffee and we heard bells. And Miss Sherry said, 'Listen, what's that?' And she said, "It's Santa watching us."

He had a huge smile on his face and felt very, very special that Santa had paid a special preschool drive by of his school.

I was touched and moved by his joy and pure belief in the event. And it sealed for me the power of believing in Santa Claus for young children.

I have to admit it's felt awkward for me to summon lies each Christmas in telling the tale of Santa Claus. It goes against my year long effort of gentle explanations and truth telling to my kids. My experience is just a trickle down of a larger trend in our society. Businesses strive for transparency and reality television has created a way "too much information" culture.

It's a far cry from my parents' generation when less was more when it came to filling in the kids on most things. "We'll see" was the common response to many requests and you didn't get an explanation.

So, hearing Son's ready, sweet willingness to believe such an obvious Santa ruse sealed my belief as well. My belief in children's ability and need for the story with a good hero. For a story of magic and mystery.

Kind of like that other Christmas story. You know - the one about the baby who comes to save the world. And while my kids seem pretty moved by the events that night in Bethlehem and three kings who brought gifts, they kinda like the guy who brings them gifts. And, I'm all for it.

Laws of the Mommy Universe

As I try and try to understand my children - or me as a Mommy to my children, it dawns on me that kids are really just an exaggerated microcosm of our human nature. For example:

They always Want what they can't have (me, toys, more time to fool around before going anywhere). Remember dating and the nice guy who called consistently. Things were going well and you took for granted that he was interested in you. Then one night he didn't call. Or didn't end the date with, "When will I see you again?" All of a sudden, he's the greatest guy on the planet! You gotta have him!!! Kind of like what happens for my kids the minute I pick up the phone, start to prepare dinner, walk into the other room...

They are amazing Creatures of Habit. I wrote about this while ago, saying What you allow one night or two, quickly becomes habit and hard to undo. We all like our routines and kids can pounce on any chance behavior, turning it into their personal mission to repeat.

They'll Stretch out any task to fill the time allotted. I was recently working on a book project and a colleague was worried about the deadline - eight months from now. We discussed adding another six months (and missing a publishing cycle) but knew we'd just stretch the same amount of work into a longer period. My kids will take as long as I give them to get dressed, brush their teeth, or do whatever's necessary to get their butts out the door in time for school or any other place we need to get to by a certain time. Isn't it amazing that it can take 2 or 20 minutes to put on a pair of shoes?

(My rule: Add 15 mystery minutes to every deadline for getting out the door on time. This allows for the coat trauma, the carseat drama, and my need to pee once everybody's finally buckled in.)

And of course, they Procrastinate. Ask them to do anything and they'll put it off. Unless, the reward (or threat) entices them enough. Same for us. We all procrastinate, especially on the stuff we don't want to do (which for our kids is anything we ask them to do).

In the end, all I can do is try to have some empathy when witnessing my worst, or simply human, traits in my kids.

Red Light, Green Light

"Mommy, you didn't stop!" screamed Son recently after a red light.

"Huh?" Yes, I did. He said this a few times . Well, screamed to be heard from third row of bright blue Minivan (hey, I thought it would be easy to find in a crowded parking lot except every third Mom drives this weird blue Odyssey).

"It was RED, you need to stop!" After a few outings with this claim, I realized he hadn't been educated on Right on Red.

"It's okay, honey. You're allowed to turn Right on Red.

"Oh," he murmured.

What hit me, was that he'd been watching. Closely tracking my every driving move - along with everything else.

The truth is, every single tiny, unconscious, I-just-can't-pay-attention-to-everything thing we do is an example. Good or bad. Smart or dumb. Nice or mean.

They learn it all from us. Soon it will be from their peers at school. But for now, it's mostly Mom... and Dad. Unlike the snarl Son gave me this morning at my request to PLEASE GO GET DRESSED - that closely matched my own a few moments earlier- I have a little bit of distance between what I do behind the wheel today and how he'll drive in twelve years. Thank God.

I Scream at Ice Cream

Last week we braved Stew Leonard's for groceries. If you don't live in CT, Stew's is the "largest dairy store in the world" and features singing farm animals, flipping monkeys, freshly packaged milk, the Chiquita banana lady, an insane progression with your cart down one winding aisle (turn against the tide at your peril), and, oh, a free ice cream cone if you spend $100 or more. We stopped in for fruit and checked out with an overloaded cart, one harried Mom and a final tallly of $167.

Since we'd already been to the beach prior to our Stew's adventure, Mommy was pushing for quick ice cream cones so we didn't totally screw with Daughter's early afternoon nap. Oh, did I mention we ate hamburgers and hot dogs at the hoedown farm tables right outside the store?

"Sprinkles! I want sprinkles!" they cried in front of the ice cream counter.

"Okay, okay." Just this time. Kids carrying soft serve on cones, Mom pushing grocery cart stuffed with my laughable assortment of green bags (two insulated bags from Trader Joes, one super large carryall from Bed Bath and Beyond, a standard green grocery bag from local Carluzzi's grocery store and my new envirosax, which fits in my purse!), and twelve year old Niece tagging along for the ride.

We sat on the bench outside the real farm animals to eat our cones, tired kids begging the patience of Mom to hold out on heading home.

"Stay here with Madeleine (Niece) while I load the groceries in the car."

As I stuff bags into the minivan trunk, I see a friend with twin four year olds zipping off, the two kids nicely sitting in their carseats licking away. Yes, her kids are older, but couldn't we just get going too? Mmmmm, that's risky, two year old Daughter can barely lick through a cone before it drenches clothes, hands, chin, neck and surroundings with sticky drippings.

What the heck! Throwing caution to the wind, I hustle Son (still licking), Daughter (holding, sometimes licking) and Niece (making real headway) into the car.

Now, the danger starts. Mom maneuvers multiple traffic lights while coaching Daughter and Son how to neatly finish ice cream cones in car. Losing battle. Coaching is generous, militant screaming more like it.

"Wait! Use your napkin! Don't bite the bottom! It's dripping! It's dripping!"Pull over. Grab wipes, clean Son. Grab Daughter's ice cream cone, top and bottom dripping mercilessly. Chuck it out the window.

Oh, no. The tragedy, the tears. What kind of mother am I to terrorize my daughter over an ice cream cone? I walk around the car, gently pick it up from the grass, wipe off any stray clippings and hand it back to her.

After all, soap and water can easily clean my car, little fingers and chins. But they can't wash away hurt feelings. Those sometimes take patience and practicality to prevent. What was I thinking???

Mommy Peace - A Little Extra Help Keeps Mommy at Bay

After two weeks with Son out of preschool, I got smart and asked my 15 year old niece to help out babysitting a couple days this week. What a difference! Happy kids, happier Mom. Why didn't I get extra help sooner? The three intimidating factors for me were:

1. How would I find a decent babysitter I could trust and liked enough to have around my house?
2. Did I want to spend the extra money each week for some peace of mind and opportunity to get extra things done around the house or errands run without the hassle of accompanying preschoolers?
3. The big Mommy Guilt Factor: Shouldn't I want to be with my children every waking hour - won't it be fun to get up and go to the beach and have a fun summer day together? (Uh, not when we're all screaming at each other by 5 pm.)

Admittedly, it was easy to get over my fear of finding a trustworthy babysitter the kids (and I) would enjoy after Niece announced that she was available for babysitting this summer. While I was worried about the need to pick her up and take her home to the next town over, I got over this by actually doing it and timing it at 13 minutes each way. That's not such a big deal. And, her gracious mother offered to drop her off or pick her up one way each time. So, I take advantage of that during naptime or close to it (so Daughter doesn't nod off in car and screw up the whole nap schedule for the day.)

In addition, Son loves his cousin and views her babysitting more like a playdate. This happens with great babysitters and also younger ones that act like mother's helpers. That's how I viewed Niece. I didn't expect her to take over and simply enjoyed her addition to our group and our ability to go one on one when necessary (e.g. Daughter throwing tantrum while Son carries on about needing that train over there.) I now see the value of au pairs.

Second, since she's fifteen, I'm paying her $9/hour and not the standard $15/hour or higher for an older babysitter in my area. This eases my financial guilt that I shouldn't be paying just for my own peace of mind or to give myself a break.

Finally, after a harry weekend where Husband and I realized that Daughter is indeed in the throws of two year old tantrums over random miscellaneous needs and that while she and Son play so nicely together much of the time, their battles over said trains and most other toys they play with, has taken on new frequency and pitch; I just picked up the phone and called Niece to help - ALL DAY MONDAY.

No guilt, simply necessity. And since the day went well and at Friday, I can view this entire week as having been much easier on me (Niece is coming over again this afternoon), I'm finding my Mommy Guilt sweetly receding behind a certain Mommy Peace.

Crocs or Not?

I just had my first experience of relenting to my child’s need for coolness, peer pressure, please-please-please-can-I-have-them? versus my goal of practicality. We entered the shoe store with me intent on buying a pair of Teva’s or similar sandal for the beach and hot summer day playing and a pair of Keens or something similar for avoiding wood chips on the playground and hiking in the woods. Since Son’s toes were hanging over his sandals from the February Florida trip, we were starting from scratch.

But, upon entering the store, he spotted the Crocs display and exclaimed, “Crocs! Oooooh, Crocs! Pleeeeeeaaaase, Mom, can I get some???” Where, oh where did this come from? I was naively shocked at how clued in he was on summer kids fashion. We have never discussed this type of shoe, I’ve never mentioned the brand, and he can’t read. How did he know what they were? (Silly, clueless Me.) There I was, begging, pestering him for details on who exposed him to this fashion while he ran around the display, pulling off any size and color he could dislodge from the hooks.

Mom: “We’ll see honey. We’re going to try on lots of shoes, practical shoes, and we’ll see what works. "

Son: “I LOVE Crocs! Please, can I get some?”

Mom: “Where did you hear about them? Who told you about Crocs? I just don’t understand where this came from?”

Son: Completely ignoring my need for more information. “Please….. Mom….”

And where did he learn that sweet pleading reaps more rewards than whining? Oh, right, I give in more.

Mom to Store Manager: “How do they stay on? I don’t see how he can run in those. Let me try on a pair. Ooohhhh, they’re very comfortable. Oh, I see how they stay on. Okay, let him try a pair.”

We leave with Bob the Builder Crocs in navy blue, my son tripping over his feet.

Mom: “But they don’t even look comfortable. Are you sure they fit okay? You’re tripping!”

Son: “They’re fine.” Huge smile. Happy face. Doesn’t want them to get wet or dirty (Crocs?!) and puts them in secret, special place of honor in his room.

I gave in because I loved satisfying his longing. But what will I do when Daughter turns 10, 11, 12, etc. and wants 4” heels?

What would you do in a similar situation? Be practical and avoid tripping or let him have his way?
Post your comment.

PS
At the cash register:

Store Manager: "Do you want some Jibbitz?"

Mom: "Don't even go there."

Store Manager: "Chicken."

Gender Genes

It's official - I can't deny the differences between daughter and son. Basic, instinctual leanings wrought by nature, not just nurture. Let's see, when did it start? Oh, the other day when Charlie (4) started playing doctor after Sophie (2) returned home from ours with an ear infection (no, they didn't play that kind of doctor yet!) I was to be the patient (of course) while Charlie took my blood pressure and gave me "shots" with the medicine plunger. I pretended to cry after my shot and Sophie turned all protective, jumping into my lap to "protect" me from Charlie and telling him to stop. She was really rather fierce in her protection of me and I was secretly thrilled.

After all, Charlie has yet to realize I have feelings too and remains in his egocentric view of the world (normal for toddlers). Sophie, however, demonstrated the female nurturing quality so inherent in our beings. She already asks me if "I'm okay" if I say ouch or appear hurt. She's repeating what I say to her, sure, but Charlie hasn't picked up on that yet.

The kids played up their gender roles again this week with our little ladybug friends (some of you may remember when ladybugs moved in last Fall). Sophie has become quite affectionate of the few little ladybugs living in her room. She loves to put them on a finger and let them crawl up her arm, fascinated when they quickly flutter wings and depart. Charlie on the other hand, seeks to destroy each little spotted friend with a swift hammer of his hand or eager stomp.

Alas, these leanings are pretty run of the mill. But they're a first for me to witness. Certainly Charlie has his compassionate moments and Sophie her aggression. And I'm wary to pigeonhole either one in a gender stereotype (feminist graduate of a women's college as I am). But isn't it interesting when they follow the norms?

The Power of No

I’ve been working recently on my ability to say “No” to my three year old son. Oh sure, I can say No quite easily and say it many times. It’s the random question from him, that I quickly reply No to, and then regret with the onslaught of his crying and carrying on. He sure knows how to plead his case. And I’ve found myself to be more of a sucker than I thought I'd be. After incessant whining for several minutes, what’s the harm in a bowl of Cheerios right before dinner, an extra television show, or dirty hands before eating? Well, over time, quite a lot is wrong if I give in to his demands. After all, he’s interested in his immediate gratification. It’s my job to see the bigger picture, set the rules, teach him the basic structure of how to live well in society. I know what’s best.

In reality, I needed a little training before I could help train him. So, I consulted my library of parenting books (is yours getting as big as mine?) and was fortified and comforted by one in particular: The Blessing of a Skinned Knee (see my booklist to the right). This book takes a different spin on the standard parenting issues. Its author, Wendy Mogel, Ph.D, uses Jewish teachings to emphasize the values needed to raise our children. It’s a bit more applicable for older children than mine, say six years and up, but on my first reading a year ago I found its principles to be a solid framework for parenting and one that closely matches how my husband and I hope to raise our kids. She pulls from the Torah (the first five books of the Bible) to create nine “blessings” that guide parents in raising responsible, caring children.

So, I thought of Wendy’s book when looking for the power to say and reinforce my No’s. In Chapter Three, she discusses the need for children to honor their mother and father and asks some pretty pointed questions about how well your children might be honoring you. As I squirmed in my seat, she noted that many parents have trouble in this area. They have “bred disrespectful children in large part because they don’t demand respect from them.” Her reason? “Deep down parents don’t believe they deserve it or that they can master the struggle.” This phrase alone got me thinking. I realized the truth is that I’m not sure I can “master the struggle.” I don’t want my son to suffer and when he cries and whines and becomes close to desolate when he can’t have what he wants, I relent out of sympathy. But that’s not what is best for him. And it certainly isn’t setting the stage well for when his demands will become bigger and have more impact on his well-being (or our finances!)

Wendy goes on to set out helpful guidelines to establish authority but I decided right then and there that I would have the courage to “master the struggle.” And here’s what happened: My son cried and whined less. Yep. When No means No, they eventually move on. Sure, I think he senses when I may waver and plays upon past experience of my waffling tendencies. But a calm, firm No with a couple of choices sets a tidy parameter for both of us.

We’ve all heard that children like rules and limitations. It grounds them and provides security. Limitless options or the knowledge that they set the rules is actually very frightening for them. And this is why I think the Power of No is so positive. The results have certainly been. After all, if I hold firm, C. is the one who relents. He eventually comes around because no other options are presented to him. “No, you may not play with the vacuum (after finding him with the plug in a socket). This is for adults and those are the rules.” Or, “No, you may not have juice right before dinner. You may have some milk and a cracker or wait until we eat.” In this type of circumstance and when he says No himself with enough “power” for both of us, I find it most effective to present two choices: “You can brush your teeth now and we’ll read three stories or you can go to bed without stories tonight.” He gets a choice (this is a power struggle after all) and chooses the one in his best interest.

One of the biggest benefits of this approach is that when I feel confident that I can say No calmly and firmly and STICK TO IT, we don’t get to the point where I lose my temper. C. isn’t the one pushing me to my limits. I’m in control of the situation and guiding him to the right choice. Of course, it’s more difficult to stick to No when it’s over a trivial request that I realize is actually okay and find myself wanting to give in. In this case, I’ve realized it’s necessary to invoke my mother’s tried and true responses: “We’ll see” or “Maybe.” I never understood the reasoning behind these phrases until now. But I now see that a little careful consideration gives me time to determine whether a firm No is necessary so I can confidently hold my ground.