My Little Helper

I am all for raising independent and self-sufficient children. I am giving our 4 year old more responsibilities. I figure, if he has jobs at school, then he can earn his keep at home. He has chores and jobs. He has to set and clear the table. He has to clean up his toys, put his dirty clothes in the laundry and put his clean ones in the proper drawers. He even helps make his own lunch sometimes. He can get things out of the cupboard and fridge to help make lunch and dinner. He likes to make his own sandwich. He makes a mean ham and cheese sandwich. Here is the recipe - 2 hams, 2 breads, and 1 cheese. Lay them out, pile them up and smoosh them together then eat. I did not realize how bound and determined he was to make lunch today. I walked into the kitchen to find the refrigerator door open. Not unusual. I thought he was getting the bread, ham and cheese. But, I noticed I did not see his little feet under the door. He was IN the fridge digging in the back to find all the ingredients for his lunch. Guess he was really, really hungry. I pulled him out of the fridge and explained that maybe I should help get the hard to reach stuff. He proudly suggested he use a chair next time. What can I say? The kid is a real problem solver. So, we have 2 new rules in our house. One, no climbing in the fridge. Two, if you cannot reach it with your feet firmly on the floor, ask a grownup for help. Each day brings new challenges. And new rules.

Sara's Sleepover Manifesto

Here is Sara's list of approved activities for a sleepover. A girl must be prepared at all times. 1. Make pizzas. 2. Chocolate fudge cake 3. Alvin and the Chipmunks Squeakuel with popcorn 4. Dance party! 5. Fun time 6. Talent show 7. Stargaze outside (with iPhone). 8. Bed 9. Girl party (at midnight) 10. Wake up (at 8:00) 11. Breakfast (pancakes) 12. Paint nails To all interested and potential parties - she can be packed and ready to invade your home in less than 10 minutes. Her luggage will include a sleeping bag, a pillow, assorted stuffed animals, multiple costume changes (enough to last a week), books, toys, and games. Her costume and wardrobe changes will take into consideration any all climate changes, any possible events and a few backups for emergencies. But, you must provide all the food and activities. She is just the cruise director. Activities and food can be added but not subtracted. She is willing to negotiate (within reason). Pretty ambitious for a girl who falls asleep at 7:30 p.m.

Career Strategies of a 4 Year Old

Christian is already career oriented. His preschool assigns jobs weekly to the kids. Their glitzy and glamorous jobs can be snack helper, line leader, caboose or calendar helper. Naturally, some jobs have more glamour and prestige than others. Some come with great responsibilities. Some are more highly coveted than others. Christian's favorite jobs are snack helper, line leader and calendar helper. He loves being snack helper because of the power associated with the position. You get to dole out snacks, ring a bell and tell people to sit down. Calendar helper is an equally powerful job. It involves a pointer. You get to stand in front of your seated classmates and tell them the day, week, month and weather. It's a great responsibility and he wears it well. He needs to exercise a little more caution with the pointer but even Walter Cronkite started somewhere. Well, line leader. Need I say more? It's being the lead dog during the Iditarod with the added perk of ringing a bell and ordering your subordinates to line up. He likes to take initiative and jazz it up. Sometimes, his line does the conga. Sometimes they hop. Sometimes they skip. But, alas, the lowly job of caboose is not a coveted position. In fact, he came up with a brilliant career strategy. He outsources the job. If he is picked for caboose, he simply assigns it to a friend. His friends love being the caboose. They clamor for the role. They try to bribe him. Again, the power goes to his head. But, at age 4, he knows where his strengths lie. And, he discovered, as the caboose, the view never changes. He has decided he is a leader, not a follower. His teacher has decided the sheer brilliance of it makes it amusing to watch the substitution replacement selection process.I applaud his creativity. I also fear what jobs he will try to outsource at home.

Testing, Limits and Boundaries

Sounds like a road test for a car. But I am actually talking about parenting a 4 year old. My son is bound and determined to test my limits and his boundaries from the minute he wakes up until he goes to bed. I am not unrealistic. I want respect and listening. But this little guy is determined attempt to challenge, argue, negotiate and debate anything and everything. To say that I am stubborn is an understatement. I will NOT negotiate with a 4 year old. He is slowly realizing what little power he has in this house and he is attempting to claim more daily. And he is failing. But, as each new day starts, so does his fresh new resolve to see how many ways he can test me. His first order of business is to put on clean underwear. Each and every pair must be picked up, examined, considered then discarded. Then the Herculean task of choosing breakfast. I am not running a Vegas all-you-can-eat buffet. I give him 2 choices. Without fail, he tries to choose option C, not on the menu and over my dead body. He will eat but must be reminded multiple times to face forward so he does not fall out of his chair. When he does fall, this is suddenly MY fault somehow. Not receiving any first aid or sympathy, he climbs back up and eats his food. Slowly. I could feed a barracks full of soldiers 3 hot meals in the time he takes to eat one cup of yogurt. Ironically, he clears the table and cleans himself up with no fussing or reminding. Getting dressed is my next unreasonable demand. I am greeted with a "not yet". He is given the choice of getting his clothes on or sitting in a time-out in his underwear. Sighing heavily, he is dressed. This is a slightly speedier endeavor. Hair and teeth are brushed without complaint. I don't know why or care. I take the gift and race upstairs to dress myself. Putting on 1 coat and 2 shoes takes my son longer than Scarlett O'Hara took to primp for a party. Off he goes to school, where I am told he is an angel and a delight. Lunch is consumed with the same lack of speed. Nap time approaches. I did not know it was possible to climb stairs THAT slowly. Sometimes, he even ends up going back down! Faced (daily) with the loss of books before nap, he shows some hustle. I have read all the parenting books. I don't negotiate. I don't cave. I give a few choices to give him the illusion of power. I explain the events that will occur and how I expect them to occur. When he fails to follow the simple, basic and reasonable requests made of him, the consequences are explained. When he is faced with the consequences, he has the audacity to look shocked. Then he tries to plead and bargain. "Give me one more chance" falls on deaf ears. People assure me that this is a natural part of development and he will grow out of it. I hope for both our sakes that he outgrows it soon. This kid needs to learn that I am older, tougher and already survived this with his older sister. He doesn't stand a chance.

Plugged In and Disconnected

I took the kids out to breakfast last weekend. Paul was out of town for work and I had no desire to mess up my clean kitchen. The kids colored and we chatted while we waited for our food. A father came in with his 2 kids, each was fully armed with an electronic. Both kids immediately whipped out their personal Ipads. He pulled out his phone. All three were glued to their screens the whole time they waited for their food. Even when their food arrived, they ate while staring at their screens. Not a word was spoken. No eye contact was made. Next to us, a middle-aged couple was doing the same thing. No conversation, no eye contact. They may as well have been dining alone. While we ate, we talked about school, friends, plans for the weekend. We told bad knock-knock jokes. My kids asked a million questions. I made up a million answers. They opened up and I listened. I love my electronics as much as the next person. My kids love to play on the Ipad or Wii. But, we do not allow electronics at ANY meal - at home or in public. We set firm limits about when and how much screen time is allowed. We are all so busy that sometimes meal time is the only time we have to connect. At dinner, we learn what jobs Christian had at preschool. We hear about what Sara did in art class. We hear about Daddy's day at work. We talk about an upcoming family wedding. While Christian eats lunch during the week, I sit with him and read books to him. When Paul and I dine out, we will glance at our phones to see if the sitter has called. That is all. I felt sorry for the father and his kids. Here was a perfect opportunity to talk and connect. Instead they all chose to connect with their technology instead. Ever since Sara was a newborn, we had lunch with my father weekly. She learned to sit through a meal before she learned to sit up or eat solid food. She threw food, ate food, colored or people-watched. It is sad when a family cannot turn off the screen time for facetime. I had a rewarding and enjoyable breakfast WITH my kids. They ate food while sitting next to their family.

The Puppet Master

I recently signed Sara up for a puppet making class. She thinks she has the world on a string already so I thought it would be fun for her. When Christian and I dropped her off, the instructor invited Christian to stay and participate. He was beyond giddy for a chance to run with the big dogs. He was confused when he saw a pile of mismatched socks on the table. "Mommy, did you bring our socks to share?". Both kids jumped right in, making mouths, choosing eyes, noses, ears, beards, and eyebrows. Sara's puppet is elaborate and fancy. She has a ponytail, bright red lips, and feather eyebrows. And she is not complete yet. I'm guessing she will have a whole outfit with accessories. Her puppet is named Nature Girl. She loves fashion and saves any animal in trouble. She can fly, swim and climb trees. Christian spent more time choosing, discarding and rearranging his puppet. By the end of class, they got to name their puppets and create entire personalities, including voices. Christian's puppet is named Grumpy, after my father. He is 624 years old. He is a superhero. He can fly, fight bad guys, shoot fire and make it rain and snow. Silly me, I though my dad's only superpowers were reciting random bits of Shakespeare and letting the kids stay up too late. My kids and their imaginations never cease to amaze me. They have these incredible minds that soak in everything around them. They told amazing stories with their puppets. I was concerned Sara would be upset about her little "bother" encroaching on her turf but she was so excited for him to be allowed to participate. She encouraged him, helped him choose pieces, and even made suggestions. She looked out for him in class. I was proud of her. Every time he added a piece to his puppet, he had to show her and ask her what she thought. She was very supportive and encouraging. When the puppets got to "talk" to each other, Sara picked Christian to talk with. He was thrilled. They had a long, rambling conversation. Their puppets joined forces to embark on a mission to save the world from bad guys. It was nice to see her being considerate and encouraging. He loved being a part of her world. He often gets dragged along to Girl Scout meetings, art classes and science fairs. He felt like a big kid doing something she was doing, too. The 4 year age difference can be a challenge. She is bored with things he likes to do. He has no desire to play "girly" games with her. Occasionally, we hit a happy middle ground. And it involves socks, a glue gun and alter-egos.

The Friendly Skies

I like to think of myself as a positive person. I usually am. Until I get anywhere near an airport. Then my inner-what is wrong with people-self comes out. Something about air travel makes the IQ of the general public drop several points. First, you must attempt to park somewhere near the airport. All the arrows and signs give conflicting orders and suggestions. Not to mention the yahoo in the Hummer or the grandma with cataracts driving the wrong way you must swerve to avoid. And even the smallest car feels obligated to take up 2 parking spots. Then you get to lug all your worldly possessions on the grand trek to the airport. Once you enter the airport, you must dodge the family reunions and school trips congregating in the middle of the airport. Then you must wait in a 2-mile long line to check in. In front of you will be people who don't speak the language, people trying to cash their light bill and buy a lottery ticket from the check-in clerk. There is always someone who is surprised they need to produce a valid plane ticket and photo I.D. Once you prove you have a ticket to ride, you get to wait for 6 months to get through security. People now have to strip naked, unload every stick of gum and fork over every electronic. Amazingly, this process takes longer than childbirth. If you are a Type A OCD personality, you still have hours to kill so you wander around the airport shops. You contemplate paying way too much for crap you would not even glance at anywhere else. Then you lurk around your gate until "boarding time". Your fellow passengers clearly flunked out of preschool because not a single one of them will be able to follow the simple instructions given repeatedly to line up according to rows. People form a CIRCLE around the door. Then they are shocked that the ticket agent can read their seat assignment and sends them to the back of the "line". My kid, at age 7, could figure out the line up process faster than the guy next to her in the Brooks Brothers suit. And people in the middle seat always "mistakenly" hunker their over-sized selves in my aisle seat. And they are surprised when I "politely" refuse their "gracious" offer of their middle seat. Last year, Sara and I flew to Minnesota. I'm clearly sitting next to my 7 year old. We had side-by-side window and aisle seats. While I sometimes would like to pretend my kids are not mine in public, this was not one of those times. A man actually asked if I would switch seats with him 4 rows back because he doesn't like the middle seat. Excuse me, but who DOES like it? I was tempted to slip Sara some chocolate covered espresso beans and a Big Gulp and take him up his offer to teach him a lesson. Then you spend the entire flight with someone's head in your lap because they feel the overwhelming urge to "recline". When this happens, I channel my inner-Calvin and Hobbes. I need to open and shut my tray compulsively, cross my legs repeatedly, get up and down a few dozen times. I also throw in a few coughs and sneezes for good measure. Usually, I win the turf war and they decide to spend the rest of the flight in their full upright position. Sara, on the other hand, loves traveling. Everything must be explored. Everyone must be met and interrogated. If there is a delay, she is happy to wander the airport shops. I need to take a page out of her travel log book.