Lessons in Parenting

Little M and Uncle Forrest

 

When I was newly married, we lived near one of my older sisters. She was the first of us to have any kids, and at the time that this story takes place she had a two-year-old daughter and a newborn little girl. She would come into town to do some shopping and if I wasn't in class or at track practice, I would tag along and play with the girls while she shopped. On one of these occasions, we were driving from one place to another. My sister was driving, I was in the passenger seat and the girls were, of course, in the back. Sweet little M, the two-year-old, was really upset about something and she was crying and kicking and screaming and crying. My sister asked her several times to relax, to which M finally got so exasperated that she threw her sippy cup in the direction of her mom. My sister immediately pulled the car over to the side of the road, opened her door, and marched around to the other side to talk to her daughter. I looked back at little M who's face was covered in tears. She looked absolutely terrified. I whispered to her "Uh oh, you're really in trouble now!" As my sister opened the door to talk to her tantrum-throwing, sobbing child, I fully expected her to get a swat on the bottom and a good talking to. But what my sister said and did that day is something I will never, ever forget. She climbed into the back seat next to her daughter, put her arms around her and gently said, "Little M, I love you so much. Will you please tell me what is wrong?" I don't remember what exactly it was that was upsetting M. Something small and silly to us, probably, but I do remember that after her mom acknowledged her and tried to resolve what was bothering her, there was far less crying and tantrum throwing for the remainder of the drive.

Now, 6 years later, I find myself in a position similar to my sister's all too often. Whether we are in the car, at home, or visiting some friends, it seems like somebody is always crying or upset about something. Though I'm not always successful, I try to repress my feelings of frustration and show instead my love and concern for my children as I try to help them overcome the challenge (however small and silly it may be) that they are facing.

I am so grateful for my sister and the example that she showed me that day. I hope that one day I can be half the mom that she is!

Outnumbered

I grew up in a family of 7. It was my mom, my dad, and 5 super awesome daughters. My poor dad - he is a very patient man. He handled it pretty well. He does blame us (the girls) for every single gray hair and every last inch of balding on his head, and I think he's probably right in doing that. We didn't exactly give him an easy time. I think I remember one of my sisters getting caught using my mom's razor to shave my dad's head while he was napping in the bathtub. I personally recall drawing pictures all over any part of exposed skin with my mom's lipstick while he napped on the couch (maybe he should have learned not to ever nap while we were around). My mom even has some blackmail pictures of him wearing one of her dresses, some heels, makeup and jewelry. He would occasionally let us paint his toenails and put clips in his hair. He was a good sport. And he was always our biggest supporter. Whatever we were doing - whether it was a sporting event, a play, cheerleading or a spelling bee - he made an effort to be there. In short, my dad is a rockstar.

When I was little, we bought a boat. Most of us called it the banana boat because it was as yellow as a perfectly ripe banana, but my dad officially named it "Outnumbered." It was quite fitting. The guy was surrounded by 6 females constantly. Even when we all started having kids of our own, it was years before a boy finally made an appearance.

I think I'm starting to have some sympathy pains for my dad's experiences. Not being outnumbered in terms of gender, but simply being outnumbered by my children. When it was just me and Charlie and Caroline at home, it was manageable. Crazy, yes, but doable. And then when Forrest was home from work we could move to a man-on-man defense. It worked well for us. Enter Juliet. Now life is a whole different story!

Life is now a whole new level of crazy. Still wonderful, of course. But so crazy. Juliet and I have had to learn to breastfeed "on the go." Meaning that I often have to jump up with her in the middle of a feeding to pry Charlie away from Caroline before he rips a chunk of hair out of her head. Or I have to intervene when Caroline is about to slam the door on Charlie's little fingers. Or when one of them has climbed onto the kitchen counter and is headed straight for something dangerous.

As an added bonus, I now have 3 children in 3 different sizes of diapers. Not at all confusing! My plan is to potty train ASAP, though I don't know how in the world I can give the twins enough attention to successfully potty train while I'm feeding a baby around the clock. Wish me luck with that one!

Even when Forrest is home to help, leaving the house takes us about 5,692 times longer than it used to. And once we do finally get out the door, inevitably someone is hungry, or a diaper needs changed, or I forgot to stock the diaper bag with diapers, wipes, or an extra change of clothes. Or I forgot to brush my teeth. Gross, I know, but when you are so focused on getting 3 little bodies ready to leave, it's easy to forget the basic things like that!

In all honesty though, having Juliet at home has still been 100 times easier than the first couple of months with the twins. Having two newborns was just so demanding! With only one baby to wake up with in the night, I feel so well rested. Seriously. So much easier with one, even though I am woefully outnumbered.

It Takes Patience

I am a lot of things. I'm a mom, a wife, a sister and daughter. I'm an avid online shopper, a sour milk despiser, and a fan of The Biggest Loser. I'm a sloppy gift wrapper, a stomach sleeper, and a whimp at amusement parks. There are a lot of things that I am. And a lot more things that I am not. And let me tell you, I AM NOT PATIENT! I never have been. I have what my husband would call the "need-to-be-right" complex. I think my ideas are always the best way to do something, and I get really frustrated when someone tries to do it a different way (something I get from my dad).

So what in the world is a non-patient person doing raising twins?! Trying to learn patience I guess. In church on Sunday we had a lesson about patience, and it was one of those lessons where I sat thinking I was doing a pretty good job at it. I am not always the best at being patient with my husband (I know, I'm working on it), but during the lesson I was thinking about my children and my thoughts honestly were something like this: "I think I do a pretty good job at being patient with my kids.." and ended right about there.

And I think the Man Upstairs heard my thoughts and decided I needed a little motivation to take that lesson to heart. So He sent me yesterday. Yesterday my little monkies decided to climb onto the table and open the nearly full bag of cheerios and dump them all out. Including the dust at the bottom of the bag. And they thought it was hilarious, of course! And they chose to play in their cribs for 2+ hours instead of nap, so they were super cranky. And when I went to get them up from their "nap" I found a little boy with poop spread all over his mattress and clumped under his fingernails. And that was after 5 poopy diapers already changed earlier in the day. While I worked on doing the laundry and cleaning up the now-brown crib sheet, the littles climbed into the dryer and shut themselves in. I opened the door to find Charlie sitting right on top of Caroline. Charlie was thrilled and Caroline looked like she didn't know whether to hit him or cry. Most of the day went about like that. Caroline shut Charlie's hand in the door. Charlie pulled Caroline's hair. They both fell off the kitchen chairs multiple times while climbing onto the table, which I can't keep them off of. They refuse to sit in their high chairs. They insist on feeding themselves with the spoon instead of letting me feed them. I finally sent Forrest a message at 5 PM begging him to come home from work and rescue me. 

And when I think about it, I don't know if the incidents from yesterday were really that much worse than the average day; but for whatever reason, my patience was wearing quite thin. Perhaps it was a not so gentle reminder that nobody's perfect, and that while I am generally quite patient with my children, it is something that I still need to work on. Thank goodness they are so cute in the midst of their mischieviousness! That makes it much easier.

Moments like this make it easier too. They really do love each other!