Here we are again coming up on that second Sunday in May that honors Mothers in America. In 1912, Anna Jarvis trademarked the phrases “second Sunday in May” and “Mother’s Day”. She specifically noted that “Mother’s” should “be a singular possessive, for each family to honor their mother, not a plural possessive commemorating all mothers in the world.” In my mind, this is a much needed distinction.

I believe that the word “Mother” should always be capitalized. It also should be coined a verb rather than a noun. To actually be one, or act in that capacity, requires a lot of doing, a lot of sacrificing, and a lot of nurturing and caring; not to mention meeting a child’s basic needs. Biologically birthing someone doesn’t make you a mom. While there are no perfect parents, here are some action words that I think should be mandatory in defining the word:

Mother (muth’er), v.  1. Any action of unconditionally loving a child and taking  “good” care of his/her emotional and physical needs. To the best of her ability, providing care, concern, support and a soft place to fall for her child. Putting a child’s best interests first whenever possible. Worrying about and loving said child for the rest of his natural life …. This is a title that must be earned, not just given.

This sounds like a more correct definition to me. Unfortunately, not everyone has or have such people in their lives.  As I stated before, it is not enough to simply give birth to a child to earn that distinction. You must do the heavy lifting of actually raising that child. Whether you are an adopted Mom, a foster Mom, or a step-Mom doing her best to implement the aforementioned acts, you deserve to be recognized on this auspicious day. Although, part of the act of Mothering is expecting nothing in return, I admittedly do.

I want for my son to grow up to be a good person who has morals and values and uses good judgment. I want my son to appreciate me just a little for putting a hot meal on the table, chauffeuring him around, and washing his clothes, etc. I love it when he randomly says, “I love you Mom” without wanting anything in return. I wouldn’t mind more of that! I want my son to give me hugs and kisses of affection, although he’s not the demonstrative type. I want my son to be able to come to me when he has a problem. I want him to recognize that I did/am doing the very best I can for him.    Unfortunately, not everyone has had a good model or example to follow of how to be a good Mother.  Some of us may have been abandoned, abused physically or verbally, raised by mentally ill or drug/alcohol addicted mothers not actively seeking treatment. That’s why I propose that the word Mother be redefined in our culture. The title should have to meet some basic requirements. It is a hands-on job. A child doesn’t come with an instruction manual. Fortunately, the Center for Parenting Education provides tips, tools and suggestions for how to be a Mother to someone in healthy ways.

If you are doing it to the best of your ability and trying to meet the emotional and physical needs of any child, biological or not, then by all means, you should be celebrated or honored, even if it is only you that recognizes it.

In my definition, it takes a lot of action words to earn the title of Mother.  Setting aside one day a year to honor that dedication and commitment seems only fair.  And, in my opinion, all those who are truly giving it their best effort, deserve to be praised on the day.

The post What does it mean to be a Mother? appeared first on The Center for Parenting Education.

“But there’s a story behind everything. How a picture got on a wall. How a scar got on your face. Sometimes the stories are simple, and sometimes they are hard and heartbreaking. But behind all your stories is always your mother’s story, because hers is where yours begin.”
― Mitch Albom, For One More Day

I call this my fairy tale because it is a story of struggle with a very happy ending: Once upon a time my husband and I decided to have a baby. Unfortunately nothing was happening, and many years of agonizing fertility treatments later it was determined that we may never conceive.

After much soul-searching, we decided to adopt. We knew a lengthy process lay ahead of us but we were committed. For a whole year we researched; we attended meetings and support groups; we filled out countless forms; but and we persevered. We were two short months away from getting our baby, when lo and behold, on Christmas Eve no less, I found out I was pregnant.

We really wanted both babies, but the adoption agency’s rule was if you became pregnant, the adoption was cancelled. My emotions were all over the place: I was ecstatic to be pregnant, yet sad that I would never get to know the baby we were so close to adopting. But after all those years of stress, how could I not be thrilled? Nine months later, my “little” ten pound baby boy was born. Three years later his sister came into this world.

My kids love this cherished family story – it’s my son’s story of how he began.

On this Mother’s Day build a strong awareness in your children of their heritage. Connect with your kids by telling your stories. Your family will treasure them.

By Claire Gawinowicz

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!

The post This Mothers Day, Share Your Family Stories appeared first on The Center for Parenting Education.

All over suburbia kids have taken to the fields with high hopes of hitting home runs at the plate and striking out the batter from the mound, running and sliding into home to score the run in the nick of time before being called out, and catching that pop-up fly ball to end the inning.

Ah, baseball, that sacred American pastime, right up there with reciting the pledge of allegiance and seeing fireworks explode on the Fourth of July.  The benefits of playing together as a team are innumerable. Competition is healthy. Getting outside and exercising is ideal. Who could possibly find fault with such a deeply-entrenched cultural ritual passed down through generations from father to son?  What mom in her right mind wouldn’t be in favor of it? Me; that’s who, and at the risk of sounding blasphemous, I’m about to tell you why.

Baseball season in my house started around 2 or 3 weeks ago; I’m not sure which. It’s all a blur. Since then our schedules have been turned upside down. My kid is on 2 different teams,  an in-house and a travel team (both competitive leagues). I think I finally understand the lingo now. This means he has a game or a practice every night in addition to his regular religious school classes, music lessons, and homework. There just aren’t enough hours in the day for everything. But baseball season is here and everybody’s doing it. In fact most parents have more than one kid and have each kid participating in different sports that they have to shuffle them around to in addition to working full-time jobs. This constitutes nothing short of MADNESS to me. Come on Suburbia – get a grip.

At the risk of being extremely unpopular with the “take me out to the ball game” crowd, I’m not sure I see the merit in all of this.  One question I have is, when are we supposed to eat dinner? One Monday night after undergoing a full day of standardized testing in school, an hour-long piano lesson immediately after from 4 – 5 pm, my son changed in the car into his baseball uniform and I dropped him off at practice. I told him to call me when he was done.

When 7:30 pm had come and gone, I flew into a state of panic. My kid hadn’t eaten dinner yet! I immediately rushed up to Wawa and bought him a hoagie with the intention of ripping him off the practice field and providing him nourishment. Surely not providing dinner for him  constituted inhumane treatment. Fortunately, another mom stopped me in my fury and said that her son hadn’t eaten dinner either. She asked, “Do they look any worse for wear?” Admittedly, they all looked like they were having fun. No one was passed out on the field. I held back my motherly right-brained instincts and allowed my upstairs brain to think before acting. All the kids ended up going to Rita’s Water-ice for dinner around 8 pm. My kid at least had half a hoagie in the car.  If my kid is either practicing or playing every night from 5 pm – 8 pm, is dinner @ 8:30 pm? Or of course, there’s always the hot dog shack (“buy me some peanuts and cracker jacks”) for nourishment.

So here we are, in the middle of the insanity. Since my son is fairly new to the competitive league, he is either sitting on the bench or playing in the outfield. He, however, likes to pitch and even earned the nickname Bulldog last season because of his abilities. So we bought into the craziness: we got him  pitching lessons in the off-season to foster his potential, and hopefully fulfill his dream of being a star pitcher in little league.

That, and a dollar, won’t even buy you a hot dog at Citizen’s Bank Park!   So far, much to our chagrin, my son has yet to be allowed to play this position that he was trained for. He has to pay his dues, come up through the ranks, earn his pitching stripes, whatever. Trust me, my son is not going to be playing for the Major Leagues. Hell, he may not even play in high school!

Another conundrum in all this hubbub is how much time do we, in order to be good and supportive parents, have to spend watching our kids play the game at the expense of our own lives?  My mini-van has a chair and a blanket ready to go at all times. But am I any less of a mom if I don’t sit on (what this season so far has been) the freezing cold sidelines to cheer my kid’s team on? I mean, where would any good devoted mother rather be? I’ll tell you, for me, almost anywhere else. I drive him to the games, make sure his clothes are clean and ready, and provide him with nourishment when time allows. Don’t these other tasks show him that I care? Couldn’t my time be better spent do something other than sitting on the sidelines rooting for my kid and making small talk with the other baseball parents? Really, all the kids really do look alike in their uniforms, so much so, that another mom has to tap me on the shoulder to tell me that my kid is up to bat. Am I missing the “sports gene” that came along with the equally illusory “maternal instinct gene”?  Does it mean that I love my son any less by not choosing to sit through every game?

What clinched my suspicion that playing little league baseball is the antithesis of what is right and healthy for the American family was my son’s best friend’s injury on the field.  He was sliding into home to get that coveted run, when the 1st baseman through the ball to the catcher for the out and the ball hit the friend hard in the head. Fortunately, he was wearing a helmet, but that wasn’t enough to prevent the concussion. To score a run in little league baseball? Seriously, is it worth it? This boy is a talented cellist. But which do you think this culture respects more?

My son, also a talented musician, informed me after 7 years of piano lessons that it was too much for him and that he wanted to quit playing. The culprit for this poor decision? You guessed it, that all American sport that everyone has blindly bought into…. Now, don’t get me wrong, it’s not all bad. I’m just questioning the intensity, energy and time that we, as parents and as a culture, are placing on this one activity. Couldn’t our time as a collective culture be better spent? When I asked my husband why we buy into this, he said, “Everyone does it, how can we deprive our son of the experience?”

As a final note, my son decided to stick with the piano. He said he was just tired from a long week (hmm). And we just found out that he will be pitching in tomorrow’s game. I will of course be there to cheer him on. “For it’s one, two, three strikes you’re out,   at the old ball game.”

The post Take Me Out to the Ballgame appeared first on The Center for Parenting Education.

My imagination ran rampant. So if the plane goes down, my son Max would be parentless….I would never see that sweet little face again. He would be left with my sister-in-law, a person who parents much differently than I do. He would still be in the same school district, but perhaps go to a different school. His life as he has known it would be forever changed. We would miss his Bar Mitzvah. How would he survive without us? He would be permanently scarred. It would be a tragedy of such epic proportions that he might never recover from it. Why hadn’t we flown separately or not gone away at all? I chastised myself about how selfish I was to leave him behind.

He really didn’t want us to go without him. He never does. From the time that he was just a little baby, until now, my husband and I take one vacation a year without him; usually an annual conference that my husband is required to attend. It was a conscious decision that we made to keep our marriage strong. Give us some couple’s time together to remember why we fell in love with each other in the first place. The best thing you can give your children is a loving and secure marriage. Right?

In the beginning, when Max was younger, it was easier to leave him. Sure we missed him and he us, but we came back renewed and refreshed, better able to meet the demands of a toddler. In the past couple of years as Max grew older and could express himself more directly, he vehemently voiced his objections to our going away without him. So much so, that we actually took him with us on a conference one year. He hated the kids’ camp. We tried to tell him that this was a “Mom and Dad” vacation, unlike the family ones we’ve taken to Disney and Universal, etc. But trying to pretend he was not there was all but impossible. My husband and I went to a romantic dinner and put Max in the camp. Upon finishing we went to check on him surreptitiously, but his sad little eyes met ours. We promised if he stayed in camp for just 15 more minutes, we would get him ice cream. Then we ran up to our room for some “adult time” as we shed our clothes at record breaking speed. Our son was unfortunately a very good little time keeper who held usto our word. It was like playing a game of Beat the Clock.

Then there was last year when we were headed to Hilton Head, from Wednesday to Sunday over Memorial Day weekend. Electronic devices enabled us to actually FaceTime him. He could see us while talking to us and we him. What a concept! Our plane was leaving early Thursday morning so he had to sleep and our/his friend’s house Wednesday night. The texts started coming around 11pm. He couldn’t fall asleep. Why did we have to go away and leave him? Didn’t we care about him? They continued until about 1 am when I told my husband that I just couldn’t go. My son needed me. He was in distress. My husband lay in my son’s room and did FaceTime with him till 2 am. Then he finally told him he was on his own. Our flight was leaving @ 6 am and he needed to get some sleep. It was a tough decision, but we went. We did rearrange our flight to come home early on Sunday though.

Upon our return, it was if my son had grown 2 inches. I was so happy to see him. We met the other family at a local restaurant for dinner, as was customary when we returned. When we finally got home and through the door, my son asked if it was okay to go into the basement to play video games.

“I thought you missed us and would like to spend some time together.”

“Well, I actually missed my routine more. Sleeping in my own bed. My cats. My schedule of doing things.”

After all, he was an only child and used to having things a certain way: His! In going away without him, weren’t we teaching him a valuable lesson in flexibility? Frustration tolerance?

This year we arranged to take him with us to a conference which happens to fall on our fifteenth wedding anniversary. At the time, it like it was too much for us to leave him again. But then when our friends asked us to accompany them on an impromptu trip to their Florida house sans kids, I jumped on it anxious to get away with my husband to somewhere warm. But my husband didn’t want to leave Max. I resentfully told him that he was a husband as well as a father and that I needed some attention from him too.

As the plane continued on its rocky journey, drink service was postponed. The woman next to me assured me that this sort of thing happens all the time on a plane and that the pilots were equipped to deal with it. Turbulence was a normal occurrence on a flight. Turbulence, I thought to myself, is also a normal occurrence in parenting. Although the pilots in parenting aren’t always equipped to deal with the unpredictable conditions. It goes smoothly only some of the time. Making the right decisions for your family seems to be just as prevalent as making the wrong ones. Knowing when to compromise on some issues, and stick to your guns on others, is a learning experience. Every day there’s some patchiness to get through. The plane doesn’t always fly smoothly.

As the plane landed safely at roughly 10 pm, I thanked God profusely. I missed my son. On the way home from the airport our son texted us to find out where we were. We told him that even though it was a school night, we were picking him up. My friend reluctantly acquiesced. I was never so happy to be reunited with him in my life. He was elated to see us as well! He was exceptionally nice to me until Monday morning came and life returned to normal. The white bread had gotten moldy. I forgot to put it in the freezer before we left.

“Mom, you can’t even pack me my peanut butter sandwich. I guess that makes 3 days in a row that I’ll have to buy… You also never signed my reading Olympics form. All the other kids turned theirs in already.”

“Max, I’m doing the best I can. I’ll pack you a turkey sandwich instead.”

“I hate turkey.”

“Then buy again.”

“Mom, we’re gonna miss the bus.”

“I’ll drive you to school today.”

“Mom, why can’t you just get it together like all the other moms?”

“If you’d rather live with one of them, be my guest. But right now you’re stuck with me. I’m doing the best I can.”

Ahh, how quickly the Turbulence had returned.

The post Turbulence: Parenting is not a Smooth Ride appeared first on The Center for Parenting Education.

There is no way to be a perfect mother, and a million ways to be a good one.”
~Jill Churchill

Last week my niece had a baby girl. I went to visit and thoroughly enjoyed holding the baby in my arms. My niece said to me, “You look so comfortable and happy with her.” If only my niece could have seen me 25 years ago when I had my first child. I was not at all comfortable and happy – I was nervous and jerky. I wanted to be the perfect mom and I constantly questioned how I was going to be everything this child needed me to be. I regret that my quest for perfection took a lot of the joy out of parenting. If only I knew back then that a child does not need a mom who does everything “right.”

Here are a few ways parents can be more comfortable and happy and not focus on perfection in themselves or their children:

1. Listen to Aristotle – He says, “Happiness is self-contentedness.” If you can be happy in your own skin, your contentedness will rub off on your children.
2. Heed D. W. Winnicott – The English pediatrician and psychoanalyst said, “Ordinary potential will be realized” when “the environmental provision is adequate.”  Translation: parents need not be perfect; just “ordinarily devoted” or “good enough” – what a concept!
3. Read more old proverbs – “Laughter is the best medicine” (Old Proverb) – Laugh, kid and joke more. In the appropriate setting, humor can diffuse even the most painful situation.
4. Listen to Captain Kirk – “Fate gives you the finger and you accept.” – William Shatner (okay, okay, it’s the actor who played Captain Kirk).  Celebrate the child you have, not the child you thought you’d have. When it comes to your children, make this your mantra, Accept, accept, accept. Probably one of the hardest parenting rules ever.
5. Follow Confucius - “The expectations of life depend upon diligence; the mechanic that would perfect his work must first sharpen his tools.” I don’t think Confucius meant perfection is possible. We are, after all, only human. I think he meant any skill, including parenting, is a learning process and the more tools you have in your tool belt that are well-honed, the more self-confident and competent you will become.

The post Perfect Parents- Why They Don’t Need to Exist appeared first on The Center for Parenting Education.

The flyer came home on Monday. The last school trip for the 6th grade elementary school would take place at the end of May. They would be going to tour Citizens Bank Park and take a cruise on The Spirit of Philadelphia. “You’re not gonna volunteer to be a chaperone on this one too, right mom?”

The words stung sharp and deep. Surely, my son was kidding. Of course he would be honored to have his mother come along on another class trip, especially the very last one of his elementary school career. After all, I knew all of the kids. I had been classroom mom 2 years in a row, and chaperoned on many events over the years. This age is so cute to me. Most of them are still so innocent and unwordly. They are on the precipice of puberty, but haven’t gotten there just yet.

“Well I was planning on putting my name in for chaperone,” I sheepishly replied. “The trip sounds like fun and it’s the last one of the year. Once you get to middle school I won’t know all the kids like I do now. Besides, I like spending time with you.”
“But mom, you embarrass me. The other kids think you’re weird.” Ouch!

When did this happen? When did my 11-year-old son outgrow me? I don’t get it. I am so young at heart. I ski, I ride roller coasters, I go to concerts, I go on waterslides, I bike ride. I’m cool! I blend in. I’m the “fun mom”, or so I thought. Okay there was this one time last summer in Wildwood at Moreys Pier where my son and a group of his friends were going on waterslides. I looked at a very scary slide the kids were all going on and decided to try it. Max said dismissively that I would be fine. I summoned every ounce of courage and took the plunge. As I triumphantly got to the bottom, I held my hands up in victory, but there was nobody there to cheer for me. The kids had all moved on to the next slide without me….

Then another incident occurred recently when I put a note in his lunch box that I was so proud of him for making the travel baseball team! He didn’t know this yet as I had forgotten to pack his lunch and had to run it up to school. It was a cute little note with a smiley face. When I asked him later if he got the note, he informed me that he immediately ripped it up without looking at it because the other boys were teasing him about it. “Aw, your mommy put a little note in your lunch box,” they taunted. Who knew this would cause such a commotion? Maybe it was the smiley face.

“How could I possibly embarrass you? I love doing fun stuff and acting like a kid.”
“Yeah well the other moms just sit there and talk, they don’t get so involved. I just want to hang out with my friends without you constantly watching me.”

Wow! The needle was being pushed in deeper. I was a bit taken aback. My son didn’t want me around him anymore? The same little boy that used to hold onto my leg and cry for me not to leave him when I dropped him off at nursery school? Ashamedly, I started to cry. My feelings were hurt. Why was it okay to be his mom when he needed his dirty clothes washed, a hot meal on the table, or to be driven somewhere, but not when he was around his friends? When had my son outgrown me?

In being good parents, one of our roles is to teach our kids independence. We know that we have done our jobs when they don’t need us anymore and can stand on their own; when they finally claim their independence. He’s exactly where he is supposed to be. He is not “out to get me”. This is just a normal stage of his development. But at 11? I’m the one who’s not ready for it yet.

So why do I take this to heart so much? Growing up is a bitter sweet affair. I can’t wait until he doesn’t need a sitter anymore and can stay on his own, but I still want him to need me around- to actually like hanging out with me on occasion. Lately these occasions have gotten fewer and farther between. He’d rather be with his peer group or doing something sports-related. I have always encouraged that. I know it’s healthy. But I still want to be a part of his life. I still want to find ways to connect with him.
So it appears that we are both going through some growing pains. He is struggling towards independence, and I’m dealing with the parental separation anxiety that goes with it. Tonight the parents have a meeting about transitioning our kids into middle school. I just feel as though I’m not ready for it. The years flew by too swiftly. I want to hold onto my sweet, innocent little boy a while longer. I’m not ready for facial hair, body odor and girlfriends just yet.
So as for the class trip, my son and I agreed to a compromise. He agreed to let me put my name in to volunteer to be a chaperone with a couple of caveats. One, that this trip will be my swan song. Never again does he want me to get involved in a voluntary school-related function. This will be my last hurrah, a way of saying a goodbye of sorts to my involvement in a certain phase of his life. And two, I had to promise to keep my distance and not embarrass him (too much).

The post It Hurts when our Kids Separate from Us appeared first on The Center for Parenting Education.

So here I am once again faced with a dilemma. This of course will be one of the many tough decisions I will have to make as a parent. Should I allow my 11-year-old son to be exposed to video games rated ‘Mature’, if they are being played at other people’s houses?

I am pretty adamant about my values and belief system. After the Sandy Hook massacre, now more than ever, I am opposed to my child playing these age inappropriate games. I won’t allow them in my home. For that matter, I have an opposition to them being played by anyone and anywhere, period. But at least if you are at the appropriate age, you can make these decisions for yourself. However, I see no benefit in offering players points for shooting people – none! Even if it is make- believe. Fortunately for me, my son has no interest in playing these types of games. In fact, he is revolted by them, preferring to play the sports games instead. Thankfully.

Other parents do not agree with my viewpoint on the subject and buy/allow their underage kids to play these games. They rationalize: “If he doesn’t play it at our house, he’ll sneak off and play it somewhere else.” I see this rationale mirroring the philosophy that parents might as well allow underage drinking at their house so their kids won’t sneak off and do it somewhere else. But in my mind, that doesn’t make it right. After all, it’s easier to just go along. What you allow your kids to do in your own home is up to you. Therein lies the rub.

What you are allowing your kids to do in your home directly effects my kid when he is invited over. Now a decision has to be made by me that I am currently struggling with. Do I allow my kid to come over to your house, knowing that something I oppose him doing is going to be going on there? I can’t tell you what to do in your home, although I’d rather not have my kid exposed to this sort of thing. Do I trust that I’ve instilled my morals and values enough in him that he will choose not to play? If he doesn’t play, will he be invited next time? Or will the other kids look down on him? Do I ban him from going there, risking ostracizing the other parent and making my son look bad in front of the other kids? Do I succumb to peer pressure and just go along?

These are the questions I am continuing to grapple with. As every parent does, I want to do right by my kid. It is my job to keep him safe. How much protection should I give him from the world around him? He will be exposed to more and more as he gets older and will need to make informed decisions. Is this just practice for what is to come? If he can “choose not to play” and still go over the other kids’ houses where he knows these games are going to be played, doesn’t that bode well and offer practice for other tough situations he may be in? Or will he be ostracized for not going along?

So my kid wants to go, and assures me that he will do something else when the kids all play Halo 4. The question is, do I let him?

The post What Should a Parent Do When a Child Wants to Play Video Games at a Friend’s House appeared first on The Center for Parenting Education.

So we got through the first few weeks. We made a semi-load of mistakes but we survived and the kids thrived. We win! After the first few days, we decided that if a mistake didn’t end in blood or fire, it was totally fine. We’d fix whatever the problem was the next time around.  

Our twins are one month old today. They are mostly clean and usually fed on time. I haven’t divorced my husband yet and I’ve partially reclaimed the lower half of my body. Most days I feel like I almost certainly don’t suck as a mom.

 
Here are a few observations from the newborn trenches:

Will they like me? Will I like them? And, if not, can we send them back for a refund?
The anticipation surrounding meeting your baby is intense. Much is written about the importance of bonding, and more than a few new parents are anxious because they don’t feel “bonded” immediately. 

I was one of those nervous moms concerned about bonding as soon as they slid out of my body. In reality, when they were lifted out of my body, I was too busy vomiting to hold them. “Holy hell,” I thought, “I missed my big moment! My one chance! We were screwed! My first act of motherhood and everything was f**ked! No sense in even taking them home! We will never love one another! Waiter, check please!”
 
Thankfully, that’s not how bonding works. A month into parenthood and I can assure you that bonding not only happens but it will happen in the most unexpected moments:

• When they make eye contact for the first time and really see you.
• When they snuggle on your chest so sweetly and then pee all over you.
• When you’ve been holding him for three hours and he finally decides to quiet down and you two enjoy your first quiet waltz together in the glow of the Winnie the Pooh night light.

Not only will bonding happen when it’s right for you two (or three or four), your bond will strengthen continually as your love for one another grows throughout your lives. At least, that’s what I’ve been promised.

The first night of the rest of your life.
Sleeplessness and physical exhaustion are considered forms of torture for a reason – they fray the mind and break the spirit. Not only was I exhausted after labor and delivery but I was also nauseous. As a result, I spent the first night of my children’s lives alternately trying to breastfeed them while not vomiting on them. This proved to be a difficult balancing act which made our first night miserable. Unless you’re giving birth at home, many facilities offer the choice of either in-room (keeping the babies with you) care or nursery care. We opted for in-room care because we were so excited to finally meet the twins that we couldn’t bear the thought of being separated so soon. We should have beared the thought. After delivery, not only was I sick and exhausted but my partner was stressed and exhausted. Having a night, or even a partial night, to sleep and recoup would have allowed us to take better care of the kids and enjoy them more during their first week of life. 
 

Help!
We had a tremendous amount of assistance from family and friends. From holding the babies to doing our laundry and cooking our meals, they made our lives livable. I highly recommend making sure you have a support system in-place prior to the birth. As it was, when my parents arrived a week after the birth, my mom said that we already looked like refugees from some third world country who hadn’t eaten or bathed in months. Sometimes, the best help comes from those who are not interested in doing the “baby thing.” They can cook, clean, do laundry, run errands, and basically make sure that your life remains functional.

These are the Days of our Lives
Unfortunately, life is not a soap opera. Never have I had occasion to wear a sequined ball gown at noon or slap a devilishly manipulative spray-tanned older man.  However, a Susan Lucci-sized sinkhole has appeared in  my emotional landscape due to post-pregnancy hormones. Multiple times a day I have the heated impulse to break glassware while swearing. Whether triggered by screaming infants, a trying-to-be-helpful husband, or nothing at all – I come close to turning our family into a daytime melodrama. The top three solutions to Lucci-itis that I’ve found are: 

• To calmly narrate all of my actions especially when they’re crying. Talking to babies is not only recommended by doctors to help build language skills but it helps me focus on what I’m doing and reassure both myself and the kids that everything really is fine. For example: (in low tones to a screaming infant) “I’m just changing your diaper. I know it’s cold and icky to have someone wipe your tush but you’re going to feel so much better and you won’t be stinky anymore. Let’s sing the ABCs until we’re done.” (singing commences).
• To put the twins down somewhere safe and head to the bathroom. I flip on the fan, enjoy the whir of white noise, and sitting alone in my own space for a few minutes. Maybe even read a favorite magazine. If there’s time and someone else can watch the kids, a quick walk around the neighborhood also helps. A bit of peace and quiet allows me to regain perspective, and reign in my temper, resulting in a calmer mom and happier babies.
• Create a play list of gentle music that we like and compiled a stack of books that we enjoy reading. During the first few weeks of life, we were in survival mode. We listened to music and read aloud to get us through the long nights. What we discovered was that the twins didn’t much care what we listened to/read to them as long as the music was gentle and our voices were soft. So, we listened to music that we like and read from books that we enjoy. This approach makes the nights shorter and less painful for us because we have something to focus on that we like, and still allows us to soothe our infants. There’s plenty of time for nursery rhymes and lullabies but by preserving shreds of our sanity at night, the days also became easier and we are figuring out a manageable routine.

These are the few things that have kept us somewhat sane through the craziness of the twin’s first month.  I know every week, every day, every hour is different and brings new challenges.  I will keep you posted.

The post Survival Tips: What Jackie Learned the First Month appeared first on The Center for Parenting Education.

Yuck. Blah. Ugh. Gnarly. Argh!

Seriously y’all, labor and delivery is really, really gross. What sane creature reproduces this way? Maybe all the pain and goo is a sign that Mother Earth, God, the Flying Spaghetti Monster – whomever – is trying to evolve our asses out of existence.

I mean, intellectually, I knew there were two babies growing inside of me but seeing them pulled out of my own body was surreal.

And the babies emerged looking like heroin addicts desperately in need of a fix. Cute heroin addicts, of course.

Through the rose-colored glasses of memory many describe the day of the children’s birth as miraculous – ours was too, but it was also pretty gooey and grim.

Our twins were born seven pounds each. (Ouch! And ouch again!) We had to evict them via C-section; evidently, they were happy to hang out in a warm, dark place with room service for the rest of their little lives.  Perhaps at some later date I will have words of inspiration or insight about the experience. But right now, exhausted and babied out, I just recommend getting through it the best that you can. Vaginal birth or C-section, drugs or natural, at home or in the hospital or at a birthing center – be confident in whatever you realize that you need to do in the moment.

When we discovered that we needed a C-section, our original ideas about birth were kaput; the iTunes playlist that we carefully curated, the initial skin-to-skin contact, the massages and stretches that we practiced – we didn’t use any of them. However, having an idea of how we wanted our birth to go led me to be more calm leading up to the big day which was great for both my partner and me. In the end, the C-section went smoothly and we had two beautiful, healthy babies.

I could spend time obsessing about the “woulda’, coulda’, shoulda’”s of our twins’ birth, but who has the time and energy to waste on that? I’m breastfeeding two kids! And healing from birth! And occasionally considering divorcing my husband…but that’s a topic for another day.

The post The Twins are Born appeared first on The Center for Parenting Education.

Anger is a short madness. – Horace

As a result of the last argument I had with my husband, our house is spotless.  According to WebMD.com “emotions such as anger and hostility quickly activate the ‘fight or flight response,’ in which stress hormones, including adrenaline and cortisol, speed up your heart rate and breathing and give you a burst of energy.” So I used all that adrenaline and cortisol from the argument to get my home spic-and-span.  Added benefit: it helped me cool off and get over over my initial “madness.”  I was then better able to talk things out with my husband and resolve whatever issue caused the argument in the first place. So, for me, it was a healthy way to deal with my anger.

What do you do when you are angry? Have you found ways to calm down? How about your children? Have you helped them learn how to react to their feelings of anger? Parents may be tempted to talk their children out of their anger, minimize it or even ignore it. But teaching our children how to deal with anger in a healthy way is important. First, recognize that anger is normal – even in little kids. Then, teach them not to  suppress their anger, but to express it in a beneficial way. Here are some suggestions for your children (and you!) to use to deal with the “short madness” before reacting:

• take deep breaths
• gently splash water on your face
• drink cold water
• visualize a calm thing like a cloud or a leaf floating on a stream
• relax your body, act like a puddle on the floor, sway from side to side like a blade of grass
• exercise, take a brisk walk, shoot hoops, jog in place
• draw
• role play with stuffed animals or puppets

Learn ways to control anger feelings and express them in a healthy way instead of reacting in a way that hurts you or others. I most heartily suggest cleaning when angry – your house will never be shinier!

by Claire Gawinowicz

The post Don’t let Anger Overtake Your Children appeared first on The Center for Parenting Education.