One day at a time

Today was easier than yesterday for sure. I felt defeated and pushed to the limit by a three year old. We've been dealing with sibling rivalry for over a year and yesterday at lunch time I stepped outside while the children were in their chairs having lunch. A moment later I come back inside to see the baby in tears and the boy standing beside her. I asked why she was sad and he exclaimed with great joy "I'm hitting her!". That morning I had dealt out numerous time outs, explanations, heart-to-hearts and requested apologies over and over, only to hear he was now gaining pleasure from causing her pain and lapping up the attention. I took him directly to his room and told him how disappointed I was in his behavior with every muscle in my face and tone of my voice. I've never sounded or felt so firm, stern and angry. He knew something was different but still insisted on having jelly legs when I told him to sit on his bed. I told him to sit- he claimed he couldn't. My body was telling me to smack his bottom, my brain telling me not to. My body won. I hit his bottom for the first time- just once, but that was enough for him...and for me. My husband and I don't believe in spanking so it slipped past my better judgment to do so. He sat on his bottom and I told him to stay in time out. He did. After a few minutes I brought him some juice and told him to drink it and then lay down for nap. He said he wanted to talk and to apologize to his sister but I continued to tell him how disappointed I was in what he did; that its his job as a big brother to protect his sister from harm, especially when mommy is out of the room.
To make a long story a little less long, he stayed in his room for 45 minutes and then we went to playgroup. He had tons of energy at our friends house and was sent to time out for many poor decisions. I was feeling very down but the other moms tried offering suggestions which I was a dry sponge for.
I know he and I feed off each other's emotions. Today was a much better day because I had a better attitude about it. I made a pledge to myself to be proactive about this so we can both heal. I ordered a book for myself called Raising Your Child Not by Force but by Love which was recommended by a Natural Mama and a book for the boy called Hands are not for Hitting. I plan to create a responsibility chart to let him fulfill daily goals in order to receive a reward at the end of the week and I intend to spend more one on one time with him when the baby is sleeping. I moved his time out space to a corner in the living room instead or his room because I noticed he responded to it better during the time at our friend's home. I'm now using the timer on the microwave during time out so he can hear when three minutes is over. (We had a timer before and he loved it but it broke after a month or so and we never replaced it.) When he was sent to time out for hitting today, he stayed in the corner and didn't fuss. I know it's because he could see me. I think he just wanted to be a part of everything and know I wasn't going to abandon him. He needs to feel in control just as much as I do. He acts naughty to gain control of my attention and to feel powerful over his sister who takes my attention away from him. I get upset and yell, cuss, apparently hit because I'm losing control of myself and his respect. But, like I said, today was a better day. We made cookies together. I lay down with him at bedtime and said "I love you, angel." and he repeated it back.

Urban Dictionary

I feel like being playful. Let's visit the Urban Dictionary to look up some words close to my heart. Seeing as I'm a Natural Mama, let's explore what some cynical youth think of my kind...

crunchy:

a term used by hippies or a pothead of any kind to describe something they like. Things they like include sweet jams, things that are all natural, hacky-sacks, and other dirty things hey man, this is my favorite fish jam, its so crunchy If they're going to make fun of someone, at least they can spell Phish correctly.

tree hugger:

Tree huggers are people who aspire to live in trees for months on end in order to save the trees from being cut down to make room for commercial endeavors by the owners of the property on which the tree(s) are located. Their environmental activism is often funded for by the capitalism of their parents.

Myra is going to live in a tree for six months while her parents pay her student loans and credit card bills. She's such a good little activist.
This is a pretty narrow definition but I appreciate the capitalist comment.

granola:

A person who dresses like a hippy, eats natural foods (granola), and is usually a Liberal, but in all other ways is a typical middle class white person, and is likely to revert back to being straight when they finish college.

Did you see that granola chick at the farmer's market buying bean sprouts?
Yeah, her new Volvo was parked next to me.
Typical middle class person, yes. But my car was a 1974 volkswagon beetle.

natural:

A natural is a hippie-type person. They don't go all out to look hip, they just live. Like chicks who don't shave their legs and are all baggy and saggy. I mean, its not a bad thing. But like I've seen some people (my mom) who are SUCH naturals. They wear drapey clothing from the ORIGIN.

I saw this chick with dreads and she was such a natural.
I think I have some baggy saggy parts.

My heart is racing

I'm getting angry at the boy this morning and I need a break. I'm stopping now so I can find unconditionality. I've sent him to time out in his room three times this morning for jumping on and hitting his sister. This approach doesn't seem to be working and I don't feel like a gentle and patient parent right now. The baby isn't helping. She keeps walking down the hallway to see him over and over again...I need a gate...I need another adult here to take over so I don't explode. I wish I had some extended family close by. This is not me giving up, but this is me being tired of a 3 year old yelling at me like he's a teenager. It's not clear to me if all the problems I have with him is because of me, or his temperament, or his age...or all three. I'm hoping that when school begins this fall that a lot of our issues will resolve because he needs more stimulation in a calmer environment, or rather, with well-trained calmer adults. I suppose we all do. Is that why some SAHM's seek the work force again? I've enjoyed staying at home, up to a point (that point was when the boy turned 2 and I became pregnant) then everything seemed to get out of control. I think the way he gets frustrated and anxious and is shy and cautious are all symptoms of being my son. My parents claim my sister and I never acted the way he does- not listening and throwing tantrums in public...But maybe they've just forgotten all the not-so-fun and challenging times of parenting a young child. Since I began writing this post over twenty minutes ago, I have been interrupted numerous times and his one time out that is supposed to last three minutes, still hasn't seen the end. Correction, he finished the original time out but then shortly after he jumped on my back and hit me so he got a new one. Oh, what fresh hell is this?

I thought there would be cake

I tried not to make this about me. It simply wasn't my day and I shouldn't have been disappointed but I had strong feelings about it just the same. So this is your warning: ponderings soaked in selfish hues ahead.
Last night my mom came over to watch the boy while my husband and I got ready to go to a wedding reception with the baby. After last weekend's date night turned into three hours of "horrible" for my parents, AKA the loyal babysitters, I don't have any plans to leave the baby with them again in the near future. So I got dressed in a new outfit (thanks mom for the birthday money) and while I'm putting on makeup, which I have finally figured out how to use so I don't look like I don't know how to use it, my husband tells me he doesn't know how to get to the reception. We've been to Pat's Party Barn twice before but being that it is in the country, we somehow forget the exact location each time. Something like this was said: "I don't know where we're going. Maybe it's in my past emails... can you look in the phone book?" I said, "Now? I'm getting ready to leave!" (mind you, the baby is sleeping so it's the only and perfect time to do something for MYSELF) He says we can't go anywhere if we don't know the address. I think Ha! I'm going somewhere tonight, we have a sitter! So without anymore adieu, I'll tell you that the address was in the book and that with a few missed turns, we made it in time to be 20 minutes late. The first clue that the evening wasn't going to resemble what I had been envisioning it to be was the smell of chicken shit. I ask the husband if the dog kennel is the cause of the odor since it is just ten feet from where we parked. He claims only chicken shit smells like that so I have to take his word for it. We arrive and are greeted warmly by some very bored looking guests; "Maybe the happy couple couldn't find the place either" I muse to myself. I excuse myself while my husband holds the baby as a social shield and look for the gift table. There is none. Hmm, certainly there are gifts? I place our modest gift card on a small table. After 45 minutes of being bathed in the smoke of meat cooking in giant vats and listening to a talented, lone wedding singer spew out country songs, the bride and groom thankfully arrive. We were told the party would be casual so I wasn't surprised to see the groom and best men wearing tuxedo t-shirts. The bride was adorable in a summer dress with flip flops and wedding hair. They brought their dog. After much tinkering to get the two kegs up and running the hostess, Pat herself, grabbed the microphone. I thought "Oh good, some formality", but she simply told us the meat was ready for pickin'. Her father, a pleasant vintage with a cane, said a prayer. I usually nod my head slightly but don't close my eyes at public prayers. I notice others do the same, but not many. Us few rebels look nervously around to see if anyone else has the same mixture of respect and aversion. After prayer, husband tells me he's starving and will try the meat. Yay, now I am the only vegetarian at the reception. They have typical southern fare: barbecue (oink), beans (with oink added), cole slaw and potato salad (hate it) and yeast rolls (okay, I like yeast rolls). We sit down to eat. Husband and I have a wee tiff about how he's eating meat, something I'm not used to seeing since he became a vegetarian when we were dating and just recently, eight years later, decides to occasionally partake again. I pick at my starch and comment about how at least I'll eat wedding cake and that'll be nice. Husband says "I saw pictures of the cake." What? "The whole feeding each other cake and present giving thing happened before they came here." Oh. "That's why they were late." I see. Someone let the air out of my balloon. I was at an after party. Not invited to the wedding, or the "real" reception, but the after party, chicken shit and all. I looked around and reminded myself this wasn't about me. The family and the couple were having a good time. The neighbors who drove up onto the grass in a golf cart were having a really good time. Just the same, I instantly felt validated for wanting to leave. My desire to leave was thwarted by my husband finding a game of ladderball to play so I busied myself with saving the baby from numerous possible fatalities: the deaf dog eating someone's dinner in the grass, the splintered steps leading to the top of the barn, the rusted trampoline...the game of ladderball. But the evening wasn't all bad. Just before I could tell the husband it was time to go, I was given a disposable wedding camera; Aha! A task. I enjoyed myself as I took pictures of happy, not quite so bored now guests (thanks to the two kegs of beer). The jovial groom took a picture of us before we left and he said he'd send us a copy. As we left, we scanned the grounds for the chicken coop; its location will remain a mystery.

I am not above eating my placenta

Whoa now, stop the name calling. I know placenta eating isn't the most common practice in American homes and you may be concerned about my mental health. Let me put your mind at ease by assuring you I don't actually have a placenta to ingest, not above ground anyway. This Sunday my husband, children and I laid the partially frozen organ to rest under a young peach tree in honor of my home birth one year ago. But after reading an article in The Compleat Mother I'm feeling robbed of the experience of eating what nature gave me to balance out my post-natal hormones. The article I'm referring to was written by a woman who dealt with depression all her life and, instead of getting back on Wellbutrin after the birth of her second child, she dried her placenta, processed it into a fine powder and downed that sucker in capsule form for weeks. Her decision was well researched and based on scientific evidence that placentophagy (eating placenta) is highly beneficial. The result? Jodi Selander of Las Vegas, Nevada enjoyed a peaceful, joyous transition into life with their new addition, without drugs (and the bills that goes along with that). Jodi has now launched www.placentabenefits.info to help other mothers be more informed on this topic. I had heard of placenta capsules when I was pregnant but I had yet to experience post-partum depression so it disinterested me. But this past year has been tough and the depression oh-so-subtle. I was mostly angry, not sad. Angry at my little boy mostly, which is terrible to admit. I knew I was returning to my usual self, though, after petting one of our 6 cats- and realizing I hadn't touched them with affection in a year! When you think about the things people will eat or pill-pop, the idea really isn't that strange. People are human. Humans and animals. Many animals eat their afterbirth for strength and it would be a waste to leave a good source of iron and energy-dense nutrients around for the buzzards. And so, if we decide to have another child, the birth will be at home and my placenta will be ingested so we can all reap the benefits of a sane mother of three.

mommies have tantrums too

Funny how this morning all was well and then two hours goes by and I want to take off my mommy hat and burn it. I've sent the boy to his room twice already this morning and thrown a mommy tantrum and the baby gets the benefit of seeing it all, absorbing every juicy detail of how *not* to act. When I get overwhelmed with the way the boy acts, I try to channel my inner teacher (how will his Montessori teachers handle similar situations when he begins school in the fall?). After several attempts of calm and collected, I usually lose it. A few minutes ago the boy swings a shirt around, swacking me with it while I try to help the baby get dressed. I ask that he stop, he continues. I explain it hurts when he hits and to please stop. He continues. I say, with tension now, that if he hits me once more he will have a time out. Of course, he hits me. Instead of calmly standing and guiding him to his room, as I realize now would've been the best action, my animal self comes out (I didn't even know I had one 'til I had children) and I grab the shirt and proceed to hit the floor with it, so hard my hand begins to hurt. I'm yelling in frustration, too. Something odd I've noticed when I have a tantrum is that as soon as I start it comes from an uncontrollable place but very quickly I realize what I'm doing and instead of stopping, I make the conscious decision to keep hitting the carpet (or hitting the light switch or yelling loudly). It feels physically good to get the aggression out and then once it's over, a mere 10 seconds or so later, I feel calm and rational...clear headed. After the mommy tantrum I usually say something about how mommy shouldn't throw things or yell. I explain how mommy became overwhelmed/angry/sad, whatever. Many times I'll realize my body needs to get the frustration out and I should make it silly instead of possibly frightening to the children and I'll start dancing like a monkey. I have no clue where these outbursts come from. I wasn't spanked or abused as a child. My parents are calm and rational. I enjoyed parenting my infant but when I became pregnant with my second child and my son became a 2 year old, both of our temperaments changed. I know he mirrors my positive and negative attitudes so it is vitally important I stay centered and sensitive, but he is often intense and difficult to handle and doesn't transition well into new environments and I'm finding it all maddening.

thinking of possibilities

Monday morning and I'm enjoying myself. I have coffee, homemade bread from the farmer's market, the boy occupied with television and the baby still sleeping. My mind has been playing with ways to bring in extra income. I feel the key is hidden within my own creation: www.naturalmamas.com. But there would be a slight snag. For the longest time, since I started the group in spring 2005, the group has been non-profit. Somehow, without the smallest amount of greediness, I see this changing to benefit my family, to transform myself from a SAHM to a WAHM. I would need to have a heart to heart with the almost 100 members of my group. Hmm, 100 seemed like a large number yesterday but now it feels small compared to the possibilities. A friend of mine told me she had a dream there was a Natural Mamas store with natural family products. I'm amazed her subconscious was thinking of me with all the things her busy life entails. I know my own agreed upon boundaries keep me back from pursuing many things, but perhaps this can change, now that I'm 30...

turning 30

Welcome readers. Whether anyone will be reading these writings of mine, no one can say. But, perhaps I can reap some therapeutic benefit from this experiment just the same. I will begin by stating I am now a member of the esteemed 30 Year Old Club, as of yesterday. A few people have asked how I feel about this age and I can't seem to grasp anything concrete. The whole year I was 29, I thought 30 would be dandy and I envisioned being wiser and having more in common with my slightly older friends. Then as the impending day approached I felt a little, er, anxious. I have little problem getting older but when I think of my age in terms of others, it gets weird. For example, when my oldest child turns 30, I will be 57. Now from my 30 year old perspective, that freaks me out. How will my life experiences alter who I am today to create a 57 year old me? Twenty seven years is a long time away and the amount of heartache, adventures, joy, etc that lay ahead is yet to be created and mind boggling. I'm overwhelmed with how my children, now 3 1/2 and 1, will grow into 30ish year old adults...
Side note: I claim no religion and consider myself to be a pagan influenced agnostic who can lean towards atheism from time to time, but PLEASE GOD/GODDESS/UNIVERSE, PROTECT MY CHILDREN! Oh, the things I've done and escaped from in my life...I can only hope they will be as lucky as myself to get to the fabulous age of 30. End side note.
One of the things I've noticed about myself is that I can feel mature and in control around some people but young and naive around others. There is a certain type of friend I attract that is very easy for me to be around and, though it is difficult to explain the reason, I've been attracted to this type since elementary school. Then there's the type of person I want to be friends with, very badly, but feel nervous and dumb, beneath their intelligence and very young. Maybe its as simple as feeling someone who is older than me is untouchable and iconic yet someone who is younger than me can benefit from my "wisdom".
Hmm, I fear the cohesiveness of my writing slipping away. Back to square one: I'm 30 and I'm okay. My husband and I threw a party last night to celebrate my entering a new decade. I was pleased with the friends that came but wished I had invited more people. I wanted a shindig with serious drunks and serious embarrassing stories being revealed. Alas, all my friends are parents themselves and just my husband and I were left eating fancy cheese by 1:30 a.m. But being alone and a little tipsy in a pretty dress has its benefits as well...it was 3:30 a.m. before I collapsed from fabulous 30 year old sex.