(I am not in labor! But I heard this song and I got to thinking about the snowstorm that might be coming this weekend, and how fast my labors are, and how far away the hospital is, and this is what happened in my head. Now I'll have something to sing on the way to the hospital! :) )
I want to be born - Baby it's cold outside
So get on the horn - Baby it's cold outside
Gestation has been - Been hoping that you'd drop in
So very nice - But please don't fall out on the ice!
My mother will start to worry - Beautiful, what's your hurry?
My father will be pacing the floor - Listen to the ambulance roar
So really I'd better scurry - Beautiful, please don't hurry
Well maybe just one hour more - Get the bags, let's get out the door!
The neighbors might think - Baby, it's bad out there
I'm blue or I'm pink - No cabs to be had out there
I wish I knew how - Please God, send the snowplow now!
To slow things more - A blizzard is no good time to be born!
I ought to say no, no, no, sir - Contractions are getting closer
At least I'm gonna say that I tried - Why is it such a long ****ing ride?
I really can't stay - Baby don't come out
Baby it's cold outside
I simply must go - Baby, it's cold outside
The answer is no - Ooh baby, it's cold outside
This welcome has been - Not lucky the weather's grim
So nice and warm - Look out the window at that storm
My sisters will be suspicious - Road birth is against my wishes
My midwife will be there at the door - Wait till we get to the 5th floor
I know that labor is vicious - This birth could be more auspicious
Well maybe just a half an hour more - Never such a blizzard before.
I've got to come out - Oh, baby, you'll freeze out here
So Mommy don't shout - It's up to my knees out here
You've really been grand - Stay in, my child, I command
But don't you see - How can you do this thing to me?
There's bound to be talk tomorrow - Making my life long sorrow
If you have me on the hospital ride - If you caught pneumonia and died *
I really can't stay - So baby don't come out
Baby it's cold outside
*That's in the original song - I'm not being morbid. No one's going to die, even if there is a blizzard.
It seems like all of the books, websites, e-mails and apps about pregnancy are geared toward the first-time mom. It's understandable, I guess. If I were any sort of a decent mother I'd be too busy taking care of the kids I've got to read about the kid I'm expecting. I remember feeling very guilty about this when I was pregnant with Claire - as if her fetal mind knew that I wasn't monitoring the development of every toenail the way I did when I was pregnant with Mary Grace.
But my kids are big enough to entertain themselves quite a bit, now, and I have time to read again (hooray!). And it's all very 100 level stuff. There is certainly room in the world for a book about subsequent pregnancies. It would include such wisdom as:
Your prior pregnancies have destroyed any abdominal muscles you might have had to begin with, so you will begin showing before you even know you're pregnant. People will consistently think you're 2-3 months farther along than you are. You will be asked, "Are you sure it's not twins?" often. Try not to take it personally.
You will be more tired and more achy with this pregnancy than you were before. It's partly because you're older, it's partly because you're taking care of a kid or two while trying to grow another one, and it's partly because subsequent pregnancies are harder. Symptoms, like back pain and round ligament pain, will begin earlier and be more intense. Suck it up, Cupcake, there's nothing you can do. Oh, and just wait until you feel the after-labor pains this time. You'll refuse to leave the hospital until your husband gets a vasectomy. (No personal experience with this one, yet, but I've heard... and it scares me!)
On the other hand, the third pregnancy is better because you have evidence that you'll get through it. You aren't as afraid of labor because you've done it before. It's not some scary unknown. It's do-able. You won't have as much anxiety about the baby as you did before, either. Maybe this is why third children tend to be mellow.
Your older kid(s) will push on your tummy at least eleven times a day, and you'll be convinced that your baby will be born with bruises from head to toe. (I'll let you know in December whether or not that actually happens. Fortunately, this mom-to-be-again has enough padding, still, to protect the baby from sibling elbows). Speaking of padding....
All of your friends will be dieting, and your husband will lose all the sympathy weight he gained when you were pregnant the first time (or two) and you will feel like a whale (see above re: abs).
Chapters would include:
Nap Strategies - how to get your older kids to let you sleep for 20 minutes so you don't pass out when you're driving later. (Hint - take the kids to McDonald's Play Place, put on your giant sunglasses, and doze while they play).
The Mom Diet - can you grow a healthy baby on raisins, Chicken McNuggets and PB&J? (Hint - no. Your kid will weigh 97 pounds at birth if you try. Be sure to take a vitamin and eat a vegetable once in a while).
Lower Expectations - housework strategies for pregnant women with toddlers or preschoolers in the home. (Hint - tell the kids that scrubbing the floor is fun and get them to do it until you're so big you can't see your feet or the floor anymore. At that point, who cares?)
Time Warp - why this pregnancy is going faster than your previous one(s) and what to do about it. (Hint - paint the nursery as soon as the plus appears on the pregnancy test, because this kid is going to arrive before you know it).
What would you include in the What to Expect When You're Expecting Again book? Any publishers out there who want to give me a big fat advance check to write this thing?
If you give a Claire a potato chip, she may start to exhibit symptoms. Symptoms which might cause you to spaz and call the triage nurse at your doctor's office. You might even curse a couple times when you find out that your doctor's on vacation. The triage nurse might offer you an appointment in 15 minutes with the back-up doctor, to which you'll reply, "Do you think it's that serious??" and she'll say, "No, but I think you should get her checked out today..." and you'll be like, "Ok, but I'm not dressed." You'll be horrified that it's 10:45 am and you just admitted that you weren't dressed to someone who has probably been at work since 7:30 am. (In your defense, though, you will have been folding laundry all morning, which does not require clean, silky hair)
The triage nurse will give you an appointment at 2 pm. Then you'll call your mom and she'll tell you that Claire has Celiac's disease and you'll spaz, thinking of all the birthday cake that your poor baby will miss out on if that's true. Then you'll Google.
Never Google.
Just. Step. Away. From. The. Google.
And by the time your dad (the nurse) takes his turn on Words With Friends, you'll be in full panic mode, wondering if 3 year olds can get Colon Cancer.
In your defense, you will have watched My Sister's Keeper the night before, and you'll still be pissed that they screwed up the ending and therefore the whole point of the damn story! And you also might still be a little bit freaked out that something like that could happen to a child, and when you think about your kids in proximity to that thought, you might increase your blood pressure.
A lot.
So you'll frantically call Dad and say, "Thank God you're up, Claire has colon cancer!" and he'll be all, "No she doesn't," because your dad has known you for 33 years, and he knew you when you diagnosed yourself with prostate cancer. And he'll say, "You know what really screws me up? That Olestra stuff..." and then you'll remember.
You fed her the Pringles.
The ones with Olestra.
And that caused the mucus.
That caused all the panic.
And when you call at 1 pm to cancel your 2 pm appointment, they might laugh at you, but at least they won't charge you the penalty.
Because if they charge you the penalty, Claire will probably want a potato chip to go with it.
(In other news, Mary Grace lotteried into the charter school. We're still hoping for the neighborhood school, but it's nice to have a choice - between the charter school and continuing one more year of preschool at our current school, that is - for pretty much the last time between now and college.)
So, remember yesterday's post, where I linked to a whole bunch of books that I'm reading (or am going to when I get my cabinets cleaned out)? In my little "FTC disclaimer" at the bottom I was going to put something snarky about "the 37 cents I've earned via Amazon Associates," so I clicked over to it to check my balance, and it turns out that because of YOUR purchases, I've made 49 bucks!
(Thanks, beloved readers reader!!)
Being entirely new to all this, I got fascinated and started clicking around on the reports. It turns out that no matter what you buy, as long as your trip through Amazon originates through Pretty Babies, I get a cut. I thought it was only if you bought the specific item I'd linked to.
So I went through the list of what people have bought. Someone bought a Roomba. Several of you bought a Res-Q-Me (which is weird, because I never even published the post I was going to write about them). The thing that cracked me up the most, though, was someone bought a case of condoms!
That's right!! Reading about the pretty babies inspired someone to buy a case of Trojans. I think I'd be a little bit insulted, if it weren't so funny. I wish I could see which post they clicked through on. Whichbaddaywasit? There are so many to choose from (mainly because I bitch a lot, the pretty babies are actually pretty good kids).
For some reason they've taken down the nice directional signs that used to exist in our office building and replaced them with crappy signs that are (obviously) printed on a sheet of paper. I suppose the new ones will be easier to change as people move in and out, but they're just not as nice...
So I just printed this out and taped it to the one closest to our office:
Dad: So, you get $3 off the foot thing if you mention your blog? Me: Yeah! Dad: You forgot to mention how much you get off the Brazilian! Me: Dad, no matter what you mention, you get everything off with the Brazilian. Dad: (collapses laughing) BJ, from the next room: Are you talking to your Dad???
Purple: Cost of snacks Green: Videos watched Blue: Time Outs Given Red: Parental Need for Alcohol Pink: Parental Chores Accomplished Yellow: Diapers Changed
(In all seriousness, if you haven't read this post yet, please read it now and pass it on!) With apologies to College Humor, from whom I stole the graph idea.
Well, I thought I was the master of the April Fools, but I got pranked by BJ. I got pranked hard.
I went out shopping last night without BJ and the kids, and when I came home I opened up the computer to check my e-mail. I was greeted by several scary error messages, in pop ups on my screen that looked exactly like the real thing...
The first one said: Warning! AVG_8531.exe could not be found!
AVG is my virus checker.
The next said: Warning: conficker.wj32 detected.
My head exploded.
The third said: Delete all files on c:\?
At this point, I spazzed and powered my laptop off, and then I swore, a lot, right in front of the kids.
Then BJ starts laughing. If I hadn't spazzed, the rest of the error messages would've said:
Error reading c:\ and Warning: Hard disc drive failure - c:\ missing or unreadable. and Warning: Abandon all hope. and I bet you think your pretty funny don't you?
Of course, I would've been screaming and crying by that point, so the humor would've been lost on me.
Jeez. I make him a Cheerio necklace, a "grilled cheese" out of pound cake and frosting, and a "hot fudge sundae" out of mashed potatoes, and he gives me heart failure. NOW I remember why I don't do April Fools Day!!
Aw... Mommy's so nice to make our favorite, grilled cheese, for dinner...
...or is she?
And WOW, hot fudge sundaes!!! What a treat!
...or is it a trick?
(The sandwiches are pound cake with orange frosting inside. The sundaes are mashed potatoes with brown gravy - the "cherry" is a grape tomato. I think BJ's going to catch on pretty quickly, but the kids are going to freak out.)
This is one of those posts that Claire is going to hate me for when she's older. I don't care. We'll be even.
Last week I told you that she had an ear infection, right? My kids don't do ear infections the usual way. The only clear symptom that a cold has settled in their ears is that they scream like we're killing them when we try to change their diapers. The best I can figure, they feel like they're falling. It's kind of nice, because at least they're not screaming in excruciating pain, but it sucks for one thing.
Diaper changes.
Claire has finished her Z-pack, so I'm about out of patience for these shenanigans. Here's how it goes. I smell her need for a diaper change. I dread and avoid for a good 5 minutes, until the "I'm a horrible mommies" start to set in. Then, if BJ's not around for me to trick into changing it, ("Claire wants you...") I make peace with the inevitable.
She starts crying before we even get to the changing area (in the laundry room). The changing pad may as well be made of lava, with the way she screams when any part of her body touches it. Finally I manage to wrestle her into the supine position with a combination of ju jitsu, WWF moves, and grit. She prefers an aural attack at this point. Neighbors are dialing 9 and 1 at this point, and they have their fingers hovering over the second 1.
Claire will relax long enough for me to think that the fight is over, but, and this gets me every. single. time... as soon as I get the diaper off and make a preliminary swipe at the (now well mashed) contents, Claire pulls a ninja move called the flip and tuck. She rotates her entire body, against all the strength in my upper left arm, and tucks her knees under her, so that she's sunny side up.
This is not the preferred position for diaper changing.
This is also one of those things that no one covered in the parenting classes.
Anyway, at this point we're both yelling - Claire, still, because she's got a bad case of the bed spins, and me, because I have poo smeared up my right arm.
Oh, I wish I were exaggerating.
I wipe away what I can from this angle, lulling her into a false sense of security. Then, when I have no choice but to flip her over and clean her undercarriage, she pulls a yoga move I like to call The Hysterical Starfish. Without ceasing to scream, she sticks her arms and legs out as stiffly and immovably as possible.
At this point, I'm truly concerned that I'm going to drop her. She's 21 pounds of screaming, wriggling, filthy fury, and did I mention that I still have poop on my arm? So, I put her back in the prone position, and lift her legs. She's so stiff with fury that I am able to clean her the rest of the way, make a decent attempt at getting the diaper in the right place, and get her pants back on.
Then she screams at me for 10 more minutes and we have to nurse about it. But at least at this point I can ignore her until I've washed my arms.
Area residents are living in fear tonight due to a group of rogue parents who have allegedly been rampaging through town, destroying plastic ride on carousels, animals, and race cars.
"75 cents for 30 seconds? What kind of (expletive deleted) (expletive deleted) bull (expletive deleted) is that?" said one unidentified father of 4, as he smashed the head of a plastic dog in with a bat, "Don't they know that we're in a recession?"
The riot allegedly began when a local three year old, whose identity is being withheld, demanded to ride on the carousel "one more time." Her cries ignited the rage of other nearby toddlers, who also began to demand rides on the carousel. Parents, at the end of their ropes, began at that time to enter the nearby Dick's Sporting Goods store. They debated the merits of wood vs. aluminum, calmly waited in line, paid for their baseball bats, and returned to the carousel. Only then did the riot ensue.
"You know, I haven't been to Rack Room Shoes in 4 years, because I don't want to walk by this (expletive deleted) thing?" said one mother as she hurled a piece of the plastic horse through the window of Rack Room Shoes.
"The music," whack, "just," whack, "won't," whack, "stop," said another woman, who appeared to be a grandmother, as she beat at the top of the carousel. Maddeningly, it continued to chirp perky, kid-taunting music at her as she impotently beat on the plastic. A father came up behind her, took the bat out of her hand, bashed in the music box, and returned the bat to her.
One parent, who spoke on the condition of anonymity, said, "Look, it wasn't so bad when it was just one obscure plastic car with a little plastic dog in a remote corner of the mall... But now, everywhere you look, there are plastic pieces of crap designed to separate parents from their money, 75 cents or a dollar at a time. The kids go NUTS for this stuff. It's like crack, and they know we'll keep pumping in the quarters to shut them up. It's like a tax on people who bring kids to the mall, and this is the Boston Tea Party," the anonymous informant said before being swept away in the frenzy, which was headed for the grocery store to "take out" those annoying race car shaped carts.
"I hate those (expletive deleted) things!" screamed a mother of 2.
The parents built a bon fire in the parking lot of the grocery store and burned the carts, while their children looked on in silence. A seven year old said, "Maybe asking for a sixth ride was pushing things a bit far..." as his father stripped naked and danced circles around the pyre, screaming, "Who wants my quarters now, beeyatch?"
Local police were reluctant to intervene, fearing for the safety of the children involved. "Besides," said Officer Scott Smith, "I have 3 kids too. I hate those frigging things. If I weren't on the job, I'd go out there and help 'em."
As I've mentioned on Facebook, I went to a spa today to get a spray tan.
Let me back up... My sister is getting married in 3 weeks and I have been really bad about using sunscreen since, oh, forever... And so I am striped. Random farmers keep coming up to me and saying, "Nice tan, there. Are you in corn or soy? How many acres?" And of course Megan chose strapless dresses. So, I need to even myself up a bitlot.
However, I am frightened of the whole tanning bed scene. For one thing, it sounds hot, and I don't do hot. What if I sweat? Do I have to clean the puddle of sweat out of the bed, or does someone else do that? Do I tip the sweat cleaner? Will the pool of sweat magnify the UV rays and, like an ant under a magnifying glass, cause my butt to burn? For another, it'll probably just make the darker spots darker, and that's not going to work because I'll just be a darker shade of striped. For a third, you have to wait for it to wear off, and I don't want to wait. I don't wait well. Especially when I'm orange.
So, spray tanning seemed like a logical solution. Of course, all I could think about was this:
(Oh, Friends, how I miss you...)
So I went today to do a little fact finding while the kids were with Allison (and I was supposed to be at work).
The salon/spa place was really nice and clean, in spite of the fact that it's in kind of a crappy old 70s era strip mall. The girl was really nice. I explained my concerns.
"It only lasts 4 to 7 days," she said.
"See, I have kind of ridiculous luck, and I know that if I do it for the first time 3 days before the wedding, I will either end up orange or I will break out in hives. If I break out in hives, I'll have to take Benedryl, but then I'll hit the open bar and I'll end up passed out under the cake table or something..."
But I didn't want to pay the $40 fee twice! I didn't even spray tan before my OWN wedding!
So, I talked her into just doing a test spray on my stomach, so I could see if I like the color and whether or not I break out in hives or welts or horrible, oozing boils from whatever magic solution they put in the air brush gun thingie.
I am such an optimist.
The girl agreed to take me back into the room to do my little demo tan on my stomach. She tells me to get undressed, and then she'll come back in and do the airbrushing by hand. I must have looked at her like, "Huh?" because I was still thinking about Ross ("I'm an 8!" "Mississippilly?"), and she explained that they do it all by hand. There's no anonymous room with a booth. There's just this tiny little perfectly bodied college girl, and me.
In my granny panties.
Because you KNOW that I didn't plan ahead to do this. Oh no. I was wearing my Hanes Her Ways that are older than both of my children.
Combined.
The door into the room where she took me was directly behind the giant plate glass window, and if you had stood at the front desk and merely glanced to the right, or if you'd happened to be walking by at just at the right time, you would've seen me. In my granny panties. And nothing more.
So what's the protocol, here? I'm not really a spa girl. I've gone ONCE before, when my friends chipped in to get me a gift certificate for my birthday, and there was a lot less nudity. There was no airbrushing.
The only thing I could come up with, short of hiding in the closet and then popping out and yelling "Surprise!" when she got back, was to stand inside the door and to the side, so that I wasn't immediately visible to everyone on State Road 52 when she opened the door. She came in (after about an hour and a half, they always give me about ten times more time to undress than I need... Whether I'm at the spa or the doctor or whatever... What are other people doing in there for 20 minutes? Am I supposed to be doing something that I'm not?) and looked at me like I was a little stupid.
"I was afraid if I stood anywhere else I might flash your UPS guy or something," I stammered.
She was so sweet. She didn't laugh at me until after I left.
So she takes me in this shower, basically, and warns me that the airbrushing machine is a little loud. She tells me that it might feel cold.
Since the salon was about 40 degrees inside, I kind of expected that.
The actual spraying tickled like crazy. Amazingly, I neither broke out in hives nor turned orange. It's actually a very subtle color. So crazy, it just might work!
Then after a few awkward moments when I wasn't sure where to put my arms, or my boobs, she turned on the fan and left me to dry.
At least she wasn't there to watch me as I tried jogging in place (still only in my granny panties, of course) to keep warm as the fan dried me off. There was probably a hidden camera - look for video on YouTube. I was just beginning to wonder if they trained aesthetiticians in how to treat frostbite, when she came in and told me that I was probably dry enough and that I could get dressed and come out.
Finally warmish, I was standing at the desk making an appointment for a facial this weekend, and for a Level 1 Spray Tan (all over!) on the Thursday before the wedding, when guess who walked in? The UPS GUY! And I started cracking up, because it takes a while for the nervous laughter thing to wear off with me, and stammering about how he almost saw me naked, and he looked at me like I had completely lost my mind, and left.
All of this is what led to my Facebook status, earlier today, which was:
"Amy just went and got her first spray tan, on her tummy. My stretch marks now look so sexy!"
I didn't mean to leave you hanging, internet, but my wonderful friend Barbie came to visit yesterday and we were just having so much fun that I couldn't blog. Then she left and it was bedtime for the kids, except MG put me to bed instead of the other way 'round. Oops.
I missed you, though, and I just LOVE what you're doing with your hair! So cute!!
So what's been going on since I wrote last? Well, speaking of cute hair, Tina Fey nailed her impression of Sarah Palin.
Hi-freakin'-larious. I don't care what your politics are, that was just too funny. Could she be any more like Palin? They must have been separated at birth. (Sorry about the ad. It's from NBC's website, though, so it's all nice and legal.)
Interesting side note, BJ and I were just talking about the sketch, and he had heard on CNN that Palin thought it was funny and that she had been Tina Fey for Halloween one year. I read somewhere online (of course I can't remember where) that she had watched it on a chartered plane, and the press were watching it and cracking up, but Palin's area in the front of the plane was silent throughout the entire sketch. You just can't believe anything you hear or read anymore. I'm not even sure that any of these people are actually running for office...
Speaking of which, if I ever run for anything (HA!) don't let me go on The View. Those cats have claws! Rrowr! I think Bahbah Wahwah is getting a bit senile, though. "We white folk will take care of you!"???? OMG, Bahbah, that's not even a little bit appropriate. Sherry was about to die. But she couldn't say, "Oh no you dih-n't!" because Bahbah is her boss.
Meanwhile, there was a hurricane in Grammaland. No, it is not typical whatsoever to have hurricanes in Northern Indiana. I've lived here my entire life, and I have never heard of such a storm. Reports vary, but I've heard that they got 11.5 inches over 2 days, and another person said that they got 9 inches in one day (and I'm fully aware that both numbers could be correct). My mom just finished work on her chapel recently - guess she should have been building an ark, instead! (They had a bit of water in the basement, nothing like my sister, who had 6.5 inches in her basement!!) Everyone is fine, though, as far as we know, so no one needs to worry.
My Barb (who goes by "Barbara Dahling," and "Air Force Barbie," NOT Bahbah) and I hung out at the mall yesterday (my wedding ring lost a stone, which is no big deal because they're little ones) so I took it to get repaired, then bought those dishtowels and placemats at Kohl's that I wanted. Then we played at the playplace until the kids started running away from the playplace, then we went out for dinner. It was nice to get a chance to see her and just hang out and chat. She lives in Ft. Wayne, so it has been forever since we've had an opportunity to do that. She's one of those friends who I can just start back up where we left off, even if it has been several months, or even a year. I love that about her. Gosh, we've been friends since 1993. Crazy.
I worked today. The kids stayed home with Allison. I'm coming down with a cold, so BJ brought me a cup of hot (decaf) tea with honey, and I'm going to drink it, assure you folks that I am still here and that the FBI didn't come arrest me because of that post the other day, nor did I float away due to unregional weather anomalies, and then I'm going to take several Benedryl and a handfull of ibuprofen and go to bed.
Claire has her 18 month she-used-to-be-well-but-then-you-brought-her-to-the-doctor's-office-so-she'll-be-sick-in-3-days-that'll-be-$20-sucker baby visit tomorrow. I'm sure I'll have lots to complain about.
I am not going to embarrass future-Mary-Grace by writing all the gory details of her potty training escapades here on the internets for all posterity. I will say, however, that I told her that it was a law that you can't wear diapers after your 3rd birthday, and she totally bought it. Ha!
I will also say that I feel like I've done nothing but say, "Do you need to use the potty?" today. I have had a very elimination-focused day, and I am SICK OF IT. This was NOT in the brochure. Someone needs to start a potty-training boot camp, where you can send your kids for a week and they come back fully trained, and have an additional useful hobby like crochet or gardening.
Seriously, after giving birth twice, I have enough trouble maintaining the integrity of my own potty habits. I am woefully underqualified to take on the responsibility of another person's potty habits. (Hooray for Poise!) Between Claire's diapers, letting Max out, following MG around with a change of clothes and the Lysol, knowing that I need to change the Diaper Genie (and totally avoiding it) and that the litterbox needs cleaning (ditto) and now writing about all of it, I just have to say enough!
I watch a lot of videos online from the various blogs I read and whatnot, but this is the best laugh I have had in a long, loooong time. Watch it first, then keep reading.
Ok, you have to wonder what is going through that dog's head, don't you? I mean, dogs don't understand zero gravity. I love how he floats up between the pilot and co-pilot, as if to say, "Um, guys... Little help here?" I'm literally laughing so hard I can hardly type. And I love how he rises up in the back at the beginning. Oh Lord, I have to go watch it again.
So tell me what you think is going through Anti-Gravity Dog's wee little head. Best caption gets a biscuit and a scratch behind the ears, along with a "Who's a good commenter?"
Additional bonus points for the best song to accompany the video. The best I can come up with is "There's a bad pooch on the rise..." What have you got?
I just read a very interesting article about parenting over at US News. Apparently I'm doing everything wrong.
1. Parents fail at setting limits.
We have limits. "Don't touch Mommy's wine." And how about "I'm not talking to you until Oprah's over." Those are limits, right?
2. They're overprotective.
I can't believe that US News is still hung up on the bubble wrap jumper with matching bonnet that MG used to wear. It was a joke, folks. Build a bridge and get over it.
3. They nag. Lecture. Repeat. Then yell.
If I stop nagging, lecturing, repeating myself, and yelling, I might as well stop talking. That's all I do.
4. They praise too much - and badly.
"Nice hit!" said Mommy, as Claire punched Mary Grace in the nose. (Hey, she had it coming...)
5. They punish too harshly.
I do not think it's too harsh that my kids are already grounded until they're 29. I think it's for their own good.
6. They tell their child how to feel.
I need to remember when they get hurt not to say, "you're okay." Instead, I'm going to start saying, "Rub some dirt in it and walk it off!" That'll cover #6 and #2!!
7. They put grades and SATs ahead of creativity.
I am so pissed about the kids' SAT scores - why else do you think they're grounded until they're 29? They couldn't even fill in the bubbles! Don't get me started about the essay section...
8. They forget to have fun.
I'd be happy to have fun, as soon as someone gets these kids out of my hair.
Ok, but seriously, what are you screwing up as a parent? For me, it's totally the yelling/nagging/repeating/lecturing one.
(Thanks to Parent Dish for the heads up on the article.)
