HyperParenting - Exhibit A

Today, I present to you one e-book you'll never find me downloading.

[You didn't click, did you? You never do.]

That's okay, I'll tell you. It's an e-book for parents who struggle "with the difficult decision of picking the right preschool for their child."

That's right, folks! This book is chockfull (sp?) of checklists, worksheets, and planners that promise to enable you to find the right child-family-preschool fit. Also included: handy tips for navigating that tricky admissions process!

Whew! That's a far cry from our method of preschool selection. Essentially, Larry and I have only 2 criteria: location (Less than 3 miles from our house? Check!) and affordability (can we still feed everybody? Barely. Check!).

While it has never fit well into our family's budget (particularly the type with waiting lists and acceptance letters), there have been 2 times in our 16 years of parenting that Larry and I felt that some preschool might not be a bad idea. The first was when David was 4 and lay on the sofa talking to himself all day. Brian was only a toddler at the time, too young to really play with; and David had no friends who were boys. His loneliness and his weird behavior worried us (think Unabomber, okay? because we certainly were); so we sent him off 2 days a week to make some friends of the masculine persuasion and to stay out of my hair for a few hours.

Imagine our dismay upon hearing from a happy David after each (expensive) (for us) preschool session, "I played with Lizzie, and Sarah, and Hailey." Money well-spent, eh? But it did keep him busy, and he seemed to babble a little less when he was home alone; and by the next year Brian was old enough to be his playmate, so we were able to stop paying the big bucks for David to make more girlfriends.

We found ourselves knocking on this same preschool's doors 5 years later, however, with Rachel in tow. You know, Rachel - the 4-year-old of plumbing and taxidermy fame. We had a few qualms about dumping her for 4 days a week on her unsuspecting teachers (and Grandpa had to help us out with the tuition); but we were desperate to find something, anything, to distract her from the mischievous housewrecking in which she had been engaging.

[We tried the Marines first, but they wouldn't take her. Scaredy-cats...]

So there you are: no checklists, no worksheets, just a simple "Here's our child, feed her a snack, here's all our money to sweeten the deal" transaction that bought me some much-needed hours of guilt-free peace and quiet. Preschool, if you can afford it, is a wonderful creation, something invented with a mother's sanity in mind. If your child learns something (other than how to burp at snack), great! If he doesn't, who cares? It ain't Harvard.

And it definitely shouldn't cost as much.

[Don't forget - if you want to be considered for this week's book club giveaway, leave a comment on this post by Saturday evening!]

Mistaken Identity

Today I went to the pool. With the kids, of course. I was standing in the deep end of the splash pool with my next-door neighbor, both of us keeping an eye on our swim-goggled children. I noticed her speaking to a kid I didn't recognize, so I said, "Oh, did you bring someone else?"

"What?" she said.

"Did you bring one of your boys' friends?" I said, gesturing toward the strange kid.

She looked toward where I was pointing, then looked at me and said, "What?"

"Never mind," I said. "I thought you knew that kid, because you were talking to him. He's not with you?"

"No," she said. "He's yours."

You know, I thought he looked familiar...

The Seasons, They Go 'Round and 'Round

First pool visit of 2008 today! If my kids ever express doubt that I love them and would do anything for them, I will point out that - against my better judgment - I don a swimsuit and venture out in public for their sakes each and every summer. Yes, I am willing to undergo public humiliation just so that they can have some good childhood memories. Our pool, by the way, is super-fantastic - the baby pool is a splash pool that goes all the way to 3 feet deep, so all the non-swimmers are happy; there's a sandpit for the little ones to dig in when they are sick of the water; and there is lots of shade and trees. I love our pool! I just hate the public humiliation part.

That said, sitting there today reminded me how much time has gone by since I first became a mother (16 and a half years, but who's counting?). Obviously, this pool is a magnet for the younger-kids crowd; and "younger kids" usually means younger (read, less jaded) mothers. All I could think as I sat there eavesdropping on their conversations was "Did I used to sound like that?"

Language Development in Mothers

Young and sweet mothers: "Would you like the lemon ice or the strawberry ice, sweetie?"
Old and tired mothers: "If you're going to fuss about getting lemon again, I'll eat that Italian ice myself."

Young and sweet: "Use your walking feet!"
Old and tired: "Stop running or the lifeguard will kick you out for the rest of the summer."

Young and sweet: "Tell that boy you don't want to share your shovel."
Old and tired: "Stop crying over a one-dollar toy, for heaven's sake, or I'll give you something to cry about!"

Young and sweet: "Use your words!"
Old and tired: "Please, for the love of God, stop talking!"
Young and sweet: "Do you want me to play with you in the pool?"
Old and tired: "Did they fill this thing with ice cubes this morning? Go play - I have a magazine to read."

Young and sweet: "I'm glad I wore my bikini - it's a great tanning day."

Old and tired: "God bless the person who invented the super-spandex tankini with the skirted bottom. Once I get that leg-vein surgery, I'll be all set."


Enjoy! It all goes by too fast!

How To Get More Me-Time

I am loving this article. For those of you too lazy to click (and what is your problem, anyway?) , it talks about a recent spate of deaths among high-profile, posting-every-day bloggers. If you read the article (c'mon, click already!), however, you will notice a pattern: all the "victims" are men. Apparently, they can't handle the mental and physical stress of being on call 24/7.

Think about that for a minute. You don't see any Mommy bloggers dropping dead, do you? No, of course not; because we are used to those working conditions. Mental and physical stress, 24/7? That's our job description, for heaven's sake. So, gentlemen? My advice to you is, if you can't take the heat...

And speaking about not being able to take the heat, a lot of you are stressed out by the demands of being an Idle Parent. "I'd like to pay less attention to my kids, Suburban Correspondent, but I don't know how." That's what a lot of people are telling me (at least according to the voices in my head). So let me give you a few pointers on...

How to Get Your Children to Leave You Alone
(without resorting to screentime)
(because that's too easy, that's why; so quit whining and listen to me)

1. Hide in your bedroom closet (bring your knitting and a good book, of course); make sure to have a mini-fridge in there well-stocked with the libation of your choice and a bag of chocolate or two. Don't forget the Ott-Lite!
2. Announce to the kids that it is time to clean house and...and...hey! Where'd they go?! Works like magic...
3. Tell them you have hidden candy all over the house and they have to find it. This technique can buy you a lot of time; but it is not for the weak of heart, as the children tend to start crying when they (finally) realize you lied to them.
4. Send them outside to play; but remember to lock the door behind them. The little sneaks are always trying to get back inside, and they're not even bleeding! What's up with that, anyway?

Parenting For Dummies

To close off our discussion of politics, VE suggests that we waterboard all the candidates to see if they have outstanding library fines. Not a bad idea...such a process could avoid an expensive special counsel investigation down the road - you know, Librarygate...

But my specialty is parenting, not politics. So let's get back to what I know best, okay? No one needs my opinion on the presidential race when I could be dispensing valuable advice on how to ignore one's children (hmmm, maybe next week's list?). Incidentally, I've put all my advice lists on the sidebar to the left there, under "Parenting for Dummies." See? Now no one has to waste good money on books by child psychologists and other novices - you can just look up an answer here on my blog. Questions about childrearing? Send them to me - I may not know the answer, but I can always make something up. Heck, that's what I do with my own kids, and they're all right. Sort of...

We had the boys' and girls' clubs here this afternoon; and one of the mothers mentioned how important it is to know your child's love language. I thought she was kidding and I started to laugh; so now she thinks I'm a monster. But, really, what parent needs a book to tell them that their kid needs a hug, or some praise, or maybe some one-on-one time with Mom or Dad? Parenting is more common sense than rocket science.

Make that, common sense and endurance...eighteen-plus years of teeth-grinding endurance...

I escaped from the house again this evening, because Theo had a job interview at a local supermarket. For some reason it took almost 2 hours. What's up with that? I mean, the kid is applying to be a cashier, not president of produce or anything. I had forgotten my knitting, so I convinced my best friend to meet me at the nearby Barnes and Noble (that's why she's my best friend, 'cuz she'll do that) and we ate banana-chocolate-chip pound cake (low fat!) and discussed the similarities between teenagers and dementors. Then we read magazines together and I tried to figure out how to answer my cellphone.

And I wonder why my teens think my life is boring....

Hemingway Redux

Larry went up to the attic yesterday to find his camping stuff and discovered 3 (count them! 3) full mousetraps. I thought it had been sort of quiet up there lately. As usual, he was quite proud of himself for his hunting prowess. He treated himself to an extra beer after disposing of the bodies. I'm just glad he didn't have them stuffed and hung above the fireplace.

Larry was looking for his camping gear because he and David headed off for a fun Boy Scout camping trip today, David's first. It was sort of touching how excited David was. I mean, if excited means screaming, "I'm not going! I don't want to go!" Larry practically had to carry him out to the car.

Parenting isn't for weaklings, you know.

And lest you think we are cruel for forcing our son to participate, the kid was eager to go until yesterday, when he found out that Uncle Matt was coming to stay for the weekend. David didn't want to miss a second of the visit, though most of today will consist of watching the little girls play with their uncle's cellphone (it has a camera! And fun tunes!). In fact, as of this writing, Uncle Matt is still abed (it's past noon), as he is not used to having his sleep patterns messed up by a screaming 10-year-old at 6 in the morning. No one else around here even noticed the disruption. Uncle Matt leads a very sheltered life.

I had planned to give myself a break from a solo parenting weekend by going to yoga class this morning - but instead I ended up leaving the minivan at the local auto shop for a new battery (after a kindly neighbor once more jump started it for me) and then walking back home. Oh, well - it still beat being stuck in the house on duty all day. Now I just have to figure out what to do with the kids for the rest of the day. I mean, once I stop wasting my time watching this funny video on the new trend of outsourcing childcare to India, brought to you from those strange folks at The Onion. Boy, some people can really take Idle Parenting to an extreme...

Involved Parenting and Self-Preservation

I decided to be an involved parent yesterday and arranged to meet my friend and her kids at a nearby aviation and aerospace museum. This sort of trip, let me note here, is David's idea of heaven. Brian was pretty excited, too; but Rachel was only lured by the promise of pizza afterwards. Susie is cool with anything, as long as we are nice to her (she started shouting that at the dinner table last night, apropos of nothing, as far as I could tell).

And then, as if that weren't enough parental involvement on my part, we made hamantaschen yesterday afternoon. It isn't that difficult: make the dough, chill it, roll it out, cut out the circles, put a dollop of jam in the middle of each circle, and fold the corners up just right (although how we get corners out of circles is beyond me). Of course, it requires nerves of steel to get through these steps while negotiating with 3 children who exactly gets to do what, when. I sort of needed a drink by the end.

If you have survived all the squabbling over who cuts out the circles and whose turn it is to dish out the jam, you then pop the cookie-laden sheets into the oven. Just make sure you remember to set the timer for 15 minutes. Because I didn't. Luckily, I also forgot to turn the oven on; so nothing burned. Sometimes early-onset Alzheimers can be your friend.

I'm going to have to do absolutely nothing with the children today in order to retain my Idle Parenting credentials.

All around us our friends and their families are being felled mercilessly by some sort of extreme stomach virus. We are avoiding them like...well, like the plague. I am willing to drop off some ginger ale and crackers at their doorsteps (actually, not directly at their doorsteps - I'll stand at the end of the sidewalk and sort of lob it in the direction of their contaminated front doors); but that is the extent of my compassion. I have a family to protect, after all.

Somehow, I don't think I would have been one of those hardy souls who went around nursing the ill and burying the dead during the Plague years; but I definitely would have gotten myself one of those masks.

I wonder, do you have to wear it with the robes for it to be effective? Or would jeans and a sweater do just as well?

Because The British Are Always Right

I love this article on the BBC website. It's titled "Stressed Parents 'Make Kids Ill.'"

I'll just pause to let that sink in a minute.

Okay, anxious and depressed about being stressed yet? Because the article states that "A University of Rochester study, reported by New Scientist, found sickness levels were higher in children of anxious or depressed parents." Which is fairly ironic, considering that having a sick child makes parents fairly stressed out. Which in turn, according to these scientists, can make your child sicker. So be happy! Be cheerful! Or else!

I am so glad that something else is my fault. I didn't have enough to be worried about already.

The BBC seems to be on a bit of a crusade, actually. Peruse this article also. It's worth it, I promise. I particularly like its Manifesto of Idle Parenting on page 3. Here, I'll copy it out for you lazy ones (and thank you, Mom Bomb, for bringing it to my attention):

Manifesto of the idle parent

We reject the idea that parenting requires hard work We pledge to leave our children alone That should mean that they leave us alone, too We reject the rampant consumerism that invades children from the moment they are born We read them poetry and fantastic stories without morals We drink alcohol without guilt We reject the inner Puritan We fill the house with music and laughter We don't waste money on family days out and holidays We lie in bed for as long as possible We try not to interfere We push them into the garden and shut the door so that we can clean the house We both work as little as possible, particularly when the kids are small Time is more important than money Happy mess is better than miserable tidiness Down with school We fill the house with music and merriment

Am I allowed to copy all that into my post? I hope so. I love it.

Well, I hear the patter of little feet; I'm off to go lie in bed for as long as possible, and then I will push them out into the "garden" so that I can clean this pit we call home. Have an idle day, y'all!

Teen Angel (Not!)

My friend with a PhD in neurobiology tells me that there is an evolutionary reason for teen girls to hate their families - it helps them to move out and start making their own families. Scary thoughts of teen pregnancies aside, I think she was trying to reassure me that Anna's evident dislike of anything remotely connected with any of us is a natural occurrence and not my fault. But if (evolutionarily speaking) 13 or 14 year-old girls are supposed to leave the family nest, wouldn't it make sense that their brains not evaporate into thin air at this precise point in their lives? Sending Anna out on her own (and believe me, I've fantasized about it) would be like sending a 2-year-old into the world to make her own way. Rachel, at 5, is more street-smart than her sister.

Can you guess it's been a rough couple of days? Her best friend went away for a week, plus we didn't have time to take her clothes shopping this past weekend; so now we're bearing the brunt of her angst. I am so tired of her scaring the younger children. The tantrums do get rather boring after a year, you know. Yes, honey, you hate us. Now shut up, wash the dishes, do your schoolwork and think about going away to college, okay? Thanks. And you're right, we don't understand you - but would it help if we did?

And any of you who are getting ready to recommend How to Talk So Your Teen Will Listen or any other books of that ilk, forget it. The more we let Anna "express her feelings," the worse she got. Learning to grin and bear it is an important life skill, if you ask me. I've checked with several experienced parents of large families, and they agree that the no-nonsense, "get over yourself" method of parenting is the healthiest. This may be why the larger the family, the fewer the problems. To have diagnosed complex behavioral issues among your offspring, you need to have few enough kids that you have time to obsess over them.

Hoo, boy - I'm going to get an earful over that last statement. Hey, don't listen to me - listen to a guy who has adopted 10 kids, most of them with labels out their wazoos (I don't know what that means, either). Go to www.drray.com - the funniest parenting professional you could hope to meet. Enjoy some of his audio bits. From this page, for example -

http://www.drray.com/kidbits.htm

I've got to get back to benignly neglecting my children.