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Monday, February 14, 2011

Parenting Styles

Originally Posted: 
Feb 14, 2011 2:30 PM

Parenting styles, strategies, and tactics!  They're all the rage these days!  Then again, I suppose they always are among a certain group, and, as part of that group, I'm beginning to feel a little buffeted by the constant barrage of parenting advice.  And I am not talking about relatives and well meaning strangers.  No.  I'm talking about the media.  People I've never met reaching out over the airwaves and trying to push me around.
So, you know what I'm going to do?
I'm going to join in!  Or, at least weigh in.  I'm not giving advice.  I'm just laying out what parenting means in my house, and inviting you all to weigh in on what it means in yours.
I am not a Helicopter Parent, nor am I a Tiger Mom.  I see these as two extremes on opposite ends of the spectrum.  I'm more of a flying lynx.  Or maybe an alligator mommy.  I have a very tough exterior and I don't take any crap, but when my babies are little, I am surprisingly cuddly and protect them viciously.  When they're little.  When they get a little older, I push them out into the world to learn and explore on their own. 
Mama alligators are different from other reptiles in that they don't just lay eggs and leave, they ferociously guard their nests and their hatchlings.  The little hatchlings spend their early lives climbing all over mom and even riding around safely in her mouth.  It's a great juxtaposition, those big, dangerous jaws used to savagely attack and tear apart prey tenderly cradling the little babies until they're ready to go it on their own.
My parenting style is that sort of juxtaposition.  Scary and strict tempered with nurturing and protective. 
All things in moderation.
And, of course, anthropology plays a role.
In the baby stages, where Flintstone is now, I fit pretty closely with the model of Attachment Parenting.  It just seems like the most natural, anthropologically reasoned method.  I am completely responsive to Flintstone.  When he "asks" for something, I provide it as quickly as possible.  He's exclusively breast fed.  We co-sleep, and I pick him up and hold him or wear him most of the time when I'm around him.  My goal is to provide him with the most secure attachment I can and reduce the amount of stress he has to deal with as much as possible.  I try to work with the way his brain is hardwired as a human infant.  For instance, on being picked up and held, from an evolutionary standpoint a human baby is extremely vulnerable.  They cannot move about on their own, and so would be easy pickings for predators.  As such, they are born with an innate need to be close to, preferrably held by, adults.  Because of that, if I'm near Flintstone and he wants to be held, I oblige, and I ask that all his other caregivers do the same. 
That said, he is 5 months old.  Things will gradually start changing soon.  As he develops a greater understanding of cause and effect and interaction - when he is able to understand that he is not in danger and that I am still close by, my responsiveness will change.  I will still acknowledge him as quickly as possible when he expresses a need or discomfort, but if it isn't something that must be dealt with immediately, he may have to wait.  Example:  If he wants to be picked up or played with and I am in the middle of something else, I will talk to him, let him know that I'm there, but he may have to wait a few minutes until he gets what he wants.  But, of course, sometimes he'll still get what he wants right away.
And soon he'll learn the always enjoyable lesson that sometimes we just don't get what we want at all.
Punky is way past these stages.  Punky's pretty familiar with the Alligator side of mommy.  I'm still responsive and supportive, but I am NOT a coddling kind of mommy.  I make it a point to ensure that Punky gets lots of positive attention, but I also make it a point not to sugar coat life.
We eat family dinner together at the table almost every night (MacGyver has night classes two nights a week now, but Punky and I still eat dinner together those nights).  We would never eat dinner in front of the TV (when we had a TV) on a week night.  Typically, we have classical or jazz music playing in the background and we discuss our days.  I love that we are able to do this.
On the one hand, dinner gives us time to catch up and be together without distraction.  On the other hand, it is the time when MacGyver and I hammer the most on manners and food rules.  I am possibly at my most strict at the dinner table.
Punky was 4 when she, MacGyver, and I first started living together, and I won't say it was a smooth or easy transition (maybe one day I'll do a transition to stepmommyhood post if anyone's interested).  While I had known Punky since she was 18 months old, I hadn't been that much a part of her life.  MacGyver and I lived 1000 miles apart before we moved in together so, even though I spent a LOT of time with Punky on visits, the merger of our households was a HUGE change for both her and me.  And much of that transition played out at the dinner table.
Punky had been through some excessively negative experiences with the women in MacGyver's life over the couple years before we moved in together, but when it was just the two of them, MacGyver did an amazing job with her.  For all that she had been through – absentee BioB's and jealously and hostility – she was happy, confident, and smart.  And strong willed.  She knew exactly what she wanted, especially at dinner time (chicken nuggets, french fries, and Disney movies).  But she was 4 (and soon turned 5), and that's a big transition time anyway.  Transitioning to family dinners wasn't much of an issue as Punky is always happy to spend time chatting with MacGyver and I. 
Getting her to try new things was a bit of a roller coaster.  At first, she was all about it.  The novelty of having me there, cooking things she had never had before was exciting.  But I think it dawned on her pretty quickly that these new exciting things were rarely fried.  Plus, she was just at THAT AGE.  So the power struggles ensued, and Alligator mom (also known as the Food Nazi) was born.
I made it pretty simple:  You don't have to like what I make, but, if it's something healthy, you will try at least two normal sized bites of it –every time I make it (because 99% f the time these things grow on her).  And, if you don't like it or you don't finish it, there will be no dessert.  If you don't eat much, whatever you don't finish goes in the fridge in case you're hungry later.  If it's something you once liked but for some reason claim you don't like that night, or if you're "full" after having eaten very little, you can have your leftovers for breakfast.  BUT we never make her eat after she says she's full (ok, that's not true, if she says she's full and has 2 bites left because she picked out some random part of the meal, we will make her eat those two bites).
And you know what?  It worked like an effing charm.  Punky loves veggies now.  All of them.  Seriously.  Sure, if you put fries and spinach in front of her, she's going to prefer the fries, but she will eat the spinach first because she understands that it is better for you, and she really does like spinach.  When we let her pick what to have for dinner, 9 times out of 10 she wants a salad.  The kid is a frigging rabbit.  She even loves Brussels sprouts.  Go figure.  I hated those as a kid.
Now, if that little rabbit could only remember not to talk with her mouth full.
(I'm keeping my fingers crossed that we won't have the same issues with Flintstone as I will be making all his food, and he won't even be getting fruit for quite a while – at least 9 months).
Either MacGyver or I help her with her homework every night.  She loves reading us the books she gets from the school library.   We play games together at least once a week, and we read bedtime stories every night.  MacGyver is we are actively involved with all her extracurriculars.  When she works hard on something, we are certain to pour on the praise.  We DO NOT praise her for every little thing, though.  If it didn't take work, there is no reason to praise it.  We don't want her getting accustomed to getting praised for things that don't take work.
She has chores.  A bunch of them.  From pet care to dishes to cleaning her room.  I think there are 12 total, but I'm not sure.  If she does all of them in a given week (according to the chart on the fridge), she gets something.  Sometimes it's the outing of her choice (like going for a hike or going to the beach), sometimes it's 5 bucks (she's saving up to buy a trampoline).
We don't spank.  Depending on the infraction, she will either do exercises, extra chores, or write sentences/do math problems.  She has outgrown time outs.  Drama and tantrums are not tolerated, and do not get reactions from us.  As such, they almost never happen.  Ok, drama does happen – she is an 8 year old girl – but not tantrum type drama.
I encourage Punky to try to solve her own problems.  I don't ever step in with the answers right away (obviously, there are safety related exceptions to this).  But, in general, in homework, housework, conflicts with teachers and peers, I want her to figure it out for herself.  Or at least really try.  I feel strongly that too many parents are much too quick to step in and solve their kids problems for them.  I get it.  I HATE to see my kids struggle.  But I see so many of these kids entering college, the work force, boot camp, who have never had to deal with their own problems.  Their overprotective, over-involved parents have crippled their ability to function independently, to stand up for themselves and deal with their own problems.  They expect a trophy just for showing up, metephorically speaking.  Punky, Flintstone, and any other babies who might come along (whenever that may be) will not have that problem.  I will arm them, but I will not fight the battle for them.
BUT, if a real threat presents itself, if there is something they can't handle, you can bet your rear end I will be tearing things up.  Have you ever heard of the alligator's death roll?  It'll be that.
Wow, this post has gotten loooong.  I suspect I may need to throw out a couple more refined posts about parenting styles in the future.  There is just a whole lot to say about it.
All in all, my focus is on reality and developmental stages.  Life is tough, but I'm here for you. 

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Time Suck

Originally Posted:
Feb 2, 2011 1:49 PM

The Plug
I started this post in the beginning of January, along with the 6 0r 7 others to which I keep alluding.  A meme of sorts posted by a friend of mine last night has inspired me to finally finish it.  Since the post itself promises to be rather long (no surprise there), I'm going to invite you all to join the meme on the front half.
Recently the aforementioned friend, who also happens to be a MarineLawyerMommy started a blog in preparations for writing a book.  The blog, so far, rocks.  And completely puts mine to shame.  When you go follow her blog (because you will), don't think less of me.  You'll see exactly what I mean when you get over there.
The book she is writing, from what I gather, is about the struggles of women in our society to be all.  Or, more accurately, our failures to do so.  How all these extremely successful women go about their days feeling like they have failed at every other thing, from blowing their diets to not wanting to get down on the floor and play dolls.  It's called The Modern Failure, and I am COMPLETELY addicted to it.  And Chanelle, who writes it (I actually have another post about her in the works . . .), is always looking for input, which is super easy given how amazingly thought provoking her every post is proving to be; further putting my mundane "this is what I did today" blog to shame.  And if all that hasn't been enough to get you over there to check her out, maybe this will do it:  She will send HOMEMADE COOKIES (we all know how I love me some cookies) to the first 30 people who plug The Modern Failure.  While that is FAR from the reason I'm plugging it, I am nonetheless very excited about my cookies.
The input she is looking for today is from this post.  I think we all have nights where we look around, the day is gone, and we find ourselves wondering where the hell it went.  Or at least I do.  6 -7 times a week.  Chanelle wants to know where your time goes.   Here is what happens to mine (near as I can tell):
The Post
I have been talking a lot recently to two good friends of mine from OCS – women who knew me when I was just Marine.  Before Mommy.  Lawyer.  And Wife.  Over the last 6 years or so since OCS, all of our lives have changed a lot.  Michelangelo (we are the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles; I'm Donatello) got out of the Marine Corps, became a vagabond in South America, and climbed Machu Picchu.  I was extremely jealous.  Leodardo was sent to Joint Command in the middle of nowhere where she has been able to get a Master's degree and a black belt.  Again, jealous.  Then she joined Roller Derby.  Cue intense jealousy.  I have had a longstanding star-crossed love relationship with Derby since my sorority president introduced me to it oh so many years ago.  I have had fleeting associations with many teams, but I move a lot.  My life changes a lot.  And now, I find myself in a place where I know I'll be stable for at least a couple years, where I could actually join a team – and stay on it – and there is just no way.  I am just too busy. 
And I found myself thinking about how I am almost too busy for my own life these days.  Every single day there is at least one thing I find myself wanting to do that just won't fit, whether it's Roller Derby or just putting in the new garden.
Somewhere between 04:30 and 06:00, Flintstone wakes up to eat.  I prefer it closer to 04:30 because then I can go back to sleep for a little while.  If it's not until 06, when my get-your-lazy-a$$-out-of-bed-NOW alarm goes off, it throws my whole morning off.  From 06 (or whenever Flintstone is sated) until 7, I run around in the dark (I don't even turn on the lights in the kitchen because that will just make it harder to see when I go back in the bedroom) getting my uniform together and on, PT clothes gathered up so I can work out since I've inevitably forgotten to stock my office closet at the beginning of the week again, sanitizing bottles and breast pump paraphernalia, putting my hair up, making myself a lunch, getting everything together and labeled for Flintstone to go to daycare, making a lunch for Punky on the rare occasions that I have time, changing Flintstone and getting him packed into his car seat, letting the dogs out, packing up the diaper bag and my work bag, and getting on the road.  If Flintstone is awake for all of this (which he has been most mornings for the last 2 weeks), this all slows down.  My last minute alarm may have to move back to 05:45 soon.  And this doesn't even take into account days when I'm supposed to be at morning PT. 
I also make a cup of tea during that time window, but more often than not, it's still sitting exactly where I made it when it's time to go.  If I'm lucky, I remember to put it in a travel mug.
I have to be on the road by 07 if I want to be on time.  Punky and usually MacGyver are still asleep when I walk out the door.  I drop Flintstone off at about 7:15, jam my heart back down my throat, and head to work.  I scoot into my office at 7:25.
7:25 – 10:50 I battle the vicious mountains of cases trying to envelop my desk. I pump in the middle of that time.   At 10:50 I change into PT clothes and go work out for an hour or so.  I no longer shower after PT because there just isn't time.  I change back into my uniform and go pick up Flintstone from daycare shortly after noon and take him home to spend the afternoon with MacGyver.  On good days, or days I don't have PT at lunch time, I have lunch with MacGyver and feed Flintstone.
I'm back to the battle by 13:00 (1 o'clock) at the latest.  The battle continues.  I will often have a cup of tea, or even coffee at some point.  I also have to pump again around 3 – joy of joys.  The workday ends at 4:30.  On paper.  In real life I almost never leave the office before 5.  When I was in a trial billet, I could easily stay in the office until 8 before a trial.  I'm glad I'm Review – for now.  I'm told I'm going back to Trial in a few months.
I get home around 5:30.  From 5:30 – 8 there is making dinner, which often requires shopping, dishes, laundry, Punky's homework, feeding Flintstone, eating dinner, and cleanup.  I do not do all of these tasks, if MacGyver is cooking, I'm doing dishes; if he's helping Punky, I'm cooking dinner, and so on.  On nights when everything falls into place and there aren't 75 other things that need to be taken care of, we have time to sit down for a ½ hour and watch something on the projector (got rid of the TV months ago – thank heavens!), or play a game.  But it's usually the former.  A ½ hour of screen time a couple nights a week is not that bad.  Bite me. 
At 8 the getting ready for bed rigmarole begins, which is followed by story time.  Lately, we've been reading the Percy Jackson books, though we just finished the forth one and need to go buy the next.  Shortly before 9, Punky's tucking in is complete.  Flintstone should also be asleep by this point, but I'm usually still holding him as I hate missing story time.  And I suck at putting him down without waking him up.  I am well aware that I should be putting him down sleepy but still a little awake so he gets used to falling asleep on his own.  Whatever.
At some point, whether it's dinner time or after story, I pour myself a glass of wine.  I often remember to drink it.
Once Flintstone is out, MacGyver and I take a shower.  It isn't unusual for MacGyver to have to wake me up for this because I'm usually ready to pass out by the end of dinner.  But after tuck in time is when all the fun grown-up parts of my life take place (ok, maybe at lunch time, too), so I'm usually able to rouse myself enough to spend some quality time with MacGyver.  I like to be asleep by 11.  Well, I'd like to be asleep by 8, but that really isn't an option ;-)
Obviously, every day is different, but that's a "typical" day.  It doesn't count Punky's extracurriculars (can you say girl scout cookies?),  Farmer's Market, and whatever else that eats up my time.
The Roller Derby team I have been courting since before Flintstone was born practices three evenings a week an hour away.  Obviously not an option.  BUT I will be spending a week doing Derby things with the team in May AND they've invited me to participate in other ways.  I might be a ref, a jeerleader, or possibly a volunteer.
But even fitting that stuff in is going to be a challenge.  Because it's not like my schedule is about to open up any time soon.  A friend of ours at church, whose children are grown, commented on Sunday "Oh, you are right in the middle of the best part, careers, young kids, you're young – it's also the hardest, most stressful part – you must not have time for anything."  Ha, to say the least!
So that's my daily time suck.  What's yours?  Head on over to The Modern Failure and let her know!