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. 

Mom Guilt

Originally Posted:

Dec 6, 2010 11:21 AM

I hate dropping Flintstone off at day care.  He only goes for about 12 hours a week, max, but that doesn't make me hate it any less.  He's always so bright eyed and cheerful first thing in the morning.  He's excited and full of smiles every time I make eye contact.  I feel like I'm giving the best part of the day to the child care ladies. 

I have a lot of mom guilt.  A good friend of mine here at work, Capt Degu (a degu looks kinda like a chincilla), often talks about how we all have these very high ideals of how we're going to raise our kids before reality gets a hold of us.  She was never going to get a DVD player for her car or feed her son (now 3) processed crap.  Then they went on a long car trip.  They stopped at a Best Buy a couple hours in and got a travel DVD player.  And her husband often feeds the little man box mac n' cheese, and, while she'd like to protest, there just isn't time to make it - or anything else sometimes - from scratch.  High ideals are important because they make us better parents, but, in the end, you can't beat yourself up over reality or you'll start missing the good things.

I still beat myself up over reality a lot of times, though.  I get more time with Flintstone than a lot of working moms.  I have him in my office for about 6 hours a week and I'm able to go home at lunch time (though he's usually napping then, which makes me pout).  And yet I still feel like I'm gone too much.  When I get home at night, there's dinner to be made, laundry and dishes to be done, and Punky needs time, too.  But I just want to spend every minute of that time playing with Flintstone.

One of my weekly emails about baby development this week said "You've probably memorized at least 3 baby books by now."  What?  I barely read to him (well, that's not true; I read my legal journals and parenting magazines to him, but not baby books).  I've read him The Lorax a couple times, but that's it.  No baby books.  Now I feel like a horrible mom.  Because I LOVE reading.  I read all the time.  But I haven't been engaging Flintstone with books.

And I leave him at daycare during his brightest, happiest time of day.

With women who think he's a girl.

Actually, a lot of people think he's a girl.  He's usually dressed in green or brown.  And, quite honestly, I really couldn't care less whether people think he's a boy or a girl.  He's an infant.  It makes no difference.  I would MUCH rather have people mistaking him for a girl than forcing gender stereotypes on him at 3 months old.  And, besides, I know why people think he's a girl.  It's because he's sooooo pretty.  He really is.  I tell him all the time.  Even MacGyver has given in to calling him pretty.  Because he just is.  He has huge dark blue eyes with the longest black eyelashes, and those beautiful eyes are set off beautifully by his bright pink lips.  The pictures above don't quite capture it, but they were the best I had on my phone (I took the smiling one while he was hanging out with me at work).  He is just a downright beautiful boy.  I wish I was more skilled with a camera so I could capture just how pretty his eyes are.

Ha, and there's a little bit of mom guilt peeking out again.  As if my lack of an eye for photographing humans somehow makes me a less devoted mom.  Ugh.

I know I shouldn't feel guilty about all the little things.  I know that if one of my friends said all this to me, I would tell them they're being way too hard on themselves.

I read an article recently.  I don't remember where - possible the Washington Post, but I'm not sure.  About how working parents "these days" are, on average, spending larger amounts of time with their children.  On the surface, it looks like a good thing, but apparently this trend is causing other things to suffer - housework, job performance, marital satisfaction, and the quality of the time spent with the children.  I'm not too worried about the housework suffering.  I mean, I hate that it does.  It drives me nuts when neither of us has enough time to do the dishes for a couple days and the just PILE up.  But I'd rather bond with my babies.  The job performance peice is a tricky one.  I know there are other studies that show that offices with policies that work with parents actually increase productivity.  I imagine the workplaces that suffer from parents spending more time with their kids are those that don't try to accomodate that, causing increased stress and conflict for the worker.

Marital satisfaction - well, that just comes down to making your whole family a priority.  The marital relationship is just as important as the parental if you want the family to stay together.  Which reminds me, I haven't done a post about MacGyver's birthday . . .

Then there's that last one:  The quality of time together.  The article pointed out that if you're sacrificing a lot in other areas to increase the quantity of time with your kids, it can negatively impact the quality of the time.  Increased multitasking and all that jazz.  I know that some nights, Flintstone spends an hour or two just hanging out in the Moby strapped to the front of me while I try to get some of the aforementioned housework done.

So I should drop the guilt and focus on the quality of our family time.  Focus on the quality of my interactions with Flintstone.  That is what I should do.  But that mom guilt still peeks around every corner.  You know I'll be buying a couple new baby books this weekend.