November 14th, 2008 by Jennine

During the 17 weeks that I was on bedrest while pregnant with Daniel, I had plenty of opportunity to read parenting books.

One of the popular trends on the parenting scene was called “Attachment Parenting”.

The term, “attachment parenting”, was conceived by pediatrician William Sears and his wife Martha, to describe a highly responsive, attentive style of caring for a child. Attachment parenting promotes physical and emotional closeness between parent and child through what the Sears refer to as the “Baby B’s”. The Baby Bs are bonding, breastfeeding, babywearing, bedsharing and boundary building.

Sounds good, right? What good mother wouldn’t want to promote physical and emotional closeness with her baby?

After reading about Attachment Parenting, I had no idea how I had managed to raise Kaitlyn and Kevin so well without incorporating the Baby B’s. I felt guilt for having them sleep in cribs and for not wearing them on my body 24/7.

So I immediately placed a call to the Le Leche League, bought a baby sling and moved all of our mattresses to one room- the new family bedroom. I was on a mission to bond like we have never bonded before.

Darren’s objections to the new sleeping arrangement were met with my response of “What? You don’t want to be the best parent you can be? You don’t want to give our children a safe, nurturing environment in which to grow? what is wrong with you??”

It’s hard to argue with that kind of logic, and the threat of soup cans being thrown at his head.

After Daniel came home from the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, I transformed into the poster child for AP. I wore Daniel in the sling every waking moment. I nursed him if he so much as whimpered, whether he was hungry or not. I refused to leave him, even for a moment, in the care of my mother, mother-in-law or empathetic friends. I mean, what if they set him down when they had to pee? He would be so lonely, so terrified.

As Daniel grew older, it became apparent that he needed me in ways Kaitlyn and Kevin had not. For one, I could not set him down. Ever. He lacked the ability to soothe himself. No toy could distract him from his need to be in my arms at all times and since I was bound by the Attachment Parenting laws to respond to every cry, I became a bond-slave to my child. He was the boss of me, had little need for his father, and no relationships with his extended family who desperately wanted to nurture him.

Secondly, Daniel had no schedule or routine. Our world revolved around his needs and wants.

I breastfed Daniel until he was old enough to tap on my breast and say “Hey! Is this thing on?” like a comedian tapping a microphone in a redneck bar.

All of this crazy behavior was fully sanctioned by experts and other elite AP moms who judged each other by deciding who was the biggest martyr for their child.

Now, I’m not saying that bonding with your baby is wrong. It is essential. I’m also not saying that breastfeeding is bad, nor am I saying that we shouldn’t respond to our baby’s needs with love. However, after giving the AP thing my full efforts, I can tell you the outcome:

I ended up hurting my son by making him the center of our world.

Daniel was a spoiled-rotten, demanding, inconsolable, miserable human being.

My husband was resentful of always being last on my list of priorities.

My family was hurt that I did not trust them with my baby.

I was exhausted and unhappy and always felt like I wasn’t doing enough.

I unfairly judged other mothers who apparently didn’t love their babies as much as I loved mine.

(This is painful for me to admit!)

After I finally admitted that my life was unmanageable and out of control, and after I apologized to Darren for having to put up with a nut job for four long years, I excercised a little common sense when Logan arrived.

I made my marriage the center of the family.

I established routines and a schedule for our new baby.

Everyone slept in their own rooms, in their own beds.

I let others be a part of our lives again.

I breastfed my baby when he was hungry, not when he needed a 98.6 degree pacifier.

I actually started sleeping in more than two hour increments.

And we became a happy family again.

That picture of Daniel up at the top of this post was taken at the height of my parenting dysfunction. We had just buckled him into his carseat and he screamed at me “UNBUCKLE ME ANYMORE!!!!”

He was the ultimate poster child for attachment parenting but through no fault of his own. It took us years to undo my mistakes when all I really wanted from the start was to give him the very best.

Edited to add: Daniel and I have had many conversations over the years about how my attempts to love him the best I could were misdirected and resulted in frustration for both of us. He gave his blessing on this post because he has a heart for helping others and, in the end, he’s just the best son any mother could ask for.

November 9th, 2008 by Jennine

While the Governor of Minnesota, Tim Pawlenty, came up short on this season’s deer opener, my 14 year old son, Daniel, managed to shot a 7-point, 150-pound buck in a field near our home.

The thing that cracks me up is that Daniel had fallen asleep in his stand and woke up to this buck standing right in front of him only 50 yards away.

Falling asleep in one’s deer stand is something Daniel is genetically predisposed to. He comes from a long line of deer stand sleepers.

I can’t imagine the adrenaline involved with going from a nice nap to a nice shot in a matter of seconds!

You can see the photo of Dan’s deer here. Or not. :)

**UPDATE**

Ol’ Dead-Eye Dan shot his second buck of the day tonight. This time the buck was bigger. I was telling Kirsten that when Daniel does something wrong, I’ve been known to say “How old are you??” but when he accomplishes something wonderful I’m all “Awww… my premie Dan got two deer!”

Anyway, this will be a nice break from all the squirrel we’ve been eating. [cue the banjo music again]

October 7th, 2008 by Jennine

Mid-terms for this first quarter were handed out last week which is unbelievable to me since it seems like only yesterday we were shopping for school clothes and supplies.

I never took school seriously and I recall dreading those times when my grades were reported to my parents. It was a stomach-churning, migraine-inducing event when I had to hand deliver my report card to them.

So I became quite skilled in the practice of attempting to turn a “D” into a “B”

Somehow my parents always caught on to my scheme and it turns out that having bad grades was one thing. Being dishonest about them is another.

My mom just ungrounded me yesterday.

Given my lazy, uncommitted academic history, I have to say that I’m pleasantly puzzled by my children’s dedication to their education.

Kevin’s mid-term:

Daniel’s mid-term:

Considering both boys are involved with a very time-consuming sport, I’m thrilled they are managing their lives so well.

Go ahead and be embarrassed, boys. I’m proud of you and I want the world to know.

September 13th, 2008 by Jennine

Considering that my doctor told me the ultrasound indicated water on your brain and advised me to abort you at 12 weeks gestation….

Considering that I started having contractions with you at only 17 weeks gestation and had to spend 17 weeks on bedrest and take horrible medicine just to prevent you from being born before your lungs were developed enough to handle that first gasp of air….

Considering that you were born six weeks early…..

Considering you spent three weeks in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, two days on a ventilator and 14 days too weak to nurse or drink from a bottle….

Considering your didn’t even have energy to cry like a normal infant even when you were being poked by more needles than most people will ever experience….

You’ve come a long way, Daniel- my A honor roll student, football player, XBox extraordinaire….

I’m so proud of you! You are a miracle. Don’t let anyone, ever, tell you that you can’t do something or be something. You’ve already proven the universe wrong.

Love,

Mom

September 2nd, 2008 by Jennine

2008 First Day of School

2007 First Day of School

Notice the joy on Kevin’s face as they headed out to the bus this morning.

On the other hand, I had a HUGE smile because chances are good that my refrigerator door will not be opened for the next eight hours.

June 9th, 2008 by Jennine

Having found a marker from the supplies the kids brought home from school at the end of the year, Kevin decided that he must use it in a way it wasn’t intended.

“Hey, Dan. You should let me draw a tattoo on you.”

“No.”

“Yeah, come on. It will be sweet.”

“No.”

“I’ll give you five bucks.”

“Yeah right. Like you have five bucks.”

“Okay. I’ll give you a dollar right now.”

“No.”

“You should let me.”

“No.”

“I’ll take you fishing with me next time I go.”

“Fine. You can draw a tattoo on me.”

And so this is Daniel’s water-based, bribery-induced, marker tattoo:

And God, if You are paying attention to this whole incident, please…please let Daniel catch a trophy Northern and Kevin, the smallest perch in the lake.

Amen.

June 6th, 2008 by Jennine

You’d think I’d be used to it by now.

I blame testosterone for the constant tangles my five boys instigate with each other. I guess I don’t know if it’s normal in other homes for two brothers to merely pass each other in the kitchen and end up panting for breath after wrestling for 15 minutes because, and only because, they made eye contact in that passing.

I used to believe I could tame it with constant reminders to “be kind” and “act like gentlemen”. How very female of me. I went so far as to write little reminders throughout the house:

“Keep your hands to home”

“This isn’t a zoo and you are not monkeys”

I’m quite certain that not even monkeys could dream up a farting contest with the winner receiving a can of Dinty Moore Beef Stew.

Adolescent male behavior baffles me. They speak a language that I do not understand and their code of conduct involves concepts my brain cannot comprehend. Life seems to be a non-stop competition with sibling respect at stake. Hairiest legs, best burper, biggest biceps, loudest voice, highest score…the comparisons are constant and I am often asked to be the judge.

“I know, guys. Let’s see who can be the quietest!” evokes the loudest objections. ”Let’s see who can go the longest without saying something mean” results in name-calling and more rough-housing.

While I’m comforted by the fact I can use parental authority to bring temporary law and order to a situation, the possibility for an outburst always bubbles right beneath the surface of peace.

“What! His arm touched mine while we were in the van. That’s why I pinched him.”

“He was leaning over me, breathing loud while I was playing on the computer. He deserved the wedgie.”

“He’s just blinking to annoy me so I sat on his head.”

“I only locked his iPod because he stuck his finger in my ice cream RIGHT AFTER I WATCHED HIM STICK IT IN HIS EAR AND HE KNOWS I DON’T LIKE EAR WAX IN MY ICE CREEEEAM!”

And my all time favorite:

“He hit me for no good reason!”

Like you could convince me that there is a good reason to hit.

Novelist Booth Tarkington once said “One of the hardest conditions of boyhood is the almost continuous strain put upon the powers of invention by the constant and harassing necessity for explanations of every natural act.”

I fully admit that, according to that quote, I am adding strain on their boyhood by wanting to understand a behavior so different from my own. Perhaps I should just be content that today no one ended up in the emergency room nor was there any destruction of personal property aside from the temporary tower built with a deck of cards.

What I really want is for someone to assure me that my sons will one day evolve into men who won’t tackle, sit on and pretend to spit in the face of a co-worker just because he used their stapler without asking.