November 18th, 2008 by Jennine
I love how my kid writes an article for his teacher about how we let him play XBox for three hours in a row.
But seriously, how else is he going to get good at it?
Next he plans to write about how he went to bed once without brushing his teeth or the time we forgot him at the county fair.
Why can’t he write about the time I missed a Bon Jovi concert just because he had a painful hangnail?
November 15th, 2008 by Jennine
Sipadan from Darek Sepiolo on Vimeo
The kids have been on break from school for the last few days because of parent/teacher conferences. I had plans to have a little fun with them but wouldn’t you know, the stomach flu has decided to sweep through our home.
It’s been rather exhausting and I just needed a little distraction from the messes.
I landed on this video after googling “I hate vomit and need a vacation”
Someone, somewhere is checking their website search queries and shaking their head in disgust.
This video is worth the download time. It helped me remember that the world is bigger than my four walls.
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 13th, 2008 by Jennine
Miss Elly turned 10 years old yesterday which is a relief to me. We have been listening to her countdown to the special day for the last 364 days. If you thought the political commercials were bad, try hearing a “It’s my birthday in only ___ days”, along with a list of her most coveted gift items.
We have a tradition of taking our birthday children out to eat at a restaurant that doesn’t require the engine to remain running while you eat. This year Elly wanted shrimp for her birthday meal which, in our rural area, limited our choices.
But we found her shrimp and she enjoyed the meal knowing that now she has one more thing in common with Hannah Montana because Hannah eats shrimp at every meal.
After we finished eating, we took Elly to a store to pick out paint for her bedroom, something I’m guessing Hannah Montana has never done.
Since Elly shares a room with her little brother, a choice she made when Kait moved out and she discovered that the darkness of night requires another body to be in the room, I tried to nudge Elly away from the neon purple that she chose for the color.
“You know what the smart decorators do, Elly?”
“What?”
“They choose a neutral color for the walls and bold colors for the accent. That way, should you go blind grow tired of the bright purple, it is easy to change the look of your room!”
Darren and I teamed up to sell the idea. That’s where I present the idea and Darren sucks in wind like he’s starved for oxygen and says “Ahhhhhhh… what a GREAT IDEA!” We have found this to be a highly effective parenting tool whether it be for selling a bath, bedtime or a chore list.
Elly tapped her chin with her index finger, thought about it for a minute and said “I think you’re right. This could work.”
And then she proceeded with a list of must-have decorating accents, the likes of which would make Bill Gates take a peek at his checkbook to make sure he could cover the tab.
Apparently counting backwards from 364 can make you irrational.
So this weekend, we are giving Elly her birthday gift–a redecorated bedroom. This weekend is also deer hunting, a fact that has not gone unnoticed by my husband.
“Oh, come on, Honey… [sucking in wind like I'm starved for oxygen]… this will be REALLY FUN!”
“It’s not going to work, Jennine, I know what you’re trying to do,” he said while rolling his eyes.
I leaned over and whispered something in his ear.
“Will you shake on that?”
I nodded.
“Then you’re right. This is going to be REALLY FUN!”
Yeah. I’m gifted in the art of persuasion.
November 11th, 2008 by Jennine
Tonight was our football team’s awards banquet and Darren and I couldn’t be more proud of Kevin, who also made the A honor roll this quarter.
Receiving a plaque for being the team’s “Pit Bull”: $0
Being voted All Conference by the conference coaches: $0
Being made next year’s co-captain of the team: $0
Receiving the awards from a coach who is a Marine veteran: Priceless
Thank you for your service to our wonderful country, Coach Kirby. You have our deepest respect and gratitude.
November 10th, 2008 by Jennine
Pulling off the perfect Christmas requires an understanding of the nuances of giblet gravy, the ability to manipulate unwieldy pieces of wrapping paper around ungodly angles and most importantly, the talent to convince an eight year old that all he wants for Christmas is his two front teeth.
The truth is that children will NOT settle for their own teeth for Christmas. Neither are they satisfied with an orange in their stocking or an American Flyer wagon as their coveted single gift. No, today’s children want the moon, creating holiday wish lists that require not only a table of contents but thumb tabs as well.
Even if you could give your children the moon, good luck wrapping it and keeping it a secret until Christmas morning.
When I was a child, my mother would grow weary of my constant begging for a clue as to what my Christmas gifts were. She would sometimes distract me with a small hint in exchange for a moment’s peace and, more or less, it was effective. For a while, I would get lost in my thoughts of her clues.
Her clue “Your gift begins with an S,” in my mind, meant that I would soon have a guest appearance on an episode of Sesame Street. Another clue “It rhymes with mess,” was somehow code that Cinderella herself was handing down her dress to me, in person.
Cinderella was my moon.
With such high expectations, it is very difficult to become excited about a Slinky if you were quite certain that Elmo was going to tickle you for real. Still, my mother was able to keep my Christmas presents under wrap until December 25th.
Children these days are becoming far too clever for our own good. Without a “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy, children have become very adept at figuring out what lies under the tree for them on Christmas morning. Santa had it right by delivering gifts at the last possible moment. This may be the most convincing evidence that Santa has raised children of his own.
My children have grown up in the cynical “CSI” and “DiVinci Code” generation where nothing can be taken at face value, everything has a hidden meaning, and the way to truth is not always the shortest path. Even Blue’s Clues, a television program for preschoolers, teaches them to “look for clues!”
This makes Christmas present secrecy nearly impossible.
I have gone to extensive lengths to assure that my children are surprised on Christmas morning but have not fully achieved my goal. Legos rattle. Bath salts smell. Guitar Hero boxes are obvious. Puppies whine. Electronic toys come alive with the vibration of the vacuum cleaner.
Not to be outdone by my own offspring, I developed what I thought was a foolproof plan. I created a list of random words, like “Ames”, “Bond”, “Mata Hari”, etc… and assigned them to each child. This way I could trick the youngsters by writing the code words on the Christmas gift tags rather than their actual names. I also placed their actual gifts inside of huge boxes- the likes of which you would only find at an appliance warehouse. Then I proceeded to wrap with more wrapping paper than I have ever used in my entire life. To top it off, in an act of pure genius, I sprayed each package with my perfume.
I stood the seven giant packages around our decorated tree, folded my arms and gloated with pride. For once, my dear children would remain clueless ’til Christmas.
It would have been the perfect plan had I not lost the list of names and code words.
In the end, I have decided that the element of surprise is highly overrated. If it truly is the thought that counts, then my children should feel greatly loved.
It will come as no surprise that this year they are all receiving gift cards.
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]
November 8th, 2008 by Jennine
My friend, Chubbs, has written an excellent post regardling the mysteries of the men’s public bathroom.
I highly recommend you read this post.
November 8th, 2008 by Jennine
Last night I heard Bill Maher say something to the effect of “I don’t want to hear Republicans complain if Obama gets a moon roof in the presidential limo. He’s just trying to air the stink of stupidity out of the upholstery.”
This is coming from a man who believes there is no God and mocks those who do believe with little things like Hollywood movies.
Let’s all remember, shall we? There has not been another terrorist attack on American soil for seven years.
Liberals were downright ecstatic when Hurricane Gustav was headed toward New Orleans during the Republican National Convention in August.
On Keith Olbermann’s Aug. 29 show on MSNBC, Michael Moore said the possibility of a Category 3 hurricane hitting the United States “is proof that there is a God in heaven.” Olbermann responded: “A supremely good point.”
There is no media coverage when another 9/11 doesn’t happen. We can thank God that President George Bush didn’t care about doing the safe thing for himself; he cared about keeping Americans safe. And he has, for seven years.
I’m speaking of the Decency of George W Bush.
Name one other person in Washington who would be willing to stand alone if he had to, only because someone had to.
