Each morning when I leave for work, clutching my boi who is to be dropped to playschool — I make sure that have a good look (almost appreciative) at my living room, clean wooden floors and empty table tops. “Your space is clean, Momma,” I tell myself as I exit.
Every evening, when I turn the key on my door, I know what will greet me — visibly tired looking grandparents lounging on the sofa, sipping their evening tea, a-fresh-from-nap-and-thus-a-very-active toddler who has strewn his blocks (all shapes and sizes), books and some wooden alphabets all across the living room. I can barely see the floor somedays. I get the creeps. As I scoop my boi up and do my routine kissy-huggy, all that my eyes capture and transmit to brain is ‘this cleanup will be a killer.‘
So each night, before I tuck myself and boi in bed, sorting the wooden blocks, magnetic ones, odd pages of boi’s favorite picture books, scooping missing pieces from under the sofa/TV cabinet have now become part of my daily ritual. I can’t go to bed when my living room or boi’s room is not organised to it’s original state. In fact, if I had my way then I would eliminate all these darned blocks from my home but sadly, they are an integral part of growing up (and a steady route to turn mommy into a mumbling hag). Arts & crafts, and construction/building play — I’m told — are ways for children to express their creativity, encourages focus and concentration, and develops fine motor skills and eye-hand coordination. It is said to allow children feel proud of themselves and gain a sense of mastery after they have created something. Perhaps flinging the blocks too has some deep psychological impact — only positive I hope.
Call me crazy but everytime I see my child throwing his stuff around, I fast forward the scene to envision an adult version of my child living with his partner, and throwing his stuff about with no regards about cleaning it up. It is cringeworthy. I want to raise a happy thoughtful boi who will grow into caring and considerate man.
“If a child is old enough to get out a toy to play, she/he is old enough to put it away.”
Now this sounds logical on paper but believe me it doesn’t always work. I have tried singing songs to have my boi join me in cleaning up, tried to cajole him with “fun stuff we would do” post-cleanup, and even tried scolding. It does not work. Finding those inner pieces sitting under the sofa or cupboards is going to be my nemesis.
UPDATE: I ordered big covered stowaway bins from Groupon and they have arrived! I am taking the easier way out, hereon. Stashing the toys in one bin, favourite books in another and current favourite blocks in third one. Boi will be given one bin at a time, without overwhelming him with too many things to play at once while encouraging his creative play.
I have been saying this (directly/indirectly) in every single blog post of mine — we take parenting way too seriously. It is not good for average couple with average urban lives and barely-there marriages.
…sign of the parenthood religion is that it has become totally unacceptable in our culture to say anything bad about our children, let alone admit that we don’t like them all of the time. The origins of the parenthood religion are obscure, but one of its first manifestations may have been the “baby on board” placards that became popular in the mid-1980s. Nobody would have placed such a sign on a car if it were not already understood by society that the life of a human achieves its peak value at birth and declines thereafter. A toddler is almost as precious as a baby, but a teenager less so, and by the time that baby turns fifty, it seems that nobody cares much anymore if someone crashes into her car. You don’t see a lot of vehicles with placards that read, “Middle-aged accountant on board.”
Think about this statement. I’m surrounded by parents, to-be parents, just married couples on my social media pages. Yet, it is the ones with kids who almost never post anything about themselves or their partners. It’s always about kids’ achievements, their medals, their schools etc etc. Honestly, I too occasionally slip into this ‘parenting’ abyss myself.
I do get asked, “How can you write a rant blog about your boy? He’s so likeable and boys are naughty after all.” So, li’l girls are not naughty? Mommy doesn’t have the right to talk about real facts of motherhood? Or about the bad days when she wants to discipline her child for smacking another kid in the mall or worse biting another class fella?
We are allowed to say bad things about our spouses, our parents, our aunts and uncles, but try saying, “My kid doesn’t have a lot of friends because she’s not a super likable person,” and see how fast you get dropped from the PTA.
It is exactly this ‘i-will-boycott-you-socially-if-you-publicly-scream-at-your-kid’ attitude that makes us shudder and shove away all the bad mother days somewhere deep within us — including those when you have disciplined your child by not giving in to his/her tears after they commit a mischief that is not easy to overlook.
Children who are raised to believe that they are the center of the universe have a tough time when their special status erodes as they approach adulthood. Most troubling of all, couples who live entirely child-centric lives can lose touch with one another to the point where they have nothing left to say to one another when the kids leave home.
Dear Husband, where art thou.
Original Story Source: Quartz India
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He’s 2.4 years old and occasionally that ‘sweet agreeable baby’ whom I love to LOVE. But then comes this ‘wilful toddler’ to surface that leaves me wondering if this boi was switched at birth. This screaming “thing” is not mine — or that’s the public expression I wear.
Let me tell you upfront that there are no guidebooks/ blogs out there to help you with YOUR child — just like they say no 2 pregnancies/childbirth are alike. You will stumble through pitfalls of toddlerhood like “should I be using timeouts?”; “what’s the best response when my toddler is flat on his back screaming on the floor at Toys R Us?”; “when he thinks spraying his drink from his mouth is a fun thing!”
Think ‘Survival’, find the nearest Exit and BOLT.
I have locked horns (pointlessly) with the boi. I have tried reasoning with the screaming child (in the most ridiculously sweet motherly tone I could muster) while my ‘logical adult gauge’ shot through the roof of my head. I have tried cajoling him when he insists riding every Lift/Elevator in a mall on a loop. NOTHING WORKS.
What follows, instead is tear-works (that can melt) and makes her want to claw her way back to some cave. It’s no secret to my blog readers or friends, that I’m barely scrapping through this parenthood thing. It’s one heck of a job (not in a good way), metaphorical paybacks and severe mental paranoia at all times.
I figured — on my own — that anger too is a valid emotion, just like happiness. Mommy anger too is a justified thing, after all I have been a logical adult for 30 years (and couple more) before motherhood. Sometimes it feels like my squalling kid is stuck in a screaming vortex long after the issue has been resolved. I often wonder if he even remembers what he’s screaming and carrying on about and that when I try to marshal great patience, stamina, creativity, determination — and a robust sense of humor to help me get me out mommy anger mode.
I am not sure if this will work for anyone else but … consider it my contributory drop in the ever-growing mommy tear ocean. If you do end up losing your cool, don’t beat yourself up, just try to use better tactics next time. It’s a tough gig, Mommy.
This is what I wanted to scream out loud.
Nearly 130 children were massacred in Peshawar, Pakistan.
One-Hundred-Thirty children. And some innocent adults.
Many other children who survived the terrorist attack suffered injuries, were traumatised and witnessed brutal deaths of friends & teachers which may perhaps haunt them for years. Pictures of little bodies of students — some hurt some dead — have been plastered across internet. I can’t bring myself to look at them without cringing in fear (as I think immediately about my toddler), followed by disgust at the terrorists who thought this massacre was justified in the name of revenge.
Why am I writing about this on my personal blog where I have never discussed anything beyond motherhood and its challenges? Because I am terrified now to even let my toddler away from my eyes for even a second. I am glad that he has grandparents looking after him when I am at work because I do not think I could be at ease with a maid, at this point, to take care of this tiny & precious life, whom I created (well, me & and my husband created).
Last night I slept holding his hands. I have been contemplating putting him in a play-school for a few hours. Now just keeping him out of home for a few hours, without me or any other family member around him, fills me up with cold dread.
He’s turning 2 in 4 days and I should be fussing about his birthday arrangements. But I can’t and I won’t. A lavish birthday party cannot express my gratitude in having my child safe besides me. There’s nothing in this material world that I can buy or offer God
for keeping us safe, for keeping my child safe. I can only call Him out in my thoughts and pray for safety & peace.
A couple of days back, my boy banged his face into a chair, cutting his lip a little. Nothing serious. But the bright red blood that popped out from the cut made me panick like hell. His tears, his blood and his pain was unbearable for me. I wanted to do something. Anything to stop his pain. Overwhelmed by the feeling of what can I do to take away his pain, I started crying with him too.
What I saw last evening on TV and newspapers today, is the a zillion times the above feeling. I cannot imagine what mothers & fathers (brothers, sisters, families) of kids massacred in Peshawar would be going through. No one can. There are no words to offer. I am only more terrified of humanity.