Bird-trap

I'm sure I've mentioned it before: Zippy looooooooooooves animals. He's been totally into animals for the past couple of years now, and I don't see his passion fading anytime soon. His animal-obsession manifests in things like building a beaver dam in our back yard (even though there is no water in sight) and making worm habitats out of old jars.

His current goal is to catch a wild bird to keep as his pet. First, he had the idea of leaving open the garage door and also the door from the garage into the house, so that perhaps a bird would just fly on in. I tried appealing to his compassion for animals by explaining that a wild bird probably doesn't want to live in our house, but he wasn't deterred.

Miscellaneous on Monday: Meat Pie

My dad mentioned the other day that he went to out to dinner and had a really great meat pie. Which made me think, Hmmm, maybe I should make a meat pie!

If you have never heard of meat pie, let me explain. Meat pie is a traditional French Canadian dish and it’s basically just what it sounds like: a meat pie. Cook pork and beef (depending on your preferences), add a little potato, onion, and spices, and bake it in a pie. When I was a kid, my mom made it every winter. Deeeeeeeeeeeeeee-lish-ous. I still remember bringing leftover pie back to college after Thanksgiving and cherishing every reheated-bite.

Meat pie, by bichromephoto at Creative Commons

From "only" to big sib: Handling sibling conflict {Part 2 of Part 3}

Remember the other day when I said Monday was an unusually easy morning, because the boys were getting along so well? And then I wrote about helping kids transition from being an only to being a big sibling, like I knew what the heck I was talking about? 

Well, then they woke from their naps and all hell broke loose. Zippy was tearful because he didn’t get enough time to play alone with me before Bee woke from his nap. Bee crying because Zippy wouldn’t didn’t want to share his dinosaurs and then because Bee wanted the dinosaurs to wear helmets and Zippy didn’t. And then Zippy was doing some kind of wild-ninja-boy dance in Bee’s face while Bee shouted “I need space!” (Seriously, my 2-year-old was shouting that.)

Yep, this is the flip side of siblings. But, you know, I’m okay with it. As Bee has become more mobile and more verbal, the boys are able to interact a lot more, even to play together despite the 3-year age difference. This means more direct conflict between them, but we’re figuring it out.

From "only" to big sib: When baby gets bigger {Part 1 of Part 3}

So, when I went to write Part 3 of this sibling thing, I got a little crazy and kind of wrote a book. Not literally, but it was much too long for a blog post. So I split it up and here you go – Part 1 of Part 3. There are only two parts to Part 3, so I’m almost done here.  Today I thought I’d focus on the positive stuff and tomorrow’s post will be about how we handle those crazy sibling spats – the ones I’m afraid my neighbors across the street can hear.

It’s been important to me all along to try to nurture a positive relationship between the boys and not let sibling rivalry, which is inevitable, turn into sibling warfare. This has meant trying to always make sure the boys know that they don’t need to compete with each other for what they want most – love and attention and acceptance from mom and dad – and that they will both be treated fairly.This is one of those things that, like so many aspects of parenting, is much easier in theory than in reality. But I’ve seen far too many sibling relationships that are characterized by jealousy and resentment and hostility, and I definitely don’t want that for my boys.

From "only" to big sib: When baby arrives (Part 2 of 3)

When Bee arrived, Zippy was nothing but positive about his baby brother. He was fascinated with him and thought he was the greatest thing since Elmo. Still, there were signs that this change to our family was a big adjustment for him. He had just turned three, so he didn’t have the words to understand, much less verbalize, how becoming a family of four affected him. 

What we saw, instead, was that Zippy was more emotional than usual and suddenly wanted us to do things for him that he was more than able to do for himself.  I remember one evening when he had a full on meltdown because my taco shell broke. My taco shell – it wasn’t even his! I mean, why would he care? But he did. Oh, he did. “Noooooooooooo! No, Momma! You’re taco shell didn’t break! Nooooooooooooooooo!” Another common scenario was Zippy wanting me to spoon-feed him at dinnertime or dress him while he lay like a ragdoll on the floor.

From "only" to big sib: Getting ready (Part 1 of 3)

Monday morning, which turned out to be unusually easy for a stay-at-home morning, I was perusing a bunch of blogs related to sibling rivalry (the theme-of-the-day on Daily Buzz Moms). It was an unusually easy morning because, as I sipped coffee and sat at my laptop, the boys were actually playing together – nicely! Now, I’m not going to say my boys don’t have their moments with each other. They certainly do and they even had a few “moments” this morning. The battle usually starts the minute I turn my back, which is why I was sipping my coffee 3 feet away from them and not across the house.

But it has melted my heart to watch their relationship unfold over the past several months, as Bee has gotten older and become more able to “play” with his big brother. I love watching how Bee idolizes Zippy, copying everything he does, and how Zippy tries to teach Bee new things or wants to wear their matching Big Brother/Little Brother t-shirts. Today, they teamed up to play “tricks” on Momma, gathered every stuffed dog in the house to reenact 101 Dalmatians, and ran around the house shirtless pretending to be cave men. 

I think we’re doing okay, which made me think about how we got here.  Here is the first in a 3-part series of posts about siblings.

When it's time for time-out

I came across this post that I wrote months ago and never posted. These days we don't need to use time-out very often, but there was a time when it was a life-saver. Read on....

Can I have a time-out please? This has been a tiring few months. I’ve been learning that sometimes my “first line of defense” in behavior management just doesn’t seem to work. I have a hierarchy that goes something like this. I try to start at the top and work my way down as needed:

We'll paint you, Momma: Zippy's emerging sense of race

Last night, as I was tucking Zippy into bed, he brought up how great it would be to go to Africa someday. This has been a recurring conversation over the past year. Due in part to his long-standing fascination with cheetahs, Africa surpasses even Disney World as Zippy’s ideal vacation spot. This time the conversation went in a new direction. 

Zippy: “When we go to Africa, we should to paint you brown, Momma, so that the people there think you’re African-American, too.”

Me: “Oh? Why would we need to do that?”

Zippy: “Well, do the people in Africa have spears?”

Me: “Some of them. Why? … Are you worried they would hurt me because I’m a different color?”

Zippy: “I dunno.” (That either means “I don’t want to talk about this anymore” or “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Momma.”)

Family Rules

I’ve stumbled on an added benefit to our list of Family Rules, posted on the fridge. When Zippy does something he shouldn’t, I can point to the list and remind him of the rule. And he rarely argues with this. It’s like it’s not momma telling him to behave, it’s the rules talking.  Love it!

Last week his preschool class started the PATHS program. PATHS is an awesome social-emotional development program for kids. Awesome because it’s an evidence-based program, shown through oodles of solid research to improve self-regulation, emotional understanding, school readiness and social skills.  The scientist in me is a big fan of programs that have actual data behind them, showing they work.

Anyhoo, PATHS lesson one was on, guess what? Rules! The kids developed classroom rules and the first parent letter was all about how important rules are for creating structure and safety for kids, and included a place to write out our “Home Rules.” Boo-yah! We’re ahead of the game!

A question for a question

“What does gay mean, Momma?”  Zippy asked me this a few months ago. 

My liberal heart leaped. Aha! Here was a moment I had been waiting for! I’ve been reading both boys Todd Parr’s “The Family Book” since they were old enough to sit still. I refer to their future spouses as “partners” instead of “wives” because you just never know. (I realize some may think I’m taking it a bit too far with that. I disagree, but more on that another time.) I’m eager to raise my boys to be open-minded, accepting people who understand that all people are created equal and all should be treated with the same respect, afforded the same civil rights, and so forth. So here was a new moment to communicate this value, however indirectly, to Zippy. Here I go!

C'mon, Sesame Street!

Really, Sesame Street? You haven’t had the opportunity to show breastfeeding on the show? In the past, like, TEN years? Is that the best response you could come up with? 

“Sesame Street is a research-based educational program for preschoolers. Each new season is designed to teach a specific curriculum; this year’s curriculum is science, technology, engineering and math (STEM).  Sesame Street does not have a mandate against breastfeeding, and the show never made a switch to portray bottle-feeding only.  We have depicted breastfeeding in the past, and would include it again in the future if it was a natural part of the storyline.” That’s an excerpt from the show’s response to a recent petition to bring breastfeeding back to Sesame Street.

A Mixed Milestone {Parenting Biracial Kids}

Recently, Zippy has become more aware of race. I don’t know if other parents of biracial kids share my experience, because, unfortunately, I don’t have many friends who are POBK – but this is like a milestone I’ve been anticipating for the past 5 years. Kind of like parents anticipate their child’s first step or first word, I’ve anticipated the point when my boys start to understand race and, specifically, where they “fit” racially. In some ways it’s kind of exciting that he is starting to understand that he is biracial and what that means. But, in another way, it makes me really sad and I am suddenly having mixed feelings about this “milestone.”

Camping out

On Tuesday, Zippy announced that he wanted to set up his tent so he could pretend to have camp-out. "Sure," I replied - thinking he meant indoors. No, no. He wanted to set up the tent outside. Sure, it was sunny out, but it was 40 degrees. Even for a Yankee like me, that's a little cold for just hanging outside when we could just as easily be camping out in the comfort of our living room. I started to explain why he couldn't set up his tent outside (i.e., why I didn't want to set up his tent outside) and then I stopped myself. Really, why not? So out we went. And I'm so glad. Because, how sweet is this? 

Zippy grabbed his two sleeping bags and carried a pile of books out to the tent. In the spirit of big-brotherliness, he even let Bee choose which sleeping bag he wanted to use and picked some books his little brother would like. I cracked open the kitchen window and let them stay outside while I made lunch. I listened to the giggling and chatter coming from the tent. Lovely. Remind me to say "Yes" more often.

Tickles

I find myself tickling Bee a lot these days. 

We seem to be entering the terrible twos, and tickling is coming handy. A few tickles can often get Bee to do things he doesn’t want to do or distract him from a meltdown. Like lately he’s taken to telling me, “No, thank you,” when I try to put his sleep sack on at bedtime. (No, thank you?  Very cute.)  A little tickling and while he squirms and laughs, I stealthily slip the sleep sack over his arms. Voila! He often refuses to hold my hand in the parking lot – because big brother isn’t holding anybody’s hand – so I’ll try to carry him. Then he starts fussing and squirming and I can see the meltdown coming.  Sling him upside down and tickle him all the way to the car – tantrum averted, which is worth it even if I end up with a black eye from his feet flailing into my face.  And when he is sobbing hysterically for reasons unknown even to him (a clear indication we’ve hit the twos), bust out the tickles. Crying turns into laughing, and we’re back on track. It doesn’t always work, but it works often enough tickling has earned a spot on my go-to list of toddler-taming tactics.

Also, the tickle-monster game is one of the games I can play with both boys at once that never seems to result in fighting over a toy or my attention. Bee thinks it is just hilarious to wiggle his fingers at his big brother, even if his fingers are just hovering 6 inches from Zippy’s head. They run around and roll on the floor and beg for more.  Joy. The only thing better than two little boys laughing hysterically is two little brothers laughing hysterically. 

But mainly I keep tickling Bee because of the way it makes him laugh. Is there anything better than the laugh of a 2-year-old? It is so sincere, so pure…so straight from the belly. His whole face lights up and he wiggles and squirms, trying to get away, but so clearly delighted. Today, cradled in my arms, he giggled and grinned and cuddled in closer, nose to nose with me, and I thought “Aha! This is one of those moments.” Those Kairos moments that Glennon wrote about this week over at Momastery? It was one of those. Bliss.  

(And if you haven’t read Glennon's post, I can’t recommend it enough! Here’s the link.)

Fashion Fearless

My boys are fashion fearless. Really, how else could I explain this? 

We call this Darth Maul meets ballerina. (Sorry about the smiley face, but that’s the best I could do since I promised my husband I wouldn’t put pictures of the kids on my blog. Clearly, my Paint skills are really, really limited. )

From four to five

Four was a rough year for us. Zippy was a super-easy toddler, but things got a little tougher when he turned three and by four he had become downright challenging. Very, very challenging. 

Some days were good. Some weeks were good. But then we’d hit a rough patch. For the next week or two Zippy would be bouncing off the walls. It seemed like he wanted me to play with him ALLthe time and if that bright mind of his wasn’t engaged in an activity – if I needed to step away to make lunch or do something else – then he was into everything he shouldn’t be, picking, poking, here, there, everywhere. He was full of ideas and sure didn’t want to be told no. His ability to argue would make a seasoned lawyer envious. The meltdowns were, well, intense. If I gave an inch, he pushed it for a mile, so I was constantly trying to stay on top of things. I didn't want to squash his spirit, but it felt like he was uncontainable. It was so easy to get into a cycle of negativity – reprimands and consequences and constant frustration.

Spilled frappuccinos

A spilled frappuccino is a sad thing. Especially when it was a full frappuccino. And it has spilled all over my rug. And – here’s the worst part – it belonged to a 5-year-old. A 5-year-old who was so eager to get the lid off so he could spoon out the delectable whipped cream waiting for him on top. 

He tried not to cry. I could see it. I saw the bottom lip tremble. I saw the eyes begin to water. 

You can tell a child not to cry over spilt milk. But not to cry over a spilt frappuccino? A strawberry frappuccino? Well, that’s like asking a bird not to fly. It’s just not gonna happen.