Agree to Disagree

My in-laws and I disagree on one essential aspect on parenting which is parenting.

They think that we should just agree to agree that I am doing it all wrong and that my parenting is lacking in all aspects so that I should just give it up.

What a relief, only I don't know how to bow out of all of this. I gave birth to these two little beings and as difficult as they are, I have made an agreement to be their mom for the next infinity years. The in-laws feel that they are rude: the two year old threw a cute green and yellow pineapple hat across the table when gifted because, "I like pink"! and the four year old never said "Good Morning Mrs. K". or anything of the kind. They felt that there is no need to denigrate oneself to little children.

I have a collection of uneaten Nutella sandwiches and cereal bars that were demanded as well as a string of days where no one but me greets the teachers that they have spent the past year with. Every time we enter the classroom, you might imagine that my children had never seen the teachers or their fellow students, ever.

I am not sure that it is so much a reflection on my parenting as so much what my in-laws say is my raising them as New Yorkers and giving them the option of not talking to someone for any reason whatsoever.

Mind you, none of the other New Yorkers in their class act like this, they are generally pleasant and gregarious, and mine are sullen and withdrawn.

I am a salesperson and I spend all of my time trying to make strangers feel comfortable enough to spend tens of thousands of dollars with me, so I don't think I am teaching them shyness. Nonetheless, they are reticent to the verge of anti-social and they are perhaps impolite.

I would have to agree with my in-laws that I have produced two of the most anti-social children in New York and perhaps it has to do with not being a native New Yorker and somehow sanctioning the anti-social behavior that New Yorkers are so famous for. I tell them when a gross man on the street says hello that they don't have to respond, but somehow this has translated into their grandparents. Not that they are gross, they are actually quite sophisticated, but my children treat them as they would their teachers.

I will have to agree to disagree that my children are complete and utter social brats.

What did I say?

A friend of mine recently adopted a child and she called me on the DL before the 30 days were up to ask me some questions about the husband's role in child-rearing.  

It seemed that her husband was having a hard time bonding with the baby a.k.a., he didn't really want to wake up in the middle of the night feedings. 

My in-laws have about 10 stories about child-rearing that they like to repeat ad infinitum.  One of those stories is about how when Kevin, who was a premie, thus on a bottle,  would cry in the middle of the night, his dad would kick his mom gradually out of bed, so that she could give him a bottle.  

There is some kind of a weird disconnect with couples and new babies, especially it seems, with the non-nursing kind.  When you are nursing a baby, there is no question as to who gets up in the middle of the night for feedings.  When a baby, like my husband, or an adopted baby wakes up, it seems like this could be negotiable.  Apparently not.

I guess that somehow the mom, in spite of also having to go to work, is supposed to be the one who wakes up in the middle of the night, every night. 

Now, I seem to remember in my wedding vows saying something about sickness and health, richer or poorer, and if times got difficult, eat chocolate.  I do not, however remember, pick up dirty socks, never sleep in once we had children, or figure out all of the logistics of life with two children and a spouse.  

Maybe, when we get pregnant or adopt children, we should take new vows.  something like, "I vow to let my partner sleep through the night at least fifty percent of the time".  

We have it all wrong, we need to take parenting vows and relationship classes instead of just wedding vows and childbirth classes.

One Fine Day

The other morning was one of those typical mornings where my husband had a deadline and I had to get started at 8:30.  

I had lunch plans with my friend in midtown, whom I hadn't seen since the day I gave birth to the second one and I wanted to squeeze in as many cold calls as possible.  At the peak of Summer School selling, somehow I'm supposed to cold call as many schools as possible multiple times in 50 days (1,500 schools divided by 50 is 300 schools a day include trying to find parking and then 5 hours a day which is 60 schools a day=impossible x multiple visits plus the big program visits)  Okay, so my job description is impossible x even more impossible=stressed out=totally inefficient).   

Cut to one typical morning as a mother of two young children married to a freelancer who is in a chair in the apartment but essentially non-existent. Trying to wean the 18 month old is proving challenging because the only feeding left is in the morning AND she has teeth, a lot of them.  Any kind of trying to lay down for a few extra winks on the couch involves  a groping hand up my shirt and my eventual giving in, thinking that somehow this time she will nod off to sleep while nursing.  After 45 minutes of teeth grinding pain, I give up and remove her from my pain.  

What ensues at the ungodly hour of 5:30 is the wailing of one pissed off, inconsolable baby.  Conscious of all of the single men in our apartment building, I try distractions in the form of toys, sippy cups, funny faces, anything.  She flings all objects to the floor and wails at the top of her lungs.  Still wailing, the 3 and a half year old wakes up to the crying and joins the chorus.  It is now 6:30 am, a long hour and a half before daycare begins.  

I sit the baby on a chair near me in the kitchen and begin to make lunch. They are both wailing and then they begin to pick at each other and the screaming gets louder.  I finish up making lunches and then dress both of them while they wail and scream and kick and fling all sorts of loud hard objects to the floor.  Somehow, I managed to dress and put on make-up. 

 Somehow, I managed to put clothes on two screaming children.  I put the baby in the carrier and the older one has to go through her daily ritual of filling her backpack for school.  I have one of those epiphany moments, "choose your battles", and resign myself to the extra twenty minutes of backpack loading.  

I decide to have a seat and wait.  Riiiiip. The only pair of pants that fit me rip in the crotch.  Mind you, I already have my shoes and shirt and baby on.  I have to go in my closet and find a maternity skirt that doesn't match with anything and pull it up, going out the door with two wailing children, down the stairs and of to school in a totally mis-matched, unprofessional get-up.  

While I am dropping the kids to school, my friend calls to cancel.  I leave her a message, holding back the tears, saying this wouldn't be such a good day to meet afterall.

Costly Kids?

A friend of mine shared the heartbreaking news that she chose an abortion over having her second child and the justification was that they couldn't afford a second child.  

My first reaction was that I was appalled, children aren't that costly.  My next reaction was one of sadness for all of my friends that have the means to raise a child, yet are unable to get pregnant. 

We have been coming head to head with our debt this year and the realization is this, we have amassed precisely the amount of childcare expenses that we spent this year as our new debt.  Meaning, we have made up for the expenses of one child and with the new child, we have gone exactly another $20,ooo into debt.  I guess they are that expensive.  

Knowing the second child and the amount of joy that she brings, I can't imagine choosing otherwise.  Tell your creditors that though.  In our currently conservative moralistic society, pleading that you chose to have a child and go further into debt, still doesn't sit well.  You can't call your bank and ask them to lower your interest rates because you don't choose abortion.  It is a moral conundrum. 

 In a mere two years, both girls will be eligible for the public school system and yet now, we are just irresponsible credit consumers.  We live in a confusing society where we contribute to public education for years before our children are actually eligible for it and when they are, we are just taking advantage of the system. 

In the Buddhist tradition, abortion means that at some point in your life you have to commit your life to care taking another human for the rest of your life.  It is a serious karmic offense which requires a deep commitment for reparation.

In the American system, it is a way out of your credit default.  

Reflections

My older daughter seems so needy sometimes.  It makes me want to jump out of my skin.  I know I should love being needed, but sometimes I just want to be left alone.  My whole life, I can't think of anyone that I wanted to spend a 14 hour day with.  Not even myself.  Today I realize that it is the mirror of my own interior world and neediness that drives me crazy.  I am as clingy and needy as she is.  If I could, I would cling to my husband's leg and plead with him to carry me if I could.  This is precisely  what drives me nuts about my daughter.   It is the reflective nature of having children that makes them so tedious.  Not their needs but what needs of your own that they reflect upon you. 

My Birthday

I hate my birthday. It doesn't help that it happens to be on Christmas Eve.  In my family,as a child, it was challenging to say the least. My parents decided to make a traditional birthday cake for me every year.  I think it is indicative of all of the later issues with my birthday, an quite frankly, of a lot of my issues. Steamed English Plum Pudding.  It usually had this soupy vanilla cream sauce with it, that wasn't really whipped cream, and a few times my parents soaked it in Rum and tried to light it.  

Everyone gets their favorite cake on their birthday, my dad gets German Chocolate.  Somehow I am supposed to keep up the  pretense that I love Plum Duff. 

 Just about the time I admitted that I didn't like Plum Duff, my  parents started a new tradition.   Every birthday morning breakfast, my dad would start in on me. How I have been unfocused in my life, and basically how I've failed. To make it worse, they still made my cake, but then refuse to say "Happy Birthday"  until; the hour I was born, which is right before midnight.   So I would cry all morning then think everyone had forgotten my birthday.  I would lie in bed feeling like a complete failure and then my parents would come in my room with silly hats on and sing happy birthday.  Then I would have to eat Plum Duff and pretend that I liked it. 

To this day, as my birthday approaches, I catalog all of my failures and sink into depression until...midnight.  Then I feel so guilty by the time I get the happy birthday call that I am dumbstruck.  I am willing to eat some crappy British food as my hairshirt and then when they finally wish me a happy birthday, I can't even begin to say what I really want for my birthday because I feel grateful that at least someone remembered on Christmas Eve that it was also my birthday..

Karma

We hear so much, "It's his karma". 

 How simple. How complicated. Depends on if you want to blame them or you.  I have such bad self esteem that it is hard not to blame the bad karma on me and the good on others.  

Where do you draw the line between oh well it's karma and I had better take responsibility for this?

My colleague  shared with me yesterday that his three month old grandchild never cries.  

How cool.   His mom has some great karma.  

My daughter cried for four months straight.  It must be her karma, because I didn't deserve that.  

My friend's three year old has never thrown a tantrum.  Whose karma?  Hers I am sure. My daughter throws two hour inconsolable screaming fits?  Whose karma?  Hers? Mine.  

The baby is generally happy.  My karma.  Sometimes she is a fighter and screams really loud.  Her karma. 

My favorite colleague was downsized.   Her karma.  

I was retained.   My karma?  

Not bad.   I think I like this view.

I know that karma is supposed to be an accumulation of your actions good and bad.  It's hard to give credit where it is due. 

It should be the get out of jail free and collect $200 dollar card at the same time.

I want to believe in karma, it's just that it is so convenient to use it for your own good.

More on this to come.