The Ring Bear

My parents are approaching their 50th anniversary.  To celebrate, they are renewing their vows and throwing themselves a lavish wedding, since they never had one.

My mom has been trying to find a role for all her littlest grandchildren to play, so that they feel like a part of the festivities.  And so it came to be that Brendan became the ring bearer.

As we drove home from my parents' home yesterday, I told him the good news.  He seemed excessively happy, clapping his hands and cheering.  Then, he turned to me and said, "so when do I get my costume?"

"You don't get a costume.  You'll wear a type of suit called a tuxedo."

"But you said that I was going to be the 'ring bear'!  Don't I need to get a bear costume?!?"

And, suddenly, the happiness was explained.

Back to School

Metamorphosis Complete

I have completed my metamorphosis into Soccer Mom.

Time Marches On

I feel like it was just yesterday that I brought Brendan home from the hospital.  Today, he started kindergarten.  I get why people get all nostalgic at this milestone in their children's lives.

No tears for me, but it got me reminiscing about his first five years.  Of course, it wouldn't be ruMIRNAtions if I didn't drag you down memory lane with me.  :-)

I don't know where the time went ...

One day he was my baby; next thing you know, he's a boy.

Do As I Say, Not As I Do

Brendan has developed the most annoying habit -- he expects equality in all things.  He doesn't get the concept that he is not a grown-up or that children and grown-ups have different rights or capabilities.  I'll be  ordering at a drive-through and he will suddenly shout out his order, throwing me off-track and confusing the person on the other end.  Or I'll take him to the store for shoes and, instead of waiting for me to tell the sales clerk that the shoe is too small or too big, he will holler directly to the clerk.  When I tell him that he has to wait for me to do certain things, he responds with "why?  It's my food/shoes, etc."  In those instances, if looks were electricity, his little butt would get a serious shock.

I have tried everything: speaking, scolding, not speaking, time-outs, to no avail; he insists on doing it and questioning everything.  If I tell him it's time to go to bed, he responds with, "you're not going to bed, why should I?"  If I tell him to brush his teeth, his response is typically, "are you going to brush yours?"  It is infuriating, to say the least.  Yet, Brendan is not a disrespectful or defiant child; he usually asks with wide-eyed innocence.  He just genuinely expects the rules to apply to everyone equally.

Growing up, our household was one where children were seen and not heard.  As a result, my siblings and I have tried to give our children voices.  My mother says that we "spoil" our children by allowing them to speak so freely.

In pondering the issue this morning after yet another bout of verbal sparring with my child, I finally realized what was irking me so much about Brendan's constant questioning of everything.  It was that by doing so, he called to light the hypocrisy in so many of the rules.  The "clean your room, or you get no allowance," where our room is in constant disarray.  The "no cursing" rule, where the first thing that comes out of Big Bren's mouth at the slightest annoyance is an expletive.   Ordering him to "be nice," when we often aren't nice ourselves.

And society isn't any different.  We have our elected leaders telling us how to live our lives, while the government is falling apart at the seams.  The countless governors espousing "family values," while their underage children are having kids out of wedlock or when they, themselves, are having affairs.  The governor who was a former Attorney General getting caught patronizing a prostitution ring.  The CEOs of companies allegedly "tightening the belt" by cutting workers' expenses and taking away perks, but they travel by corporate jet and give themselves exorbitant bonuses.  The prosecutors sending people to jail for perjury, but the government lying -- with no repercussions -- about the reasons for going to war with another country.

The fact of the matter is that we live in a "do as I say and not as I do" world.  The sad thing is that despite telling myself that I am giving Brendan a "voice," by scolding him when he exercises that voice, I am slowly muzzling him.  He may ask 20 questions today; tomorrow, it will be 10; the day after, it will be 5.  It would be easier to have a child who simply does as he is told, but I think I kind of like the fact that my child challenges the status quo.  Just as long as he doesn't question me too much.

Tired

I have a confession to make: I get tired of being "Mommy" sometimes. There are days when I don't want to hear whining or complaining or backtalk. When I don't want to be the keeper of shoes, the bather, the dresser, the feeder, the cuddler, the goodnight storyteller, the toenail clipper or the boo-boo kisser. Some mornings I don't want my eyes pried open before I am ready to awaken. I don't want to hear arguing over whose pretend friend is cooler. It is psychically exhausting to have your entire existence be about someone else.

Alec Baldwin got a lot of flack a while back for calling his daughter a "thoughtless little pig." While I don't think I could resort to calling a child that to his/her face, I will 'fess up and say that I have thought it. That and "ungrateful little pig." And that was just yesterday when, after working the full day, I picked Brendan up from daycare and thought it would be nice to take him out to a dinner that he would enjoy (pancakes at the local diner). No sooner had our food been served that Brendan started acting up, backtalking when I asked him to pick up his place mat and yelling at me that he wanted me to pick it up. He then took a few swats at me. I have to admit that this was atypical behavior for him -- and that resulted in his being punished -- but the hatefulness, the lack of gratitude and thoughtlessness (even for a 5 year old) was cause for disappointment.

I love my child more than anything in the world; I would give up my very life if he needed it. And sometimes I feel like that is exactly what I do every day.

All in a day's work

Brendan and I were in the park today when a woman showed up with her six kids.  She filled up almost the entire little park with her brood.  There were teenagers, and tweens, and toddlers.  She seemed to have had them in pairs; each child had a companion close in age.

The kids were loud -- all yelling "Mom! -- and competing for attention.  Yet, this woman was composed, well put together and-- dare I say it? -- happy.

I mentally told myself that I had to step up my "mom" game.  I chastised myself for my lack of patience and my intolerance for noise.  And just as I was starting to envy this woman -- whom I was sure must be the front-runner for the Mother of the Year award -- I noticed that one her younger children was wearing a bathing suit.  Just a bathing suit.  It's April.  And it's 63 degrees outside.

I may not have the patience of Ghandi and I may not have six kids, but on any given day, I can work up the energy to put pants on Brendan before we head out the door.  Let me take back that statuette ....  

"You Can't Play 'Cause You Have Different Skin"

Brendan has been obsessing about color lately.  Last week, he said he no longer wanted to be brown.  When I asked him what color he wanted to be, he paused, then threw his arms around me and said "I love you very much, Mommy."  Then, he hurried away before I could ask him any more questions.

A few days later, he said that he wished I wasn't brown.  I told him that I loved being brown, but given a choice, what color would he make me?  Another pause, then he answered that he wished I was the same color as his cousin Joey's mommy -- who is also brown.  I was puzzled, but before I could question him any more, he hurried away again.

Then, on Sunday, the truth finally reared its head:  in recess recently, four boys that he looks up to and used to play with all the time told him that he couldn't play with them anymore, because he had "different skin."  He tried to tell the story nonchalantly, as if he couldn't care less whether those boys played with him or not, but I could see the pain in his eyes.  It was like I had been stabbed in the chest.  

Big Bren and I have gone out of our way to provide a multicultural environment for Brendan.  He watches multicultural programs; his "people" toys are all different nationalities; even the angel on our Christmas tree was of color.  What we didn't realize was that Brendan would not -- and could not -- grow up in that bubble.  We assumed, I guess, that other parents would be raising their children the same way.

I wonder whether racism occurs through nature or nurture.  Is it in our DNA to discriminate against those who do not look like us or are we raised to do so?  The fact that those boys used that terminology -- different skin -- makes me think that their parents are not necessarily racists.  If so, they would have used other, not so benign, words.  Just the same, if the parents surround themselves and their children with people who all look the same, it's no wonder the kids are so intolerant of change.

Big Bren, who, while not brown, feels strongly about having a child who feels comfortable in his skin, whatever color that may be, marched to the school the very next day and told the Head of School about Brendan's experience.  The point was not to get those boys in trouble, but to steer them in the direction of acceptance of others.  On our end, we will not do anything differently. We are already teaching Brendan not just tolerance, but acceptance, of cultural differences.  And with our wonderfully multi-hued family, he gets to do that every day.

What Donuts Do

Brendan and I were running errands today when we passed by the local Dunkin Donuts and Brendan asked if he could have a donut. While I’m not a big proponent of giving kids what amounts to pretty much unadulterated sugar, I felt like having a little something sweet myself, so to Dunkin Donuts we went. Brendan wanted a powdered donut; I got him 3 powdered donut munchkins and some hot chocolate and we got back in the car.

I focused on driving and totally forgot about Brendan and his donuts until I snuck a peak in the rear-view mirror to see what he was up to. I almost drove off the road when I saw that my child, from head to toe, the booster seat and the backseat immediately surrounding him were covered in white powdered sugar.

My eyebrows came together in a frown. At the next stop light, I turned around and said, “Brendan, look at the mess you’ve made back there.” He looked down at himself and his chair and over at the backseat, then shrugging slightly, he said “But, Mommy, that’s what donuts do!” Despite myself, I had to laugh. He was absolutely right, powdered donuts will no doubt create a mushroom cloud of sugar and little boys will undoubtedly make a mess.

Wrong Side of the Bed

Brendan is, thankfully, a good kid.  He has his moments, but they pass quickly.  Today, however, he just could not get a handle on his emotions.  The day started with him crying in his sleep and went downhill from there.  He whined about breakfast (cereal) so much, that I had no choice but to make his breakfast of choice ("crema" - cream of wheat made with milk, sugar and cinnamon).  Then he didn't want to get dressed.  That was followed by an all-out temper tantrum because he wanted to bring in a box that was delivered in the morning, but we didn't let him (the box was twice his size and very heavy).  Every meal was objectionable to him; all he wanted to eat was pound cake.

After his 1,713th request for cake was answered with a resounding "no," he furrowed his unibrow at me, stomped his little feet and proclaimed, "today was a bad day."  Really?  I never would've noticed ...