‘Parenting’ Articles at Sweetnicks

On Parenting and Wanting to Hit the Pause Buttom

June 3, 2013 · Narrative

There are a million times that I find myself wanting to hit the pause button.

And, for some reason, never more so than the past week or two.

Particularly with Madeline.

Oh this girl.

Because all she has been doing lately is showing me how much she is growing up.

And it tugs on my heart something fierce.

And I am mostly not ready.

Not one speck.

I just want to freeze time and keep them little forever.

Now, instead of walking her into school, she asked me if I would drop her off out front so she could walk in by herself.

The first time she asked last week, I ended up moments later at my office desk in tears.

Because while as a parent, one of our jobs is to grow these little people up to be fiercely independent.

I am not ready.

Not now.

So not now.

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Got Swagger?

November 19, 2012 · Narrative

“Mom, what does swagger mean? I see it on a bunch of my friend’s Instagram posts,“ Nick asked me the other day.

“If you have swagger, it means you have confidence,” I replied.

“Oh, I get it! Maddie totally has swagger.”

Why yes, yes she does.

*As an aside, I was curious and looked up the actual definition. Which is a slightly more negative way of saying what I said.

Last week, I had my parent/teacher conference with Madeline’s teacher. When she said, “Madeline is very mature…,” I laughed to myself.

Because the night before, she was taking a bath, and I left her for a moment to grab her pajamas and heard her say, “Um, guys, I need help.”

She had been “pretend shaving” and dropped the razor onto the floor.

(The razor still had the plastic cover on it, hence the ‘pretend,’ but was apparently not as out-of-reach as I thought.)

She is forever my four-year-old going on 16. She has never seen me, not once, shave my legs. But knew exactly what to do.

When I was in 8th grade, and still naive to the whole shaving thing, a grade school classmate, Maribeth, who basically spent her days making mine miserable, taunted me about shaving. Or not shaving as the case may be. It was something that my Mom hadn’t yet covered with me, and although I didn’t always ask for permission to do things, I just hadn’t ventured into that territory on my own.

So after school that day, my best friend, Lauren, took me under her wing and I started shaving my legs. And Maribeth had to find another topic to tease me about.

Madeline is light years ahead of me it seems.

Luckily she really *was* just pretending, very clearly going through the motions and protecting her little legs. And the razor has, of course, been relocated.

…

Book Review: Raising Great Kids on Your Own

October 23, 2012 · Narrative

This past weekend, The Ex and I had a miscommunication about where we were meeting on Saturday. Even though I had confirmed it the night before. The end result was no big deal really. It just resulted in a harried 20 minutes and Madeline being a bit late for her soccer game.

Life goes on.

As I picked her up from Nick’s field to race over to hers, The Ex cocked his head to one side and said, “You know, sometimes I wonder about you.”

He was kidding, as evidenced by the smile on his face and the chuckle that followed. And knowing that, I didn’t respond other than a giant eye roll, masked by my favorite aviator sunglasses.

But inside? I bristled.

I juggle a lot. Two kids, two different schools, two sports teams, Cub Scouts, work. And then everything else. Laundry, cooking, cleaning, freelancing. Parent-teacher conferences, volunteering, permissions slips, homework. Orthodontist appointments. Annual check-ups. By myself. Some days I worry about what I may have forgotten. Other days, the kitchen might be an absolute disaster, but everyone is fed and bathed, and the day ends on a high note because of just that. Because that’s enough.

He meant no harm by the comment. I know this. He was kidding. But I don’t think he realizes how much goes on … on our side. The lion’s share of responsibility falls in my lap. He is able to get up, go to work, go home, eat, shower, sleep. Rinse, lather, repeat. Largely able to be responsible for himself and himself only. Except on the every-other-weekend that has the kids.

And that’s ok.

Because that’s the way it is.

But man, don’t wonder about me. Because I might forget something occasionally.

But I’ve got this.

In spades.

Raising happy, confident, kind kids that are self-sufficient, independent thinkers is my ultimate goal. And is that ever a lot of pressure. But it’s the most important thing entrusted to me. So I research. I read. I listen. I rely on instinct a lot. I make decisions based on gut. And what I think is right. And so far? So good.

I sometimes read parenting books. And sometimes single parenting books. Not necessarily because I’m seeking answers. But more so because more knowledge and more perspective is never a bad thing really.

I happened upon a book from David & Lisa Frisbie recently, Raising Great Kids on Your Own (A Guide and Companion for Every Single Parent), and just finished it.

I swear, by page 10, my notebook was out, I was scribbling in it, and seriously bristling.

…

Creating Memories at the Kitchen Table

July 17, 2012 · Narrative

I am very cognizant of the fact that I want my kids to look back on their childhood and have a smile slowly spread across their face when they think of it. The whole thing. I want them to have all sorts of memories and fondness for things we’ve done or shared together. Moments, big and small, thread together to create one big happy life. Of course not every moment is going to be happy, but when they look back on those trying times, they can reflect on how we handled it, together, as a family.

When Nick and Madeline have their own families, I want them to look back on some of the favorite things we shared and weave them into their own family traditions.

A lot of what I know will become favorite memories centers on food at our table. And I use the word “table” loosely … for it is wherever we gather together to break bread as a family, whether it be the little table in the kitchen that used to be in Nick’s room when he was Madeline’s age, the dining room table that their Dad and I bought for our second house, the scratched up but well loved coffee table in the living room that opens up to reveal something much larger, the steps outside our front door, and even my bed, where we sometimes share a spontaneous movie night with food spread onto trays on our laps.

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A Date with My Favorite Four-Year-Old

July 10, 2012 · Narrative

I knew I wanted to be a mother from the very beginning. It was never a question. The only real questions were when? and how many? As for the how many, the answer, since my early 20s, has always been six.

Being a mom is one of the hardest things that I do. And one of the most rewarding. At the end of a long day, after ushering them through camp and swimming lessons (and a full day of work), we go through the bath, dinner, story, bed routine. I fall into bed shortly after.

Completely spent.

I referee. I administer band-aids. And hugs. And listen. And steer. And love. And laugh. Console. Advise. And beat my head against the wall. Not all necessarily in that order.

It’s a tough gig. As my fellow moms can attest. I want them to feel loved. And safe. And happy. Always and forever. And sometimes, through all that, it never seems enough.

I try to carve out one-on-one time with the kids on a monthly basis. I think they need that. A connection with me that doesn’t have to be shared. No interrupting. No talking over their siblings. No competing. Complete and unadulterated attention.

Madeline and I planned a date for this past weekend. Mystic’s daughter watched Nick (making this chicken parm), while Madeline and I escaped to dinner and a movie. She’s had a trying time with Nick the past week. She is patient to the nth degree, but had had enough. She had quietly voiced her opinions about it to both Mystic and I separately. My heart breaking as I listened to her words.

We both needed our Mom-and-me date.

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The Joys of Parenting

November 28, 2011 · Narrative

I won’t lie. Parenting is hard. Single parenting? Harder.

The days are long. The demands are endless. The chatter incessant.

The thanks? Sometimes few and far between.

The mess? Everywhere. And always.

Tears. Tempers. Raised voices. Slammed doors.

And sometimes that’s not just the kids.

The Neighbors can tell you that they’ve heard me yelling. And likely not just in the summer when the windows are open.

But every day. Every single day. There are these glimmers of magic. These glittery sparkling little rays. That make you burst. That make it absolutely worth every headache-inducing debate over bath time, hair washing, picking up toys, chores, homework, less tv, more vegetables, playdates, teeth brushing, and everything in between.

The little hands thrown tightly around my legs with an outburst of “I love you, Mommy.”

The “Oh really? Thank you!” when they learn you’ve made a favorite meal or extended bedtime for a few minutes or planned an unexpected fun activity for no reason.

Madeline’s nurturing nature that comes over her when she sees her Mom doesn’t feel well, pushing the hair out of my eyes, and forcing me to drink lukewarm sink water through a bendy straw.

That look back as they leave to visit with their dad, to make sure I’m ok.

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Parenting: Leading with Intention

August 18, 2011 · Narrative

*Completely random unrelated picture (sunset from last night) just because I can’t bring myself to lead a post without a picture.

Beth and I stood in Kohl’s this past Saturday.

Dumbfounded.

Completely and utterly speechless.

A mom was berating her son in the middle of the lingerie section.

Loud.

Belligerent.

Mean.

Downright nasty.

My heart ached for the little boy.

He looked to be a few years older than Nick. He said nothing as his Mom shrieked at him.

His grandmother stood by and said nothing.

Perhaps that’s the way she raised her daughter. I don’t think it is, but I don’t know.

As the family walked to the cash register to pay, the mom’s loudly raised voice continued to echo throughout the whole store.

We made our way to the back of the store, intent on checking out white servingware.

We could still hear her.

Beth shook her head. “Anyone can be a parent.”

Isn’t that the truth?

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