Feels Like Yesterday

“They grow up so fast, don’t they?!”

I don’t like that phrase. It may have something to do with the fact that, in my mind, we grow everyday, which means no one day different than any other. Some days seem to go by more quickly than others, and sometimes weeks seem to go by so quickly that I wonder where the time went, what I did and maybe even ask myself if I did enough.

What would I’d like to consider instead?

“Have I remembered enough of my time with them?”

Time does not stop and nor should the memories.

I remember the drive with my mom when I first left for college: we talked about all of the things she was concerned about, how much she was going to miss me, and how she reminded me that she’d packed enough peanut butter crackers to feed a small army and should I run out she could send more… it feels like yesterday.

I remember when Schmee Wee was born and holding him, cooing and smiling as he yawned that new born yawn – you know, the one that makes you melt with pure joy. I remember his first successful steps on his own, how he stumbled at first rising up on the ball and tiptoes of his right foot, hands splayed in the air, planting his left foot firmly on the floor, smiling a five-toothed smile… that feels like yesterday, too.

I remember Sweet Pea smiling as I tickled her chin within her first few weeks of life, reflexive, perhaps, but so joyful and darn cute! The time she spoke her first recognizable word couldn’t have made her big brother happier as she pointed to him while saying his name… you guessed it, yesterday.

They don’t grow up fast. I just don’t count the minutes waiting for something to happen because something will always happen and things will never be dull for long. I hope to continue to be so busy that I don’t remember the boring parts. When that time comes, maybe I’ll agree that they grow up so fast.

10 Things I Do Not Miss

Not so long ago I was living in the heavy fog of the baby/toddler days. You know, that time in your life when your child is a newborn or a preschooler or somewhere in between, AKA the neediest time of their lives. My days (and nights) were consumed with feedings, diaper changes, tantrums, messes and crying. If you have more than one child close in age those sleep-deprived days can seem to stretch on for years. I remember telling my friends that the soundtrack to my life was a crying baby.

What don't I miss about small children? This.

Don’t get me wrong, those days were also magical. And now that my children are older, I actually miss toddler pouts and rocking a baby to sleep at 3 a.m. So, whenever I see a snuggly baby or a giggly toddler and I feel an ache of loss for those exhausting-yet-delightful days, I remind myself of the things I do not miss.

Using the bathroom with an audience. I pee alone, and it’s everything I ever thought it could be.

Potty training. My daughter is very stubborn, so I didn’t make it through with my sanity.

Sleep deprivation. My youngest child can use a remote and pour cereal, with some help from older siblings. I wake up after the sunrise again, and it is amazing.

Changing diapers. I spent six years of my life changing diapers. Now I use that time reminding people to flush the toilet and wash their hands.

Negotiating with toddlers. No more maddening debates on pajamas, snacks, toys, shoes… oh, the shoes! We are 20 minutes late, please just put something on your feet.

Washing hair. How can it be so hard to tip your head back and leave it there for five seconds?!

Being late to everything unless you factor in a 30 minute contingency plan. I no longer have to allow extra time for last-second poopy diapers and toddler tantrums.

Washing bottles and sippy cups. Big kid water bottles have nowhere near the amount of pieces and parts as bottles and sippy cups.

Deciphering a toddler’s needs and wants. No more confusing answers to simple questions like, “Do you want milk or juice?” “Milk. No, juice. Um, yes. Milk. No, milk. Yes, juice. Yes. No. Yes. No.” “So, juice then?” “Waaaaahhhh!”

Feeding everyone else before me. Wait, I actually still do this. I suppose it’s something to look forward to.

The Child Connection

Children live in the moment. There's no reason we can't, too.The alarm clock blared at 6 a.m. and I willed myself out of bed. Every year for the past seven years I would have already been at the starting line, nervously waiting for the start of the Flying Pig Marathon. But this year a nagging foot injury kept me from participating, and instead I was heading to the sidelines to cheer on the runners and walkers that would soon fill the streets of Cincinnati.

 

With my camera in hand I headed to mile eight of the race to meet the other family and friends who planned to cheer on their loved ones. As the front runners rounded the corner our excitement grew. These runners were impressive, and our job was to encourage them along the way. As the swarms of runners grew, our support became even more important. For many this was their first marathon, and as these tired runners came to the brink of a three-mile uphill surge, it was clear that bringing a smile to their faces would help alleviate their pangs of fatigue.

With this in mind I began cheering more loudly, trying my best to get a nod, a wave or a smile from the many runners. Yet all my attempts were not nearly as successful as the outstretched hands of young children. Standing on either side of me were five of them. Initially they seemed unsure of how to approach the runners, tentatively holding out their hands or even backing away.

But their tentativeness quickly changed when several runners with large smiles on their faces reached out to share a high-five with the children. The response of the runners was exciting. They boldly stepped off the curb and with broad smiles, held their hands out towards the runners. And the runners reciprocated – many times coming from the other side of the street in order to share a high-five with these beaming little faces.

The connection of the young children with the runners was magical. They didn’t have to say anything, the runners were simply drawn to them, and I think it’s because children live in the moment. They do not worry about what they are not doing or what they could have done better – they simply approach the world with wonder and awe. For these children the marathon was a new experience and sharing a high-five with runners was building their confidence and bringing joy – to both of them!

So, I suggest you “high-five” the children in your life. The connection will alleviate your fatigue and your children will more confidently step off the curb and join in the race!

In an Instant

When Schmee’s preschool class went on a trip to the zoo, it was the first day in a long time that he woke up early on his own and exclaimed, “It’s zoo day! Time to get up!” He even picked out his clothes and put them on with little reminding.

With lunches made and sunscreen applied, all that was left was to get Schmee and Mom out the door while Sweet Pea and I lingered behind to make a slower trek to her child care center. Schmee was super excited and Sweet Pea was all giggles, but as we started to say our goodbyes an emergency diaper change necessitated that Sweet Pea and I dash upstairs while Schmee and Mom headed out.

And then things went south.

Once we were back downstairs, Sweet Pea had a meltdown unlike any I’ve seen in while. What did she need? I offered her food, toys, shoes, a brush, all to no avail. Frustrated, I opened the refrigerator to get something and Sweet Pea grabbed a yogurt. Excellent. She wanted yogurt, no problem! Yet as soon as I took it to open the top, she took off running, screaming, crying. I tried offering it back, even put a spoon in the cup. No! She went to the door and stood there screaming. I must have asked about everything I could think of and when I couldn’t think of anything else that’s when I lost it. My questions turned to irrational statements that I know were probably not appropriate, regardless of her disposition. I quickly gathered our things and opened the door and she ran outside. It’s a good thing the steps were there to slow her down.

As we made our way down the driveway it dawned on me. Mom and Schmee had vanished! Or at least so she thought as she looked around, whimpering. What a fool I was. How inconsiderate of me. As I reflected on the past ten minutes I realized that I had scooped her up to change her diaper and she didn’t know that the other half of the family was leaving.

It could have gone so much more smoothly, but perhaps next time I will be more reflective in the moment.

I’m Not Saying Goodbye

Last month I celebrated my four year anniversary at 4C for Children. From day one I’ve blogged for Blink – and They’re Grown. The bittersweet fact that I’m moving on to a new opportunity as a Step Up to Quality Licensing Specialist is made even moreso because it makes this my final blog. I’m so excited that my new position will allow me to continue to make a positive impact on education, children, and families, but I’m sure going to miss Blink – and They’re Grown.

When I started blogging, I was told to do so from my parenting place. That was a gift that freed me up to wear my vulnerable mommy heart on my sleeve. Through Blink I’ve chronicled my children’s early childhood years and have captured memories that may have escaped me otherwise. Now I can look back on them and recall the exhilaration, fear, unbridled joy and gamut of other emotions that we all experience on our roller coaster parenting rides. Ups, downs, twists, bumps and all.

Each blog post I’ve written wove a visible thread through the fabric of our family’s story together. Birthdays, death and loss, coping with divorce and custody/parenting issues, navigating faith, family, friends, pets, extracurricular activities, medical hurdles, their schooling and mine. There were times when I didn’t think we’d ever get here but next month Levi finishes fourth grade as an honor roll student, Liv is a confident mix of brains and true beauty – inside and out – entering her last year of elementary school and I’ll graduate with a Masters in Leadership and Coaching. The Three Musketeers have come a long way! When Liv and Levi really are grown, I hope they’ll read my posts and understand how blessed I felt to be their mommy and the love my hands poured into every word and piece of the tapestry.

I hope you’ve felt it, too. And I hope you have found or will find a way to preserve your children’s stories, through blogging, journaling, scrapbooking or even on your Facebook timeline. My great aunt Birdie once referred to my writing as “setting it down.” She only had an eighth grade education but she was wise and understood the importance of keeping some type of record because not only do we blink and they’re grown, but they’re gone .

Even though I’ll have a lot on my plate transitioning to my new job, I plan to practice what I preach. Prior to writing for Blink I blogged on a regular basis, and I’m committed to reviving that in order to continue setting it down. So while this is a bittersweet blog post, it isn’t a goodbye but an I’ll be seeing you.

Report Cards for Parents?

Have you ever thought to ask your child to grade you as a mom or dad?

I learned about this phenomenon recently, but wasn’t sure I wanted to ask my children how I was performing as a mom. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. What parent would want to be that vulnerable?

But then I thought about it some more.  As an employee, I am evaluated by my supervisor. It is always helpful to hear from others what my strengths are, and also where there is room for improvement.  What was I afraid of discovering about myself as a mom?

So, holding my breath and gulping with courage, I asked my boys to evaluate my performance as a mom. I explained to them that I wanted to improve my parenting skills, and that I wanted them to be completely honest and that there would be no repercussions.  I also asked them if we could talk about my grades later.

I thought they would not want to do it but they gladly accepted the challenge.

Based on the results of my “report card,” I discovered that my kids really are watching me.  I got good grades in a few areas: my kids felt safe and protected, I offered healthy food choices and I was interested in their dreams.

Of course, there was need for improvement, too. They want me to lead by example, spend quality time with each of them individually, reward them for doing chores and to stop texting and driving.

Jansen and I had a great talk after I got my report card, and we’re making some changes. But while my older son Jared eagerly graded me, he was unwilling to talk about it afterwards. His reasoning was that it was too late as he is an adult now and it doesn’t matter. As a mom that hurt a bit, but it’s because in a way I know it’s true. I wish I could wind the clock back for Jared to when he was little again and do things differently.  I know that of all my children, I failed giving enough time and attention to him.  He wasn’t deprived but he was the middle child, sandwiched between two siblings.

But I can’t change the past. I can only try to do better now. Jansen agreed to evaluate me again in three months, and I’ll be curious to see if I can bring my grade up.

I Don’t Know How They Do It

“I don’t know how they do it.”

I often hear this phrase when the conversation turns to my previous employment as a preschool teacher, or even just talking about early childhood educators in general. The assumption is that having many children in a single space is more difficult than having just one or two.

It seems like it should be true. We hear stories of how teachers in grade school must conduct class in a certain and often strict manner. Surely teachers in preschool must use some sort of control mechanism to maintain the calm and functional bliss that is demanded by their circumstances?

 

Baloney! I recently had a group of children and families over for a celebration at my house. We had around 15 children, mostly between the ages of four and five and with a few toddlers in the mix. It was chaos for sure – there is no other way to put it. But, I felt like it was controlled without having to be authoritative. No one had to put the kibosh on anyone’s play. No one got hurt. There may have been a moment of crying or two but situations were resolved peacefully.

It wasn’t until the end of the night when the comment came.

“I don’t know how their teachers do it all day, every day.”

While I didn’t respond, what I wanted to say was, “How do you do it?”

We have to be fair to ourselves, give ourselves credit for the roller coasters, the fits and the fury that we as parents face on a daily basis. Before I had children I used to say that having them would be a piece of cake as I had a ton of knowledge and experience in the classroom. But when I had my first child that thought changed. Why? Because it’s different.

All of those skills I had for the classroom? Some of them apply and some just don’t because being in a classroom is different from being in your own home, with your own children. A child knows who their parents and/or primary caregivers are. They know there is a difference between them and their teachers. They also have the peer/social components of being in a classroom that affects their behavior. I don’t know many families that are composed of fifteen plus children all around the same age.

The environments and routines are different, too. My home is my home and toys go, well, anywhere and everywhere. In the classroom they go someplace specific. Routines are pretty consistent but in a completely different way than at school.

So, the next time I hear someone say, “I don’t know how they do it,” I’m going to say, “Yes, you do.”

Unless they don’t have a child in which case, “Have you ever herded cats? Well, it’s not really like that.”