Wednesday, January 24
Tuesday, January 23
Monday, January 22
Mom-info
I've put up a new blog over at www.mommykind.blogspot.com
It's a place where I'll be posting on stuff I find and read about, well mommyhood and the mommyland some of us now live in.
See you there!
It's a place where I'll be posting on stuff I find and read about, well mommyhood and the mommyland some of us now live in.
See you there!
Domestic Violence Against Children- GO Sally, GO!
Assemblymember Sally Lieber, this is the best present you could have given us right at the start 2007! We've been waiting for so long for someone to have enough backbone to introduce a bill such as this- legislation to make spanking illegal! I think the consciousness on our planet may have just been raised a bit. This discussion, this debate, this issue is something we can no longer ignore. Raising awareness on violence of all forms and having discussions on how to transcend it can only mean that there's hope for the human race after all.
Ahhh, but opposers say it's another governmental intrusion on privacy...so I guess they think we should sanction assault and battery of babies as long as we do it at home. Let's see, domestic violence against a spouse or partner is against the law, but...beating babies, nah, that's OK. Oh and I'm sorry, Assemblymember Chuck DeVore, no it's not along the same lines as passing a bill that every parent has to read to their child for 30 minutes every night. No, duh. Honestly? Is that the best comeback you could think up?
We've come far enough along the research trail to know that violence is not the best way to teach and guide children. OH, and long term...it also doesn't work. 1986 research proved that a decade ago.
Psychology Today, Nov 1986
What did they discover? In both the long and short term, physical discipline proved unsuccessful. Babies who were physically punished by their mothers were more likely to grasp breakable objects and were least likely to obey restrictions, reaching for the forbidden objects again and again. And when given a test measuring infant development seven months later, these babies scored lower than did those who received no or low discipline.
Hmmm, seems like a no brainer these days. Parents try to teach their kids hitting is not OK, but...umm..it's OK for the parents to hit the kids. Smart parenting, that.
The sad thing is that we still have to have legislation such as this to make people aware of the fact that violence should not be accepted in our society (of course, we're still working on that whole "war" thing). Sad, sad. It matters not that the violence occurs inside your home or at the mall, violence is violence, hitting is hitting. Big people hitting big people lands one in court. Big people hitting little people should have equal if not more serious repercussions.
In the words of the two year old who lives in this house, hitting is "Not Nice".
It really can't get any clearer than that.
Go Sally! YOU GO GIRL!!
Ahhh, but opposers say it's another governmental intrusion on privacy...so I guess they think we should sanction assault and battery of babies as long as we do it at home. Let's see, domestic violence against a spouse or partner is against the law, but...beating babies, nah, that's OK. Oh and I'm sorry, Assemblymember Chuck DeVore, no it's not along the same lines as passing a bill that every parent has to read to their child for 30 minutes every night. No, duh. Honestly? Is that the best comeback you could think up?
We've come far enough along the research trail to know that violence is not the best way to teach and guide children. OH, and long term...it also doesn't work. 1986 research proved that a decade ago.
Psychology Today, Nov 1986
What did they discover? In both the long and short term, physical discipline proved unsuccessful. Babies who were physically punished by their mothers were more likely to grasp breakable objects and were least likely to obey restrictions, reaching for the forbidden objects again and again. And when given a test measuring infant development seven months later, these babies scored lower than did those who received no or low discipline.
Hmmm, seems like a no brainer these days. Parents try to teach their kids hitting is not OK, but...umm..it's OK for the parents to hit the kids. Smart parenting, that.
The sad thing is that we still have to have legislation such as this to make people aware of the fact that violence should not be accepted in our society (of course, we're still working on that whole "war" thing). Sad, sad. It matters not that the violence occurs inside your home or at the mall, violence is violence, hitting is hitting. Big people hitting big people lands one in court. Big people hitting little people should have equal if not more serious repercussions.
In the words of the two year old who lives in this house, hitting is "Not Nice".
It really can't get any clearer than that.
Go Sally! YOU GO GIRL!!
Tuesday, January 16
OK, Who Am I and What Have You Done With Me?
This week has already been proof that I'm quite susceptible to behavioral conditioning experiments being carried out by a small someone who cannot yet ennunciate and still runs from me gleefully naked each morning as I chase him down trying to make him socially acceptable by actually putting clothes on his tiny, adorable self.
Making me do things, that, in my rational, pre-motherhood mind, I would have found simply absurd.
Normally, sitting at red lights does not evoke indistinguishable peals of protest from the backseat. Tonight it did though. Of course, instead of turning to the small passanger with a beef in the back and inquiring as to the nature of the problem, I copied him.
Mmhmm, you read that right. You know, like when you were five and mimicked everything your sister said until she flew at you in a rage while screaming, "MOMMMM, HE WON'T STOP COPYING ME!"
Yeah, like that. I'm soooo grown up.
Not being the only grown up in the car, Daddy (driving) did it too. And then it was ON! Three more indistinguishable peals of protest in tandem from backseat to front. Followed by two "uh!s"...mimicked, of course. And then finally, a wordless stern, heavy-browed stare accompanied with...the HAND. He gave us "the Hand". Where do they get this stuff?
"I don't think he likes it when we laugh at him,
I think he's sensitive like that."
I glance back, "Yeah, but you know, he really needs to learn to lighten up."
"Well, that's true".
C'mon Jude...you can dish it out but you can't take it? Don't be like your Uncle Mark...
Making me do things, that, in my rational, pre-motherhood mind, I would have found simply absurd.
Normally, sitting at red lights does not evoke indistinguishable peals of protest from the backseat. Tonight it did though. Of course, instead of turning to the small passanger with a beef in the back and inquiring as to the nature of the problem, I copied him.
Mmhmm, you read that right. You know, like when you were five and mimicked everything your sister said until she flew at you in a rage while screaming, "MOMMMM, HE WON'T STOP COPYING ME!"
Yeah, like that. I'm soooo grown up.
Not being the only grown up in the car, Daddy (driving) did it too. And then it was ON! Three more indistinguishable peals of protest in tandem from backseat to front. Followed by two "uh!s"...mimicked, of course. And then finally, a wordless stern, heavy-browed stare accompanied with...the HAND. He gave us "the Hand". Where do they get this stuff?
"I don't think he likes it when we laugh at him,
I think he's sensitive like that."
I glance back, "Yeah, but you know, he really needs to learn to lighten up."
"Well, that's true".
C'mon Jude...you can dish it out but you can't take it? Don't be like your Uncle Mark...
Monday, January 15
Friday, December 15
O' Tannenbaum's Remodel
We've a new element that's been added to our holiday evening routine. We're calling it the Christmas Tree Ornament Rearrangement Ceremony. It's a recurring and surprisingly solemn event that commences nightly at about 7pm EST...just in case you wish to attend.
Thursday, December 14
Like Father...
I could not have planned this shot any better if I had been trying, I tell ya.This is Birthday Jude and Ben in Baltimore's Inner Harbor.
Sunday, October 22
...and The Great Pumpkin will arise out of the most sincere Pumpkin Patch on Halloween Night to deliver toys to all true believing children.
Move over Linus. The Great Pumpkin is passing you by this year, you scaredy cat fainter-boy!
Tuesday, September 19
Rules of Jude's Jurassic Nursery
Stegosaurus Me: Stomp, stomp stomp...."Eeerraaawrrrrror!"
Stomp..."Rarhahhhar!"
Tyrranosaurus Jude: Stomp, stomp, superdino leap..."Moooo!"
Stegosaurus Me: Stego-speechless.
Stomp..."Rarhahhhar!"
Tyrranosaurus Jude: Stomp, stomp, superdino leap..."Moooo!"
Stegosaurus Me: Stego-speechless.
Friday, July 21
Why Sheep Run from Toddlers Or Tales of Momsomnia
OK. This is becoming a habit. It's the third night in a row that, from 8:30pm on, I have only the muted TV and my laptop to keep me company. The other two personages dwelling in my humble abode have both dropped off into deep, dark, couldn't wake them if the house was on fire slumberland. They're crashed right here beside me and I'm left to my own devices. Again.
Well, I say beside me, but "beside" is relative when it comes to a slumbering ToddlerJude. Here I am, surfing happily with my laptop on it's uber-cool, homegrown Boppy and Dali artbook lapdesk, and I'm relegated to the upper right hand quadrant of the bed. King sized bed, too, there should be room. But anything outside my quadrant is a danger-zone wherein the JudeMonster sleeps ... and I'm scared to go there.
The second he falls asleep he's suddenly transformed into a Cirque du Soleil performer practicing for his debut. If you get too close you will be flopped on, it's inevitable. But, wait, that's the easy part, he's a changeling too. It gets worse as the Cirque de Soleil show goes off and WWE comes on. The Smackdown is next as a heel drop lands right on your laptop keyboard. This is followed by multiple gator death-rolls right before the action sequence ceases and he comes to rest across your legs. And then he magically turns himself into a ton of bricks and your legs become numb useless stumps. At which point you are dying to try to ease them out from under him and jumpstart your circulation, but you're terrified because the slightest whisper of a nudge and an episode of WWE RAW follows right behind The Smackdown.
Your only hope is to take full advantage of the in-between-sit-up-like-a-Weeble-Wobble and babble incoherently flashes.
I really could just avoid all this by putting him in his own bed but, 1) He would have to have one before we could put him in it. (His crib, you're thinking? That beautiful crib he has slept in all of twice in his life? Haha...that's where he practices his trapeze act. That or he wants to be a monkey in the Zoo when he grows up, not sure which) and 2) It just wouldn't be as much fun, now would it?
Well, I say beside me, but "beside" is relative when it comes to a slumbering ToddlerJude. Here I am, surfing happily with my laptop on it's uber-cool, homegrown Boppy and Dali artbook lapdesk, and I'm relegated to the upper right hand quadrant of the bed. King sized bed, too, there should be room. But anything outside my quadrant is a danger-zone wherein the JudeMonster sleeps ... and I'm scared to go there.
The second he falls asleep he's suddenly transformed into a Cirque du Soleil performer practicing for his debut. If you get too close you will be flopped on, it's inevitable. But, wait, that's the easy part, he's a changeling too. It gets worse as the Cirque de Soleil show goes off and WWE comes on. The Smackdown is next as a heel drop lands right on your laptop keyboard. This is followed by multiple gator death-rolls right before the action sequence ceases and he comes to rest across your legs. And then he magically turns himself into a ton of bricks and your legs become numb useless stumps. At which point you are dying to try to ease them out from under him and jumpstart your circulation, but you're terrified because the slightest whisper of a nudge and an episode of WWE RAW follows right behind The Smackdown.
Your only hope is to take full advantage of the in-between-sit-up-like-a-Weeble-Wobble and babble incoherently flashes.
I really could just avoid all this by putting him in his own bed but, 1) He would have to have one before we could put him in it. (His crib, you're thinking? That beautiful crib he has slept in all of twice in his life? Haha...that's where he practices his trapeze act. That or he wants to be a monkey in the Zoo when he grows up, not sure which) and 2) It just wouldn't be as much fun, now would it?
Wednesday, July 19
Tuesday, July 18
Hey Jude! July 2006
Hey Jude,
This week you turn 20 months old. This is the month that we haven't been able to go to the park every evening because after being teased with the most idyllic spring ever in the history of the Earth, we are currently baking in the oven that is now what we used to call "ousside". Consequently, you're running a grove in the floor from the foyer to the breezeway to the breakfast nook to the kitchen to the butlers pantry through the dining room, around the dining room table, across the library and back to the foyer. 'Cause, you know, we have energy to expend, despite the tropical rainforest on the other side of the front door.
You are doing a whole lotta talking...9/10ths of it is still in that alien language you babies speak. But it sure sounds like you're having entire conversations with us, even if we are too dense to understand what you're telling us. It's ok most of the time though because you seem to enjoy holding both sides of the conversation and cutting us a break. The other 1/10th consists of words which we actually, thankfully, understand (you're very patient with us, I ha
ve to say). This month we've heard "pungent" (that was while watching the Food Network...who says TV rots your brain!?), "octopus" and according to your Nana, "gecko" (as in the Geico gecko). Oh, and we can't forget this months most favorite word and new recreational pastime, "No!". Or actually, more linguistically precise, "eeeeNoooooo!".
Yes, "No!". You tell everything "No!". You tell your Nana "No!". You tell me "No!". You tell the cats "No!". You tell all the furniture in the house "No!". You even tell your Dad "No!", which is baffling considering that as his mere presence materializes into the same room with us, I, the one who carried you and slept with your foot jammed up under my rib for months, suddenly becomes chopped liver. You say "No!" when you really don't mean it. We know because frequently when you are offered your nightime bottle you say "No!", and not a millisecond later reach out and snatch it from my retreating hand. Oh and when you're not telling us all "No!" you're telling us all to "Mooooooooove!" Even the furniture, which, despite your best efforts, doesn't listen.
Not to point out extremes here, but one second it's "No!" and the next second you're the perfect cherubic angel as you fold your hands together to say grace at dinner. Of course, you giggle the whole way through your dad's reverent rendition of supper prayers. But I suspect my peeking and winking at you the whole time probably doesn't encourge an attitude of worship and piety either.
You can't pass by a mirror without checking your hair and running your hand through it to smooth it out. I'm guessing genetic traits die hard here and that you'll be like me, obsessed with your hair just a tad. Good thing you have such great hair. Come to think of it, your Dad happens to spend time preoccupied with his hair as well. There are the special, super cool and masculine hair products he uses and wasn't it just recently he stopped outside the door of my kittylair/office after a haircut and asked, "Is my head crooked?" I think it was and I think I fell out of my chair laughing.
Taking you to the store has become a complete comic drama. Two nights ago I told your Dad that I'm not taking you to the store ever again until you're, like...at least two...and even then I'm not sure. Between the "wow is she the worst mother ever" looks I get at Costco as you're crawling flat on the floor underneath the shopping cart and the aching arms I end up with at Safeway because you insist I carry you while I'm pushing the cart and putting stuff in it with you hanging upside down, head by my knee reaching for everything in sight. I can't take it anymore. In any store, if I try to put you in the cart to ride you either squeal like a banshee or you drop each item over the side of the cart one at a time as I push you through the aisles. I even thought that putting you in one of those stupid "kiddie car" shopping carts (that I hate so much since that woman at the Kroger in Conway, AR ran over my foot with one) would keep you occupied for a five minute run into the store. Uh-uh. I didn't figure in the extra seemingly eternal era required for you to get out of the kiddie car and back in about 40 times. I'm not doin' it anymore. Your Dad can.
As far as "firsts" go, this month was a cool one for you since you watched your first Fourth of July fireworks. You were enthralled. You chilled out, relaxed in your Dad's arms, eyes to the sky and "ooohed" and "ahhhhed" and clapped the entire show. It was pretty spectacular, I have to admit. You also got your first taste of live music with the cheesy Elvis impersonator and his band that were playing that night. You stopped dead in your tracks and stayed rooted to the spot the second your eyes lit on the drummer, the keyboardist and the bass player with their shiny instruments and their sparkly outfits. I don't think I've ever seen you actually stand still for that long. The rest of the night every time you took time out from playing volleyball in the sand with the big kids you'd dance and stomp and clap as Elvis crooned. People sitting nearby and walking through the crowd kept telling me how cute and how sociable you are. We knew THAT already!
Your Nana came and stayed with you while your Dad and I took a little holiday to Vegas. It was the first vacation we have had since about 6 months before you arrived on the scene, and it was so bittersweet. We needed a change of venue and some fun and yet, every second away from you ripped my heart out. Poor you, you ended up with a very, VERY bad ear infection and I think your Nana lovingly held you in her arms for about 4 days straight. This makes ear infection number 5, we're gonna have to talk tubes, little man.
I loved this month with you. An infectiously fun and playful small human is materializing right before my eyes. From your standing in front of the TV doing stretches with Miss. Melanie on PBS Sprout to your running and hurling yourself into the giant LoveSac in our bedroom (a sac attack, as it were) you are a bundle of challenge, entertainment and fun...and I so totally dig you.
Love,
Mom
PS. Oh and I don't want us to forget our conversation we have at least three times a day, every day, rain or shine.
You: "Mom"
Me: "Jude"
You: "Mom"
Me: "Jude"
You: "Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom"
Me: "Jude, Jude Jude Jude Jude"
You: "Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude"
Yay Jude! Kiss Kiss, Baby.
This week you turn 20 months old. This is the month that we haven't been able to go to the park every evening because after being teased with the most idyllic spring ever in the history of the Earth, we are currently baking in the oven that is now what we used to call "ousside". Consequently, you're running a grove in the floor from the foyer to the breezeway to the breakfast nook to the kitchen to the butlers pantry through the dining room, around the dining room table, across the library and back to the foyer. 'Cause, you know, we have energy to expend, despite the tropical rainforest on the other side of the front door.
You are doing a whole lotta talking...9/10ths of it is still in that alien language you babies speak. But it sure sounds like you're having entire conversations with us, even if we are too dense to understand what you're telling us. It's ok most of the time though because you seem to enjoy holding both sides of the conversation and cutting us a break. The other 1/10th consists of words which we actually, thankfully, understand (you're very patient with us, I ha
ve to say). This month we've heard "pungent" (that was while watching the Food Network...who says TV rots your brain!?), "octopus" and according to your Nana, "gecko" (as in the Geico gecko). Oh, and we can't forget this months most favorite word and new recreational pastime, "No!". Or actually, more linguistically precise, "eeeeNoooooo!".Yes, "No!". You tell everything "No!". You tell your Nana "No!". You tell me "No!". You tell the cats "No!". You tell all the furniture in the house "No!". You even tell your Dad "No!", which is baffling considering that as his mere presence materializes into the same room with us, I, the one who carried you and slept with your foot jammed up under my rib for months, suddenly becomes chopped liver. You say "No!" when you really don't mean it. We know because frequently when you are offered your nightime bottle you say "No!", and not a millisecond later reach out and snatch it from my retreating hand. Oh and when you're not telling us all "No!" you're telling us all to "Mooooooooove!" Even the furniture, which, despite your best efforts, doesn't listen.
Not to point out extremes here, but one second it's "No!" and the next second you're the perfect cherubic angel as you fold your hands together to say grace at dinner. Of course, you giggle the whole way through your dad's reverent rendition of supper prayers. But I suspect my peeking and winking at you the whole time probably doesn't encourge an attitude of worship and piety either.
You can't pass by a mirror without checking your hair and running your hand through it to smooth it out. I'm guessing genetic traits die hard here and that you'll be like me, obsessed with your hair just a tad. Good thing you have such great hair. Come to think of it, your Dad happens to spend time preoccupied with his hair as well. There are the special, super cool and masculine hair products he uses and wasn't it just recently he stopped outside the door of my kittylair/office after a haircut and asked, "Is my head crooked?" I think it was and I think I fell out of my chair laughing.
Taking you to the store has become a complete comic drama. Two nights ago I told your Dad that I'm not taking you to the store ever again until you're, like...at least two...and even then I'm not sure. Between the "wow is she the worst mother ever" looks I get at Costco as you're crawling flat on the floor underneath the shopping cart and the aching arms I end up with at Safeway because you insist I carry you while I'm pushing the cart and putting stuff in it with you hanging upside down, head by my knee reaching for everything in sight. I can't take it anymore. In any store, if I try to put you in the cart to ride you either squeal like a banshee or you drop each item over the side of the cart one at a time as I push you through the aisles. I even thought that putting you in one of those stupid "kiddie car" shopping carts (that I hate so much since that woman at the Kroger in Conway, AR ran over my foot with one) would keep you occupied for a five minute run into the store. Uh-uh. I didn't figure in the extra seemingly eternal era required for you to get out of the kiddie car and back in about 40 times. I'm not doin' it anymore. Your Dad can.
As far as "firsts" go, this month was a cool one for you since you watched your first Fourth of July fireworks. You were enthralled. You chilled out, relaxed in your Dad's arms, eyes to the sky and "ooohed" and "ahhhhed" and clapped the entire show. It was pretty spectacular, I have to admit. You also got your first taste of live music with the cheesy Elvis impersonator and his band that were playing that night. You stopped dead in your tracks and stayed rooted to the spot the second your eyes lit on the drummer, the keyboardist and the bass player with their shiny instruments and their sparkly outfits. I don't think I've ever seen you actually stand still for that long. The rest of the night every time you took time out from playing volleyball in the sand with the big kids you'd dance and stomp and clap as Elvis crooned. People sitting nearby and walking through the crowd kept telling me how cute and how sociable you are. We knew THAT already!Your Nana came and stayed with you while your Dad and I took a little holiday to Vegas. It was the first vacation we have had since about 6 months before you arrived on the scene, and it was so bittersweet. We needed a change of venue and some fun and yet, every second away from you ripped my heart out. Poor you, you ended up with a very, VERY bad ear infection and I think your Nana lovingly held you in her arms for about 4 days straight. This makes ear infection number 5, we're gonna have to talk tubes, little man.
I loved this month with you. An infectiously fun and playful small human is materializing right before my eyes. From your standing in front of the TV doing stretches with Miss. Melanie on PBS Sprout to your running and hurling yourself into the giant LoveSac in our bedroom (a sac attack, as it were) you are a bundle of challenge, entertainment and fun...and I so totally dig you.
Love,
Mom
PS. Oh and I don't want us to forget our conversation we have at least three times a day, every day, rain or shine.
You: "Mom"
Me: "Jude"
You: "Mom"
Me: "Jude"
You: "Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom"
Me: "Jude, Jude Jude Jude Jude"
You: "Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude"
Yay Jude! Kiss Kiss, Baby.
Bonds That Are So Strong
Once in a while we are reminded of the interconnectedness of all things, all beings. I was reminded last week while we were enjoying a little Vegas holiday, sans Jude (he was home with his Nana watching carefully over him).
Thursday, walking the Strip in the late afternoon:
"I keep feeling like my mom is gonna call me and tell me something's wrong."
"Nothing's wrong", JudesDaddy assures me.
"I keep taking my phone out of my pocket and looking at it to see if she called, how weird is that? I feel so silly. This paranoia is so unlike me. It's disturbing to be so disturbed".
"Hmmmm..."
Later that night, after returning from Cirque Du Soleil's "O" my phone rings. It's Mom. My JudeBaby is sick! Fever! Ear infections! Again!
So, it wasn't my own misguided paranoia. It was a mother and her baby so beautifully and woundrously connected that thousands of miles cannot separate them. Intuitively part of each other's very essence, their spirits intertwined for an endless eternity.
Aren't we all such marvelous beings?
Thursday, walking the Strip in the late afternoon:
"I keep feeling like my mom is gonna call me and tell me something's wrong."
"Nothing's wrong", JudesDaddy assures me.
"I keep taking my phone out of my pocket and looking at it to see if she called, how weird is that? I feel so silly. This paranoia is so unlike me. It's disturbing to be so disturbed".
"Hmmmm..."
Later that night, after returning from Cirque Du Soleil's "O" my phone rings. It's Mom. My JudeBaby is sick! Fever! Ear infections! Again!
So, it wasn't my own misguided paranoia. It was a mother and her baby so beautifully and woundrously connected that thousands of miles cannot separate them. Intuitively part of each other's very essence, their spirits intertwined for an endless eternity.
Aren't we all such marvelous beings?
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