Parenting 101: Things I lernt on teh interwebz

The rule these days is that you can't spank your kids because that is abuse and will turn your kids into serial killers. Additionally, a time-out in a corner apparently only serves to humiliate and segregate the child, so that's out as well. In this day and age it is clear that the only acceptable way to handle a temper tantrum from a rambunctious three year old is to take the entire family to a therapist in order to talk about what the three year old is feeeeeeeeling.

Looks comfy to me

Why yes, Finn, I *do* think you still need your afternoon nap.

Word Of The Day

Crapalanche: -noun

1. A large mass of clutter, papers, knick-knacks, etc., detached from a larger pile of same and sliding or falling suddenly downward.
2. Literally, an avalanche of crap.
3. What happens when you open the door to my storage room.
   

From the dictionary of Finnigan:

Faydeator'd: -noun

1. A beverage containing carbohydrates, minerals, vitamins, and other supplements to help replenish fluids and nutrients used during vigorous exercise and sport.
2. Gatorade.
3. The stuff Finn will hunt. you. down. for - and you can't hide, he KNOWS when you have it.
   

Parenting is hard

Today I am faced with a parenting dilemma. My child said some things to someone in a position of authority that reflects very badly on my as a parent, and it was categorically untrue. Now, there's no way to argue it, because of course a parent would deny the things she said regardless of truth. In this case, things like squishing them in the back of the car without the legally-required booster seats, and having cats that "poo and pee on everything" (Which could only partially be proven otherwise; the meeting was at my house so clearly it was untrue at this time, but the meeting was planned so I had the advantage of knowing they were coming).

The problem is that Rachel has attention-seeking issues. People often say how full of 'personality' she is, and that "she belongs on stage". I've spoken to her repeatedly about the difference between being honest and being dramatic. But the moment she has an audience, all that flies out the window and she will happily invent stories that incorporate things she thinks her listeners want to hear. This quality should serve her well as an adult, but it's really making things sticky for me right now.

My dilemma is this:

Do you let your child know when you are angry at them? Is it healthy or unhealthy for her to know that I am quite angry with her for the lies she told to get attention? Not just disappointed, angry. I am angry at her. I am frustrated with her. I'm mad at her. Right now I'm staying away from her because I don't have anything nice to say and I'm not ready to forgive her or tell her it's ok. It's NOT ok. She's in deep shit.

I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place as to how to deal with this. I've grounded her to her room for the rest of the day (at least, I will revisit this when The Daddy gets home and is briefed on the situation), but does that reflect badly on me too? Could that be interpreted at punishing her for not saying what I wanted her to say (as if I'd coached her to say a lie, and what she said was the truth), rather than what it is - punishing her for telling bold-faced lies in an effort to garner attention for herself? She is by no means ignored, this is her personality 24/7/365, and anyone who's ever met her will attest to this fact.

She's seven, nearly eight. I get that her little brain is still completely self-absorbed and she cannot make the connection between what she's saying and the implications it has for her family unit. But I need to put a lid on this before she does permanent damage.

Random crap I like:

For WAHM ("Work At Home Mom) made stuff:

Hyena Cart

For Cloth Diapers:

Bagshot Row Bamboo
Pooligans
Spots

For Natural-mama stuff:

Parenting By Nature

For Babywearing:

Birdie's Room
The Babywearer
Didymos

More to come...

Learned my lesson

Today I decided to be productive and domesticated. I picked up toys, did dishes, wiped down the walls in the living room...

Right in the middle of simultaneously vacuuming the front entryway carpet, ironing a wrap, and doing laundry, all the power went out.

My husband would have you believe that I overloaded the poor breakers in our 1950's house, but I like to think it was a sign from God that I shouldn't be allowed to clean anymore.

From the Dictionary of Finnigan

Cheese Butter: -noun

1. A soft, white, smooth-textured, unripened, spreadable cheese made of sweet milk and sometimes cream.
2. Cream Cheese
3. The stuff that goes on his blueberry bagel, which took 15 minutes of toddler charades and pointing at things in the refrigerator to identify.
   

Wherein I confess my love for Pyrex

I love Pyrex. Old Pyrex, not the new Corelle crap that splinters into a trillion shards if you drop it. Give some old-school, double-baked milk glass Pyrex dishes and nobody gets hurt!

See, I have the butterfingers. I. Break. Everything. I've gone through two complete sets of drinking glasses just this year so far, and half my stoneware dinner set. I don't know how it happens, things just break around me! Two glasses broke yesterday because Rachel's sunflower LEAPED off the windowsill and landed on them. The sunflower survived, the glasses did not.

Know what the problem is? The problem is that the old-school, double-baked milk glass Pyrex isn't made any more - it's all the new Corelle crap that splinters into a trillion shards if you drop it. Which I do. A lot.

I scour the thrift stores here for my beloved milky Pyrex, and I've amassed a decent collection of mugs and mixing bowls, with the random gravy boat or sauce pitcher mixed in. Clearly, that is not enough. Need more Pyrex.

It's always interesting to see which traits your children inherit. My mother is a dish breaker. I distinctly remember her opening the cupboard and glasses literally throwing themselves off the shelf to their doom. Mom switched to plastic around my 16th birthday. I think she got tired of cutting herself on broken glass. She passed the trait on to me, and I in turn passed it on to my girls. Maybe it's something screwy with the X chromosomes?

The other day one of my darling daughters dropped one of my beloved Pyrex mugs. Broke it clean in two. It's nice that it doesn't throw off slivers, but still. I mean, she dropped it on the concrete walkway outside (don't ask), so not much would stand up to that, but I'm still miffed.

I fear the kind of destruction my future granddaughters will be capable of.

(Go see Pyrex Love if you have no idea what I'm talking about. These people are my idols.)