Two Missing Pieces

Every year on March 26th, I remember my father's passing.  It's not as hard today as it was 21 years ago.  He's been gone now a lot longer than he was here.  I know that it's going to be hard when 2.0 turns 11 because that was the age I was when my dad died.  Occasionally it's hard because I see my little guy do something that I really wish my dad was here to see.  The day 2.0 was born I missed my dad so much, more than I missed him on my wedding day.  I'm getting teary now thinking about it.  I think this year is just a little more emotional than last year and I'm not sure why.

I've explained a little bit to 2.0 that he has a peepaw in heaven that he'll meet when he goes to see Jesus.  I've told him that his missing peepaw would love him very much and didn't want to watch him grow up from heaven.  I hug my father in law a little tighter because he's the only grandpa 2.0 has that shares the same bloodline.  Every now and then I catch myself thinking that it's just not fair.  I quickly remind myself that life isn't fair and thank God we don't get what we deserve.  

Today I'm thinking about the other missing piece of the puzzle of my life.  Since my dad died when I was young, I had a wonderful man step in to fill that void as much as he could.  Grandpa went home in 2006 and I feel his absence almost more than my father's.  Grandpa was the one who walked me down the aisle.  He stood in for my dad for every important moment in my life.  Cancer sent him home before he met my son, but I know he smiles down on us from heaven.

2.0 was looking at a book on tractors and the farm yesterday and I just burst into tears because I remember riding in the tractor with my grandpa as he showed me his farm.  I was a little bigger than 2.0 is now and I remember thinking that my grandpa had to own the entire world because he had so much land.  I remember helping care for a litter of baby pigs and riding out with Grandpa to pick up fish for his pond.  I'm so very sad that 2.0 won't have those memories.

There will be so many other things that 2.0 gets to do with the men in his life.  His grandpas and great grandpa are wonderful men.  He has godfathers and so many uncles who can give him memories of learning to shoot and learning to fish.  For those men I'm thankful and while I miss the ones who are missing, 2.0 will be all the better for the ones who are here.  

Treat The Problem, Don't Punish The Symptom

Before 2.0 was born, my husband and I decided that we are very pro spanking.  We were both spanked and it didn't traumatize either of us emotionally.  If it was good enough for us, it would be good enough for our kids.

There are rules for spanking to prevent lasting physical harm to our son.  We don't spank him with anything other than an open hand and we never spank while we are angry.  We try to be consistent with what behavior gets spanked and what behavior doesn't.

I spanked 2.0 for the first time when he was 9 months old and that was for taking the childproof plug off of an outlet and trying to stick his fingers into it.  I didn't spank him hard and I spanked him on his diaper covered rear end.  It didn't hurt him and was more of a scare tactic so he would understand that when Mommy says 'don't touch that because it could hurt you', she means it.

Our rules for spanking have changed again now that I have a 2 year old.  2.0 now is trying to assert his independence.  He's frustrated and easily irritated by his own inability to do things.  This is completely normal for a 2 year old.  After all, this age isn't called the 'terrible twos' for nothing.  I'm approaching what I spank him for in the same way that I approach his temper tantrums and outbursts.

Nate and I don't like when he starts screaming for no reason.  It's completely unacceptable and grating on the nerves, plus it disturbs our neighbors.  Screaming in the midst of a tantrum or for no apparent reason gets spanked.  Unless...

Just about thirty minutes ago, 2.0 started screaming at me and attempting to shove the plate of lunch in my hand on the floor.  This normally would be spanked without question.  But this time, he's acting out because he hasn't had his nap yet and he's a very cranky tired little boy.  That's what happens when Mommy lets him stay awake for lunch instead of putting him down for a nap before lunch like normal.

I decided not to spank him for this screaming.  Instead, I picked him up, sat in the rocking chair, gave him a paci, and rocked him until he went to sleep.  I wasn't going to punish a symptom of his fatigue when the problem was so much easier to fix.

If I get mad at my child for expressing frustration and I punish him for that expression when I know what the underlying problem is, I'm not doing him any good.  Now I'm not saying I'm going to let him get away with screaming his head off in the future.  If I know he's perfectly fine and he's screaming like a crazy person anyway, well that's going to be spanked.  But a very tired little guy needs sleep, not a spanking.

He's now resting and will be his wonderful loving little self again when he gets up.  But if he starts misbehaving again, we'll have to talk about it.  And he might get a spanking.

The Reader

2.0 has been going to the library with me since he was about a week old.  We are lucky in that one of the local branches of the Davenport Public Library was built about five minutes from our apartment building about a month after we moved into the area in 2010.  Nate and I would go to the library about once or twice a week while I was pregnant and I just kept going even after 2.0 came along.  I'd just wrap him up in his carseat, snap the seat into the stroller, and away we went.

I was an early reader, apparently scaring the snot out of my father when I was 3 by reading the newspaper to him (or so he told me before he passed away in 1992).  I didn't read it in full sentences and I didn't know what the words meant, but I read it to him.  I have loved books ever since.  I read all the time, sometimes four or five books at a time, fiction and nonfiction alike.  I took a book with me almost everywhere before 2.0 was born.

When 2.0 was about four months old, I started reading the Chronicles of Narnia to him.  That didn't work out so well because he had the attention span of...well, an infant.  I quickly gave up reading such a long book to him, but I didn't stop reading to him.  I'd get board books and read them to him, pointing to the pictures and explaining them to him.  By one year of age, he showed an avid interest in reading and books.  Two months before his second birthday, my son started reading words to me.

Today we took one of our many trips to the library and like we normally do, I went immediately to the toddler board books so 2.0 could pick out a couple to look at while we walked through the library.  He wasn't as interested in those as he was the first reader books.  So I picked up several of those, one of which was Green Eggs and Ham by Dr. Seuss.  We've read that one many times and it's a favorite of 2.0's.  He got very excited when he saw it and reached up for it from his stroller.  He then completely shocked me.

He started to read it out loud.  Not in complete sentences and some of the words were muddled, but he was reading it.  He was also flipping through the pages backwards, but he was reading the story in reverse too.  He said "Not in a train, not in a box, not with a mouse.  I don't like eggs and ham."  He pointed to the pictures that went with the words he was reading and looked up at me, smiled, and went right back to reading to me.

I'm so thankful that he's so interested in books.  He has no idea how many worlds are open to him through the pages.

When Your Kiddo Is Sick

I remember being sick as a kid.  It wasn't fun the first few days but got better once I could eat regular food again.  Sore throats were better because I would eat ice creams and popsicles all the time.  If I was very sick, Mom or Dad would stay home with me.  More often it was Mom.  I got to watch TV in my room a couple times.  It was both horrible and awesome at the same time.  

There were two exceptions and they both happened around the same time.  I had horrible appendicitis when I was five and ended up in the hospital for a week.  I remember throwing up constantly and curling up in a ball on the floor so the pain would stop.  I actually had to have surgery.  My dad hid a cheeseburger from McDonalds in his pocket so I could have it.  The fried chicken at the hospital was the best thing I'd ever tasted because I hadn't eaten in a week.  I ended up with a horrible case of Chicken Pox a couple days after I got home from the hospital.  I've never itched so badly in my entire life and I had stitches.  I couldn't scratch my belly because of those stitches.  That was not fun.

2.0 got sick today.  Seemingly out of nowhere he brought back up lunch in the back of Meemaw's visit.  I was in shock and couldn't move because I just didn't believe that my son was doing that.  When he got sick again later, I just held him even though my clothes were covered by the whole episode.  My poor little boy.  I would've done anything to take the illness for him.  Watching him roll over in his sleep and whimper a little bit because his poor tummy hurt broke my heart.

When I found out I was pregnant, I thought about what I would do when that precious baby I was carrying would get sick.  I don't handle throw up very well and extremely smelly runny poop is rather gross.  How would I clean up something like that without losing it myself?  

Then 2.0 was born.  Everything after that changed.  Nothing that came out of his body was gross to me.  Okay it's gross, but it didn't matter.  He's my son.  I cradle him as he's sick and I dry his tears with the clean hem of my shirt.  I whip off dirty pants and clean a raw bottom gently with wipes before putting him in the tub.  I gladly get up to change his sheets over and over and over again before sitting with him in the rocking chair while he's sick.  I do anything I can to make him more comfortable.

That's why my mom let me have the TV in my room those couple times.  That's why one of my parents would stay home with me if I was sick.  I now understand where my mom found the strength to sit next to my bed every single night I was in the hospital, even when she thought she didn't have anymore left to give and I understand why my dad brought me that cheeseburger.

When you become a parent, nothing else matters.  You'll gladly clean avocado puke off of a stroller when you've been just as sick if not sicker than your child because that's what parents do.  You'll find a way to make it better.  I'm praying for the strength to make it better tonight even though I'm going to wiped out.  That's what I do.  

It's Not Easy Being Mommy

While cruising through Facebook last night, I came across a picture that I thought was rather innocent and wonderful.

The picture was of a smiling happy mommy and a very chubby baby boy.  The little guy was a breastfed baby and is now a healthy 6 year old according to the caption of the photo.  It's very important to note here that breastfed babies cannot be overfed.  As a former breastfeeding mom, I can testify that when 2.0 was full, he stopped nursing.  My husband was a little butterball of a kid and he was breastfed.  He wasn't fat because he was overeating.  He was just a chubby baby.

I cruised through the comments on the picture and most were innocuous but there were a few that I found highly offensive.  These comments berated the mother for allowing the child to be 'obese' and claimed that she was abusing her child and CPS should be called.  The last comment I read summed it up for me and inspired this post.  No matter what a mother does or doesn't do, she's going to be criticized and scorned.  Someone somewhere is going to find fault with the 'perfect mother'.

I've posted here before about the elderly women who told me I should never take my child outside without socks on (this was before he was walking) and that I should be ashamed for taking him out barefoot in 60 degree weather.  What they didn't know was that he was wearing socks when we left the house.  They just ended up with the rest of the socks I'd tried to put on him that were scattered around my van.  2.0 doesn't like socks.  He still doesn't like wearing just socks unless he has no choice.  When we get home, he's pulling his socks off as soon as the shoes come off.  It's just the way he is.

This winter I've been given dirty looks for letting him go outside without a hat.  What these stink eye givers don't know is that 2.0 has a hat.  In fact, he has two of them.  Once we get in the van however, that hat goes flying and sometimes I just don't feel like fighting with him to put it back on if he's going to scream and throw himself down on the ground over the stupid hat.  If he wants his ears to be cold, so be it.  Sometimes that teaches him more than fighting with him about the hat does.

A very good friend of mine welcomed her first daughter in January and at her baby shower, I told her to trust her gut.  As a mother, you know what is best for your child.  It's not a coincidence that SIDS deaths started to go down when doctors started listening to mothers when they brought their children to the ER and said that 'something is just not right'.  A mom knows what's going on with her child.

I can listen to my son's breathing at night and tell if he's going to end up with pneumonia or an asthma attack in the next few days.  Have I been wrong?  Sure.  But did my intuition prevent an asthma attack or pneumonia because I took precautions before he could get sick?  Who knows.

It's not easy being a mommy.  When something goes wrong or a stranger perceives something she doesn't like, it's Mommy who gets blamed for it.  If a mom decides that crying it out doesn't work for her (like this mommy did), she hears about spoiling her child or babying her child or how so and so didn't let her child cry it out and now he's 45 and still living at home.  A mom decides to cloth diaper and she's perceived as a hippie freak who only thinks about the environment or as a supermom who must have all this time to kill because she's able to wash diapers (this is just a guess on my part because I wasn't able to cloth diaper).  A stay at home mom is looked upon as a woman who lays around on the couch all day eating bon bons and watching soap operas (by the way, that perception is SO NOT TRUE).  A working mom is looked at as a woman who valued her career over her children when that isn't the case at all.

I leave you with this thought: how much easier would it be for a woman to effectively be a mom if society loved her for taking care of her child in whatever way she sees fit (unless it causes harm to said child) instead of condemning her for making a choice between a societal rock and hard place?  What if we just looked at the chubby baby and said 'look at the cute little guy' instead of 'that baby is obese and someone should call CPS'?

Being a mom is one of the greatest things I'll ever do in my life.  I refuse to let someone else make me believe that I'm not doing right because my son hates his socks and doesn't want to wear a hat today.  He knows that his mommy loves him and will always be there when he needs her.  That's success and no one can take that from me.