The wheat bagel that almost made me pass out
Feb 21, 2012 Kids
I’ve read that the number one thing couples fight about is money. That was probably true for the first three-quarter of my relationship with The Ass. But around the time our son Jake started pre-school and started getting super picky with food, a new argument emerged: how to tackle the food issue.
It didn’t help – actually, it hurt quite a lot – that I’ve got enough food-related baggage to fill a luggage cart at JFK. And since Jake has the exact same hang-ups and tastes that I had as a kid, I can’t separate his issues from mine. My husband is a great guy, but he’s never understood my relationship with food. And if I even start to suggest that my history gives me more insight into Jake’s issues, my dear sweet husband flips out (which, incidentally, sends me for the potato chips, but that’s another post).
After years of arguing about how to tackle this, and watching Jake’s food choices get narrower and more frustrating, we finally came to an agreement on a game plan about four months ago. I can’t claim that we’ve succeeded – this is the kind of thing that takes years to test out – but I can see small steps in the right direction.
Like today, when Jake ate a wheat bagel without a fight.
And liked it.
I almost fainted.
Forget the fact that wheat bagels really aren’t all that wheaty, and that most of us are trying to eat fewer bagels, and that the last thing Jake needs is more carbs. The important thing is that he knew it was wheat, and he gave it a shot anyway, and liked it. That was huge.
The main traits we’re working against with Jake are the same ones I have:
- He eats more than he needs to based on a fear that it will be gone. This is why I actually do better surrounded by lots of chocolate and potato chips: if there’s so much there that I couldn’t possibly eat it, I’m content with a small amount.
- He’s a carboholic. Take away my carbs, and I’m a bitch. Take away my carbs, and I can’t think about anything else. I could give up cheese or chocolate and it wouldn’t have one-tenth of the impact that giving up carbs would have on my mood.
- He’s afraid of trying new foods. New foods were forced on him too many times in the past – offered up as a trade for something else he wanted, or he was just flat-out required to take a bite – that he gets really tense around new foods, and assumes he’ll be forced to eat them. I was the same way all the way through my mid-to-late twenties. My husband would probably argue that I’m still pretty bad, but I’m way better than I used to be.
- He’s a couch potato. There’s an ass-print on the couch in the shape of my ass too, so no doubt where he gets that from. Although, being a kid, it takes less to get him up and moving than it takes for me, so he’s got that going for him.
- He has sensitive taste buds. If he eats a mint or mint gum, he visibly shivers and shakes until the taste is weakened a bit. One time when his breath smelled I made him take one of those dissolvable breath strips, and for a few seconds I though he was actually going to throw up. I think he actually tastes things stronger than other people. I totally sympathize, because I’ll taste something that will send me running for water while my husband complains that it’s bland.
So, mealtimes were a struggle. For years. Between me and Jake, me and my husband, my husband and Jake. I would make pasta or sandwiches for the kids, something else for myself, and my husband would come home and make something for himself. Even on those rare times when he did get home in time to eat with us, my husband often chose to wait until after the kids went to bed.
But, after a lot of research, we finally agreed on some rules we could both live with, and they’re starting to bear fruit. Our main goal is to take the stress out of food, so that the rest can follow.
- I get up and make the kids breakfast every day. This was a big change for me on weekdays. My kids are pretty self-sufficient, and for a couple of years I’d been taking total advantage of that. I’d stay up until 2am, then stumble out of bed in time to shove them out the door for school. They’d usually make whatever could be toasted or eaten cold: waffles, bagels, cinnamon bread, cold cereal. Now, I make sure they get a big, good breakfast. Eggs or pancakes, fruit, etc. And this routine has made me get my sleeping habits under better control.
- My husband tries to be home for dinner at least four times a week. In order to accommodate this, we’ve moved dinner to 7:30. This is late for the kids, since they start getting ready for bed at 9, but it’s what we have to do to eat as a family.
- We cut off all food two hours before dinner. Anybody would be more likely to try something new if he were hungry. That’s the only reason I tried guacamole when I was twenty-five, a food I thought looked disgusting, but I was desperate. So, the kids know that at 5:30, snacking stops.
- I no longer cook different dinners for different family members. However, and this is key, I make sure that there’s at least one thing that Jake likes at each meal. If we’re having lasagna and green beans and rolls, and he just eats rolls, we stay quiet. We make sure to offer him some of everything, but there’s no pressure to try anything. He fills his own plate. We just want him to see us enjoying a variety of foods. This took a while for him to get used to. Each time he saw a new food on the dinner table he tensed up. But now he realizes that he won’t be forced to eat anything, and he’s becoming more willing to try new things. Even if he doesn’t like them, each unforced taste is a victory.
- After dinner, the only foods allowed are fruits and veggies. We didn’t want to get into a situation where Jake was claiming to be full at dinner, then asking for crackers or popcorn an hour later. So, if they’re still hungry, the kids can eat all the fruits and veggies in the house. This has produced a boy who now frequently snacks on apples, bananas and grapes. I doubt he’d choose them over potato chips, but then again, neither would I. The point is, after complaining about it for the first few weeks, it’s now routine. He even asks for apples sometimes when it’s not fruit-only time, and my heart skips a beat.
- They get a serving of dessert every day, no questions asked. This, actually, isn’t new. It’s something we started years ago, when we found ourselves bargaining with Jake at dinner in order to get him to eat some veggies. It was setting things up for a good food/bad food battle that would’ve been with him for the rest of his life. We still have not completely undemonized vegetables, but he no longer sees them as the evil things standing between him and chocolate.
- I exercise with him. I can’t expect him to get off the couch if I’m still there. I’ve started taking him on jogs with me. It feels good. And you know what? He’s a great jogging partner! I’m so slow, he alternates between walking and wind sprints as I plod along at my thirteen-minute-mile pace. We have a good time.
So, that’s our plan. Several of these rules were taken from a really good article I found on BabyCenter, 7 New Strategies for Feeding a Picky Eater.
You may notice I really didn’t talk about Fiona. Her natural eating instincts are to eat lots of fruit and veggies, stop eating when she’s full, try new things gleefully, and exercise for fun. She follows all of the same rules as Jake, but it’s all so much easier for her. I’m afraid to do anything but back away slowly, lest I should upset the course she’s on.
The bottom line is, I don’t care what Jake eats now if it helps him to eat better in the future. Blueberries, avocados, wheat bread, brown rice, asparagus, and edamame are all foods that I wouldn’t even try until well into adulthood, and now I love them all. I don’t want Jake to wait that long. And I really feel like we’re on the right track.
Originally posted on Selfish Mom. All opinions expressed on this website come straight from Amy unless otherwise noted. This post has a Compensation Level of 0. Please visit Amy’s Full Disclosure page for more information.
Santa identity crisis
Dec 21, 2011 Kids
So I’m sitting here surrounded by gifts that need wrapping, a task I actually enjoy (as long as I’m not doing it at 3am on December 25th, which has happened many other years). The problem is, I don’t know how to make out the gift tags.
Two years ago, when Jake was eight, I almost told him the truth about Santa. Then last year at this time he nudged me about it again, but he still wasn’t ready.
Then, one fateful day that spring in St. Thomas, everything came out. Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, everything. We were at Easter brunch at the Ritz Carlton, and there was an Easter bunny taking pictures with the kids. After her picture Fiona said to me, “The Easter Bunny isn’t real, right?” Finally! Making up all these silly stories was getting old. I said, “Nope, it’s just something parents tell kids to have a little fun when they’re little, but you’re old enough now to know the truth.”
Fiona went white and stared back at me with saucer eyes, and said “I just meant that that one wasn’t real – I could see her ponytail sticking out!”
Oops.
She ran and told Jake. The next morning at breakfast they said they had some questions. Was Santa real? I asked them several times if they really wanted to know everything, and they insisted they did. So I told them. Everything. The Tooth Fairy was the next to fall. And that was it.
Or so I thought.
About a month ago, Jake came to me and said he was writing his list for Santa. “OK, Jake, for ‘Santa.’ Got it.” I made air quotes around the now-fictitious Santa.
Jake got a weird smile and said, “So I think I might have fallen down and gotten amnesia about Santa. He’s real, right?”
Oh bloody hell.
He still wanted to believe, even though he knew the truth. And even though he knew that I knew that he knew the truth.
Later I asked Fiona about Santa and she said “What do you mean?” Except she seemed genuinely confused. Had she really forgotten about the big reveal? Had she convinced herself that the whole conversation hadn’t happened? Or, like Jake, was she just pretending?
I’ve been absolutely terrible about keeping the whole story going since that day. When they told me what they wanted for Christmas I got right onto Amazon and told them whether or not each item was a possibility (“Will be delivered after December 25th” became “Sorry, Santa can’t guarantee delivery in time”). But now here I am with the gift tags, and I don’t know what to do. I know Jake knows. I think Fiona knows, but I’m not sure. As the person who perpetrated this once-fun lie in the first place, what’s my responsibility here in dragging it out?
And good grief, what if they want Santa around for another year, when they’ll be eight and eleven? I just don’t think I have it in me.
Originally posted on Selfish Mom. All opinions expressed on this website come straight from Amy unless otherwise noted. This post has a Compensation Level of 0. Please visit Amy’s Full Disclosure page for more information.
Tags: Christmas, gifts, Kids, Santa Claus
Do we expect too little of our children?
Nov 4, 2011 Kids
On the days when Jake (10) and Fiona (7) get out of school at the same time, Jake is supposed to bring Fiona home. This just makes sense to me. There’s absolutely no reason for me to walk to the school and get Fiona when her brother is already there. This routine went fine until last week, when Jake forgot.
He was on the couch taking his shoes off, expecting me to go out and correct his mistake, when I ordered him to go get her.
This morning, the last thing I said to him was to remember to bring his sister home. I even gave him a dollar to buy her an icee on the way. So when he came home without her again I was pissed. I told him to run, and apologize to her all the way home.
While he was on his way back to the school, I got a call from my next door neighbor, Ann, that she had Fiona with her. She’d picked her up when she got her own kids. I called the school and told them Jake would be looking for his sister, and to send him home.
When Ann dropped Fiona off, I casually mentioned that Jake had forgotten twice in a row, and Ann said “Well, maybe it’s too much for him.” I thought for a second, smiled, and said “No it isn’t.” And it’s not. The fact that he messed it up doesn’t mean it’s too much, it means he needs to work harder at it.
This is not much different than when he forgets a textbook. Sure, I hate to burden the school with Fiona for an extra twenty minutes while we sort this out, but Jake has to learn how to handle these things. If we have to work on a strategy to help him remember, we will, but taking the responsibility away from him would be the easy way out.
It makes me sad how little we trust our kids these days. I came across this excerpt on Free Range Kids, one of my favorite websites. It was from a checklist of milestones, printed in 1979, to help you figure out if your child was ready for first grade. From riding a bike without training wheels to knowing left from right, it’s pretty standard stuff, until you get to number eight:
8. Can he travel alone in the neighborhood (four to eight blocks) to store, school, playground, or to a friend’s home?
Now, I like to think of myself as a fairly free-range parent, and I definitely didn’t let my kids roam around the neighborhood alone at six years old. But the fact that many ten-year-olds I know can’t go to the store by themselves or to the playground without an adult makes me really sad.
I blame Nancy Grace. I blame all of the news channels. I blame the internet. There is so much space to fill, and news items about children being harmed are likely to get noticed, so they are all covered to such an extent that you would think children are being snatched off of every street corner all the time, that if you so much as turn your back your child will be gone. Tragedies do happen, but they really are rare. Getting struck by lightening rare. But you wouldn’t know it from the news.
Children don’t grow up in giant jumps. Kids don’t suddenly gain the ability to be responsible when they go off to college. They grow up gradually, as we release our grips on them little by little, letting them see what they can do. Did I know how to handle every eventuality when my parents started leaving me home alone with my little sisters? Of course not. You can’t prepare a child for every situation. But what you can do is teach them how to think for themselves, how to figure things out.
And when they screw up, they’ll learn from that too. When Jake got home today (the second time) he was near tears. I don’t know if he was more mad at himself for forgetting or more scared of getting a punishment, but the point is, he knew he screwed up. And that feeling will hopefully stay with him next time he has to remember something. And then when he doesn’t screw it up, he gets to feel another thing: pride.
Originally posted on Selfish Mom. All opinions expressed on this website come straight from Amy unless otherwise noted. This post has a Compensation Level of 0. Please visit Amy’s Full Disclosure page for more information.
Tags: Kids, responsiblity, school
How to reclaim your bed from the little people
Sep 6, 2011 Kids
When I saw this tweet go out earlier from my friend Melissa, I couldn’t ignore it.
There are many areas of parenting where I will freely admit that I’m confused, deficient, and in need of an intervention (the fact that I’m writing this while my kids watch the 11:30pm Family Guy proves this pretty handily). But when it comes to sleep, I’m something of a sleep fascist. After becoming a mom I knew without a doubt that I needed my bed to remain a kid-free zone a majority of the time.
My first piece of advice would be to not let your kids into your bed in the first place. Of course, kids love to cuddle in bed with you, so we had a rule with ours that if they slept all night in their beds, they could crawl into ours at six am. That reward was too much for them to risk and there were only a handful of times where we had to turn them away in the morning for breaking the rule.
But if that advice is coming too late for you, then the following may help.
My son Jake slept exclusively in his own crib from day one, and my daughter Fiona left our bed at eight months (she was nowhere near as good a sleeper as Jake when she was a baby, but that’s a whole other post). They both transitioned from convertible cribs to beds without a problem (although Fiona did it much later than Jake, since there wasn’t another baby on the way pushing her out of her crib). But at some point, each of them went through a period where they simply did not want to stay in their own beds. It was maddening, but solvable.
I can’t remember from whom I stole this method. It could’ve been the Super Nanny, it could’ve been Dr. Phil, or I might’ve read about it somewhere. All I know is that it worked, for both kids. The key is to be consistent. If your kid has been sleeping in your bed for a long time, I’m guessing it will take a lot longer for this to work than if they’re just having a little relapse, as mine were. But keep at it. You won’t regret it.
[As with anything I write that sounds like advice, I should point out that I’m not a parenting expert, or any other kind of expert, and I’m not responsible for anything that happens if you follow my advice.]
The [insert the person Amy stole it from] Method
1) Explain to your child that her bed is where she is going to sleep from now on at night, no exceptions. Now explain this to yourself, and make sure you understand. Because if you tell your child that she won’t be spending the night in your bed anymore and then you let her, you’re completely screwed. Read this over and over again until you really believe it and can swear on a stack of bibles that you will stick to it.
2) Figure out what your child loves the most, whether it’s stickers, video games, gum, playing board games with you, whatever. You need a reward that will get your child excited and motivated. If the reward is something big – buying her a new video game or going to the movies, for example – set up a chart and sticker system so that she can earn the video game. If it’s something small, like the stickers themselves, then you’re set. For the example below, I’m going to use gum (my daughter will do just about anything for gum).
3) The first night, go through your normal bedtime routine, whatever that is. Then, explain to her that if she stays in her bed for one minute, without crying or calling for you, she earns a piece of gum (that she’ll get in the morning). Tell her that as long as she stays in bed, you’ll be sitting right outside the door until she falls asleep. Kiss her, turn out the light, close the door, and count to sixty – fast. You want her to win this one.
4) Go back in quietly and praise her as if she’d just won the National Spelling Bee. Tell her the gum will be waiting for her in the morning, you’re so proud, etc. Then tell her that if she stays in bed for two minutes, she gets another piece of gum. Leave, count, repeat the praise.
5) Next up should be five minutes. Then ten. Then fifteen (I hope you brought a book or a laptop). Then half an hour. I never had to go above half an hour. I would go in and she would be asleep. Make sure when you go in you keep it low-key. You should be effusive with your praise, but that doesn’t mean yelling and jumping up and down. And for goodness sake, stay right on the other side of the door. You’re trying to build up trust here.
Now, what if this doesn’t work at first? What if she makes it through one minute, then two, but not five? That’s OK. Start over with one, and build back up. Eventually she’ll fall asleep, and you can try it again the next night. Keep it going until it works consistently, and you only have to go back in two or three times before she’s asleep. Eventually it can just fade out of existence. I never told my kids we were done, I just stopped doing it once I sensed they didn’t need it. I think it took about two weeks (but by the end, the entire process lasted less than ten minutes anyway).
This will be a time commitment at first, but it will get better, and will be so worth it.
Ummm, we can’t even get past step one
But what if you can’t even get your little angel to stay in bed for one minute? What if she kicks and screams and jumps out of bed as soon as you put her there? What if she’s too young to get the whole reward concept? You may need to go back a few steps. This next method might be better if you’re dealing with getting a child to sleep in his bed for the first time, or dealing with a younger child, or have a kid who is, for lack of a better word, a brat.
I know I learned the basics of this one from Jo Frost because I can picture her on TV, sitting cross-legged on a child’s floor, in the dark.
The key to this one is your demeanor. The point you’re trying to get across to your child with this method is that there is nothing for her out of bed after you’ve put her down. There will be no smile, no conversation, no additional goodnight kiss, no “five more minutes,” nothing. You’re not trying to be mean, but just a little cold. While we never officially used this method, this was our natural reaction when our kids would get out of bed in the middle of the night – it let them know that this was our time and they simply weren’t welcome.
1) Explain to your child that she has to stay in her own bed and go to sleep, no ifs ands or buts.
2) Go through your normal bedtime routine, then leave and go about your business.
3) If (when) your child comes looking for you, take her by the hand and lead her back to bed, or pick her up if you must. Make absolutely no eye contact and say nothing.
4) Repeat as often as necessary. On her show, Jo said something about it often taking several hours the first night, but just a small fraction of that the next, so don’t get discouraged if the first try goes very badly.
5) If your child is running out of bed the minute you put her down, you can try not leaving the room. Put her down, then sit next to the bed with your back to her. If she gets up, you’re right there to put her back down. The next night, you can move farther away, then farther again the next night, until finally you’re putting her down and leaving the room.
I can’t stress this enough: The key to both of these methods is consistency. If you break after an hour and let your child into your bed, you’ve taught your child that he just has to hang on for an hour in order to break you. He’ll be that much more resolved the next night. Kids are smart: they do what works. The flip side is that if you present a strong, consistent attitude to them, they will quickly learn that they cannot break you.
Good luck, and hopefully, good night.
Originally posted on Selfish Mom. All opinions expressed on this website come straight from Amy unless otherwise noted. This post has a Compensation Level of 0. Please visit Amy’s Full Disclosure page for more information.
Painting your son’s toenails may lead to the end of life as we know it
Apr 13, 2011 Kids
Did you know that if you paint your pink-loving son’s toenails, it may lead to the downfall of civilization? Those are the dots that Dr. Keith Ablow is trying desperately to connect on FoxNews.com. Yes, the same Dr. Keith Ablow who recently co-authored a book with Glenn Beck.
So here’s what happened: In the April 2011 online J. Crew catalogue there is a fun picture of J.Crew’s creative director, Jenna Lyons, with her son Beckett (shown here, left). In the picture she has clearly just painted the boy’s toenails pink. He seems pretty happy about it. But Dr. Ablow sees this as the beginning of the end.
Gender identity is a tricky thing. When I became a mom I tried very hard not to influence my kids with gender stereotypes. I didn’t assume that Jake wanted to play sports or that my daughter would want to wear pink all the time (both of which, actually, turned out to be true). But Jake is all boy. He loves Hot Wheels and baseball and hockey and playing drums and violent video games.
Then along came Fiona, and I swear there were pink sparkles mixed in with the amniotic fluid. She loves doing hair and make-up, pretty dresses, and jewelry. I ended up with kids who fell right into the usual gender stereotypes.
Did I occasionally try to push them the other way? Sort of but not really. When Jake was a toddler he kept stealing a little girl’s doll stroller at the playground. I ran right out and bought him his own. Upon hearing the news my husband sighed and said “It’s not pink, is it?” (It was blue.) When he asked Santa for an Easy Bake Oven, I made sure Santa delivered.
Or there was the time when I mistakenly signed Jake up for a ballet class (the semester before it had been hip hop). I made him stick with it, because I really thought he might like it. He’s tall and strong, and I tried to make him understand how tough and manly a male dancer has to be to lift the women into the air and fling them around. But he wasn’t buying it. He hated the class, and my husband was really annoyed with me. I wasn’t trying to change him, I just wanted him to know that there were lots of choices out there, and that I’d be OK with any of them. But he probably burped and scratched himself in response. Seriously. He’s a guy. He totally owns that part of the stereotype.
But what about the other kids? The girls who want the action figures, the boys who want the ponies? I know many of those kids. According to Dr. Keith Ablow, that kind of behavior may lead to promiscuousness and…something about black kids wanting to be white and vice versa? I don’t know, I was having trouble following his convoluted logic.
Or maybe it wasn’t the kids’ tendencies he was criticizing, but the parents’ encouragement? Is that what he was trying to say: that if my children like to do things that aren’t “normal” and I don’t make them feel like shit for it, I’m to blame for them…not wanting to go into the army? (Seriously, read the article, his points are completely crazy.)
I don’t doubt for a second that J.Crew knew exactly what it was doing when it produced that picture. Hell, they sell the nail polish! But I applaud them for celebrating a child’s uniqueness, even if it is just another way to get attention and sell something. I’d rather see more ads with boys in pink nail polish than another big-breasted blond in a bikini.
Originally posted on Selfish Mom. All opinions expressed on this website come straight from Amy unless otherwise noted. This post has a Compensation Level of 0. Please visit Amy’s Full Disclosure page for more information. Amy also blogs at Filming In Brooklyn, Behind the Screen, and Momtourage, and podcasts with The Blogging Angels.
Tags: stereotypes
You know you’re an extreme parent if…
Apr 12, 2011 Kids
I really love this article, about extreme parenting. Mostly because it makes me feel extremely sane and on the right track (I conveniently ignore articles titled “You know you’re not doing enough for your kids when…”). I definitely don’t identify with any of these examples from the article:
You know you’re an extreme parent if you’ve ever told your kid that second best is not good enough.
You know you’re an extreme parent when you’re convinced your second-grade son is having more fun doing the Kumon advanced math program than watching Saturday morning cartoons.
You know you’re an extreme parent if your child, who does not have a documented learning disability, has more than three tutors.
OK, maybe this one, occasionally:
You know you’re an extreme parent when you make a trip to school to deliver a paper or homework that the child left at home.
In my defense, the school is a five minute walk away, and I practically pass by it on my way to the subway…OK, there’s no excuse. But on a scale of one to Amy Chua, I’d say I’m about a two. A three if I’m having a control-freak kind-of day, but those pass quickly.
A couple weeks ago Jake came home with some amazing news: he’d won second place in the school’s science fair! He’d earned it, too. He had stayed up late three nights in a row to get his project done. And yes, I had helped, but in a “No, you can’t fill the bathtub with pop and dump in a bucket of Mentos. But how about four bottles in the backyard?” kind-of way. Guidance, setting limits, shopping, helping him do some research, finding a kid-friendly website where he could produce his own charts and graphs, but letting him put everything together. His tri-fold presentation board didn’t look the best, but he was able to speak enthusiastically and knowledgeably about every stage of the experiment, and I think that’s what sold it for the science teachers. He’d worked so hard.
When he came home with his medal, he was simply beaming. The thought that there’s a parent out there who would have answered that pride with “How come you didn’t get first place?” makes me want to cry.
I know some people who are at the top, or wanted to be at the top, or used to be at the top. Most of them aren’t happy. One committed suicide. I’m not saying that it’s bad to strive to be the best, I think that’s a great motivator. But if you can’t handle it if you don’t get there, or you get there and can’t handle the pressure (especially if you’re used to your mommy doing everything for you), what then? And the couple of people I know who are bona-fide geniuses, I feel sorry for them most of all. Nothing is good enough. They walk around disappointed by everyone and everything. Being at the top just isn’t necessarily a good thing.
I just want my kids to grow up to be happy, passionate, productive adults who live up to their individual potentials. If they’re never the best at anything? Meh. I never was either. And I’m pretty damn happy.
Oh, and if they could manage never to end up on Cops, that would be great, too.
Originally posted on Selfish Mom. All opinions expressed on this website come straight from Amy unless otherwise noted. This post has a Compensation Level of 0. Please visit Amy’s Full Disclosure page for more information. Amy also blogs at Filming In Brooklyn, Behind the Screen, and Momtourage, and podcasts with The Blogging Angels.
Tags: Parenting, science fair
A stylist yesterday, a doctor the day before that, a house builder today…until the earthquake hits
Mar 14, 2011 Kids
For the longest time, Fiona wanted to be a stylist when she grew up. I think it started about a year ago: she suggested that I pair some green earrings with my dress, I said “Great choice, Fiona, you should be a stylist!” and she decided right then and there that she was going to be a stylist when she grew up (it wasn’t until a few weeks later that she asked me what a stylist was). Much talk of dresses and shoes and awards shows later, she started branching out. At this point, she changes what she wants to be daily, sometimes hourly. It makes me happy and a little teary to see her so excited about all the possibilities before her.
Yesterday morning Fiona and I were finishing up breakfast, and she asked me what I wanted her to build. A house, I said. “OK. But I need Daddy’s tools.” (We’ll just gloss over the fact that most of them are mine, I guess that’s for another post.) Once I disabused her of the notion that she could use tools to build me an actual house, she told me she’d build it out of something else.
A little while later I found her wrestling with the big kitchen scissors and a cardboard box. Before she lost a finger I offered to cut for her, and she had me cut off several dozen little rectangles. Next time I stopped by, she was painting them to look like bricks. Different colored bricks for each wall. Her industriousness blows me away.
Later in the car, I was telling this story to my husband, and he said “So Fiona, you’re going to be a builder now?”
“Yes. At least until the earthquake hits and we all die.”
Whomp.
We’d talked about it a little. She’d seen it on the news, and I explained to her about how the earth is like a bunch of big puzzle pieces trying to fit together, and luckily we don’t live near any of the pieces that are banging up against each other hard enough to make buildings fall down. She’s not buying it. She genuinely scared.
When the twin towers fell Jake was only five weeks old, and Fiona hadn’t even occurred to me yet. It brought my brain back to a place it hadn’t really been since I was in elementary school and “The Day After” was on TV. I was convinced for a while that there really wasn’t any point to doing anything productive, because I was going to die in a nuclear attack long before I’d have to find a job anyway (of course, this may have been my brain’s way of trying to get out of homework). That kind of hopelessness is a hard thing for a kid to shake.
It will fade eventually though, and be replaced with something else. She’s simply a worrier. There always has to be something on the horizon waiting to eat her or destroy her house or take her family. Last week, it was zombies. Before that, it was ghosts. I kind of miss them. They were easier to deal with than something as real as an earthquake and a tsunami.
Originally posted on Selfish Mom. All opinions expressed on this website come straight from Amy unless otherwise noted. This post has a Compensation Level of 0. Please visit Amy’s Full Disclosure page for more information. Amy also blogs at Filming In Brooklyn, Behind the Screen, and Momtourage, and podcasts with The Blogging Angels.
Tags: Earthquake, Fiona
A beautiful mistake
Mar 4, 2011 Kids
Fiona and I have been scrambling the last couple of days to finish a school project that was due this morning, about African American inventors. We’d been looking up inventions online Wednesday when we discovered that the potato chip was invented when someone accidentally cut the potatoes too thin for French fries (actually, further research says that it wasn’t accidental, that it was an extreme reaction to a restaurant customer who kept complaining that the fries were too thick, but the first explanation fits better with my story…).
This morning as we were putting the finishing touches on the project – printing out pictures of each inventor – I told her that two of them simply didn’t have pictures. They lived a long time ago when not everybody had their picture taken, one of them even before cameras were invented.
Fiona found this fascinating and confusing. Her six-year-old brain couldn’t quite understand how someone could invent something as amazing and complex as a camera. She asked me how exactly someone invented the camera. “Did they try and try and try until they got it, or was it a beautiful mistake like the potato chip?”
A beautiful mistake. I love it. That will become a permanent part of my vocabulary.
Originally posted on Selfish Mom. All opinions expressed on this website come straight from Amy unless otherwise noted. This post has a Compensation Level of 0. Please visit Amy’s Full Disclosure page for more information. Amy also blogs at Filming In Brooklyn, Behind the Screen, and Momtourage, and podcasts with The Blogging Angels.
Tags: Fiona
