God bless his heart, One Philly Daddy is trying to teach One Philly Son patience, communication and tolerance for One Philly Daughter's destruction of the beloved trains and their tracks.
This, Daddy's of the world, is the dozen red roses of your pre-parenthood lives.
Carry on.
sky's the limit
"And you? When will you begin that long journey into yourself?" - Rumi
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
And a happy Easter to you!
This past weekend One Philly Family went to a local park for a candy scramble sponsored by the local Kiwanis club.
It was great, and, I thought, well organized. There were different age groups so the "hunting" (to be honest, it was a field covered in candy and Hershey kisses) was fair, and there were small chocolate bunnies as a give away for each participating child sponsored by local businesses.
To add a competitive edge to the fun, there were 3 eggs hidden for each age group, and the children who found these eggs won a larger chocolate bunny.
All in all, a great family outing, and I wouldn't change a thing.
They did make one small request though.
"This is for the kids" they said. "Parents, please let the children find the candy and look for the eggs themselves, this is their time."
A simple request, thoughtful and touching,
I thought. But, I also thought, maybe unnecessary. I didn't suppose there'd be Mom's and Dad's elbowing 4 year olds to get to the last Werther's. I mean, this is Easter, right?
But, I was wrong. Boy, was I wrong.
I "hunted" with One Philly Daughter in the under 36 month category and watched when One Philly Daddy took his turn hunting with One Philly Son, who "competed" in the 3,4,5,6 year old category. He's 3 so I just wanted him to have fun; One Philly Daughter managed to capture 6 Hershey kisses, I was proud of that.
As I watched my boys make their way to the starting line and wait for their fellow hunters to gather at the line, I felt a certain giddiness for them - the excitement of the hunt!
Then, I heard next to me :
"Push to the front! Tell him to PUSH to the
FRONT"
"Behind that rock, in the middle! An ORANGE EGG! PUSH to the FRONT! Get the EGG!"
"God! Tell him to push to the front!"
Ahem.
Please, revisit with me the facts of the day:
1. Free
2. An event organized for children
3. Guaranteed candy
4. Guaranteed "prize" regardless of performance
5. A stated, specific request to let this be about the kids having fun
The patriarch in the family (not the chanter) next to me went on to recount how he and his friends devised a plan to cheat the egg hunts when he was a child, in order to guarantee winning a prize.
So it's a family tradition, then. Tradition is important.
I don't want to rant or climb on a soapbox, but cheating and publicly encouraging a child to cheat don't exactly say "Easter" to me.
Geez!
So, Happy Easter to ya. I'm sure this is just what Jesus had in mind...
It was great, and, I thought, well organized. There were different age groups so the "hunting" (to be honest, it was a field covered in candy and Hershey kisses) was fair, and there were small chocolate bunnies as a give away for each participating child sponsored by local businesses.
To add a competitive edge to the fun, there were 3 eggs hidden for each age group, and the children who found these eggs won a larger chocolate bunny.
All in all, a great family outing, and I wouldn't change a thing.
They did make one small request though.
"This is for the kids" they said. "Parents, please let the children find the candy and look for the eggs themselves, this is their time."
A simple request, thoughtful and touching,
I thought. But, I also thought, maybe unnecessary. I didn't suppose there'd be Mom's and Dad's elbowing 4 year olds to get to the last Werther's. I mean, this is Easter, right?
But, I was wrong. Boy, was I wrong.
I "hunted" with One Philly Daughter in the under 36 month category and watched when One Philly Daddy took his turn hunting with One Philly Son, who "competed" in the 3,4,5,6 year old category. He's 3 so I just wanted him to have fun; One Philly Daughter managed to capture 6 Hershey kisses, I was proud of that.
As I watched my boys make their way to the starting line and wait for their fellow hunters to gather at the line, I felt a certain giddiness for them - the excitement of the hunt!
Then, I heard next to me :
"Push to the front! Tell him to PUSH to the
FRONT"
"Behind that rock, in the middle! An ORANGE EGG! PUSH to the FRONT! Get the EGG!"
"God! Tell him to push to the front!"
Ahem.
Please, revisit with me the facts of the day:
1. Free
2. An event organized for children
3. Guaranteed candy
4. Guaranteed "prize" regardless of performance
5. A stated, specific request to let this be about the kids having fun
The patriarch in the family (not the chanter) next to me went on to recount how he and his friends devised a plan to cheat the egg hunts when he was a child, in order to guarantee winning a prize.
So it's a family tradition, then. Tradition is important.
I don't want to rant or climb on a soapbox, but cheating and publicly encouraging a child to cheat don't exactly say "Easter" to me.
Geez!
So, Happy Easter to ya. I'm sure this is just what Jesus had in mind...
Friday, March 22, 2013
Losing our minds...
In the very recent past, One Philly Son has started throwing some wicked tantrums. At least, that's the best word I can use to describe what happens when he is a room, or an entire floor away from me and begins screaming "Mommy! Mommy! Come help me! Mommy I NEEEEEDDD YOU!!!!!!"
He cries. His face turns red. His nose runs.
Because his train has fallen off the tracks.
Or worse, one of his trains is just. not. fast. enough.
When One Philly Daughter (darling that she is, walking and starting to talk) dares enter the invisible force field that must surround One Philly Son's room, he begins to shriek "No, don't break my tracks! I don't want you to touch my trains, NOOOOOOOOO!"
Even though she remains feet away from said tracks and trains.
Now, lest you think One Philly Son is all freak out and no fun or love, this is not 100% of the time. He just seems to go from 0 to 100 in no time flat, if you know what I mean.
I've tried reasoning with him. "It is not nice to talk to Mommy like that."
I've tried ignoring him. "I'm not talking to you until you speak nicely." Followed by 5 minutes of "Mommy, I NEEEDDDD YOU!!!!" and eventually leading to "Mommy, can you please fix Thomas?"
I've tried matching him. "YOU CAN NOT SPEAK TO MOMMY THAT WAY!"
I've tried modulating and modeling calm, slow, even tones. "how can i help you? what is wrong?"
I've considered all possibilities: I'm giving too much attention, not enough attention, too much sleep, not enough sleep, too many boundaries, not enough boundaries, his diet lack balance, he's jealous, he's tired, he's bored, he's mad, he's testing me, he thinks he rules the roost, and a few others.
For the most part, I feel good about how I handle it. I'm trying to provide him the tools to learn, handle and express his emotions, while also learning to consider those around him. I fear that my occasional losses of temper "Just STOP IT!" will scar him for life.
But its a far cry from the list of expletives in my head "What the BLEEP is wrong? Don't BLEEPIN wake up your sister again! Are you kidding me? You're this freaked out cause a BLEEPIN, BLEEPITY BLEEP BLEEP train ran out of batteries? Oh BLEEP!"
I don't, won't, and wouldn't want to lay any of that on a 3 year old who is obviously working through something, particularly as my job, as I see it, is to guide, teach, love and protect him. Even from becoming a little b-r-a-t.
But it certainly ties my insides up in knots. The anxiety of not knowing how to help, of feeling such frustration and anger myself, and worst of all - the sensation of not liking a part of a person I would die for, is not so fun.
Did I make it sound fun? I didn't mean too.
I'm not sure what the story is. I don't know if the answer is to just let One Philly Daughter annihilate the Island of Sodor, reduce the Steamworks to a pile of rubble and mangle Thomas, Victor, Percy and Toby beyond repair and force One Philly Son to just deal or to scoop her up and distract her with something else and give him his precious space.
When all she really wants is anything. her. brother. touches.
Clearly, something is frustrating my darling little man, I'm just not sure if this is one of those developmental stages that will magically clear up with no apparent cause, beginning or end. Or if this is something I should be doing something deliberate about.
I do know, eventually, the answer will become clear, and everything will be sorted out and One Philly Son will have a surer footing under himself.
Until then, I'm on the look out for some Valium-laced, chocolate-peanut butter treat to help me cope. Fat-free of course. I have no idea how long this is going to take.
He cries. His face turns red. His nose runs.
Because his train has fallen off the tracks.
Or worse, one of his trains is just. not. fast. enough.
When One Philly Daughter (darling that she is, walking and starting to talk) dares enter the invisible force field that must surround One Philly Son's room, he begins to shriek "No, don't break my tracks! I don't want you to touch my trains, NOOOOOOOOO!"
Even though she remains feet away from said tracks and trains.
Now, lest you think One Philly Son is all freak out and no fun or love, this is not 100% of the time. He just seems to go from 0 to 100 in no time flat, if you know what I mean.
I've tried reasoning with him. "It is not nice to talk to Mommy like that."
I've tried ignoring him. "I'm not talking to you until you speak nicely." Followed by 5 minutes of "Mommy, I NEEEDDDD YOU!!!!" and eventually leading to "Mommy, can you please fix Thomas?"
I've tried matching him. "YOU CAN NOT SPEAK TO MOMMY THAT WAY!"
I've tried modulating and modeling calm, slow, even tones. "how can i help you? what is wrong?"
I've considered all possibilities: I'm giving too much attention, not enough attention, too much sleep, not enough sleep, too many boundaries, not enough boundaries, his diet lack balance, he's jealous, he's tired, he's bored, he's mad, he's testing me, he thinks he rules the roost, and a few others.
For the most part, I feel good about how I handle it. I'm trying to provide him the tools to learn, handle and express his emotions, while also learning to consider those around him. I fear that my occasional losses of temper "Just STOP IT!" will scar him for life.
But its a far cry from the list of expletives in my head "What the BLEEP is wrong? Don't BLEEPIN wake up your sister again! Are you kidding me? You're this freaked out cause a BLEEPIN, BLEEPITY BLEEP BLEEP train ran out of batteries? Oh BLEEP!"
I don't, won't, and wouldn't want to lay any of that on a 3 year old who is obviously working through something, particularly as my job, as I see it, is to guide, teach, love and protect him. Even from becoming a little b-r-a-t.
But it certainly ties my insides up in knots. The anxiety of not knowing how to help, of feeling such frustration and anger myself, and worst of all - the sensation of not liking a part of a person I would die for, is not so fun.
Did I make it sound fun? I didn't mean too.
I'm not sure what the story is. I don't know if the answer is to just let One Philly Daughter annihilate the Island of Sodor, reduce the Steamworks to a pile of rubble and mangle Thomas, Victor, Percy and Toby beyond repair and force One Philly Son to just deal or to scoop her up and distract her with something else and give him his precious space.
When all she really wants is anything. her. brother. touches.
Clearly, something is frustrating my darling little man, I'm just not sure if this is one of those developmental stages that will magically clear up with no apparent cause, beginning or end. Or if this is something I should be doing something deliberate about.
I do know, eventually, the answer will become clear, and everything will be sorted out and One Philly Son will have a surer footing under himself.
Until then, I'm on the look out for some Valium-laced, chocolate-peanut butter treat to help me cope. Fat-free of course. I have no idea how long this is going to take.
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