I have had the misfortune of visiting three different emergency rooms in the past five years, two with my mother and one with my son. (See my post from yesterday for my son's story.) Because I have not been the patient, I have had the time to people watch and observe. Below are some of my observations and thoughts about emergency rooms. Here is a long list for the suggestion box of emergency rooms everywhere.
1. When your hospital is surrounded by one-way streets, and there is so much construction going on that one can't FIND the emergency room, it isn't really designed for "emergency" treatment, is it?
2. If you do not want me to park in a 15 minute spot for more than 15 minutes, make sure there is plenty of parking near the entrance to the emergency room. When my kid is sick and the only parking within 100 yards of the door is 15 minutes, I'm parking there. Your choices are to provide more parking, or get my kid processed in 15 minutes. You make the call.
3. There is nothing like instilling confidence in the care about to be received like uniformed police officers, with weapons, at the entrance to the emergency room, in the lobby, and in the waiting room.
4. I realize y'all are open 24/7, but would it kill you to sweep and mop the floors and maybe wipe the chairs down? Sick people have been here, and more sick people are coming in ... you're supposed to help people get better, not expose them to additional germs and disease.
5. When the sign says no cell phone use because it interferes with medical equipment, I'm pretty sure that means you should have said something to the woman having a screaming match with her boyfriend on her cell phone.
6. If you are going to call an area in the waiting room the "kids" area, it would be nice to have some kid-appropriate things. Is it just me, or did Guns & Ammo change its demographic? Really, I could do an entire post on how wrong it is to have Guns & Ammo ... in a hospital ... in the emergency room ... in the kids area. It's not rocket science, people.
7. Why don't emergency rooms have gowns that are appropriate for children? Putting my 8 year old in a one-size-fits-all adult gown was comical. And wouldn't it just be easier to have all of the "small" stuff - the pediatric blood pressure cuff, the smaller gauge needles, etc. - in a central location so the nurses do not have to run around like cockroaches when they are treating a child?
8. Shouldn't it be part of a technician's training to already know how to re-program a CAT scan for a child? In our case, the tech was on the phone, with someone who had a manual, trying to figure out how to set it for a pediatric scan, while my son was on the table. For Pete's sake, at least make that call BEFORE we get in the room!
9. Bleeding profusely definitely gets the receptionist's attention, as do vomiting and stroke symptoms. I get that. But that doesn't mean the receptionist should be able to dismiss me because my family member isn't bleeding profusely, or vomiting, or presenting with stroke symptoms.
10. I realize the staff and nurses deal with sick/hurt people all the time, but would it kill you to be sensitive to the fact that you are treating a child? My 8 year old son doesn't know what triage means, or IV, or CAT scan. He doesn't understand what you mean when you ask him when he last moved his bowels or what you are going to do when you palpate him. Not knowing what is going to happen is very scary for a kid.
11. Please don't mention "surgeon" or "surgery" unless that is what you are going to do ... for sure.
12. When critical patients come in, such as car accident or gun shot victims, please don't bring them through the waiting room. There must be a back door or a side door somewhere.
13. It is very frustrating to be in a treatment room, waiting for a nurse or doctor, and then see or hear the doctors and nurses yucking it up out in the common area.
14. Please don't send us home before we are ready. Conversely, please do not make us stay when we are ready to go home.
15. If I fill out two forms and give you a medical card, would it kill you to spell my patient's name correctly? Isn't that kind of important?
I think these are small things that would make a big difference. Just sayin.
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Friday, September 2, 2011
A Cautionary Tale About Kids and Their Belly Aches
First, a little history. Sweetie has been having "periodic" belly aches for more than a year now. It started out as a what appeared to be a school-related problem; he seemed to have a tummy ache whenever he had to do something at school he didn't want to do, like a book report or a math test. I basically dismissed it as some ploy to stay home from school and refused to fall for it. But then he started having belly aches on weekends, when it was all about fun. He never really complained; he would just mention in passing that his tummy hurt. I asked questions like "are you hungry?" "do you need to go to the bathroom?" "did you eat too much?" More times than not, he would eat or poop and I never heard another word. And then he started having stomach aches during the summer, and at The Ex's house, and at grandma's ... all of the places where he has fun. He doesn't have a great diet but it's not horrible. He poops regularly. I just couldn't figure out what was going on, but it didn't seem too bad so I made a mental note to ask the pediatrician about it the next time we saw her.
He had a checkup last fall, and I mentioned the stomachaches to his doctor. I told her the history, the progression, etc. She asked me some questions about his diet; she asked him some questions about when they happen, where it hurts, how it feels, etc. She palpated his stomach. She concluded he probably isn't eating enough, and directed us to pack more snacks for school, ensure he eats every 2 or 3 hours, and basically make sure he doesn't allow himself to get hungry. Oh, and drink more water. Perfect. Easy. I got this.
Despite doing everything the pediatrician said, the belly aches continued. He would have a tummy ache, and then he would eat. And eat. And eat. Sometimes it would go away, sometimes it wouldn't. I asked questions, I felt his tummy, I asked about bowel movements ... we were doing everything right. Occasionally I would give him some children's Pepto Bismol. In every single case, the stomach ache eventually went away so I wasn't too worried (though I did think it was a little odd). Truth be told, I feared my Sweetie was developing a nervous stomach because he's very sensitive and he's a worrier.
Now, the cautionary tale. Two nights ago, Sweetie complained of a tummy ache when we got home from his after-school program. He had a couple of snacks, but apparently that didn't make him feel any better. Then we had dinner, and he ate like a champ. He watched some TV, went to the bathroom, and went to bed. About an hour later, I heard him get up to go the bathroom again, then I heard a strange noise. Wait, is he crying? Why is he crying? He finished his business and ran back into his room, and then I heard the noise again. Yep, he was definitely crying. I went in to see what was wrong and he said his stomach was hurting really badly. I got him some Pepto Bismol, and then sat with him to try to figure out what happened at school, what did he eat, did he go to the bathroom, etc. I found out - for the first time - that his tummy had actually been hurting him for three days. THREE days! He was curled in the fetal position and crying, wincing in pain, and it was clear to me that something more was going on. He was gassy as a baby and loved it when I rubbed his tummy, so I thought I would try that; I touched his belly and he just about hit the roof. I felt for a fever; nothing. I asked him if he felt like he was going to vomit; no. He had eaten, he had gone to the bathroom, he had tried to go to the bathroom again, he had taken Pepto ... nothing worked. I looked at him and said, "Sweetie, is it bad enough that we need to go to the hospital and see a doctor?" and without hesitation, my 8-year-old all-around scaredy cat nodded yes. Uh oh. This is NOT good. I called the advice nurse, who very quickly surmised that we needed to go to the emergency room.
I am a single mother and I have another child. What the heck was I going to do about Stinker? It was late, everyone I know was already in bed, and most have to get up and go to work in the morning. I thought about taking him with me, but I knew that once Sweetie got to triage, there wouldn't be any place for Stinker to sit or lay down or anything. Nope, taking him with me was simply not an option. So I got the kids in the car and without calling first I drove to my mom's house. I took Stinker inside and put him to bed. As I started to lock the door behind me, my mother appeared and asked what I was doing. Of course she had questions but hello, right then was not the time for me to answer them.
Sweetie and I made the 20 minute drive to the nearest "plan" emergency room at a general hospital. Let me just say up front that now I know why "county" and "general" hospitals get a bad rap ... if our general hospital is any indicator, they deserve it! Just getting there was the most frustrating experience; I couldn't even get to the emergency driveway because the hospital is surrounded by one-way streets, many of which are closed and/or blocked because of the construction of a new hospital across the street. I parked in a 15-minute zone (knowing full well there was no way we would be done in 15 minutes). As we walked up to the door, I saw two uniformed police officers outside, another one at the interior door, and yet a fourth policeman greeted me inside the waiting room. I was thinking this could not be a very safe ER if this large of a police presence is required. Yikes.
After I got him checked in, we had to sit and wait. While we were waiting, one of the policeman outside came in and announced that my car was about to be towed. Seriously? It was 10:30 at night. I was a single adult with a sick child in the ER ...how was I supposed to move my car?? I wasn't going to take Sweetie back outside, and I certainly wasn't going to leave him there alone. Luckily, after I explained my situation to the officer inside the waiting room, he said he would make sure it didn't get towed. Not surprisingly, after about fifteen minutes of waiting, a wide-eyed Sweetie said, "Mom, I think I'm feeling better. We can just go home." Uh, no, I don't think so.
We finally got into triage and as the nurse was doing her paperwork and asking questions, I casually mentioned that they had spelled Sweetie's name wrong (despite the fact that I had filled out two forms and gave them a copy of his medical card). Apparently that was a mistake because the triage nurse suddenly became obsessed with correcting it. Mid-triage she left the room to track down a supervisor, and then hovered while the supervisor corrected the computer records at a computer in the reception area. Really? It couldn't wait until she got him into a treatment room?
In the treatment room, the first thing to do was the IV. Having had a few IVs in my life, I knew Sweetie was NOT going to like this one bit. Trust me, he didn't. He was scared, of course, so he moved right when the nurse poked him, and the vein disappeared, so she had to try again. Sweetie blew a gasket, yelling and crying and freaking out. At one point I thought he went into shock; his whole body was trembling, his teeth were chattering, he was crying, and he had a vacant stare on his face. Confession? That was the worst moment of my life. As soon as they were done, he started begging them to take it out of his arm. It took at least 10 minutes for him to understand that the IV was not coming out until we were ready to go home. A few minutes later - after the morphine hit - his stomach stopped hurting, and he started to feel better. Aha! There's my Sweetie, acting like his normal wonderful self. He was intrigued by the treatment room, the gadgets and equipment, his IV pump machine, the rails on the bed, etc. Leave it to a kid to find an ER treatment room interesting. He told me he wanted to learn all about everything because he probably wouldn't ever be in an emergency room again so that was the time to look at everything. God bless him for that.
After the doctor examined him, she decided he needed a CAT scan, "which is a 4 to 5 hour process." Ugh. It was clear we were going to be there all night! A couple of hours later, after Sweetie's participation was no longer needed, and after another hit of morphine, he finally crashed. It took him until 3:00 a.m., but my Sweetie finally fell asleep. I sat there in the room all by myself, waiting for the doctor to return with results. It was surreal. At last the doctor returned to tell me the scan results were "inconclusive" but she was concerned because of the severity of his pain, especially in the lower right quadrant. She talked with the pediatric surgeon on call at the children's hospital a couple of miles away, and they decided to admit him for observation and possible further treatment. I heard "surgeon" and the rest of what she said turned into that obnoxious droning noise that signifies adults are speaking in the Charlie Brown cartoons. Wa-wa, wat-wa-wa-wah. What? Did you say surgeon? My kid needs surgery? Now it was my turn to freak, and I did. I cried for the first time since the whole thing started.
An ambulance arrived to transport him. I thought he would be scared, and spent a ton of energy figuring out how I was going to return for my car if I rode in the ambulance with him. They woke him up to move him, and the EMTs were so cool ... they chatted him up and made the ride sound like an adventure. Sweetie told me he could ride by himself and I could just meet him there. What a brave boy he was! By the time I got to the second hospital, he had changed gowns (now a kid-sized one, not the giant one-size-fits-all adult gown he had previously worn), his IV was hooked up to fluids, he had told the nurse he didn't understand why he needed to change hospitals because the other one was just fine, and he was snuggling down for more sleep. Once he slept again I wanted to go home to turn everything off, shower, grab some comfort things for Sweetie, and get a change of clothes for Stinker at my mom's, but the nurse said I needed to stick around in case the surgeon decided to "immediately take him into surgery."
Here's the thing. I try not to be an alarmist. I try not to worry about things that might happen and focus on what is actually happening. At this point no one has told me what was wrong with my son. A nurse mentioned an appendectomy, but no doctor has said anything to me about it. I have no diagnosis, I don't know what's wrong, I don't know if it's serious, and damn, there is that surgeon/surgery thing again. I convinced her to see if she could find out when the surgeon planned to do his rounds and we found out I had time to go home if I hurried. So that's what I did.
The nurse was wrong, and I rushed for nothing. A resident came into the room at about 8:30, examined Sweetie, and said the surgeon would be in within the hour. Wrong. Another resident came in about 10:00, examined Sweetie (and asked the exact same questions I had answered FIVE times by then), and said the surgeon would be in before lunch time. Wrong again. When The Ex showed up at 1:00, I decided to pop our for some food and give them some time together. Wouldn't you know it? The dang surgeon showed up at about 1:30 and I was gone! I caught him just as he was about to leave so I got a Reader's Digest version: There was nothing wrong with Sweetie's appendix, and he never thought it was the appendix. "Basically, the kid is full of poop. Lots of poop. So much poop that it has hardened and his body can't get rid of it. Those stomach aches? The body's efforts to move the poop." Oh my gosh! And he'd been struggling with it for more than a year! And we told him to eat more, which made it worse! My poor baby. I asked how this could happen when he poops regularly and the doc said he isn't pooping completely and everything is dry and constipating, which just makes things worse. I was so relieved it wasn't anything more serious, I began making poop jokes, like he is literally full of crap, too bad this whole experience didn't scare the crap out of him, and we were about to launch Operation Poopstorm. He smiled, but he did not laugh. Party pooper. (Pun intended!)
So he spent yesterday afternoon having unpleasant procedures like enemas and suppositories. The good news? He immediately felt better. The bad news? He didn't "produce" as much as they had hoped, which suggests the blockage is very large and very old. We've been referred to a gastroenterologist for follow up; she immediately prescribed two "super" laxatives for today and tomorrow, and a daily (mild) laxative every day ... indefinitely. We are supposed to see the specialist next week to begin the long journey to total and complete poop evacuation. We're going to help him be a super duper pooper.
He had a checkup last fall, and I mentioned the stomachaches to his doctor. I told her the history, the progression, etc. She asked me some questions about his diet; she asked him some questions about when they happen, where it hurts, how it feels, etc. She palpated his stomach. She concluded he probably isn't eating enough, and directed us to pack more snacks for school, ensure he eats every 2 or 3 hours, and basically make sure he doesn't allow himself to get hungry. Oh, and drink more water. Perfect. Easy. I got this.
Despite doing everything the pediatrician said, the belly aches continued. He would have a tummy ache, and then he would eat. And eat. And eat. Sometimes it would go away, sometimes it wouldn't. I asked questions, I felt his tummy, I asked about bowel movements ... we were doing everything right. Occasionally I would give him some children's Pepto Bismol. In every single case, the stomach ache eventually went away so I wasn't too worried (though I did think it was a little odd). Truth be told, I feared my Sweetie was developing a nervous stomach because he's very sensitive and he's a worrier.
Now, the cautionary tale. Two nights ago, Sweetie complained of a tummy ache when we got home from his after-school program. He had a couple of snacks, but apparently that didn't make him feel any better. Then we had dinner, and he ate like a champ. He watched some TV, went to the bathroom, and went to bed. About an hour later, I heard him get up to go the bathroom again, then I heard a strange noise. Wait, is he crying? Why is he crying? He finished his business and ran back into his room, and then I heard the noise again. Yep, he was definitely crying. I went in to see what was wrong and he said his stomach was hurting really badly. I got him some Pepto Bismol, and then sat with him to try to figure out what happened at school, what did he eat, did he go to the bathroom, etc. I found out - for the first time - that his tummy had actually been hurting him for three days. THREE days! He was curled in the fetal position and crying, wincing in pain, and it was clear to me that something more was going on. He was gassy as a baby and loved it when I rubbed his tummy, so I thought I would try that; I touched his belly and he just about hit the roof. I felt for a fever; nothing. I asked him if he felt like he was going to vomit; no. He had eaten, he had gone to the bathroom, he had tried to go to the bathroom again, he had taken Pepto ... nothing worked. I looked at him and said, "Sweetie, is it bad enough that we need to go to the hospital and see a doctor?" and without hesitation, my 8-year-old all-around scaredy cat nodded yes. Uh oh. This is NOT good. I called the advice nurse, who very quickly surmised that we needed to go to the emergency room.
I am a single mother and I have another child. What the heck was I going to do about Stinker? It was late, everyone I know was already in bed, and most have to get up and go to work in the morning. I thought about taking him with me, but I knew that once Sweetie got to triage, there wouldn't be any place for Stinker to sit or lay down or anything. Nope, taking him with me was simply not an option. So I got the kids in the car and without calling first I drove to my mom's house. I took Stinker inside and put him to bed. As I started to lock the door behind me, my mother appeared and asked what I was doing. Of course she had questions but hello, right then was not the time for me to answer them.
Sweetie and I made the 20 minute drive to the nearest "plan" emergency room at a general hospital. Let me just say up front that now I know why "county" and "general" hospitals get a bad rap ... if our general hospital is any indicator, they deserve it! Just getting there was the most frustrating experience; I couldn't even get to the emergency driveway because the hospital is surrounded by one-way streets, many of which are closed and/or blocked because of the construction of a new hospital across the street. I parked in a 15-minute zone (knowing full well there was no way we would be done in 15 minutes). As we walked up to the door, I saw two uniformed police officers outside, another one at the interior door, and yet a fourth policeman greeted me inside the waiting room. I was thinking this could not be a very safe ER if this large of a police presence is required. Yikes.
After I got him checked in, we had to sit and wait. While we were waiting, one of the policeman outside came in and announced that my car was about to be towed. Seriously? It was 10:30 at night. I was a single adult with a sick child in the ER ...how was I supposed to move my car?? I wasn't going to take Sweetie back outside, and I certainly wasn't going to leave him there alone. Luckily, after I explained my situation to the officer inside the waiting room, he said he would make sure it didn't get towed. Not surprisingly, after about fifteen minutes of waiting, a wide-eyed Sweetie said, "Mom, I think I'm feeling better. We can just go home." Uh, no, I don't think so.
We finally got into triage and as the nurse was doing her paperwork and asking questions, I casually mentioned that they had spelled Sweetie's name wrong (despite the fact that I had filled out two forms and gave them a copy of his medical card). Apparently that was a mistake because the triage nurse suddenly became obsessed with correcting it. Mid-triage she left the room to track down a supervisor, and then hovered while the supervisor corrected the computer records at a computer in the reception area. Really? It couldn't wait until she got him into a treatment room?
In the treatment room, the first thing to do was the IV. Having had a few IVs in my life, I knew Sweetie was NOT going to like this one bit. Trust me, he didn't. He was scared, of course, so he moved right when the nurse poked him, and the vein disappeared, so she had to try again. Sweetie blew a gasket, yelling and crying and freaking out. At one point I thought he went into shock; his whole body was trembling, his teeth were chattering, he was crying, and he had a vacant stare on his face. Confession? That was the worst moment of my life. As soon as they were done, he started begging them to take it out of his arm. It took at least 10 minutes for him to understand that the IV was not coming out until we were ready to go home. A few minutes later - after the morphine hit - his stomach stopped hurting, and he started to feel better. Aha! There's my Sweetie, acting like his normal wonderful self. He was intrigued by the treatment room, the gadgets and equipment, his IV pump machine, the rails on the bed, etc. Leave it to a kid to find an ER treatment room interesting. He told me he wanted to learn all about everything because he probably wouldn't ever be in an emergency room again so that was the time to look at everything. God bless him for that.
After the doctor examined him, she decided he needed a CAT scan, "which is a 4 to 5 hour process." Ugh. It was clear we were going to be there all night! A couple of hours later, after Sweetie's participation was no longer needed, and after another hit of morphine, he finally crashed. It took him until 3:00 a.m., but my Sweetie finally fell asleep. I sat there in the room all by myself, waiting for the doctor to return with results. It was surreal. At last the doctor returned to tell me the scan results were "inconclusive" but she was concerned because of the severity of his pain, especially in the lower right quadrant. She talked with the pediatric surgeon on call at the children's hospital a couple of miles away, and they decided to admit him for observation and possible further treatment. I heard "surgeon" and the rest of what she said turned into that obnoxious droning noise that signifies adults are speaking in the Charlie Brown cartoons. Wa-wa, wat-wa-wa-wah. What? Did you say surgeon? My kid needs surgery? Now it was my turn to freak, and I did. I cried for the first time since the whole thing started.
An ambulance arrived to transport him. I thought he would be scared, and spent a ton of energy figuring out how I was going to return for my car if I rode in the ambulance with him. They woke him up to move him, and the EMTs were so cool ... they chatted him up and made the ride sound like an adventure. Sweetie told me he could ride by himself and I could just meet him there. What a brave boy he was! By the time I got to the second hospital, he had changed gowns (now a kid-sized one, not the giant one-size-fits-all adult gown he had previously worn), his IV was hooked up to fluids, he had told the nurse he didn't understand why he needed to change hospitals because the other one was just fine, and he was snuggling down for more sleep. Once he slept again I wanted to go home to turn everything off, shower, grab some comfort things for Sweetie, and get a change of clothes for Stinker at my mom's, but the nurse said I needed to stick around in case the surgeon decided to "immediately take him into surgery."
Here's the thing. I try not to be an alarmist. I try not to worry about things that might happen and focus on what is actually happening. At this point no one has told me what was wrong with my son. A nurse mentioned an appendectomy, but no doctor has said anything to me about it. I have no diagnosis, I don't know what's wrong, I don't know if it's serious, and damn, there is that surgeon/surgery thing again. I convinced her to see if she could find out when the surgeon planned to do his rounds and we found out I had time to go home if I hurried. So that's what I did.
The nurse was wrong, and I rushed for nothing. A resident came into the room at about 8:30, examined Sweetie, and said the surgeon would be in within the hour. Wrong. Another resident came in about 10:00, examined Sweetie (and asked the exact same questions I had answered FIVE times by then), and said the surgeon would be in before lunch time. Wrong again. When The Ex showed up at 1:00, I decided to pop our for some food and give them some time together. Wouldn't you know it? The dang surgeon showed up at about 1:30 and I was gone! I caught him just as he was about to leave so I got a Reader's Digest version: There was nothing wrong with Sweetie's appendix, and he never thought it was the appendix. "Basically, the kid is full of poop. Lots of poop. So much poop that it has hardened and his body can't get rid of it. Those stomach aches? The body's efforts to move the poop." Oh my gosh! And he'd been struggling with it for more than a year! And we told him to eat more, which made it worse! My poor baby. I asked how this could happen when he poops regularly and the doc said he isn't pooping completely and everything is dry and constipating, which just makes things worse. I was so relieved it wasn't anything more serious, I began making poop jokes, like he is literally full of crap, too bad this whole experience didn't scare the crap out of him, and we were about to launch Operation Poopstorm. He smiled, but he did not laugh. Party pooper. (Pun intended!)
So he spent yesterday afternoon having unpleasant procedures like enemas and suppositories. The good news? He immediately felt better. The bad news? He didn't "produce" as much as they had hoped, which suggests the blockage is very large and very old. We've been referred to a gastroenterologist for follow up; she immediately prescribed two "super" laxatives for today and tomorrow, and a daily (mild) laxative every day ... indefinitely. We are supposed to see the specialist next week to begin the long journey to total and complete poop evacuation. We're going to help him be a super duper pooper.
Monday, March 1, 2010
It's Naked Time!
What is it about men and nudity?
I grew up with one man in my life, my father. He lived with us but he wasn't around a lot because he worked really hard. (In hindsight, my father had an absolutely incredible work ethic.) I don't have a ton of memories of him from when I was a child, but one that stands out is the underwear. My father liked to walk around in his tightie-whities. I didn't think much of it as a little girl, but it was SO embarrassing when I hit junior high school and just mortifying when I was in high school. To this day I can picture him walking down the staircase, turning through the living room - even when we had company over! - and going into the kitchen for a glass of water or something.
When I was a teenager, my father had drilled it into my head that boys only wanted to have sex with me, and of course I was a good girl who would never dream of having sex while in high school, so boys remained a mystery to me. I had a couple of boyfriends, but nothing really serious and nothing long lasting because if I felt like things were progressing physically, I cut bait and ran. But one of the boys I had dated ran naked through the half-time show during The Big Game when he was a senior. At the time, while laughing nervously because everyone else was laughing, I thought "Oh my God, that boy is naked ... in front of hundreds of people." (By the way, the now-infamous streaker was and probably still is one of the nicest men I've ever known. He's good people.)
In college, I discovered I liked to hang out with men. I became friends with my first gay man. I had sex for the first time (no, not with the gay man). I fell in love for the first time. I made some really good male friends. Though many of the college memories are fuzzy, I remember just about every guy I knew was always looking for an opportunity to take off some or all of his clothes; they were BA-ing people, taking off their shirts, skinny dipping, taking a steam, you name it.
I lived with a man for the first time when I was in my mid-twenties. He loved to be naked. He would get out of the shower, dry off, and then walk around the apartment stark naked. He completed his entire morning routine in the nude. He finally, begrudgingly, put his clothes on only minutes before he had to leave.
I don't want to tell tales out of school about the Ex, but suffice it to say he was not averse to nudity and leave it at that.
I remember seeing a Comedy Central special years ago by comedian Dana Carvey, who had two young sons at the time. He told stories of the troubles he and his wife had trying to keep clothes on those kids. Figuring it was useless to require clothing at all times, they decided to focus on time, place and manner restrictions to the nakedness. They implemented "Naked Time." They let their children run around naked for an hour or two, every day, at exactly the same time. He said they would sit there, hands ready to remove clothes, saying "Is it time yet? Is it time yet?"
So here I am, a single mom to two little aliens, uh ... um, I mean, two little boys. These boys beg me to let them be naked on "stay home days." Sweetie is starting to show signs of modesty when it comes to some things, but is he modest when it comes to parading around the house with not a stitch of clothing on? Nope. In fact, he likes to call attention to his nakedness - his "booty" in particular. Stinker comes to me with a big grin on his face and says "Look, Mama, I'm naked!" And then he runs around the house for awhile.
I'm sure I'm prudish as a middle-aged divorcee whose self-esteem has not recovered from a bad marriage and a divorce, but even when I was at my thinnest and most confident, I did not run around naked. Not even when I was alone.
So what is it with men and nudity?
When I was a teenager, my father had drilled it into my head that boys only wanted to have sex with me, and of course I was a good girl who would never dream of having sex while in high school, so boys remained a mystery to me. I had a couple of boyfriends, but nothing really serious and nothing long lasting because if I felt like things were progressing physically, I cut bait and ran. But one of the boys I had dated ran naked through the half-time show during The Big Game when he was a senior. At the time, while laughing nervously because everyone else was laughing, I thought "Oh my God, that boy is naked ... in front of hundreds of people." (By the way, the now-infamous streaker was and probably still is one of the nicest men I've ever known. He's good people.)
In college, I discovered I liked to hang out with men. I became friends with my first gay man. I had sex for the first time (no, not with the gay man). I fell in love for the first time. I made some really good male friends. Though many of the college memories are fuzzy, I remember just about every guy I knew was always looking for an opportunity to take off some or all of his clothes; they were BA-ing people, taking off their shirts, skinny dipping, taking a steam, you name it.
I lived with a man for the first time when I was in my mid-twenties. He loved to be naked. He would get out of the shower, dry off, and then walk around the apartment stark naked. He completed his entire morning routine in the nude. He finally, begrudgingly, put his clothes on only minutes before he had to leave.
I don't want to tell tales out of school about the Ex, but suffice it to say he was not averse to nudity and leave it at that.
I remember seeing a Comedy Central special years ago by comedian Dana Carvey, who had two young sons at the time. He told stories of the troubles he and his wife had trying to keep clothes on those kids. Figuring it was useless to require clothing at all times, they decided to focus on time, place and manner restrictions to the nakedness. They implemented "Naked Time." They let their children run around naked for an hour or two, every day, at exactly the same time. He said they would sit there, hands ready to remove clothes, saying "Is it time yet? Is it time yet?"
So here I am, a single mom to two little aliens, uh ... um, I mean, two little boys. These boys beg me to let them be naked on "stay home days." Sweetie is starting to show signs of modesty when it comes to some things, but is he modest when it comes to parading around the house with not a stitch of clothing on? Nope. In fact, he likes to call attention to his nakedness - his "booty" in particular. Stinker comes to me with a big grin on his face and says "Look, Mama, I'm naked!" And then he runs around the house for awhile.
I'm sure I'm prudish as a middle-aged divorcee whose self-esteem has not recovered from a bad marriage and a divorce, but even when I was at my thinnest and most confident, I did not run around naked. Not even when I was alone.
So what is it with men and nudity?
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Long live the tooth fairy
We hit a milestone in our household last weekend. Sweetie lost his first tooth.
About two weeks ago, I was looking at him while he was speaking to me and I noticed a new "space" in his bottom teeth. I asked "did you lose a tooth?" No. "Do you have a loose tooth?" No. After examination, I discovered the culprit: an adult tooth had broken through and was shoving the baby tooth out of the way.
A few days later, I made corn on the cob for dinner. He took one bite and flipped. "Mom, Mom, I have a loose tooth. You have to only give me soft food!" Then the panic started: is it going to hurt? is it going to bleed? are you going to have to pull it? Drama, drama, drama.
As the week wore on, I would catch him playing with it with his tongue as kids do, but he never said anything about it again.
We were driving home from a little nature hike - on a deserted country road - and all of a sudden he yelled from the backseat, "Mom, my tooth just fell out and it landed in my lap." That was it.
We called Daddy and Mama G to share the exciting news. When we arrived at Mama G's, she handed him a dollar bill "in case the tooth fairy forgets you." Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mom.
We then went to the store to find the perfect container in which he would put his tooth for presentation to the tooth fairy. Whatever happened to the envelope - tooth in, tooth out money in, money out - of my childhood? No, my son wants a treasure chest or something. We couldn't find anything small enough, so he settled for an organza bag used for party favors at baby showers.
The tooth fairy left $5. I think I got a quarter when I was a kid. I hear the tooth fairy gives a lot more for the first tooth these days, and the gift is smaller for subsequent teeth. My son didn't even notice; he was delighted to find that the tooth fairy had in fact come. He checked under his pillow, took the money and stuffed it into his piggy bank, and then came to tell me the tooth fairy did not forget him and she left him a dollar.
It was surprisingly emotional for me. My baby clearly is not a baby anymore. Before I know it I will be dealing with body odor and pubic hair. Eek!!
About two weeks ago, I was looking at him while he was speaking to me and I noticed a new "space" in his bottom teeth. I asked "did you lose a tooth?" No. "Do you have a loose tooth?" No. After examination, I discovered the culprit: an adult tooth had broken through and was shoving the baby tooth out of the way.
A few days later, I made corn on the cob for dinner. He took one bite and flipped. "Mom, Mom, I have a loose tooth. You have to only give me soft food!" Then the panic started: is it going to hurt? is it going to bleed? are you going to have to pull it? Drama, drama, drama.
As the week wore on, I would catch him playing with it with his tongue as kids do, but he never said anything about it again.
We were driving home from a little nature hike - on a deserted country road - and all of a sudden he yelled from the backseat, "Mom, my tooth just fell out and it landed in my lap." That was it.
We called Daddy and Mama G to share the exciting news. When we arrived at Mama G's, she handed him a dollar bill "in case the tooth fairy forgets you." Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mom.
We then went to the store to find the perfect container in which he would put his tooth for presentation to the tooth fairy. Whatever happened to the envelope - tooth in, tooth out money in, money out - of my childhood? No, my son wants a treasure chest or something. We couldn't find anything small enough, so he settled for an organza bag used for party favors at baby showers.
The tooth fairy left $5. I think I got a quarter when I was a kid. I hear the tooth fairy gives a lot more for the first tooth these days, and the gift is smaller for subsequent teeth. My son didn't even notice; he was delighted to find that the tooth fairy had in fact come. He checked under his pillow, took the money and stuffed it into his piggy bank, and then came to tell me the tooth fairy did not forget him and she left him a dollar.
It was surprisingly emotional for me. My baby clearly is not a baby anymore. Before I know it I will be dealing with body odor and pubic hair. Eek!!
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Jokes from a 6-year-old
What kind of monster loves to dance? The boogeyman.
Why don't clams share their toys? Because they are shellfish.
When is a door not a door? When it's ajar.
Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other slide.
Knock Knock. Who's there? Boo. Boo who? What are you crying about?!
Knock Knock. Who's there? Woo. Woo who? What are you so excited about?!
These few very bad jokes elicit peals of laughter from my 6-year-old. So of course I love to hear them over and over again.
Why don't clams share their toys? Because they are shellfish.
When is a door not a door? When it's ajar.
Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other slide.
Knock Knock. Who's there? Boo. Boo who? What are you crying about?!
Knock Knock. Who's there? Woo. Woo who? What are you so excited about?!
These few very bad jokes elicit peals of laughter from my 6-year-old. So of course I love to hear them over and over again.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Perpetuating the Myth and Salvaging the Story?
Sweetie is at the age where he asks if everything is "real" or "fake" so of course he has been asking about Santa Claus. Luckily, he is in a year-round school, and he is "off track" from just before Thanksgiving until after the first of the year, so I am not battling all of his killjoy peers and their nasty little tales of parental lies and deception. And, as I have mentioned before, he totally believes in magic.
So we've been counting down the days to Christmas Eve with our advent calendar. We've been talking about the story of Christmas and the birth of Jesus (prompted by a nativity scene in a neighbor's yard). He has asked for, and I have shared, stories of Christmases when I was a little girl. He was horrified by the trick my father played on me when I was 8; he led me to believe that my Big Wheel didn't come with all of its pieces, and you can't make returns to Santa, so I was just out of luck. He loved the story about the Christmas when I received two live finches ... I kept hearing this "peep peep" sound while we were opening presents but never noticed the cage. He didn't know Santa could bring you pets!! He was intrigued by my older sister's claim that she got out of bed one year because she heard something; the presents were under the tree and she saw Santa's boot as it disappeared out our front door. (She is nearly 50, and SWEARS to this day that she saw Santa's boot walking out our door.) We talked a little about Santa, but not as much as you would think considering all of his questions about everything else.
Out of Sweetie's mouth, here's the skinny on Santa: He was a real person, a long time ago, but new guys become Santa when the current Santa gets too old, and it just keeps going from new guy to new guy so we always have a Santa. (Hhhmmm ... has someone been watching The Santa Clause?) Santa doesn't live at the North Pole all the time - only when he is getting ready for Christmas - but the elves live there all the time; that's why they have those funny ears. He isn't sure where Santa lives, but it has to be someplace warmer than the North Pole. Santa is magic; he makes his reindeer fly, he makes his sleigh fly, he can magically make chimneys big enough for him to climb down and up, he has a magic key that opens doors to homes that do not have fireplaces, and he has that magic bag ... it's kind of like Mary Poppins' bag; it looks really small, but it can hold every single toy that every child in the world has put on his or her wish list. Oh, and Santa can stop time ... duh, how else could he get around the entire world in one night? The magic kind of "freaks [him] out" - that's why he doesn't want to go see Santa and get close to him. And by the way, even though those Santas in malls are not real - Santa hires guys to pretend to be him because he is too busy at work - maybe those mall guys have some kind of magic, too. He isn't sure, but he doesn't want to risk it. Santa doesn't make toys; his elves buy them at stores. Rudolph, though a real and magic reindeer, does not have a red nose that lights up. Rudolph's nose is red, but it's red like the one Dale has from Disney's Chip N' Dale. Rudolph wears a red flashlight on his halter!!
After we toured our neighborhood to look at lights, baked fresh cookies, sprinkled reindeer food on the lawn (oatmeal with glitter, so the reindeer can see the sparkles from the sky and know there are kids here), and got dressed in our Christmas pajamas, I heard him talking to his very best friend "Puppy" - a polka-dotted stuffed dog he has had for more than 5 years - and telling him "he's coming, he's coming, we have to go to sleep."
In years past, we have written letters to Santa, and received letters from Santa and/or Mrs. Claus, but this year he simply was not interested. Instead, he chose to tell his wish list to one of his worry dolls. He is 100% confident that his worry doll will take care of things for him, and he will get that one thing he really really wants. The problem? Because he didn't write it down anywhere, I am not 100% certain what he "really really" wants. I had to make an educated guess.
I just heard a clatter outside, and when I went to check it out, I noticed my Christmas tree has a ton of presents under it that weren't there before. And according to http://www.noradsanta.org/, Santa was in my area while I've been sitting here writing this blog. Though I believe in the spirit of Santa, I have always thought I was perpetuating a myth. Maybe I've been wrong; maybe my son is salvaging the story for me. Christmas just isn't the same if you don't have Santa in your life.
Happy Christmas.
So we've been counting down the days to Christmas Eve with our advent calendar. We've been talking about the story of Christmas and the birth of Jesus (prompted by a nativity scene in a neighbor's yard). He has asked for, and I have shared, stories of Christmases when I was a little girl. He was horrified by the trick my father played on me when I was 8; he led me to believe that my Big Wheel didn't come with all of its pieces, and you can't make returns to Santa, so I was just out of luck. He loved the story about the Christmas when I received two live finches ... I kept hearing this "peep peep" sound while we were opening presents but never noticed the cage. He didn't know Santa could bring you pets!! He was intrigued by my older sister's claim that she got out of bed one year because she heard something; the presents were under the tree and she saw Santa's boot as it disappeared out our front door. (She is nearly 50, and SWEARS to this day that she saw Santa's boot walking out our door.) We talked a little about Santa, but not as much as you would think considering all of his questions about everything else.
Out of Sweetie's mouth, here's the skinny on Santa: He was a real person, a long time ago, but new guys become Santa when the current Santa gets too old, and it just keeps going from new guy to new guy so we always have a Santa. (Hhhmmm ... has someone been watching The Santa Clause?) Santa doesn't live at the North Pole all the time - only when he is getting ready for Christmas - but the elves live there all the time; that's why they have those funny ears. He isn't sure where Santa lives, but it has to be someplace warmer than the North Pole. Santa is magic; he makes his reindeer fly, he makes his sleigh fly, he can magically make chimneys big enough for him to climb down and up, he has a magic key that opens doors to homes that do not have fireplaces, and he has that magic bag ... it's kind of like Mary Poppins' bag; it looks really small, but it can hold every single toy that every child in the world has put on his or her wish list. Oh, and Santa can stop time ... duh, how else could he get around the entire world in one night? The magic kind of "freaks [him] out" - that's why he doesn't want to go see Santa and get close to him. And by the way, even though those Santas in malls are not real - Santa hires guys to pretend to be him because he is too busy at work - maybe those mall guys have some kind of magic, too. He isn't sure, but he doesn't want to risk it. Santa doesn't make toys; his elves buy them at stores. Rudolph, though a real and magic reindeer, does not have a red nose that lights up. Rudolph's nose is red, but it's red like the one Dale has from Disney's Chip N' Dale. Rudolph wears a red flashlight on his halter!!
After we toured our neighborhood to look at lights, baked fresh cookies, sprinkled reindeer food on the lawn (oatmeal with glitter, so the reindeer can see the sparkles from the sky and know there are kids here), and got dressed in our Christmas pajamas, I heard him talking to his very best friend "Puppy" - a polka-dotted stuffed dog he has had for more than 5 years - and telling him "he's coming, he's coming, we have to go to sleep."
In years past, we have written letters to Santa, and received letters from Santa and/or Mrs. Claus, but this year he simply was not interested. Instead, he chose to tell his wish list to one of his worry dolls. He is 100% confident that his worry doll will take care of things for him, and he will get that one thing he really really wants. The problem? Because he didn't write it down anywhere, I am not 100% certain what he "really really" wants. I had to make an educated guess.
I just heard a clatter outside, and when I went to check it out, I noticed my Christmas tree has a ton of presents under it that weren't there before. And according to http://www.noradsanta.org/, Santa was in my area while I've been sitting here writing this blog. Though I believe in the spirit of Santa, I have always thought I was perpetuating a myth. Maybe I've been wrong; maybe my son is salvaging the story for me. Christmas just isn't the same if you don't have Santa in your life.
Happy Christmas.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Celebrate the Conscience!
As the mother of a six year old, I am often faced with those opportunities to teach my son about right and wrong and the power of his conscience. Sometimes it feels like it doesn't get through, but I had a very proud parental moment yesterday.
Two days ago Sweetie asked if he could have a piece of candy. "Bless him for asking" I thought to myself. I said no because the boys had been over at Mama G's for awhile that afternoon and she lets them eat so much junk. I thought that was the end of it. A few hours later, however, I found evidence that he had had two pieces of candy. I confronted him and at first he denied it. Then I showed him the candy wrappers, and he admitted that yes, he had eaten a piece of candy after I told him he could not have any and he claimed he had given the other piece to Stinker. He went off to his double timeout; one for eating candy after I told him no and one for lying about it.
Yesterday I was sitting on the floor folding laundry and Sweetie came up to me and said: "Mom, you know how you found those candy wrappers last night and I told you that I had one and gave one to [Stinker]? Well, I lied to you, Mom. I had two pieces of candy. I just feel guilty so I wanted to tell you about it."
I was so happy to have some proof that he has a conscience and it's speaking to him! It's not much in the grand scheme of things, but I'll take very little victory I can.
Two days ago Sweetie asked if he could have a piece of candy. "Bless him for asking" I thought to myself. I said no because the boys had been over at Mama G's for awhile that afternoon and she lets them eat so much junk. I thought that was the end of it. A few hours later, however, I found evidence that he had had two pieces of candy. I confronted him and at first he denied it. Then I showed him the candy wrappers, and he admitted that yes, he had eaten a piece of candy after I told him he could not have any and he claimed he had given the other piece to Stinker. He went off to his double timeout; one for eating candy after I told him no and one for lying about it.
Yesterday I was sitting on the floor folding laundry and Sweetie came up to me and said: "Mom, you know how you found those candy wrappers last night and I told you that I had one and gave one to [Stinker]? Well, I lied to you, Mom. I had two pieces of candy. I just feel guilty so I wanted to tell you about it."
I was so happy to have some proof that he has a conscience and it's speaking to him! It's not much in the grand scheme of things, but I'll take very little victory I can.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Where Did I Go Wrong?
Overall my boys are good kids, but it has become abundantly clear in the last two months or so that they simply do not listen, and I don't know what to do about it. They don't listen to me, their father, their grandmother, and sometimes even their teachers. They violate long standing rules for no apparent reason. They do things I have specifically told them not to do just a few minutes earlier. Where did I go wrong?
I have taken classes and read books and talked with other parents. What I am doing should work. They aren't monsters or openly defiant like some of the kids you see on the nanny shows. They just ignore me. I give clear warnings and I follow through with whatever consequence I threaten, but they don't care. I have "good citizen" rules that apply whether we are at home or somewhere else. We have "ugly" words we do not say because good citizens don't use those words. We have "bad" words that no one is supposed to say. I have restaurant rules and store rules. My rules are consistent, and there aren't too many; I definitely choose my battles. So why don't they listen? Where did I go wrong?
Some examples just from today. We have a long standing rule that we do not jump on the beds. I have explained that it is not safe and they will break the bed. They went off to play in their rooms, and sure enough within about five minutes I could hear them jumping on the beds. I reminded them of the rules; I caught them jumping on the beds five minutes later. We have a long standing rule that we do not throw things - anything - in the house. They hardly ever abide by that rule! We have two types of couch pillows, the "green" which they are not supposed to play with, and the "flowered" which they are allowed to play with. Sweetie launched a huge couch pillow - the ones they know they are not supposed to play with - across the room and knocked over some Christmas decorations. We have a long standing rule that we do not treat furniture - ours or anyone else's - like playground equipment. Did that stop Sweetie from swinging between couch and loveseat like they were parallel bars? Did that stop Stinker from tightrope walking on the back of the loveseat? Did that stop Sweetie from using his dresser as an anchor to tie up toys with Christmas ribbon? No, no and no. And this was all before dinner!! Where did I go wrong?
Neither of my boys can stay seated at the table through an entire meal. It doesn't matter where the meal is - home, restaurant, family's house, picnic - and it makes no difference what time of day it is; breakfast is just as problematic as dinner. Before we sit down to eat at a restaurant, I remind them of our table rules, including sitting "bottom to bottom, back to back" on the chair, facing the table, until I tell them it is okay to get up. If we are in a booth, they both eventually lay down and have to be reminded to sit up. Stinker turns around, or gets on his knees. At a kid friendly pizza place tonight, I reminded Stinker for about the fourth time to sit down, in his chair, and he said "No." Just like that. Nice and calm, no tantrum, no devilish smile ... just "no." I don't like to physically move his little body, but I do, and I did. He just got up again. Where did I go wrong?
We have very simple rules for any store: no running, no yelling, look with our eyes and not our hands, and stay close to Mommy. Stinker - the rambling man - is warned that if he wanders away from me, he will get put in the cart (which he hates). Long story short, we went to buy him a new pair of shoes, he ran away from me, and landed in the cart. And then he whined and yelled and cried that he wanted out, the whole time we were there. I'm sure the other shoppers loved me. I told him I would let him out to try on shoes, but that he was to stay close by, and if he could do that, I would let him stay out of the cart and walk. He took off again, with the shoes still tied together!! We went to a craft store to buy supplies for a school project for Sweetie. Stinker was so obnoxious; I took away a toy he was holding, slapped his hand, and gave him a timeout right there in the store. A woman told him she was going to make a phone call to Santa and make sure he was on the naughty list. How embarrassing!! Where did I go wrong?
And then the piece de resistance. They had a big fight in the bath, so I got them out and into their rooms to get ready for bed. After I escorted Stinker to his room, and as I turned to get his pajamas, he picked up a toy, and said to it "I hate that stupid Mommy." As you can probably guess, "hate" and "stupid" are ugly words in our house, and good citizens do not call other people names. I am devastated. I know most children say that to their parents at some point in their life, but Sweetie has never said it, and Stinker is only 3 years old. Where did I go wrong?
I'd love some parenting tips. I don't have any problem disciplining my children, but I don't want to be a yeller and I don't want to resort to spanking (though I have done both on occasion ... I am human after all.) In the meantime, I am going to go have a stiff drink and lick my wounds ...
I have taken classes and read books and talked with other parents. What I am doing should work. They aren't monsters or openly defiant like some of the kids you see on the nanny shows. They just ignore me. I give clear warnings and I follow through with whatever consequence I threaten, but they don't care. I have "good citizen" rules that apply whether we are at home or somewhere else. We have "ugly" words we do not say because good citizens don't use those words. We have "bad" words that no one is supposed to say. I have restaurant rules and store rules. My rules are consistent, and there aren't too many; I definitely choose my battles. So why don't they listen? Where did I go wrong?
Some examples just from today. We have a long standing rule that we do not jump on the beds. I have explained that it is not safe and they will break the bed. They went off to play in their rooms, and sure enough within about five minutes I could hear them jumping on the beds. I reminded them of the rules; I caught them jumping on the beds five minutes later. We have a long standing rule that we do not throw things - anything - in the house. They hardly ever abide by that rule! We have two types of couch pillows, the "green" which they are not supposed to play with, and the "flowered" which they are allowed to play with. Sweetie launched a huge couch pillow - the ones they know they are not supposed to play with - across the room and knocked over some Christmas decorations. We have a long standing rule that we do not treat furniture - ours or anyone else's - like playground equipment. Did that stop Sweetie from swinging between couch and loveseat like they were parallel bars? Did that stop Stinker from tightrope walking on the back of the loveseat? Did that stop Sweetie from using his dresser as an anchor to tie up toys with Christmas ribbon? No, no and no. And this was all before dinner!! Where did I go wrong?
Neither of my boys can stay seated at the table through an entire meal. It doesn't matter where the meal is - home, restaurant, family's house, picnic - and it makes no difference what time of day it is; breakfast is just as problematic as dinner. Before we sit down to eat at a restaurant, I remind them of our table rules, including sitting "bottom to bottom, back to back" on the chair, facing the table, until I tell them it is okay to get up. If we are in a booth, they both eventually lay down and have to be reminded to sit up. Stinker turns around, or gets on his knees. At a kid friendly pizza place tonight, I reminded Stinker for about the fourth time to sit down, in his chair, and he said "No." Just like that. Nice and calm, no tantrum, no devilish smile ... just "no." I don't like to physically move his little body, but I do, and I did. He just got up again. Where did I go wrong?
We have very simple rules for any store: no running, no yelling, look with our eyes and not our hands, and stay close to Mommy. Stinker - the rambling man - is warned that if he wanders away from me, he will get put in the cart (which he hates). Long story short, we went to buy him a new pair of shoes, he ran away from me, and landed in the cart. And then he whined and yelled and cried that he wanted out, the whole time we were there. I'm sure the other shoppers loved me. I told him I would let him out to try on shoes, but that he was to stay close by, and if he could do that, I would let him stay out of the cart and walk. He took off again, with the shoes still tied together!! We went to a craft store to buy supplies for a school project for Sweetie. Stinker was so obnoxious; I took away a toy he was holding, slapped his hand, and gave him a timeout right there in the store. A woman told him she was going to make a phone call to Santa and make sure he was on the naughty list. How embarrassing!! Where did I go wrong?
And then the piece de resistance. They had a big fight in the bath, so I got them out and into their rooms to get ready for bed. After I escorted Stinker to his room, and as I turned to get his pajamas, he picked up a toy, and said to it "I hate that stupid Mommy." As you can probably guess, "hate" and "stupid" are ugly words in our house, and good citizens do not call other people names. I am devastated. I know most children say that to their parents at some point in their life, but Sweetie has never said it, and Stinker is only 3 years old. Where did I go wrong?
I'd love some parenting tips. I don't have any problem disciplining my children, but I don't want to be a yeller and I don't want to resort to spanking (though I have done both on occasion ... I am human after all.) In the meantime, I am going to go have a stiff drink and lick my wounds ...
Friday, December 5, 2008
Guatemalan Worry Dolls
Yesterday, Sweetie came up to me, all excited: "Mom, come here. I found this thing, I've never seen it before so I don't know how to tell you what it is, I bet you don't know, but come and look because I want to have it." I couldn't imagine what had him so worked up. I followed him into his room, and he presented me with a small, oval-shaped box made of a wicker-type material. I knew immediately what it was, I just had no idea how he found it!
When The Ex and I first split, I was worried about a lot of things. My worries were weighing on my mind, and apparently wearing on my face because Mama G gave me a little oval-shaped box of Guatemalan worry dolls. At night before you go to sleep, you tell one of the dolls a specific worry, and then the doll does the worrying for you so you can get a good night's rest. I haven't used them in years, and in fact I forgot I even had them, but they've stayed with us through two moves and somehow ended up in Sweetie's hot little hands.
Sweetie is a pretty spiritual kid and a big believer in magic. He believes in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy. He believes in pixie dust and fairies and dream catchers. He understands and believes in karma (though he thinks it is the spirit of a child). So you can imagine his delight when I told him about worry dolls. He begged me to let him have them because "Mom, really, I have a lot of worries." I tried to get him to tell me some of his worries - seriously, what is my 6 year old worrying about? - but he said "you aren't magic, Mom, but the worry dolls are. I want to tell them so I won't worry any more." How could I resist?
This morning he told me he had used all 6 of the worry dolls last night. And he feels "less worrying" today. Well. God I love that kid!
When The Ex and I first split, I was worried about a lot of things. My worries were weighing on my mind, and apparently wearing on my face because Mama G gave me a little oval-shaped box of Guatemalan worry dolls. At night before you go to sleep, you tell one of the dolls a specific worry, and then the doll does the worrying for you so you can get a good night's rest. I haven't used them in years, and in fact I forgot I even had them, but they've stayed with us through two moves and somehow ended up in Sweetie's hot little hands.
Sweetie is a pretty spiritual kid and a big believer in magic. He believes in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy. He believes in pixie dust and fairies and dream catchers. He understands and believes in karma (though he thinks it is the spirit of a child). So you can imagine his delight when I told him about worry dolls. He begged me to let him have them because "Mom, really, I have a lot of worries." I tried to get him to tell me some of his worries - seriously, what is my 6 year old worrying about? - but he said "you aren't magic, Mom, but the worry dolls are. I want to tell them so I won't worry any more." How could I resist?
This morning he told me he had used all 6 of the worry dolls last night. And he feels "less worrying" today. Well. God I love that kid!
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