Playing Favorites

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We hear about siblings claiming their parents have a favorite child. But what happens when a child has a favorite parent?

Young children are known for having a preferred parent. I can't tell you how many times I've heard from a friend or read in another mommy blog about a little one who hero-worships his mother and utterly rejects his poor father. It happens in my own home! There was a time when my little guy couldn't even bear to watch my husband give me a hug. He would turn away in horror, shielding his eyes from this threatening sight. His possessiveness has improved with age. Now that he's four years old, he still prefers that I brush his teeth, bathe him, put him to bed, and just about anything else that involves one person spending time with another; but things are sloooowly changing. Now there are times when my son gently and sweetly (so as not to hurt my feelings) asks me to leave the room so he and his fun-loving dad can properly play trains. And he'll accept it, mostly without incident, when I'm attending a school meeting and my husband has to put him to bed. (Although he still requires fair warning.) Basically, I can see his progress toward opening up to the idea of having two parents.

How does my son's intense attachment make me feel? Loved and flattered, of course. But also exhausted. I can feel the crushing weight of his expectations, my total lack of freedom that comes with his need for my undivided attention. Then there's my husband's feelings. I'm lucky on that front. My husband's patience is admirable. He is very understanding about this stage of our son's life; he knows that eventually our son's world view will change.

My little guy's entree into our family has also affected my daughter. There has been a shift in my relationship with her. It used to be that I was her world, too. She was almost as mommy-centric as my son is now. Once he came into the world, he took over with such force that she was cast out of that role overnight. She was six at the time, so she had enjoyed a long reign, but the change was swift and permanent, my guilt palpable.

But there's something more.

It's no surprise that my unavailability forced my daughter to search elsewhere for the attention she needed. She developed a relationship with my husband that has grown into something more than she and I had shared. As father and daughter have spent more time together and our daughter's persona has developed with age, they've become close. Rather than the snuggles and baths and trips to the playground she and I had shared when she was small, she began to share discoveries, thoughts and opinions with her dad. They found that their personalities were similar; they are both reserved, meticulous observers. With so much in common it has become clear over time that they are kindred spirits.

I am grateful that my daughter has found someone in this world who understands her so well. It's great that she feels comfortable sharing her thoughts and feelings with her dad. It seems so rare that a father is able to relate to his daughter on such an emotional level. What a lucky thing for her to grow up with that solid presence by her side.

This is not to say that I've given up being close with her myself. I want more than anything to be her best friend! I long to be the person she comes to when she argues with a friend, the shoulder she cries on the first time someone breaks her heart. I feel a surge of ugly jealousy when she has lengthy conversations with my husband about her day at school. She and I talk about her day, too, but somehow she seems to delve deeper when she talks to him.

Time will likely change the dynamics in our family again and again. That's the nature of things: they change. Still, it's possible that my daughter has found a connection with her father that she and I may not achieve. Our personalities may just be too disparate for her to feel comfortable coming to me. The thought frightens and saddens me, at the same time, I'm so happy for her that she has him. So many girls grow up looking for love from the daddy who was never there for them. That will never be my daughter's fate.

Meanwhile, my son is still very young, but his personality seems to have more in common with my own. As he matures, I'm interested to see what type of relationship we'll develop. I'm still chugging along down this mysterious and confusing road with my daughter. She's on the verge of adolescence, so I'm thinking things will get worse before they get better, but I haven't given up. All I can do is wait and see. And keep trying.

One Mother, Two Distinctly Different Children

My children are polar opposites. My daughter is bright and reserved and meticulous; my son is clever, exuberant, and gregarious. I marvel when my son, who is only four years old, talks in depth about his feelings and is able to ferret out his own opinions in the blink of an eye. For my daughter, a ten year old girl on the verge of adolescence, feelings and opinions have always been a bit of a mystery, but she is a master at focusing her attention on most any task that is set before her. She doesn't know the meaning of the word, "quit." She pushes herself as far as she can go in almost everything she pursues, while my son enjoys pushing others to their limits. These two souls are both so unique and have such different needs. I am only one person with one view of the world and one skill set. So how do I go about parenting these two distinct personalities?

I do have a husband who is very active in this parenting journey we're on together. Luckily he comes with his own point of view, his own set of strengths, his own skill set, all of which are different from mine. So when you put us together, we have many of the bases covered. But I can't help feeling a little inadequate when I look to him to provide something to our children that I can't. Why is that? Well, if you know me or have read this blog, you know that I am a doer by nature. I have a hard time delegating. When I manage to do so, I don't find it a relief. While the expression, "Many hands make light work" may be true, it is not satisfying to me. When hands other than my own do the work, I end up feeling lazy or like I got away with something.

I realize I can't be everything to my children. Not only is it impossible, it's unwise. Deep down I know they need influences other than mine to help them grow into the well rounded people I aim for them to become. Still, I am humbled when someone other than me comes up with the "right" answer to a problem.

When my daughter struggles with making a choice, it's my husband who talks her through it, breaking down the pros and cons of either side of the issue. And there I stand, observing, mystified by the concept of not knowing how to choose. I was born with an opinion - about everything!

The other day my son was upset when my daughter opened the door to an Advent calendar without him being there. He was beginning to have a meltdown, and I (in the midst of trying to get us out the door on time) became flustered and unable to calm him. My daughter curtly resolved the conflict by closing the door to the calendar and letting him open it a second time. So simple, and more importantly, so effective! My son was instantly mollified and we were all able to move on with our day. A big part of me was proud of my daughter for being able to problem solve on the fly. But I felt annoyed with myself for not coming up with that solution right off the bat. It was so obvious that a 10-year-old girl could clearly see it. Why couldn't I?

I am still learning how to parent each of my children. As they grow and change, so do I. My education in parenting started by watching my own parents. It has developed through reading books and blogs. I gather advice from fellow parents and friends. But most of all I am feeling my way. I am trying to remain flexible, to love in the ways they need, to be the mother they each need me to be.

5 Ways to Streamline Parenting

I'm not an expert in child development, but I do have 10 years' experience as a parent. In that time I've made plenty of mistakes. But I've also made enough observations about what works and what doesn't to streamline and simplify the process. (At least little bit.) Here are a few things I've learned along the way, and if you're in the mood to share, go for it! I'd love to hear your tips.

Buy two identical loveys.

Specific, I know, but this piece of advice will save a lot of stress. Children are not known for their flexibility, plus they don't particularly care about cleanliness. If you buy two loveys and switch them out regularly on laundry day, you'll have peace of mind knowing that your child is snuggling with a clean lovey, and your child will never have to give up her security - not even for a couple of hours.

Introduce new foods at the start of the day.

Children are at their best after a good night's sleep. Conversely, they're at their worst at the end of the day (re: dinnertime). So I've taken to serving my picky eater dinner leftovers for breakfast, when my little one is feeling more adventurous. That way, when dinnertime rolls around, I don't have to feel guilty about defaulting to cereal. Cereal also has the added benefit of being simple to prepare, so I feel less like a short-order cook. Once he's more accepting of a diverse diet, I'll transition him to eating what the rest of us do at the dinner table. I figure before long he'll naturally start wanting to eat what the rest of us are eating anyway, like my daughter did.

Wait and see.

I've written about this subject before, but it definitely bears mentioning here. If I had one piece of advice to offer a new parent, it would be to take the "wait-and-see" approach. I'm a planner, so this goes against my nature, but childhood really is nothing more than a series of phases. It's like the weather: If you wait long enough things will change. So whatever the issue, give it a week or two, and you might find you're in a whole new place. All this stress we parents take on about doing away with the pacifier or transitioning to a Big Kid Bed or learning to eat new foods, it's a waste of time. It also places unnecessary stress onto both the parent and child. If you picture yourself and your child 15 or 20 years into the future, you'll see that your worry is likely unfounded. After all, how many teenagers have you seen with their mommies trailing them in case they need a diaper change?

Give up.

I don't take 'no' for an answer. Except when it comes to parenting dilemmas. I've found that if you can't find an answer to a parenting dilemma it's because there isn't one. Sometimes there's no real solution and you just have to wait it out. Take sleep, for example. Or eating. Or potty training. You can ask your fellow parents for their sage advice. You can read parenting manuals. You can ask your pediatrician. But after you've tried try every trick in the book and you're still not making any progress, it's time to admit defeat. If the milestone isn't coming easily, then your child isn't ready. I've found that if I give up and let my child lead the way, things will work themselves out without much intervention from me. My advice: Just hold on and enjoy the ride, you'll be on to the next big issue before you know it.

Leave your child alone.

Obviously I don't mean literally, children need adult supervision. I'm talking figuratively. Children learn very quickly from two things: Doing things for themselves, and failure. Neither of those things can happen if you're there, guiding them along all the time. I struggle here because it's hard for me not to share my rich life experience and infinite wisdom. But seriously, following this tenet requires patience. It takes a lot longer for my children to accomplish a task on their own. The hardest part is finding the fortitude to practice staying uninvolved. The heartbreak of watching them fail, especially when some simple advice could have prevented it, is hard to bear, but they probably wouldn't have listened anyway. Inaction really is the best teaching tool in your parenting toolbox.

Why You Shouldn't Edit Yourself

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Like so many in my circle, I'm a conscientious parent. I do my best to keep informed about parenting. I read up on homework studies (and homework, it turns out, is a pretty pointless exercise perpetuated by parental pressure, by the way). I keep abreast of recommendations by educators who say that play and recess are essential components of learning. I even educate myself about ideas other parents have on child rearing, and as you might expect, it turns out there are many opinions out there. In the midst of this information bonanza, there's one thing that raises my hackles.

When I see posts on what you should or shouldn't say to your child, feelings of exasperation inevitably arise within me:

• Six Ways to Praise Without Saying "Good Job"


• Why You Shouldn't Tell Your Daughter She's Beautiful


• How to Say No Without Saying No

Ugh!

Isn't being a parent confusing enough? Now we have to self-monitor our otherwise natural interactions with our children? Edit every word that escapes our lips? Enough, I say! I refuse to be pressured into limiting my own free speech. I will say "good job" to my preschooler when it seems appropriate (even if it's every day). I will tell my daughter that she's smart and strong and tenacious, but I will also tell her how beautiful she is, because she is! And I will say no. A lot. Because my children, like all children, push boundaries and need to know their limits, and let's face it: Sometimes "no" is the quickest way to communicate.

New ideas are what keep us evolving as parents, so is there value to these posts that shame us for using words that spring from love? The authors seem well intended. They're only trying to help us become better parents, but I think we need to trust ourselves more as parents. Our instincts are a powerful and undervalued tool! We are a thoughtful and loving bunch, so how can our well meaning words be so bad? We should feel empowered to use praise at will and set limits without having to hire a speech writer.

So I don't know about you, but I'm standing by my own instincts. They've served me well so far. I have two beautiful children who (usually) stop when I say no and (almost) always do a very good job.

Why I Deserve an 'F' in Homework

Parents who do their kids' homework are the lowest form of parent, right? Well, call me a bottom feeder because I just failed my first big test in Homework 101.

As my daughter tackled her first big school project over Spring Break, I struggled with the age-old parenthood dilemma: To Help Or Not To Help, That Is The Question. The assignment in question was to build a model of a building of her choice from around the world. She chose a Pagoda. And, truth be told, I had a hard time keeping my hands off it.

Did she build it herself? Sure. But figuring out the best way to go about it was a different story. We discussed her options, and rather than me allowing her to figure out why any given option was viable or not, I found myself giving her the answers. Me! A mom who usually has such good instincts! And the worst part was, I knew I was doing it, and still I couldn't stop myself. I just wanted her to have an engaging experience with this milestone. I wanted the process to be fun for her, not frustrating, the end result be something she was unquestionably proud of.

So I'm one of those parents. The ones who do their child's homework for them. In the end I undoubtedly robbed her of some aspect of the learning process. So, I am making a mid-year's resolution: Next time, even if I have to gag and bind myself, I will keep my thoughts to myself and let her find her own way.

The SAHM Label

I just read an article about Ann Romney that talked about her being attacked for being a SAHM. Some Democratic pundit on a talking heads cable show declared that she “never worked a day in her life.” As a fellow SAHM, I can attest to the diligence and fortitude it takes to be good at this job. I've never worked harder in my life!

Why does society hate Stay-at-Home Moms? There's an air of disdain whenever someone talks about the label, an assumption that anyone who chooses this path is inherently lazy and entitled. Or at best there's some patronizing comment issued about what a tough job it is.

I spend my days completing mundane tasks so that my family has what they need to have a successful day. Lunches. Laundry. Homework. But I also work hard at giving them the tools they need to evolve into good people. Kisses. Words of advice. Words of praise. Being a SAHM is about more than doing the dishes. It's about constructing a world that allows your children to grow up happy and secure and strong.

I don't know Ann Romney, but I do know what it's like to be a SAHM. And I know that if society gave this job its due, more people might choose this path.

Confessions of a SAHM

I was raised to become a high-powered whatever, always striving and racing to reach the highest heights, struggling valiantly to balance work, family, and home. Today I revel in the singlemindedness of Stay-at-Home Momdom.

I love my job! But I’m also slightly ashamed of it.

You see, I love being at home with my children. They give me an unprecedented and previously unimaginable sense of joy and wonder. And I feel a great sense of pride in watching them become bright, clever, happy people. I look at them in all their awesomeness and think, "I did that."

I also derive a sense of great accomplishment from cooking a well-balanced, delicious meal for my family. There, I said it. It's totally true, and I need to learn to own it. And, yes, you read right. I used the word "accomplishment." That's in part because I come from a long line of... what's the word that's the opposite of chef? Well, whatever that is, that's what my lineage is. My grandmother never lifted a finger in the kitchen (beyond cinnamon toast and the occasional batch of vegetable soup.) And while my mother certainly managed to get dinner on the table every night, her "recipes" were hit or miss (mostly because she never followed one). Most nights I somehow figure out how to read the recipe, do what it says, and render a pretty tasty result! And on nights when I improvise and make up my own concoctions (which isn't often - see previous sentences re: my mom), they usually turn out pretty good. Occasionally they're very good. And that's when I really feel proud. Because I did it (as my toddler would say) "All By Myself!"

I spend my days changing diapers, singing "Wheels on the Bus," chauffeuring my school-aged daughter around town, and I eat it up! My mother marvels at my infinite patience with the tediousness of my existence. But my secret is simple: I love what I do.

I finally understand what people mean when they talk about finding their passion. That's exactly what motherhood is to me.

But all the while I feel like the rest of the world is giving me a sideways glance filled with mild disappointment. I'm certain that many of my peers think my college education was a waste of time. I can only imagine that they must think that talking to me is unbearably boring because my world consists of playdough and playgrounds.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not so self-centered that I think people spend their free time thinking about what I do with my days. I'm a firm believer in that saying, "You'd stop worrying about what everyone thinks of you if you knew how seldom they did." But deep down I know this life that I have is not at all that I was groomed for. Still, I love it. I wouldn't have it any other way.

An Exercise in Futility

Like many women, I've never been happy with my body. I've always zeroed in on the flaws, staring at my reflection, half believing that if I stood there long enough, my intense gaze would melt away my "problem areas." Still, even in the midst of my self-loathing, I felt like my body was passable, at least when I was wearing clothes (as opposed to a bathing suit - or worse). And so I never felt it necessary to exercise.

Then I had children. And my body slowly ballooned through a combination of baby weight and being a stay-at-home mom with ready access to a refrigerator and pantry at all times. Today I'm up to my highest weight - 20 lbs more than I weighed in my glory days.

The hardest part of my downhill journey is admitting something to myself. I've always told myself that if I exercised, I'd easily achieve the body I've always longed for. But it turns out that's simply not true.

Maybe it's because I waited until I was 38 to give it a whirl, but despite my commitment to jogging every other day without fail, my metabolism refuses to budge. My body revels in its current state, hanging onto that 20 lbs for dear life. It's been 3 months and NOTHING.

It's frustrating and hard to keep up with the exercise regimen with no visible results. My clothes fit the same. The scale reads the same. I try telling myself that my heart, lungs, cholesterol levels - my insides must be looking really healthy! Sexy even! Somehow that's not a big comfort. Did I just say big? Well, I guess that's fitting. (Unlike my jeans.)