Fashion in the Land of Fleece and Comfortable Shoes

Maybe it was because I had two older sisters that clothes were so important to me at a young age.  Or perhaps it’s just because I was a girl.  I wore white “leather” boots in first grade.  And I was the first in my second grade class to wear bell bottom pants.  Doesn’t that say it all?  Fringed suede vest in third grade.  Top that!  My nine year old son commented, “Mom, you looked like a boy when you were little.”  Is he crazy?  I was the most fashionable elementary school student around.  I was stylin’, kiddo.

In junior high school, I really came into my own.  I scanned my older sisters’ Seventeen and Glamor magazines and if I couldn’t find what I wanted in a store, then I made it myself.  There wasn’t a lot to choose from for girls clothes in Bangor, Maine in the mid-1970s.  My big catch was a new wardrobe and then some when I visited my aunt in Washington, DC where they had a Syms  (much like TJ Maxx.)  I think she had more fun than I did watching how excited I was to shop in a real store.  I returned with a new outfit for everyday for the rest of the school year.  It should come as no surprise that I was voted “Most Fashionable” for my junior high year book.

High school was a little more challenging.  The preppy look that was still lingering got mixed in with Pat Benatar spandex. If that wasn’t ugly enough then there was the hair.  What on earth were stylists thinking?  In terms of hair trends, I’d take the “Rachel" from the television show Friends any day over the tight perms we all paid for and struggled to maintain.  How many of us had our senior pictures taken with that godforsaken look?  Add to it the hair accessory that you wore around your forehead and, oh, it’s just too difficult to explain.  Frankly, there was no fashion from 1980 - 1983.

College gave me a reprieve from the whole fashion scene.  I was in Boston and all I needed to fit in was to wear black.  And own a pair of Guess and Marithe Francois Girbaud jeans, which was my whole clothing budget for the year.  However, my dear aunt in Washington, DC took it upon herself to outfit me with the latest from Talbots.  Here I am, a poor struggling college student just wanting to look cool, and I’m being sent clothes for a 35-year-old office worker.  I tried to explain my plight to her without sounding ungrateful, but she never quite got it.  Maybe that’s why I ended up as an office clerk for my work-study job.  I had the right clothes for it.

After college my aunt’s clothes were very helpful.  I ended up in human resources in downtown Boston.  She sent me boxes of her old suits and in my spare time I would alter them.  I’m pretty sure they were the most conservative clothes I’ll ever be seen in but she saved me a lot of money that I didn’t have and gave me something to do on weekends since I couldn’t afford to go out.

I left the corporate world after a few years and became a bit of a ski bum, where I committed my biggest fashion faux pas.  I spent some time in Switzerland on a low budget and actually skied the Alps in jeans.  At the time it just didn’t matter to me.  I had so much fun that I must have been completely oblivious to the looks of horror from the jet set crowd in their one piece powder suits.  The language barrier can be a good thing.

A lot has changed since then.  I’ve given all my suits and high heals away and am living peacefully in the land of fleece and comfortable shoes.  My boys' clothing needs come first and I’m quite happy in my typical outfit of jeans and a fleece. My latest purchase is a pair of sneakers so I could start running for the first time in my life.  I’ve been pulling out my ski clothes to wear on runs as it gets colder.  But I can’t keep running in all black so the time has come for me to join my sisters in the north country and actually spend money on workout clothes.  Who knew shopping for leggings and a reflective top could be so exciting? 

Cleats

My 8 year old decided he had to play tackle football this year.  I have no idea what inspired him; we don't have cable television so he hasn't been watching it on TV.  I did take him to a high school game once but that was two years ago.  Regardless, even though it's not something I'm really thrilled with, I let him pursue the sport.  First we had to get cleats.

I try really hard not to bring both boys on errands with me.  My 5 year old predictably wants something, usually candy, when we go shopping.  It takes a lot of preparation and patience getting in and out of a store with him.  For the most part I can manage, but with both it's a nightmare.  So there we were, at our local sports store picking out cleats for my 8 year old.  "I need cleats too," said my 5 year old.  And there they were, little lime green cleats for kids' soccer.  "But honey," I pointed out, "you only lasted one practice last year.  If you want cleats, you have to promise to play the whole season."  Of course the promise meant nothing but I needed something to justify the purchase.  He was so excited when he tried them on.

And it gets better!  This particular cleat came with a special - shoes, shin pads, and a soccer ball for only $50!  He was in heaven and I couldn't go back.  I ended up spending $100 on what was supposed to be a $40 visit.  (The clerk sold me on socks too.)  My 8 year old was a bit disgruntled that his brother got more than he did.  After all it was supposed to be his trip to the store.

When we got home my 5 year old went in the back yard to practice.  Days later when my 8 year old came home with his new football jersey, my 5 year old wanted to know where his was.  I have to admit seeing my oldest in full football gear is adorable.  Now he can't wait for kindergarten to start so he can play soccer and get his jersey (t-shirt.)  The count down is on but the best part is he's been practicing in the back yard every day.  Meanwhile, my 8 year old announced last night that football is boring and he doesn't want to play anymore...

The Joy of One

Boy did I get lucky this weekend.  My 8 year old son spent the weekend away with a friend and we only had the 5 year old.  What a difference!  It was so easy!

My 5 year old was in heaven.  He was so calm, relaxed, talkative, fun-loving, and just plain cute.  We snuggled, played, he ate all his meals without a fuss, and I think he slept longer too.  Normally he’s a bit more difficult.  He gets into everything, demands his own way, follows me around (always seems to hang at the bathroom door), wakes up early on weekends (late during the week), and has at least one mega tantrum which involves knocking all the refrigerator magnets to the floor and throwing a few nearby items.  But not this weekend!  Well, not until his brother came back home.

And then the serenity was gone.  The second the Primo walked in the door, little Secundo, who was excited to see him, handed him a toy we bought at the grocery store.  Primo's had a Patriot’s logo on it, Secundo’s was Red Sox.  First thing Primo says is not “Thank you” but “I don’t like the Patriots” and he threw it on the floor.  Next Secundo went to give Primo the piece of candy we saved for him and that wasn’t good enough either.  Then Primo got made that he couldn’t watch Terminator 2 at that exact time.  And all within 10 minutes.  There are lots of reason he couldn’t watch T2, mainly that we don’t actually have it, but no need to elaborate here.  He stormed up to his bedroom and the three of us had no idea what just happened.  So, we went back to doing whatever it was we were doing and after a while he came back down.

Crazy dynamic.  I had always thought that Primo was the easier of the two boys but now I see that they’re both wonderful in their own way, it’s just when they’re together that parenting becomes so stressful.  Unfortunately, that’s the majority of my day.  But I’m on to something here.  I’m paying a shrink $25/week to figure out Secundo.  I already know he’ll be on an IEP this fall for speech so I don’t think I need to pay for a second opinion.   His manic tantrums and selfish behavior could be stemming from the classic need for attention.  Could it be so simple?

I’ll bring it up with the shrink.  In the meantime, I’ve seen a little light on the situation and will approach the chaos from a new perspective.  The easy solution would be to just get a bigger house.  For now, I’ll divide my time better between the two of them and with any luck have more weekend sleepovers.

Bringing Up Bebe

I just finished “Bringing Up Bebe” by Pamela Druckerman, described as “One American Mother Discovers the Wisdom of French Parenting.”  Fabulous read.  I am still of course on what seems to be never ending quest to be a better parent.  And as I have just learned from reading the book, the French mantra is that there is no such thing as a perfect parent, so my goal of “slight improvement” is at least obtainable.  Here are my highlights:

Kids should never hit a parent:  I’ve let the monster walk all over me.  Until now.

Kids should be able to sit at the table and be patient, while eating normal food:  I’ve never been a fan of children’s menus, or should I say the singular children’s menu since they’re all the same, and only now use them to save money.  But for goodness sake, let them eat food.  And teach them patience at the table.  Meal time isn’t just about eating, it’s social, educational, and a culinary treat.

You don’t have to attend every practice, or for that matter enroll your child in every program:  Phew.  I’m not alone in that theory.

Kids like their independence:  I knew that.  No second thoughts on letting them figure things out for themselves.

Parents like their independence too:  Yay for that!  So it’s okay to make it clear that “you are not the center of the universe.”

“Good Job” and other things you shouldn’t say to your kids:  That’s actually a website and super blog.  But it’s true and the French abide by it.

And of course life is different in France with health care and child care but no need to dwell on that because it’s very depressing compared to the United States.

So where do I fit in:  Tiger Mom, American “Helicopter” Mom, or French Mom?  I don’t know!  It’s a work in progress...

Camp Trip Summer 2012

We're on the road home a few days early.  Ran out of food, cash, and the will to be parents.  I love Bar Harbor; it’s gorgeous and there’s so much to do.  I knew planning for 2 weeks was ambitious but I was willing to take the chance.  My main goal was to have my husband spend time with the kids.  And the only rule was we couldn’t leave until everyone was happy.  When I announced it, all 3 of them said “I’m happy.”  Well bah humbug to you too.

The first few days we had my 25 year old step-daughter with us.   As she had only 3 days to play she had a lot on her agenda.  She exhausted us.  While it was good to have the extra person, we were crabby from the get-go.  We biked, beached, and went out for lunch on a rainy day.  Once she left we slowed the pace down and eased into the transition of the day.

Have I mentioned the boys?  Now, I know that there are some parents who do the whole vacation thing beautifully by incorporating the needs of their children into the overall plan.  They play with them, bring all the necessary accessories, and have assigned chores so the kids feels like they’re involved.  But my husband and I don’t work that way.  It’s enough to tend to ourselves.  I try to maintain some sort of structure, but now matter what, there’s always a lot of yelling.  The boys don’t play well together and the younger one is beyond Dennis the Menace, in a manic sort of way.  Even after almost 2 weeks together 24/7 I still can’t figure him out.  (We’re working on it.)  If I were our neighbors at the campground, I’d probably move.  We’re all very loud.

The low point was our last night when we thought we’d go for an early dinner.  When we got to the restaurant, we decided we’d rather go across the street for the better view.  But young “Dennis” didn’t like that and wanted to stay.  Which he made known by screaming at the top of his lungs and kicking everything in the car.  My husband got out to restrain him which only made him louder.  A waitress from the restaurant came out to the parking lot to see what was going on and gave us the look of death.  I thought she was going to call social services.  Once we got “Dennis” quieted down, but not quite calm as we discovered later, we drove back to the campsite and regrouped.  We decided against going out and ate all the leftover food for dinner.  We were all quite shaken and discouraged.

Other highlights include my oldest son getting chased by a seagull at the beach as he was eating string cheese.  He just wouldn’t let go and the bird wasn’t going to give up so it ended up in a chase.  While it was actually kind of scary we were all laughing.  He ran in circles on the beach holding on to the cheese with the bird swooping in and getting frighteningly close but finally giving up.  Of course the cheese was no good after the chase, and my son will probably never eat string cheese again, but it makes for a good story.

Our biggest accomplishment was when “Dennis” insisted on losing the training wheels and learned how to ride a bike.  He refused to ride it with the training wheels on and went all around the campground on his scooter the first week.  In true “Dennis” form he came racing around the corner to the campsite, fell off his scooter and screamed to holy heaven, terrifying the neighbors and alerting everyone to his brother on his Ripstick.  There’s a “No Skateboarding” rule in effect at the campground and that unfortunately inlcudes Ripsticks. So his big brother lost out on his favorite activity early in the week.  What’s with the bad rap on skateboards?

We biked the carriage paths twice and we went for a short hike, as well as went to Sand Beach and swam in the pool and biked all over the campground everyday.  I had planned on much more but the energy to coordinate all 3 males was too much.  The boys talked about going into town everyday so they could go to the toy store and then begged for quarters so they could buy 20oz sodas.  And the oldest figured out that there was a TV room and hid there for the last part of the week.  In turn, we gave up on “Dennis” and let him play with the iPad when he wanted.

“Dennis” announced he was happy and asked when we could go home.  Between the TV viewing on a regular basis, the tantrums of “Dennis”, and my husband shutting down the stress was too much for me.  I don’t think the 12 days was a failure by any means though.  I trust in my heart of hearts that while the boys only talk about soda and TV now, they’ll remember the important stuff like the beach, hike, lakes, and rides later.  And of course time spent with family without dwelling on the yelling and general chaos.

Those First 3 Years

My 5 year old has his first appointment with a shrink today.  I’m curious to see how someone can analyze a person his age in one hour and of course I can’t wait to learn what else I’ve done wrong with him.  I was thinking this morning about the differences in upbringing between him and his 8 year brother.  It hadn’t occurred to me until now that they’re pretty significant.

When I went back to work with my 8 year old, we were living in a much bigger town yet I still had problems finding childcare.  The first women lasted 1 week.  She said he spit up too much and I wasn’t impressed that I had to wake the family up at drop off the final Friday.  Having survived that, I made a few calls over the weekend and found another one by Sunday.  She was everything I didn’t want:  she lived on the other side of town, small house with little rooms and 3 kids of her own, pets everywhere, a large screen television, and she smoked.  But what are you going to do?  Her references were great, she had photo albums of all the children she had cared for which were impressive, and having made it through the last week I had nothing to lose.  I kept an open mind and dropped him off on Monday.  On Tuesday, she had a new dog.  On Wednesday, her hair was a different color.  On Thursday he was planted in front of the TV.  On Friday she had no hair.  I thought she had cancer and was going through chemotherapy.  “No, no, nothing like that,” she said.  “I just didn’t like my hair and it was all dried out so I cut it off.”  And then the next week her eyes were a different color.  This I knew was from contact lenses.  I gave up trying to figure her out.  As it turns out I learned more about child care from her than I did from any of the books.  She had enough experience with babies to know all their quirks.  She was great with him, it was good to have him exposed to all the pet dander, and the chaos made for never a dull moment.  She would rearrange the rooms on a regular basis so I was never quite sure where he’d be at pick up.  And I should add that she only smoked outside and kept him away from the TV after that first time.  By the second year she had another baby and I decided to move on.

I found a woman right in my neighborhood with the same name as the last provider.  It was meant to be.  My husband and I nicknamed her “the Drill Sargent.”  She was fabulous.  Toys were put away, dishes brought up to the sink, daily schedules, backyard rules.  It was everything he needed at that age.  And then we moved north and he started preschool while I was pregnant with my second.

It dawned on me this morning that my 5 year old has missed out on all that.  While he had loving, caring, and perfectly wonderful providers in the early years, he didn’t have the chaos or structure of the Drill Sargent that my 8 year old had.  At the time this seemed like a good thing but in retrospect I think he missed out.  I took for granted all the one-on-one attention my 8 year old had and the life skills that came with it.  The early providers with my youngest were all sweet women but quiet and cautious.  And his early daycare, while structured and creative, maybe was too much so.  Now in preschool he’s a happy and well behaved child (after having made a few adjustments) but at home he can be very difficult. 

And it’s my fault!  I never had discipline problems with my oldest.  So I didn’t nip it in the bud early enough with my youngest.  I didn’t know!  But now I do.  There’s so much to take in as a parent.  I breezed through all the mechanical stuff like breastfeeding and sleeping and eating when my youngest was a baby but unknowingly had yet to develop a system for being the parent I need to be because my oldest was so well taken care of by the little “village” I created.  I’ll get there!  Parents take time to grow too I suppose.

Anger Management

Following the Mother's Day episode, I did in fact make an appointment for us to see a child therapist.  With all the mommy blogs and parent help sites I've been on, I would have thought I had this parenting thing down.  But if it were that simple there wouldn't be so much info out there I suppose.  It turns out my darling little 5 year old has been somewhat neglected in the discipline area.  And that's why he beats up on me.

I thought I had been disciplining him.  This is news to me.  For the most part I've been following the advice of the therapist.  But for all the times I've ignored the situation, like when I'm on vacation or with friends and just want his tantrum to go away, I've undone the good.  Meanwhile my husband has been absent from most of his outbursts.  But when he has been present, it's only made matter worse.  His way of punishing is to yell and make idle threats.  Enough to make my stomach turn and bring back memories of my father doing the same thing to me.  Not effective and not good for the long term relationship.  So now we must work on finding the happy medium.

As a plus for me, it will include my husband taking more control of the situation but with a structured approach.  When our 5 year old gets out of control, he'll be the one who holds him down until he settles.  With some practice and new-found patience he can recite the mantra to stop the flailing and by using the manly deep voice instill the fear of god, without being abusive.  My job is to be consistent with the consequences.  It's actually simple enough and since the first outburst on the day of the appointment, we haven't had any since.

When the therapist pointed out that this should have been taken care of by the time my 5 year old was 3, and that if it isn't resolved could result in even bigger struggles when he's 14, it was easy to implement.  The image of me wrestling with a 14 year old boy is as unacceptable as the flashback of my father yelling at me.