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September, 2013
Archive

  • What Is So Great About Babies?

    I never played with “girly” toys when I was a kid.  I hero-worshiped my older brother Laszlo, so I tended to like whatever he was into — GI Joe, He-Man, farting…

    I think my ways were hard on my mom. She had loved dolls when she was a kid, and was always buying them for me hoping I would be interested in them.  I guess I did want the girl version of He-Man, his sister She-Ra, but that was only because my brother wouldn’t let me touch his He-Man.  All the other dolls I really didn’t get into it.  I had no idea what to do with them.  They were kind of creepy to me, and I didn’t want them to look at me with their penetrating doll eyes. YOU DON’T KNOW ME DOLL!

    I knew my mom wanted me to like dolls, so I would try to pretend that I did – but we both knew that it was a lost cause.

    But my Mom has finally been vindicated with The Munch.  She bought The Munch her very first doll, and 20 babies later her love for them is still borderline crazy pants. Munch adores her babies and spends her days hugging, kissing, and cuddling them… and occasionally throwing one the stairs when in a fit of rage. She even nurses then at times, which has its own special cache.  Munch tells me “I am the mommy of my babies. But they don’t have a daddy because their daddy lives far far away in California, and he is playing music.  He lives in Content, California.  And one day when I get bigger I will go there and be with him.” They are endless hours of entertainment for her, and she never leaves the house without at least 3 of them.

    Off the top of my head there is…

    Old Baby

    New Old Baby

    New Baby

    Other Baby

    Car Seat Baby

    Water Baby

    Star Baby

    Paci Baby

    Gum Baby

    Heart Baby

    School Baby

    Princess Baby

    Brown Baby

    Barbara Baby

    Nancy Baby

    Sad Baby

    Flower Baby

    Tiny Baby

    Headband Baby…

    I am missing one, but I can’t think of it right now.  I just can’t.

    I will tell you one thing- this whole baby doll business is my mom’s ultimate revenge for my being a pissy rebellious teenager — that is for damn sure.  My whole life is spent playing with dolls now. Dressing them, undressing them, taking on and off their stupid little shoes.  I have to fee them, take their temperature, put them to bed, and then whisper so I don’t wake them up!  There are also endless accessories to go along with these bitch ass dolls, and of course my mom has bought The Munch every single one. It is like I can’t wake up from this endless domestic nightmare!!!!!

    So I asked The Munch what the deal was with her and these babies…. Because if I am going to be torturing myself for her amusement, I have to at least know why.

    Munch: My babies understand me.  They are the only ones who really understand me Mamma.

    Munch-baby-blog-(i1)

    September 30, 2013 • 3 years old, Family Drama, Parenting, Playing, Toddler Thoughts • Views: 1167

  • I Have a Baby in My Tummy!

    The Munch often tells me that she has a baby in her tummy.  She has been around a few of my pregnant friends, so I think it is sweet that she is identifying with them.  It is also pretty cute that she fantasizes about being a mother.  But this baby provides a whole host of excuses of why or why not she can do something…

    Munch: No Mamma I can’t eat those green beans because there is a baby in my tummy and they will get all over her head!

    Toni: Munch, the baby is in your uterus.  Which is lower, and not where the food goes.

    Munch: No Mamma I can’t take a bath because then the baby in my tummy will get all wet and she doesn’t like that!

    Toni: Dude, she is already wet because she is floating around in your amniotic fluids.

    Munch: No Mamma it is not time to go to bed because the baby in my tummy isn’t tired. She is moving around and wiggling. Do you want to feel?

    Toni: Actually, yeah I do.

    The other day in the car The Munch was telling me a narrative about the baby in her tummy, and I kind of think it is the best thing ever.

    Munch: There are two babies in my tummy now Mamma.  One is named Suzy, and the other is named Acacock.

    Toni: Suzy and Acacock? Wow, those are beautiful names?

    Munch: I know.  When they get out of my tummy they are going to grow up sooooo fast.  Acacock is going to get on a little girl plane, and fly far far away to Africa.  And she won’t come back, and she won’t see me, and I will be really sad. Suzy is going to go to California.  And she is going to have sooooo many friends.  But she won’t let me visit her. And that is not very nice.  Suzy and Acacock will get really really big, and they won’t need me anymore.  I did soooo much for them, but then they came out of my tummy and they went away.  They won’t need their bottles, or their paci-s, or the diapers.  And I will say, “no don’t go away, stay with me forever.”  But they won’t listen.

    Yup. That pretty much sums up motherhood.

    (Here is The Munch potty training Minnie…)

    baby-in-my-tummy-blog

     

    September 27, 2013 • 3 years old, Family Drama, Talking and Not Talking, Toddler Thoughts • Views: 3079

  • My Heart is Broken

    Last night my beloved dog of 12 years bit my beloved Munch in the fucking face.  I can’t even tell you how much it pains me to even write that.  We were in the kitchen, and I was cooking dinner for Munch.  My dog has always been a maniac about food, but I was heating up soup, not a prime rib.  The Munch was trying to tell Mona that her food was under the table… and maybe she was petting her too.  I am not sure because I was distracted.  Then Mona jumped up and bit her in the chin!

    The Munch started crying and I looked down and her entire face was instantly covered in blood.  I picked her up immediately and couldn’t see the wound because there was so much blood.  All I knew was that it was really bad.  My shirt was soaked within minutes, and the best I could do was cover The Munch’s face with a towel and race to the hospital.

    Now as you all know, The Munch has proven to be quite a pussy when it comes to pain and hurting herself.  But in this instance she was beyond brave.  She didn’t cry at the hospital, was really polite to the doctors, and she let them clean her would and glue her face back together without fussing.  The doctors kept remarking on what a lovely child she was, and how she was way more mature than most of the adults who come into the emergency room.

    When we got home we talked about what happened.

    Munch: I think what Mona did was an accident.  I think maybe she scratched me.  Or maybe she bit me.  Yeah, I think she bit me.  But she is sorry.  She can’t say she is sorry because she is a dog, and dogs don’t talk.  But she can pretend to say she is sorry.

    It broke my heart.  I don’t want The Munch to be afraid of dogs, and I feel like moments like getting attacked in your face are how such apprehensions begin.  So far in life Munch has been fearless when it comes to animals.  My cat is a feral beast that I hardly ever touch because she is really unpredictable and mostly lives outside.  But The Munch loves her, gets right up in face, and pets her all the time.  I believe in the human animal bond, and it kills me to think that is now tainted with Munch.  She was so gracious last night, but today she is a definitely a little afraid….

    Munch: Mamma, maybe you need to keep Mona away from me and she can have some privacy in the kitchen.  Because I am scared to she going to bite my face, and when dogs are biting my face it is really scary.

    But as the day went on, The Munch didn’t seem to hold a grudge.  She was really forgiving and gracious.  I think it does speak to her character… but now I feel like I am in a total conundrum.  Do I have to give away my dog? Or does she stay here, but I have to monitor her at all times.  Keep her away from food and children under all circumstances? What is the best way to deal?

    I am so sad.  I love my dog desperately, but now I don’t trust her.  I have kids in the house all the time, and honestly she has never been great with children.  Mona has for sure nipped at some in the past.  But she never bit and was NEVER even slightly aggressive towards Munch.  I know dogs can be crazy around food, but still.  I feel so confused and torn up inside.  I am really really sad!!!!!!! Obviously the safety of my child is my number one priority.. but I don’t know what to do.

    If you guys have good advice about this… or on different things to put on scars to help them heal let me know!  I mean, maybe a scar will give The Munch character… but still… it is her fucking face.

    (PS of course The Munch has been picking at her glue all day, and actually picked it off her gaping wound before she went to bed.  Sigh….. )

    my-heart-broken-blog-(i)

    September 26, 2013 • 3 years old, Adventures, Family Drama, Health, Parenting, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 1563

  • Private Parts

    So I guess you are not supposed to give pet names to genitals when teaching your kids about their body.  Apparently if you do that, your kid will think their fuzzy wuzzies or wingy dings are something to be embarrassed about.  The American Academy of Pediatrics even says: “It is important to teach your child the proper names for body parts. Making up names for body parts may give the idea that there is something bad about the proper name.”

    Until recently, The Munch didn’t ask about that region, so I didn’t bring it up.  Maybe that was kind of puritan of me, but I look cute in a bonnet.  Then one day we were at the park, I was pushing her on the swing, and out of know where she pointed to her crotch and asked, “What is this Mamma? This part right here?”

    I looked at the ten-year old boy next to us, blushed profusely, and whispered, “That’s your vagina!”

    Munch: No its not!!!! That is my bum in the front!”

    Later when she was taking a shower this is what she told me, and I think it pretty much sums up anatomy.

    Munch: Boys have tails Mamma.  But I don’t have a tail! I only have a little tiny teeny tail.  And Mamma, you have a peanut butter sandwich.  And sometimes it has hair on it! But mine doesn’t have hair!”

    Yeah so that happened….

    (Something about the oddness of this picture made sense for this blog post.  First of all, why am I eating out of a mug, and what the hell am I eating that would provoke such a face?  Second of all, the concerned yet disturbed expression on Munch is pretty priceless.  This just about sums up how I feel about having a “peanut butter sandwich” ).

    private-parts-blog-(i)

    September 25, 2013 • 3 years old, Parenting, Talking and Not Talking, Toddler Thoughts • Views: 1828

  • Natural Childbirth Summit

    I am a part of this natural birth summit!!

    This is the link!!

    http://thechildbirthsummit.com/

    It is going to be this amazing summit to discuss, educate, and promote natural birth!  I think as long as your not pregnant with a porcupine, all expecting women should be part of this conversation!

    Here is my personal link to this event

    https://www.secureinfossl.com/affProgram/The-Childbirth-Summit/77537

    And my free gift to a summit participant will be a consultation with a midwife Sarah Bay to discuss your options and learn more about natural birth!

    http://www.sarahbaymidwife.com/

    About the midwife

    image

    Sarah Bay, CNM

    I am a Certified Nurse Midwife (CNM) and Advanced Practicing Registered Nurse (APRN) licensed in the state of New Hampshire, accepting clients for well-woman and pregnancy related care.

    Philosophy: My commitment to out of hospital birth and midwifery care stems from a long-held belief that women should play an active role in their health and pregnancy care. As a midwife I see myself as a safe keeper to a healthy pregnancy and a physiolgic birth.

    History: I’ve wanted to be a midwife for as long as I can remember. In fact, it’s not a stretch to say my journey into midwifery began with my own birth. I was born at home in the Netherlands, where the majority of births are still with midwives and many take place at home. As a child, I thought all babies were born at home. Only later did I learn from friends and classmates how unique my home birth was.

    Education and Training: My roots in New Hampshire run deep. I attended Pine Hill Waldorf School and graduated from ConVal High School before attending the University of New Hampshire where I earned my BS in Nursing. I live locally in the Monadnock Region, where most of my family still resides.

    After getting my nursing degree, I worked as a labor and delivery nurse for five years. I worked in a variety of settings, including Darthmouth-Hitchcock (Lebanon, NH), Monadnock Community Hospital (Peterborough, NH), UCLA and Kaiser Permanente (Los Angeles, CA), Providence Medical Center (Everett, WA), and as a homebirth assistant with Cindy Dunleavy, CPM. During this time, I attended hundreds of births and learned through experience many of the technical, labor support, breastfeeding, and postpartum skills needed for full scope midwifery care. I also built relationships with many local physicians and nurses, and gained a solid understanding of the values and procedures of the hospital setting. These experiences have strengthened my commitment to evidence-based medicine and help me anticipate and prepare for the unexpected.

    I returned to school and earned a Masters of Nursing from the University of Washington (2010) where I spent most of my clinical time in out of hospital settings, including two birth center practices and a solo midwifery practice. I began my own full scope solo midwifery practice shortly after the arrival of my own daughter, delivered in the care of a midwife at home in Peterborough.

    I HOPE YOU ARE EXCITED AS I AM TO BE A PART OF THIS!

    LOVE TONI

    nat-birth-summit

     

    September 24, 2013 • Birth • Views: 5250

  • Nice Try

    You know how in the old days people were kind of mean to their kids? Well, maybe not mean. Perhaps they were just keeping it real.  They didn’t sugar coat existence.  If you were bad at something your dad would say “no son, you cannot till the wheat with me because you are a disgrace.  Ezekiel will take your place, and instead I will beat you with this switch while forcing you to make miniature replicas of animals with manure.” Or you mom would look you over and say “No more butter fat for you my dear as your thighs are gaining girth, and you will never find a husband with those ankles showing.” There was just a lot less coddling and protecting kids from the harshness of life.  Your mom and dad would take you to hangings and public decapitations for entertainment.  Parents weren’t worried about sheltering their kids from suffering, or promoting feelings of self-worth.  It was never a priority to make sure their kids felt good about themselves.  I think in general they were just less sensitive towards their children and their needs.

    Well I guess that bred generation after generation of totally emotionally destroyed people.  Yet during the turn of the century came this new concept of therapy and psychoanalysis, which probably made people feel that some crazy shit was going down.  Like they all realized “Hey… f that s!! My childhood was fucked up!  I am going to be super sympathetic towards my children because my parents were cold and wicked.  I am going to be different! I won’t let them throw potatoes at lepers.  I won’t put them down when I think they suck.  I will make sure they feel good about themselves, and have positive self-esteem.”

    So now we are in a paradigm where parents are hyper concerned with self-esteem and confidence.  Where competition is distrusted, and parents want their kids to feel spectacular at everything they do.  We are concerned with these issues and as a result there is a whole new approach to raising your kid that aims to foster a sense of self-value.

    But within this new system, are all these rules of what we are and are not supposed to say.  For example my friend Bridget told me that at the school she taught at, they never used the word “good.”  Because if you tell your kid they are “good” or do a “good job” than that implies that they can also be “bad” or do a ‘bad job”

    Toni: So what do I say instead of saying good job?

    Bridget: Well, if like The Munch does something like a somersault, you wouldn’t say “good somersault” you would say, “you did a somersault!” Or if she was balancing on something you wouldn’t say “good balancing” you would just say “you are balancing!” I think you can also say “you did it” or “nice try,” and maybe even “you are learning.”

    So for the past 3 years I have tried to put this thinking into practice.  When The Munch first started walking I would be like “you are walking!”  Or when she went up the stairs for the first time I would say “look at you! You are climbing stairs! You are learning so much!” And she would just kind of give me this sideways look that said, “why are you narrating my life out loud Mom? It’s weird.”

    All this time I was thinking I was being a great parent, but now I am not so sure.  The other day, her and I were at the basketball court and she wanted to play with me. Obviously The Munch sucks at basketball, but I was trying to encourage her with the rhetoric.  But for whatever reason, that day I was amazing!  I was sinking 3 pointer after 3 pointer.  My lay ups were impeccable, and I was even hitting the left side flawlessly.  My skills were out of control and The Munch, who was the only one watching me, kept saying things like,

    Munch: Nice try Mamma! You are learning! You throw the basketball! You are trying really hard!

    And I had to be like,

    Toni: Dude, this isn’t me trying! This is me doing – and actually being amazing! I am totally kicking ass right now!

    The Munch was my only witness to how awesome I was, and I all I wanted was to be praised – but all she was doing was telling me “nice try Mamma!”

    nice-try-blog

    September 24, 2013 • 3 years old, Behavior, Mommy Mind, Musings, Parenting, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 1151

  • Are You Put On This Planet To Break Me?

    Sometimes I wonder if The Munch was put on this planet to break me.  That the universe brought to me the one person who would point out every inadequacy I have, force me to face the void in my soul, and jab violently at each button that could possibly be pressed.  Although my child has brought out the best in me, and shown me a side of myself that I actually admire, she also can bring out the very worst.

    This weekend was one of those moments.  Granted there was a context, like we got home late Friday night, she didn’t sleep well, had the sniffles, and was probably a bit burnt out… but this was one of those scenarios with The Munch that shoved me toward near insanity.

    We were playing in my bed and figuring out what to do with our day.

    Toni: I got a good idea, why don’t we do some yoga, then we can go to the store and get you some clothes for school.

    Munch: Can you get me a new dolly at the store?

    Toni: Sure.  We will get you some stuff for school, and a dolly.  But lets go do yoga first.

    Munch: No I want to go to the store first.  I can’t wait! Please!!!!!!!!

    Toni: Wellllll, okay…. But then we will do some yoga when we get back, and some stuff that Mamma wants to do okay?

    Munch: Okay!

    Toni: So lets put on your shoes.  How about these sparkly gold ones?

    Munch: NO I DON’T WANT TO WEAR MY GOLD SHOES!!!!!!

    Toni: Dude, these are the shoes that are here.  We have to wear shoes in the store.  These are the shows you are going to wear. I am not going to fight with you about shoes.

    Munch: Well then I want to wear tights.

    Toni: Fine, you can wear these pink tights.

    Munch: NO I DON’T WANT TO WEAR THOSE PINK TIGHTS!! I WANT TO WEAR MY OTHER PINK TIGHTS! MY LIGHT PINK TIGHTS! NOT MY DARK PINK TIGHTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WAHHHHAHHHAHHHAHAHAHHHHAHAHHHAAA!!

    Okay so this was how the hysteria started.  Once she started crying, it clogged up her stuffy nose further, and she couldn’t breathe. Then she started crying more because she couldn’t breathe.

    Munch: I CAN’T BREATHE!!! I CAN’T BREATHE!!! WAHHHHHAHHHHHHAAA!!

    Toni: Dude… you can’t breathe because you are crying so much.  You need to relax.  Take a deep breath.  Stop crying. And blow your nose.

    Munch:  BUT I CAN’T BREATHE!!!

    Toni: I know! So you have to breathe out of your mouth!

    Munch: I CAN’T!! I CAN’T!! WAAHHHAHHHHAAAAAA!!

    Toni: Of course you can breathe out of your mouth.  That is what you are doing right now to stay alive.  Listen to me. You have to stop crying and relax for a minute then you will be able to breathe from your nose again.  Remember how before you started crying you could breathe?

    Munch: BUT I CAN’T STOP CRYING!!!!!! WAHHHHHAHHHAWWAHHH!

    It was in an emotional cyclone, and The Munch was staring straight into the eye of the storm, almost as if to provoke it.  She kept working herself into a state of frenzy while victimizing herself, and feeling sorry for herself.  It was the awareness of her own suffering that was making her cry more than the actual annoyance of a stuffy nose.

    Now, I know she is only 3 years old, but this behavior scares me.  A lot of people are addicted to the drama of existence, and feed off it as a means of distraction.  They way The Munch was acting made me feel like she was doing this to herself.  That she was relishing in her self-pity.

    Toni: Munch for real. You are stronger than this. You are a strong girl who is very brave, and you need to find other ways to express yourself beyond tears.  Crying can’t be the go to strategy of dealing with your feelings.  It is okay to cry sometimes, but you don’t want weeping to be the only way you know how to internalize your emotions.

    Munch: BUT I CAN’T STOP CRYING!! WAAHHHHHAAAHHHAA! I CAN’T BREATHE!

    At first I thought my strategy would be to let her feel, and work through these feelings.  So I let her sit on my lap while she screamed and kicked in a frenetic frantic way.  She also had to blow her nose every 12 seconds, which meant I had to be the facilitator of that process.  I tried to just be an emotional support of her, but after 45 minutes of this I was so agitated I started to lose it.

    You see, I am not really into excessive emoting.  I am good New England girl who never complains about the cold, and only cries silently alone in the closet.  Unless I have a serious problem, I don’t vocalize it, and keep most things buried deep inside – slowly giving me heart disease.  It is not my style to project my negativity outwards.  I would be too concerned with the other person, and how they felt about my outburst.  Now maybe when I was a kid, I was just as much of a drama queen as The Munch… but as it stands right now, this relentless outpouring was propelling me to the edge.

    The only thing I could think to do was rationalize with her… even if I was over intellectualizing, because at least the sound of my voice was a break from the incessant crying.

    Toni: For real, I cannot keep doing this. We are going outside.  You need to get some perspective on the world.

    Munch: NO MAMMA NO!! I DON’T WANT TO GO OUTSIDE!!

    Toni: Yes, we are going outside… you need some insight.  Look.  Look around you.  You have everything a girl could possibly want.  You have guinea hens that frolic at your feet.  You have fleet of chickens that spurt out their undeveloped periods for you to scramble up and eat.  You have a beautiful garden with flowers especially for your enjoyment.  There is a fucking farm with organic bounty that is as pure as a virgin’s underpants.  It is a beautiful day out.  The clouds look like bunny rabbits.  You live in a fucking paradise.

    Munch: WAHHHHAAAA I WANT TO GO INSIDE!! WAHHHAHHAAA!

    I seriously wanted to grab her by the foot, spin her around like a shot put, and then fling her into the woods. I tried to sit with her, but she just got more hysterical. I was so frustrated that I couldn’t take it anymore.  I brought her inside, put her in her crib, and went outside to breathe.  I knew she was screaming for me, but I had to get away from her.  I looked at my clock and one hour and 25 minutes had gone by since this incident started.

    I went back in after I had calmed down, and the second she saw me, she stopped crying.

    Munch:  I am ready to stop crying now Mamma.

    Toni: Okay. Do you want me to rock you for a minute?

    Munch: Yes please.

    I rocked her, and within minutes she was passed out.  She slept in my arms for two hours like a little angel.  I guess she was really tired after all.  Of course when she finally woke up she was in an amazing mood.  She was laughing, cuddling, and wanted to talk about what had happened.

    Munch: I was crying a lot huh Mamma?

    Toni: Yeah, you sure were.

    Munch: I kept crying and crying and crying because I couldn’t breathe.  And then you would tell me to relax, and breathe through my mouth, but I wouldn’t.

    Toni: I know.

    Munch: And then I kept crying and crying and I wasn’t listening to you at all huh??

    Toni: You sure weren’t.

    Munch: Yeah.  I love you Mamma so much!

    In retrospect maybe I should have put her in her room earlier.  Maybe she needed to alone to calm down? Maybe having me as a witness, or an audience for her drama, only enflamed her need for performance?  Maybe The Munch is an actress in the making?  But I swear this kid is going to break me in the process!

    put-on-this-planet-to-break-me-blog-(i)

     

    September 23, 2013 • 3 years old, Behavior, Family Drama, Mommy Mind, Parenting, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 1114

  • PLEASE Don’t Influence My Kid!!!

    Children are very impressionable beings.  They are like little sponges, soaking up information, and smelling like mildew.  They watch everyone around them, and are influenced deeply by the behavior that they are exposed to.  Kids are still forming their personalities and interests, and are susceptible to a variety of stimuli.  And that is exactly why sending The Munch off to school terrifies me.

    I mean it could be way worse.  We live in the cuntree and The Munch goes to a sweet school where they give pinecones gender-neutral names, and make moss-flavored millet bread.  All these kids are pretty sheltered and non-threatening.  It is not like at my Montessori school that I went to in Boston where a little girl told me I was adopted and my parents didn’t love me, and some boy tried to finger-bang me while I was wearing a skirt and he was lying on the floor beneath me pretending to nap.  The Munch’s life seems way more innocent than that.  But I still have a lot of fear of how deeply she will be impacted by the kids around her and wanting to fit in and make friends.

    When I pick up The Munch from school I have these glimpses to observe how she relates to other kids, and how those kids relate to each other.  The Munch is about a year and a half younger than her best friend Hazel, and all the other girls about two years older.  So she is definitely the baby of the girls, and that really freaks me out.  I remember how much I looked up to older girls when I was young, and how I wanted to be just like them.

    As I watch these kids it is almost like they try on different ways of being, like coats.  One little girl will have her hand on her hip and tell another she is not talking to her now.  Then that little girl will do the same thing to another kid.  They aren’t great thespians yet, so it is still pretty obvious and easy to distinguish between kids being their authentic selves, and when they are imitating behavior they have witnessed.  You can see them acting out something they saw, and then figuring out if it works for them, or how good it feels.  They may not like the feeling of being rejected, but enjoy the power of rejecting someone else.

    As we age we imitate and copy less, but there are still many ways we are influenced by each other – it is just subtler.  Even though I think I know myself and have a strong personality, I am still mutable.  I am slightly different around every person I am with, and also pick up on the ways of my friends.  It is not like I am a rigid being who is the same around everyone, but I am porous and allow the different energies to seep in and out.

    I can’t stop The Munch from being swayed by the kids around her, although maybe I wish I could have kept her in a box and delayed it.  But this is an inevitable consequence of socialization and living in a community.  It was bound to happen at some point, so I guess now is as good a time as any. Even if she wasn’t at school The Munch would still be exposed to some shit.

    The other day at the park there were these two little girls playing, and one of them grabbed a stick and pretended she had a dick and was pissing with it.  Then the other little girl started grabbing it, and they were both pulling at the dick. They then started making farting noises, bumping their rear ends, and pretending to fart into each other’s butts. You know I am all for some good fart and dick jokes, but then they started wrestling hard core, and one of them pinned the other and started looking down her pants.  And Munch was watching the whole thing saying “aren’t they funny Mamma?”

    The only thing I can do is talk to her about what she sees and analyze it together.  If we witness a kid acting out, we discuss it.  How the kid may have felt, how their mommy felt, and how she felt about seeing it.  I also try to notice when The Munch is acting like someone else and call her on it.  I tell her I know that she saw little Brian spitting, but that doesn’t mean that it is okay for her to do it.

    In the end I guess the truth is that we are the company we keep, so maybe the best strategy for parenting is the classic “raised by pack of wolves.”

    don't-influence-my-kid-blog-(i)

    September 20, 2013 • 3 years old, Behavior, Disciplining, Education, Mommy Mind, Musings, Parenting • Views: 1182

  • School Is Ruining My Life!

    This was The Munch’s second week of school, and so far this transition has been a lot like anal without lubrication – really uncomfortable.  She is super enthusiastic about the idea of school, never cries when she is dropped off, seems to enjoy her days, and when I pick her up she is always happy.  BUT (and there is always a big butt) the hours after when she is decompressing are like emotional nuclear war.

    Yesterday I had to take her to the hippy doctor to get her philosophically curious eye looked at, and she cried the entire 30 minute ride because her bug bite was itchy.  She was fine in front of the doctor, but the minute we got in back in the car, she cried the entire 30-minute ride home.

    Munch: Waaaahhhhhhaaaaa Mamma I want a treat!!!!

    Toni: Dude, I told you that you could have a treat if you didn’t cry or complain on our ride home.

    Munch: But I can’t wait! Wahhhhahahhhhahhahahaaa!

    Toni: Well, then you can’t have a treat? Either you can stop crying and have a treat when you get home.  Or keep crying and have no treat.

    Munch: But I need a treat now! I can’t wait!! Wahhhahhhhhaaaaahhaaaaa!!!

    Rationally I get what is going on.  At school she has to keep it together all day in order to function in a group.  And that is a lot of pressure! She also is alone for the first time as an individual.  Before this, The Munch was always with some grown up whom she knew very well, and was around specifically to watch her.  She was continuously the center of someone’s universe.  But at school she is part of a pack, and the grown up is spread out evenly amongst them all.  It is a lot to deal with realizing that you are ultimately alone in the universe, and no one is really looking out for you so you best look out for yourself.

    I get that once Munch is finally with me she can release all that stress and anxiety of having to be hyper aware of how others perceive her.  It is totally reasonable to need to expel the angst of being “on” all day.  To finally feel safe when she is with the person she trusts most.  I am aware that when she is back with mommy, who she knows loves her unconditionally, and will protect her regardless of what an asshole she is being, there is a comfort in that.  But even though my mind can understand where The Munch is coming from, and why she is a hysterical mess, it doesn’t stop me from wanting to stab her in the mouth.

    Sigh… at least she looks cute eating her stupid treat

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