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Policy
Side-Effects
Looking Over the Hedge
And the Flowers Are Still Standing!
Independence... Or Something Larger
Lobby Labors
Stop Yelling
The Other Side of the Pancake
A is for...
The Age of Anxiety
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Policy
Rules are a major topic of discussion suddenly. There are of course the standard problems that three-year-olds bump up against constantly and it stands to reason that they would want to issue a few mandates so that their carefully constructed Lego and couch cushion environments don't get cleaned up by a thoughtless mother. A new edict was issued this morning:
If he touches my treatments he gets smashed!
This was largely ignored because Sebastian ignores all rules (or screams at them) and I never managed to uncover what exactly the treatments in question were, and since it was unlikely that they would be able to help with my headache I didn't feel this was pressing.
But springtime in Gotham is bringing out the preschool policy maker in everyone and now I want to start strangling people.
Among the people who need a kick in the teeth:
- The woman who told a friend of mine that her young children sitting on a (mostly) empty bus should stand because they didn't pay a fare and so didn't deserve to sit.
- The man who tried to tell me that Sebastian wasn't allowed in the dog run with my terrier because he isn't eight years old. (The actual rule, for anyone who is counting, is that children under thirteen are not allowed in New York City dog runs without an adult, and much as he would like to take the terrier and go off without me, I would be remiss to let Sebastian go before he can take more than eight or so consecutive steps.)
- The angry guy on the supermarket "express" line who picked a fight with the depressed looking woman in front of him who had a bag of lemons that, since they had not come in a prepackaged container, needed to be counted individually which brought her total number of items WAY ABOVE THE 10 ITEM MAXIMUM. (Happily I was just a spectator in aisle 2, and my check out of at least 20 items took much less time.)
I could go on. I went on all weekend about these jerks, in fact so maybe I'll spare you.
Now, you might think because I often write about etiquette and policies of social engagement that I like rules and enjoy the order they bring to the world.
But you would be mistaken. I like the idea of a guide. I like social suggestions because at times when I feel so deeply that I must only be a visitor to this planet with its strange ways and odd people I can pretend to understand what normal behavior might be.
But there are too many rules. I hate diets and food regimens. I hate dress codes and social straightjackets and I hate the clubby neighborhood smugsters who invent their own regulations and then get mad at you for transgressions you don't know you've made. Contrary to what you might think, I haven't yet actually been the recipient of neighborly bile, but it is coming. These eco conscious days make everyone want to protect trees from dog attentions (signs have gone up in various parts of the city hoping to shame owners into making the beasts re-embrace fire hydrants), and one gets scowled at for even using a single supermarket plastic bag. One can't let one's kid trot a few paces ahead on the street and I could go on.
So you'd think given how deeply people feel about these rules that life would be pretty civilized, pretty easy, but it is actually impossible. It's actually like living in a sea of preschoolers where the policies are capricious and changeable and he policy makers (the Deciders, if you will) are constantly revising their thoughts without warning and flying into screaming rages.
If it were really a polite world, the rules would be that one shouldn't constantly point out everyone else's small transgressions (there's always an exception or life-threatening or life-damaging situations) but as it is, I spend a lot of time wishing I could tell some strangers that they should go to their rooms or risk my taking their dessert and throwing it in the garbage.
posted by Elise at 12:10 PM
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Side-Effects
So not a week in to the whole potty-training experience (and you know how there are some people who say: "He just decided one day that he wanted to use the toilet and that was it. He hasn't had an accident since!"?-- well, let me tell you, that is not the case in my house) things are pretty weird.
My child is suddenly quite demanding, barking commands to everyone like a little tyrant.
(His commands are largely ignored of course, as are everyone's around here, except those of the terrier.)
What is this, though? Is it common for children to develop these wild delusions of power when they ease out of diapers? I have to say, Felix's antics of late are reminding me of James Mason in Bigger Than Life when, under the influence of the experimental drug Cortisone he becomes a fascist monster. (See it. I have this endless crush on James Mason, but really it is worth it for many reasons including hearing him bellow: "God was wrong!")
I'm not looking back, though. I've always said once I get enough members of this family house broken we can get another dog.
posted by Elise at 5:14 PM
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Looking Over the Hedge
"How am I going to do this?" is a question I pose all the time, so often that it is perhaps a wonder I get anything done. When I step back and listen to my inner monologue (which I don't recommend anyone do as a rule), it seems amazing that I manage to get anything done.
Among the things I have riddled myself lately that seemed relatively impossible:
How am I going to get this baby out?
How am I going to get this other baby out?
How am I going to make it until Wednesday with this hideous tooth?
How am I going to turn this thing in on time?
Many other issues have plagued me lately, among them: how am I going to handle toilet training? It was a mystery to me. The pediatrician kept saying that one should never exert any pressure on the kid, but waiting on the Felix turned me into a pressure cooker.
It wasn't so much that Felix was resisting or had no interest. He wasn't particularly interested and I wasn't sure how to begin and at some point his school wasn't going to be particularly sympathetic.
And then suddenly, things shifted. I have said that before of course. At one point I almost thought I had some kind of prodigy, willing to toilet train himself at 17 months of age. (Stop laughing. Just stop it. I didn't mention it because I know what hubris is. And I'm not too proud to say I was wrong. So I was wrong. I had months and months and months of diapers to deal with. So what?)
But this time, I think this time we're on our way. I hope so because I don't know how we got started on this path, and I'm not sure I could re-create it.
Here's hoping.
posted by Elise at 7:24 PM
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And the Flowers Are Still Standing!
Look at this. It is remarkable. These orchids have lasted four months under my care and they're still pretty perky. Something about our temporary digs must appeal to them because I haven't had wild success in the past, to say the least.
Sebastian turned one and the big takeaway from his 12-month check-up was: "Don't compare." Is it inevitable that one compares one's children? Is this the advice that normally gets passed out or was I holding up Felix as an example too much? My primary lament (and the bags under my eyes spoke to this as well) was that Felix didn't have much trouble with teething, but that Sebastian seems to have the devil prodding at his gums all night.
This difference shouldn't surprise me, because the boys are completely dissimilar. They don't really look alike. They have different temperaments (as far as I can tell).
But I think I would have been surprised twelve or thirteen months ago if someone said that I would be as baffled and challenged by the second baby as I was with the first one.
posted by Elise at 8:33 AM
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Independence... Or Something Larger
Perhaps this is one of those questions that really only applies to urban parents, but there was a lot of chatter on various local news shows a week or so ago about a woman who let her nine year-old son take public transportation home from school with some regularity. What made this newsworthy (or perhaps better put "newsworthy" since there doesn't seem to be any hesitation about putting things on the news that don't even warrant a raised eyebrow) is that this kid commutes solo, sans parent.
People are outraged. What is this mother doing? (There's no mention of the kid's father or his relative stupidity for letting the kid travel alone, which is intriguing in and of itself.) How can she DO this sort of thing?
I don't know. I don't know what I would do, what I will do, what I will permit. I have a sense that I will think nine years-old is too young for independent travel and that it will probably be outside my own comfort zone. I realize, though, that there are people who really need their kids to be able to get themselves home from school by themselves.
Anyway, Slate has an interesting piece by Emily Bazelon about this whole problem, which doesn't at all solve any of these riddles, but does elaborate on a lot of the issues and levels of guilt and confusion that people (again, the piece is aware that it is really talking primarily about women) are finding so overwhelming.
posted by Elise at 11:37 AM
1 Comments
Lobby Labors
The other day, while wandering into the building, I bumped into a neighbor I barely know. We've had a couple of conversations about her pregnancy and how someone from the other side of having two children (me) is experiencing that whole roundabout. I like this woman.
This apartment is a strange place. For the most part people avoid making eye contact in the elevators. Many people seem to find children sort of annoying and I have been known to conduct long conversations with the dog while being studiously ignored by everyone else.
So I'm happy to have met a friendly person. The other day she was looking sort of wan in the lobby and was mouthing something to me as I walked in. She was telling me that she was in labor and if I understood her correctly, she was well into her second day of labor. At that moment she was looking for a cab. I told her not to hesitate to ask for help.
And this made me think that Sebastian is getting on a year old. Not long ago I was pending in this way, though I never had to hang out in a busy apartment building lobby in agony while waiting for a taxi.
My thoughts are with her, and with everyone who is in labor in public. She was pretty classy, all things considered.
And now, a year after my last delivery, I have a decision to make about what sort of cake would be best for the Sebastian. I know mess is de rigeur, so I figure the emphasis is on icing.
posted by Elise at 7:20 PM
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Stop Yelling
Really?
The word on Slate (and I'm commenting on this days after it was published because I'm wildly wildly WILDLY behind on everything... and covered with strawberry jam and marmalade, I see--
though not for any reason that could be categorized as intriguing)... The word on Slate is that children respond best to behavioral and disciplinary suggestions when you don't yell at them and when you don't calmly, patiently, droningly over-explain why kids should stop throwing pasta or pitching fits or tormenting their siblings or worse.
I think, though I'm no expert, that the recommendation here is for some behavioral modification work. It seems a little weird to me that anyone would have to practice the art of saying "no" to a child so that the kid can re-wire his reaction to the word to be temperate and tantrum-free, but that's the recommendation. What I found most compelling about the article is this paragraph: "But a large body of research tells us that greater understanding is not a strong path to changing behavior. If you are smoking while reading this, you will get the point at once. You understand that some behaviors are not good for you and may well hurt others, yet you do them anyway. Kids are no different. In both children and adults, recognition that one is doing wrong does not automatically trigger a process that will alter the improper behavior."
I don't know if I'll implement any of these techniques. I'm hesitant to jump on any parenting band-wagon the same way I can't seem to follow any diet (a pity) or wear make-up well. But it is interesting, and since I read the article shortly after Felix launched himself into some kind of fugue state (past bedtime, overtired, Spring fever, who knows what was up) that resulted in a good number of new bruises on his mother, it was worth filing away in my "in case of emergency" file. Happily the bedtime fit doesn't happen too often.
posted by Elise at 4:30 AM
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