Problem: You’ve been staying at home with your little ones and they’re rather attached to you, to put it mildly. But sometimes you have to do things like go to the doctor, or to the gym, or they get old enough where preschool would do them some good. You need them to stop clinging to your ankles and screaming like you’re running them over with a bulldozer.
It’s 8 a.m., and I’m telling my girls that they can switch jackets after lunch if they hate the ones they’re wearing so much. I’m arguing with them over who changed out of their nighties first yesterday and whose turn it is to go first today. I’m explaining to them that the toilet flushes at the same speed for both of them.
It’s 10 a.m., and I’m trying not to lose my mind over the fact that at 3 and a half, these girls refuse to feed themselves. One of them is sitting in front of the television with a full cup of yogurt just going to waste. The other has painted the couch in the stuff. I contemplate yelling at them and calling them names. But I don’t.
I don’t know what size I am.
This is not because I’ve changed size. I’ve been the same weight and shape, basically, since my teens.
Now, I started out in a size 10-12, but I wore my clothing much looser back then (per the fashion), and it was a revelation to me that I was actually an 8. And I’ll believe it (why not?). I’ll believe that I’ve been an 8 this whole time. Sure.
That’s basically what I’ve been wearing since I found that the size fits me.
But then you get the stretch material. In stretch material, I can pull off a 6. Because of the forgiving material, I don’t bulge, and the way the fabric fits, it acts like a little makeshift corset, toning and curving, not squishing and jamming.
Yay! I’ve gone from a size 12 to a size 6, just by wearing differently styled clothing. Amazing.
And I’ll take it. Why not?
What I won’t accept, what I cannot accept is that I am a size 2. That I am an extra small. What the hell? That’s not even complimentary, that’s just confusing.
Yesterday was a rough day. I didn’t even get a chance to bore you with a blog. I spent the whole day writing an ebook for a nameless employer for which I will get no credit and very little money. Welcome to the new Internet opportunities.
The poor kids were out of their minds with boredom, but what could I do? I was on deadline.
As I expected, they soon began to misbehave, and when you’ve got two three year olds, misbehaving means fighting. Usually I step in quite quickly, but as we were home and I was busy, I just let them go, in an experiment of sorts.
It’s amazing how long children can fight, and I mean viciously fight, over nothing. They don’t even remember the topic after the first two minutes. And they screech and scream and push and bite (usually they don’t. Yesterday was…special).
And I got to thinking, what if I just never stepped in? What if I let them go? Would they eventually straighten themselves out and come to a compromise? Would one of them severely injure the other? Would they both survive? Would they get bored of it and just stop?
They don’t even know themselves, having never been allowed to just fight it out to the end. In fact, after a few minutes, they came out to me all confused.
“Mama? We fighting.”
I look up, harried and dismayed.
“I know, I heard.”
“Well…we fighting.”
As if they didn’t know what step came next in the fight sequence. The only step in their repertoire being that mommy steps in and tells them that good girls don’t fight like that.
So, I helped them out.
“Good girls don’t fight like that. Please don’t bite your sister.”
And their day resumed. But what if I didn’t? What if it were to become survival of the fittest? Would they band together or fall apart?
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You don’t need a grill for these spicy, curry burgers, and they’re perfect for a wintertime yen for barbecue.
Now these are thick and small in circumference because when you broil burgers, you’re that much more likely to dry them out. But if you’ve got more confidence in your broiler skills than I have in mine, go ahead and flatten them out more.
Problem: It’s someone’s birthday, and you want to make a sheet cake, but you can never get it out of the pan without cracking it or crumbling it in some way.
Solution: Aluminum foil. If you line the pan with aluminum foil, not only will you be able to remove it easily, you’ll also have a plate-of-sorts that fits the cake perfectly.
BONUS:
“Mama, you stinky.”
“I’m stinky? No, I’m not stinky. I smell good.”
“No! You stinky! You stinky, huh!”
My daughter then proceeds to walk outside and hang out on our porch for twenty minutes to a half hour.
This was yesterday.
My kids are being awful. It’s a problem. It’s doubly a problem because my mother is visiting and I want them to be good. Every time she comes or we go to visit her, I think, well, they’ve been such good girls for so long now, surely they’ll be good in front of her, too, and she’ll finally see what a good mom I am.
No.
It’s like whenever they see her, they release the fire of a million tantrums. Anything and everything is a reason to cry, scream and slam doors. I’m so embarrassed. And I started wondering why. And, as usual, it’s mostly my fault.
Last night I ended up having a conversation with a good friend of mine about only children. Did you know that even today, they feel judged and ostracized for their parents’ reproductive choices? It’s not just “onlies.” Children are judged all the time based on their parents. Are their parents too young? Are they too old? Were their parents married when they were born? Are they married now?
How any of these things have to do with the actual children involved, I’ll never know. It’s all part of the generalization culture in which we immerse ourselves, usually unknowingly.
And whenever I end up attacking an article, my arguments always take on the same refrain. It’s understandable that the people on the other side of these unfair judgments should be upset, but does that mean they should strike back, not at their aggressors, but at others in their same group?
Take this Salon article, for instance. In it, Mary Elizabeth Williams argues that only children are the subject of ridicule and false assumptions, contempt and judgment throughout their entire lives. I can’t refute that. I wasn’t an only child, nor do I have an only child, so I’ll never know or understand where she is coming from, and I’ve no right to comment. I can only say that the statement surprised me. I never noticed only children getting the short stick while I was growing up. Until we were eight, my best friend was an only child. I bet she has some stories to tell, but I can assure you that she got made fun of more for being “rich” than anything else. Isn’t that completely ridiculous? Let me expand: we were lucky enough to live in one of the wealthiest towns in the wealthy state of this country growing up. And people were making fun of someone for their parents being able to provide a wealthy lifestyle for their child? Ask her today, she’ll tell you…I’ve rarely seen her as ruffled even as an adult than when someone mentions her family’s supposed wealth. (By the way, they’re not Richie Rich rich. They were simply well off, comfortable, well bred human beings.)
Point being, children are judged for stupid details they don’t have any control over all the time. As one of those groups, as an “only,” you’d think Williams would be calling to the other groups in a positive effort to stop all this nonsense.
But no. Instead she hacks away at those other ostracized groups, showing how ‘normal’ only children are in comparison. She complains that no one ever calls the youngest in a family really immature. Yes, they do. I’ve heard that a million times. Certainly as many times as I’ve heard about “onlies” being spoiled. Ask my brother; he’s the youngest. He’ll tell you.
I’m the oldest (which wasn’t mentioned in the article.) I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that my bossy personality gave my sibling status away. Even from teachers and other authority figures. “Oh, you’re the oldest. Yeah, that figures. No, in a good way!” Oh, okay.
More importantly, and the only reason I’m writing this response is that she called my kids dicks. Okay, not really, but she did say this:
“It’s one of the standard responses we “onlies” get — near strangers denigrating us because of our parents’ reproductive habits. Nobody ever says, “Youngest of four? So you’re really immature, right?” or “You’re a twin? Wow, you must be a total dick.””
Color me surprised. I had no idea that twins were considered dicks. And since I’d never heard of that until now, and it’s Williams purporting that twins are thought of in that manner, then the illogical conclusion is that Williams thinks my children are dicks. What the hell?
But, that’s not what she said, so I accept my defensive overreaction and move on.
The main problem with this column is that it does exactly what it’s fighting against. It takes anecdotes and singular experiences from the author’s life and builds them up into sweeping generalizations that are simply not true.
“I love my two girls, and can’t imagine either of their lives without their touching sisterly bond. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to nod my head in quiet assent when some yahoo goes on about that “helicopter mom” of one who doesn’t “get it” about what parenting is really like, or how “entitled” her kid is. I’ve seen your children too, folks. They’re all pretty equally cranked up.”
Helicopter moms come in all shapes and sizes and have any number of children. Children can be entitled whether there is one of twelve of them. So, other than this one instance, where whomever she’s talking about really is being a jerk, are these types of judgments really strewn about just about parents of only children?
And why add in that last line about the other kids? Doesn’t really fit with the tone or message, does it?
Interestingly, after spending many, many paragraphs stating that “onlies” are just like everyone else, Williams then says this:
“It’s true that we onlies are a different breed. My girlfriend with three sisters will never understand my horror around peeing in front of other people. It’s not an accident that I work in solitude.”
Okay, so are you the same as everyone else, different but just as good as everyone else, or a totally different breed with quirks that even you attribute to the fact that you had no siblings growing up?
Because I have to be honest, I’d not have thought that things like peeing without other people around (although as a mom of toddlers that’s a luxury I no longer have), and liking to work in solitude had anything to do with being an only child. Maybe some people from bigger families like those things too, for opposite reasons. Or maybe some only children like working in groups.
Lastly, this quote from her friend really irked me:
“Sharing? Do you know how much easier it is to share as an adult when you didn’t have to protect what’s yours as a little kid? … It’s easier to give away a big slice of pie when you’ve had all that extra pie to yourself for so long.”
I hate to be a stickler, but I’d need to see some research on the actions of children versus the actions of their adult self to even remotely believe that holds water. Her theory about extra pie rubs me the wrong way. I just don’t think that’s true for everyone, or even the majority.
As my friend, an only child who liked the article said, “Why do we have to be judged based on how many siblings we have at all. Can’t we just all agree that some people are shitty and others aren’t?” Cassie, by the way, writes an excellent blog herself, found here at Mama Phrass.
Exactly right. Some people, for a variety of reasons, not just one, are just bad people, and others, for a variety of reasons, not just one, are good people.
So, why do the ones being judged by others always fight it by judging right back?
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The visit went well. I learned they’ll need braces at age 12, but what kid doesn’t these days?
Here are some things I found out that may be of help to someone out there:
1) Yes, you’re supposed to teach your children to brush their teeth, but you’re not supposed to actually let them do it. That makes sense. I taught the kids how to do it, and then, when I was satisfied with their attempts, I let them do it by themselves. End of story. Apparently I’m supposed to follow up after them. I should have known that, but I didn’t. Maybe you didn’t either. (The dentist said get in there and scrub like you’re cleaning a toilet bowl. I may have used different words, to be honest.)
2) You’re supposed to be flossing their teeth. At three. I will try. I cannot promise anything, but this just seems like it’s got disaster written all over it.
3) No sippy cups for anything but water. This was a revelation.
