When my husband and I first began dating, I was pleasantly surprised to find out that he actually liked going shopping.   The man may not know how to fix a car, but he can spend hours at an outlet mall, and I’m not sure that I would trade. And hands off ladies, he’s mine!

So when I had my son, I wasn’t worried.  I mean, I figured there was no way the shopping gene could be recessive.  It was dominant, dammit, and I was going to be able to cart my little guy around from store to store with no problem.

Up until recently, the Munchkin had me fooled.  He would go willingly with me just about anywhere. I don’t know if it was simply the enjoyment of getting out of the house, or the novelty of being in a brightly lit building with lots and lots of stuff.

Well, the novelty wore off. Fast.

Now, I am stuck with having to resort to the lowest form of behavior modification in the motherhood handbook.

 You know, bribery.   

It has become a game of chicken, which I have begun losing at an alarming rate.  I try to start out modestly, proposing the barest of incentives first.  But the boy, he is bright. He senses my level of desperation and with a cold calculation that belies his five years on earth, makes his demands.

This small child could make a seasoned trial lawyer break out into a cold sweat.   He could force a flea market seller to run away from his stall, weeping in frustration.  His Grandma? Never even had a chance.

So if you see me at Target sometime and notice my son lounging in the cart, simultaneously playing his video game, contentedly sipping on some refreshing fruit punch and munching popcorn, look away.  Just look away and know that I am a mother who has caved to get that laundry detergent. 

But judge ye not harshly. There but for the grace of God go you.

And to my future daughter-in-law, I sincerely apologize.  We can cross our fingers and hope that it only skips one generation.

Nine minutes of uncommon sense from Gever Tulley, founder of The Tinkering School.

“We seem to feel that anything pointier than a golf ball is too dangerous for kids.”

Play with fire
Own a pocket knife
Throw a spear
Deconstruct appliances
Break the DMCA

and bonus:
Drive a car

This list seems to be making its way across the internets.  It is dubious that the Houston Police Department made this up, but it was an interesting read nonetheless.

And for those that get their panties in a wad about typos and questionable grammar, don’t shoot the messenger.

DOWN IN HOUSTON, TEXAS, the police department has issued a leaflet entitled “Twelve Rules for Raising Delinquent Children.” Here they are, as printed in the local Chamber of Commerce publication, “Business”;

1. Begin with infancy to give the child everything he wants. In this way he will grow up to believe the world owes him a living.

2. When he picks up bad words, laugh at him. This will make him think he’s cute. It will also encourage him to pick up “cuter phrases” that will blow off the top of your head later.

3. Never give him any spiritual training. Wait until he is 21, and then let him “decide for himself.”

4. Avoid the use of the word “wrong.” It may develop a guilt complex. This will condition him to believe later, when he is arrested for stealing a car, that society is against him and he is being persecuted.

5. Pick up everything he leaves lying around–books, shoes, clothes. Do everything for him so that he will be experienced in throwing all responsibility on others.

6. Let him read any printed matter he can get his hands on. Be careful that the silverware and drinking glasses are sterilized, but don’t worry about his mind feasting on garbage.

7. Quarrel frequently in the presence of your children. In this way they will not be too shocked when the home is broken up later.

8. Give the child all the spending money he wants. Never let him earn his. Why should he have things as tough as you did?

9. Satisfy his every craving for food, drink, and comfort. See that every sensual desire is gratified. Denial may lead to harmful frustration.

10. Take his part against neighbors, teachers, policemen. They are all prejudiced against your child.

11. When he gets into real trouble, apologize to yourself by saying, “I never could do anything with him!”

12. Prepare yourself for a life of grief. You’ll surely have it.

Anbody have one to add?

My son has a problem with getting carsick.  Well, it’s really a problem for all of us when he groans from the back seat, “I don’t feel very good.” Then comes the panicked attempt to find a safe place to pull over before it’s too late.  Usually, it’s sort of too late and I feel very badly for the little guy as he empties his stomach out on the side of the road.  Sorry, maybe a bit TMI, but as we all know, exposure to a myriad of bodily fluids is just part of having a kid.

We are going on a six hour car trip next month and I am beside myself on how to help him.  We already have a portable DVD player, which seems to alleviate the symptoms, although not always.  His stomach seems to be a very delicate instrument that is intolerant of many traffic conditions.

And yet, this is the same child who can go around and around in my computer chair 180 times in a row and never have a problem.

I think Dramamine is a bit too draconian, but I’m not sure. I did buy those motion-sickness wristbands, and we haven’t gone anywhere far enough to see if they work yet.  I did put them on him to see how tight they were, and he complained that he didn’t like them.  I said, “Do you like them less than throwing up?”  An answer was not forthcoming, so that usually means no.

Kids, ya gotta love ‘em. 

It’s either love ‘em or be ready to put them out on the side of the road with a sign around their neck proclaiming, “Free to Good Home!”

Time spent decorating: 4 hours

Time spent reading books about Christmas: 3 hours

Time spent buying gifts: 5 hours

Time spent wrapping gifts: 2 hours

Time spent telling excited child that no, Christmas wasn’t here yet: 10 hours

Time spent baking: 6 hours

Time it took for excited child to open gifts on Christmas morning: 9 minutes, 42 seconds

Will I do it all over again next year?

You bet. 

Why have children?

Amy Wellborn has the answer.

When my husband met me oh so many moons ago, I had long blonde hair, down to the mid-back.  You know, hair that you would have in your carefree early twenties.  He liked it so much, he decided to marry me.

Knowing that he liked my hair long, I kept it the same way for almost fifteen years- no bangs, all one length.  Even after the Munchkin was born, I cut some of it off, but it quickly grew back to my original length.

Then about eight months ago, I began hankering for a change.  For layers, for volume, for something other than what I had been staring in the mirror at for so long. I informed my husband of this, and he looked at me and said, “As long as you don’t get “mom hair.” 

Uh, excuse me?

But the sad part is, I knew what he meant by that phrase, even though he was joking.  Or so he said, even as he ducked behind a pillow to avoid the flying projectile headed his direction. The same way that everyone knows what “mom jeans” are.  And you just know on those makeover shows that the majority of the women are going to be frumpy moms made over into fabulous.

Why is that?

Sometimes it is all too easy to just sort of stay stuck in our little ruts we have created for ourselves.  Sometimes we are too busy caring for others instead of caring for ourselves.   Sometimes money is running short, and we’d rather spend it on our kids than ourselves.

These are all convenient excuses to not keep our looks updated.  I’m not talking spending oodles of money on clothes, but  something from a store that has nary a pair of sweatpants in sight.  We figure, hey, I’ve always looked good in this style, so I still will. 

Not always, my friends, not always. 

I say we try to change the perception of moms as being unhip and downright frowsy.  That “mom hair” not be hair that is necessarily cut just for ease of styling, but with individual style in mind.  That “mom jeans” be jeans that while still allowing their owner to bend down and pick up their fleeing toddler, fit nicely and flatter the figure. And preferably were purchased less than well, fifteen years ago.

There’s got to be some middle ground between the fine ladies pictured above and this:

Right?

Let’s make the change one set of low-rise jeans at a time!

Let me tell you, there is nothing like having your parenting choices out there for all the world to see.  Although I would love to provide you with more facts and reasons as to why my son doesn’t do his homework, I realize that no matter what I say, I will not change people’s minds.  And that’s ok.  While reading everyone’s well-stated opinions, I remembered something from the Munchkin’s early days.

The Munchkin had colic.  Horrible colic (is there any other kind?) that would keep him literally screaming at all hours of the day and night.  Nothing we did helped.  The doctor informed us of a few home remedies, then basically told us we were screwed on our own.

Holding him helped the most. He wanted to be held all the time. And so that led to us both gently rocking in my chair while he slept during the day and co-sleeping at night. 

My family and friends knew about this situation, and they shook their heads knowingly and said, “Oh Glinda, you are setting yourself up for some big problems in the future.  Let him cry it out and sleep by himself, it’s better that way.”

And so I listened to what they had to say. How could I not?  They were my friends and family, with only good intentions.  One night, I decided that I would let him try to fall asleep by himself.  I left him in the crib, and he cried and cried, and it was the worst thing I had ever heard. The cry was one of feeling alone and abandoned, not one of hunger or discomfort.  I steeled myself, reminding myself that everyone said this was the right thing to do.

As I listened to him cry, the wrongness of it caused me actual physical pain.  I questioned the prevailing wisdom, as I personally had no problem holding him while he slept. In fact, I enjoyed feeling his weight and watching his sweet face as he slumbered.  I wondered why I was listening to everyone else, when I was the one that knew him best, his quirks and likes and dislikes.  It was then and there in the hallway outside his room that I my epiphany occurred. When I felt so strongly about something, I would respectfully go my own way.  I would take facts into account and carefully weigh them, but if in the end I knew deep down that it was wrong for us, I vowed not to do it.  No matter how many people told me I was crazy.

I was warned that I had made a dire mistake, that I would be dealing with sleep problems forever and ever, that I was scarring him emotionally.  I heard it all.  I didn’t care.  What I was doing felt right to me.

And you know what?  I followed the path that worked for us as a family, and eventually got him used to falling asleep on his own by the age of three.  It was not a sudden decision, but a process, because my son does best that way.  And I know that because I am his Mom.  Now, he falls asleep on his own, sleeps all night long, and never protests going to bed.  I wish I was exaggerating, but I’m not.  He is a perfect sleeper.

My critics? They have nothing to say to that, because their advice? It was wrong.  It wasn’t wrong in a literal sense, but it was wrong for me and for him.  Are there babies that can easily fall asleep on their own?  Of course, it’s just that mine wasn’t one of them.  I could tell you other stories about how I went “against the grain” and how it turned out perfectly fine, but this is already getting too long. 

That situation taught me the best lesson I could have learned as a parent, to listen to my intuition more.  Too often, parents are bombarded with information from books, magazines, television, and countless other sources.  Some of them have your best interests in mind, some of them don’t.  It is so difficult to sift through all of that, especially a new parent who is having doubts about their ability to do anything right.   By all means, read and watch and listen. However, it may be none or all or only a certain combination of things that works for you and your child.

But in the end, I have learned that my gut instinct is almost always right.  As long as what you are doing is not harmful, the best gift you can give yourself is to listen to you inner voice.  We as parents know our child best.  Period.  There is no one-size-fits-all way to parent, and don’t believe anyone who tells you there is. 

That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. And no, I didn’t rent some crazy cabin out in the woods to write this.