Being the Dragon: Lessons on (Not) Being a Helicopter Parent

May 14, 2013 · by · Leave a Comment

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Last night we had soccer for Parker. It’s really the most exciting thing to watch your kid learn a new sport, run, jump and…pick dandelions. It’s really so sweet to see him running with his friends, kicking a ball and…taking them out at the knees. It’s really adorable to see him really enjoy the heck out of shouting random questions at the coach while she is trying to teach a new move.

But my attitude towards this experience wasn’t always so humorous. This past winter, when I signed up my three year old for soccer, I had all the over the top enthusiasm and ridiculous expectations a Mom could have. I was so ready to see him take on his first sport and really wow us with his attention to directions and coaching. But, it was strikingly evident in the just the first ten minutes of soccer that Parker had more fun on the water breaks than he did with the ball. He lay down on the gym floor while his friends were kicking the ball around him, he ran into other soccer games and out of his own. And he sat down, at random, in the middle of a drill, a goal, a game.

We did what all great and terrible parents do. “If you don’t play when we are at soccer, then we can’t go anymore.” And, “Why don’t you work hard at soccer like a big boy? “Coach will be proud of you if you play more and don’t LIE DOWN.” But nothing worked.

We thought maybe he had low endurance. Took him running on the track at the Y a couple times. Took him swimming to make sure he was getting enough hard and fast physical exercise. I even remember having a conversation with Mike where he asked, “Do YOU ever see him run when he’s home with us?” (Confession: we are not the two most active people on the planet) and I begged, “But when are all the OTHER kids running that are on his team?”

I had become the Mom who thought the other kids had a leg up on my kid. I was suddenly thinking maybe we waited too long to have him start a sport, could we have missed his impressionable age? A cheerleader and un-athlete myself, I was paralyzed with the notion that I could be raising a kid just. Like. Me.

As the “Have I messed my kid up for life?” question played and replayed in my head, I was suddenly very overwhelmed with parenthood. I was no longer just a parent to a toddler; I was now entirely responsible for someone else’s talents and abilities. I mean, there were so many successes I had planned for Parker. Soccer was just the first of many.

However, getting him to that success became a weight that I carried. And I saw, as I have seen in many parents, the tricky task of carrying that weight from activity to activity, from school to home, year after year.

But the more I saw how happy Parker was when he was getting ready to go to soccer, the more I realized that what I really hoped for him (aside from athletic prowess) was already living and breathing inside him. He loves people. He’s got boundless energy for things that he deems energy-worthy. And he doesn’t need my approval or encouragement to do any of it. That’s just him.

The best metaphor for this is in our latest morning routine. When I go upstairs to get Parker up, he pretends he is a baby dragon waking up from a long night’s sleep. I play along with this, talk in my Mommy dragon voice and help get him ready for the day. We discuss our family of dragons and our dragon friends and whether we breathe fire and whether we are good dragons or mean dragons.

Letting him be the dragon is what helps me see that Parker has a lot more within his little person than I could ever want for him. His personality measures more than any number of goals in a soccer game. His spunk is a much more useful quality than any ball handling skill he acquires.

And in being the dragon, Parker has taught me that I need to be the dragon too. Being the dragon helps me shake free of relentless expectations. Being the dragon helps me stifle the trepidation and nervousness that comes with assessing your child’s “skill” in doing something new. Being the dragon helps me suppress the urge to jump in and help, jump in and advise, jump in and critique. Because in being the dragon, you allow them to find their place in a world that is theirs (read: not yours). And you see, hopefully in the middle instead of in the end, that your children have a lot more to teach you than you could ever teach them.

So, breathe fire, spread your wings and save a princess or two. It’s easier, more gratifying and your children will thank you—in years to come—for the independence you afforded their little dragon selves.

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When It’s Clear You’ve Lost Control: 5 Follies of Motherhood

May 7, 2013 · by · Leave a Comment

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There’s no question I have very vulnerably relayed to you my faults as a parent. There’s screen time, leaving the window down in the car wash, losing my patience and, well, just good old fashioned, “You’re driving me CRAZY!” But this week, I have noticed that I have clearly lost all control and it might be time for an intervention.

You see, I’m a control girl. Although I would like to be perceived as carefree and so flexible. I enjoy control. I organize dinners, happy hours and parties for friends. I like to rally the troops for someone’s birthday or special occasion. Control I do well. It suits me. I am organized, systematic and have a list to tick off (in color coordinated check boxes) in every single area of my life.

Well, until Motherhood.

Example #1: Day care provider greets me outside the door of day care when I go for pick up. Little angel girl spent a good part of her nap playing with her poop. While this is gross, I am slightly relieved that it happened at day care (Sorry, Heather) and make mental notes to a) buy a video monitor and b) ease up on the fruit I feed the little one.

Example #2: While Slap Fest Part 13 is going on in the backseat and I am trying to listen to a podcast while driving, Parker said to Celia, “Celia, I’m going to tell [the babysitter] about your behavior.” As if his mother was not even there, driving. Hey kid, what about the adult that was IN THE CAR WITH YOU when you did that? Aren’t you worried about her wrath? (Answer: No)

Example #3: Yesterday, we took a snack from Child A just to make Child B stop crying for the snack. Even when Child A cried, it wasn’t nearly as bad as Child B’s whiney and ever so dramatic blubbering. We realize we will not be asked to be on the cover of Parents anytime soon. But, well, you would have done the same thing!

Example #4: After a million battles of wills for three days straight, I use my amazing Mommy Skillz to create a New and Improved Behavior Chart. In this chart, Parker will get a sticker every time he does something the FIRST time I ask. We role played me asking and him doing and he seemed to get it and was overall more agreeable. This morning, when I got him out of bed, he was acting ever so cooperative. I assured him that this behavior would guarantee him a sticker. Then, he asked me for milk. I conceded and said I would get it for him when I got downstairs. This statement followed, “Mommy, you are being so good getting me my milk that I will give you a sticker too for your good behavior. “ My kid just created a behavior chart so that I will get things for him the first time he asks. It will forever be a question who is raising who in this family.

Example #5: When I told Parker he could not watch a movie on the Ipad but he could play a game he said, “I will just trick you and watch a movie instead.” The Ipad has been hidden until further notice. At a later date, it may be valuable to teach him that you shouldn’t tell someone you are tricking them when you are tricking them.

So, when you think you are having the worst parenting day ever and cannot even muster up another ounce of energy to deal with the uber tactical negotiation techniques of your little person, just think of how I have clearly lost control of mine and that should make you feel a.) not so bad and b.) sorry for me.

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“All Done Bobo”: Everything is a Phase

May 1, 2013 · by · Leave a Comment

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phase:
1. A distinct period or stage in a process of change or forming part of development

 

 

When I first became a Mom, the best piece of advice I read was, “Everything is a phase. The good, the bad, everything.” I have no idea if this wise sage was a Babycenter message board or a fellow teacher from school but I do know this: that piece of advice is the single piece of advice I treasure more than anything as a parent.

Especially when I turn that advice on myself.

There are some days when I can’t think of anything but snuggling with them on the couch. Some days when I would rather lock myself in the bedroom with a good book. Some days when they are always clean and well dressed and well fed and some days when they are, well, just dressed. There are days when I hang on their every word and days that I am much too distracted to hear their little observations of life. There are days when we sing all the way to school and days when I turn the radio up to drown out whining. There are days when I am the beautiful-put together and oh so fun super Mom from Suburbia. And some days I am Parker’s Mom, the one who always forgets his Sharing Day. There are some days when I yell. And there are some days when I am so calm I shock even myself. (What I am saying here is so much better stated in this article posted yesterday).

Last night I sat on the couch and told Parker about his phase of saying, “All done Bobo” when he was done eating. He loves to hear about it and we love to tell it. It’s become our little story about our little boy and his saying. Our little slice of memory. Our phase. One of many of our favorite phases so far.

Celia’s in an accessory phase. Wears multiple hats, headbands, necklaces and shoes. Gets mad when you take them off. Insists on putting them on herself.

Parker is currently in a rhyming phase. He’s found some interesting words that rhyme with pit, puck and witch.

But like everything in parenthood–it’s all just a matter of time before this phase is over and another one begins. With every transition comes a phase. And with every new phase we both celebrate and mourn the passing of the last one.

These phases, they are short spans of time that make up something bigger. They are the pigments in the painting of yourself as a mother. You make your own brushstrokes, your kids make the rest. These little phases of life become a history. A highlight reel of the trials and tribulations of your family. They are the pieces that make you, the pieces that break you, the pieces that help super glue you back together. Without the phases—good, bad, all of it— we have no real record of it all happening— so quickly and so wonderfully.

So this month, I navgiate the latest biting phase, the whining phase, the baby talk phase and the not eating phase. I must remind myself that I am also navigating the sleep through the night phase, the put your shoes on yourself phase, the drink from a big boy cup phase and the say please and thank you phase.

Without phases, we don’t have those kernels of memories that teach us again and again who our little people are developing into. Without phases, it’s very hard to see the metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel. Without phases, we don’t have the stories that make up a childhood. And without phases, we don’t have the renewed sense of love and appreciation for the little people we have made.

So, cheers to the phase you are in now, may it last just long enough.

 

 

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Guest Post from Parker: Stop Your Lying, Mom, for real

April 23, 2013 · by · Leave a Comment

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Here’s some gems Mom has been feeding to me lately. This woman is full of malarkey and the world needs to know about it. I mean, who does she think she’s kidding here– little miss Fire Biter over there? Let’s get real, Mom. I’m not feeling these lies.

1. “If you are not good, we are sending Buzz Lightyear on vacation.”

Pfft. Oh really? How creative! Don’t you really mean, “if you don’t stop your crap we’re going to put him on top of the fridge again and torture you all day long but then give him back to you anyway.” Yeah, you know he doesn’t go on vacation. Have you even SEEN the movie?

2. “You need to take a nap because Mommy needs to take a nap.”

Oh right! Well, this is only true if by nap you mean “watch Pitch Perfect and do her nails.”

3. “I don’t know where your trumpet went. We’ll have to keep looking.”

How many more years are you going to keep up this story that its “lost”? You threw it in the garbage and you know it. You hated that trumpet and you have forever stifled my musical talent because of it.

4. “We’ll go outside later, it’s too cold.”

Yeah, that never stops Miss Bridgette when she wants to powerwalk with the stroller to Starbucks for a coffee now does it? Priorities, Mom. Come on. I’m not the most athletic kid, do you think you could play ball with me and at least give me a shot?

5. “The Ipad is broken. Your games don’t work.”

Yeah, it must only be able to go on Pinterest and Facebook. And check your email. And listen to your favorite Pandora station.

6. “If you don’t eat your whole dinner, you won’t get big like Daddy.”

You told me I used to be a tiny baby. I have quadrupled my size and doubled my height in three years. How many inches has Mr. Eggs for Breakfast grown recently? And I haven’t noticed YOU sprouting up with all your vegetable eating.

7. “There’s chocolate in it.”

Seriously, woman. I barely eat as it is. Do you really think chocolate is going to make everything better? What about when I figure out that the “chocolate log” was actually sausage? How much therapy will help me recover from that lie?

8. “You should know better, you’re sister is littler than you.”

Okay, maybe she is shorter but she has a ridiculous right hook. She also has bitten me on every appendage and twice on my back. I sleep with one eye open and never put my back to her in the bath. I live my life terrified and you think I’m the big bully. Great, just great.”

9. “When you save enough money in your piggy bank, maybe you can buy that.”

Oh, okay. We’ll put my hopes and dreams on the back burner so you can get those new heels. Go ahead, treat yo’self Shortcut Girl, no one’s stealing from your piggy bank, right? Oh, and where did my Easter money go from Grand Mom. Nice, Mom, real nice.

10. “You can’t watch another show, your brain won’t grow.”

Ooooooooh! So that’s it! Instead let’s play watch Parker dump out all the toys on the floor. And then maybe a little game of toilet paper tag. What? Oh, I can watch a show now? Oh, thanks! (SUCKER!)

 

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Happy Birthday Dad: Thoughts on Daughterhood and Regret

April 21, 2013 · by · 6 Comments

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Today is my Dad’s birthday. It would have been his 69th. I lost my Dad in 2009. He died of lung cancer and I never got to say goodbye to him. And the reason I never got to say goodbye to him was because we were estranged at the time.

It is painful to write these words but my hope is that it will help someone else who might be experiencing some distance with a family member. There are things that keep us from friends and family and to us, they are really, really important at the time. However, with time, distance and a little bit of reflection added in– only one thing is evident: you lost time and now you can’t get that time back.

I was married in 2008. My brother gave me away instead of my Dad. This decision was not a painful or difficult one for me. It made sense at the time. Now, however, when I look at my wedding pictures, I get chills in seeing what is missing. A proud father seeing his little girl get married. A father daughter dance. My Dad shaking Mike’s hand.

In April of the year he died (on his birthday, maybe?), I sent him an email with a link to our wedding pictures. I wished him well and told him I loved him. I said I was sorry that I didn’t have him at the wedding.

I don’t know if he ever got the email. On Labor Day that September, seven months pregnant with Parker, I got a call from my cousin that my Dad had passed away.

If you have read this far, you are feeling sorry for me and thinking what a depressing post this is. But, this is where I hope I can teach you something.

Since I was carrying his grandchild at the time of his death, my guilt, my grief and my emotions were not what they would be today. I didn’t want my baby to feel the negative feelings of anger, doubt and helplessness. I knew I had to give him (or her– I didn’t know what I was having- boy or girl) something more, something better.

The priest that did my Dad’s service put his hand on my belly and told me that now is the time to forgive my father, to allow myself to be closer to him and to share my love for him with my child. It made the most incredible sense at the time. Now that my Dad was with me in spirit, we could be closer than we ever have before.

Exactly a year ago, I stood in my kitchen making breakfast and heard Parker say, “Who’s the birthday boy?” It was April 21, my father’s birthday. I started crying, called my mother and decided that my Dad had spoken to me through Parker. He said, “I’m here, I’m watching and I see your children, Bridgette. They’re beautiful.”

Now, the hardest feeling I feel is missing him. I hear his voice in my head sometimes. I quote him at odd moments. I tell Parker stories about his “Grandpa in heaven.” I pray, I reflect and have come to know two things: my Dad gave me the best he could. He loved me. He was always proud of me and he never ceased in believing in me.

So although I regret him not being at my wedding, not spending his last minutes telling him I love him and not telling him I was carrying his grandchild, I delight in the fact that his spirit is everywhere. It’s helping me write this blog. It’s part of my work ethic, my sense of humor. No matter where he is or what regrets I have about our relationship, nothing changes the good he did for me. And I do believe that he died knowing that.

Seeing Michael with Celia is a way of reliving my daughterhood. His sweet manner with her and the way she looks at him, with such admiration, is familiar to me. And in my mind, I see my own Dad turned Grandpa– bragging about Parker or Celia’s latest trick or busting out his wallet (or Smartphone) packed with pictures of his children and grandchildren. Telling strangers how wonderful his family is.

So I give you this about regret: It’s powerful. And it’s something you need to pay attention to. Living life without regret is not something to aspire to. Regret is what makes you remember your mistakes, it brings to light your faults and process your hardships. It holds up a mirror and says, “hey, did this really work the way you wanted it to?” And through your regrets you can learn how to be better and do better.

And in being able to recognize this very thing, I know my Dad would be prouder than ever of me.

Happy Birthday Dad. I love you.

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Shortcut Girl: Your Favorite Posts

April 18, 2013 · by · Leave a Comment
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The original logo, made by me just a year ago:)

For the next week or so, I will be posting once a day to celebrate the one year birthday of Shortcut Girl. I have been so lucky to have found a “home” in the blogging world. I’m so happy that I have some dedicated readers and people who will stop me in the hallway at work to talk about my latest post. It’s become my secret (or not so secret) identity and has really helped me see what my real passion is. Writing pieces that connect people. And so, here’s a top ten list of you favorite posts (in no particular order). FYI: I know they are your favorites because of the number of shares, comments and views I have of particular posts. And it’s not like I obsess about it or anything, if you are wondering:)

1. Judgy Mom-ness and Other Jewels of Parenthood

2. Full Disclosure: My Life on Facebook, Kind of a Lie

3. I Want My Mommy: Not Entirely a Post about Motherhood

4. Why I’ll Never Be Mrs. America: Another One of Those Posts About Body Image

5. Yoga for The Mind: 5 Things

6. Sticks and Stones

7. Mornings with Mike

8. Finding the Light

9. Resolve to Keep Happy

10. That’s My Girl: How Parenting Changed When I Had a Daughter

I have not included your favorite posts from Parker in this list. He will have his recognition on another day:)

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Be Gentle With Yourself: My Story of Post Partum

April 17, 2013 · by · Leave a Comment
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Little man Parker, only 3 months old.

This post starts a week long posting binge where I celebrate my upcoming Blog-aversary! Shortcut Girl is almost one year old and I can barely believe it. Please share my posts with anyone you think would like to read them, I’m always looking to get more readers on Shortcut Girl!

If you have recently had a baby or have ever struggled with the “Baby Blues,” then today’s post might hit home. One of the reasons Shortcut Girl came about was due to the nervous energy that was produced from months of post partum depression and anxiety. The good news is two fold: the blog has been an amazing source of therapy for me in EVERY facet of my life and, also, I have been able to share stories of my struggles and successes with others. I really hope you enjoy it!

 

Be Gentle With Yourself: My Story of Post Partum

When you are pregnant, people are full of helpful advice. You, with a burgeoning belly, are hopeful and optimistic about the new person you are about to welcome to the world. You hear lots of words of wisdom, terrifying labor stories and of course the infamous, “Sleep when the baby sleeps.” By the time the baby actually arrives, you have an array of advice and cautionary tales to work with.

The anticipation is sometimes painful as you inch your way towards motherhood. Will I be able to handle it? How will I do it? Is this the last time I will ever _________? The mixture of terror and excitement is a little unsettling. You worry, you what-if, you analyze. Your already vivid dreams become short horror films starring you as the negligent Mom.

I had always pictured post-partum depression as being a rejection of my baby, a need to lock myself in my room and an alienation of my husband and friends. I thought I would turn into Kirstie Alley’s character from Look Who’s Talking and cry all day in my bathrobe. But, after having my son, none of these what-ifs were reality. I felt like I dodged a big bullet. Therefore, with my daughter two years later, I thought it would all go exactly the same way. I was already wise in the ways of C section recovery and breast feeding remediation. I knew the sleepless nights and pure and utter exhaustion were ahead. But, I also knew the happy, happy, happy that comes along with a new addition to the family would trump all of that.

So, after Celia arrived, I juggled the demands of a toddler and new infant like a pro. I loved the long fall days I spent putting Parker down for a nap while I cuddled my new daughter. In essence, I thought (ever so smugly) that really, I had this having-kids-thing in the bag.

I was in a gas station bathroom the first time I thought something might be wrong. My husband and I had just packed up the kids for a trip to Vermont (I thought getting away would help me shake the funk I had been in) and we stopped quick to use the bathroom. Since I was avoiding mirrors at this point, I was shocked to catch my own reflection. I had a white down jacket on- the only one that fit- and had been wearing it for days. It was filthy. The front had coffee drips, smudges of dirt and small grimy handprints. I was unkempt and ugly, disheveled and gross. And anyone who saw me must have seen the same thing. I erupted into sobs that would not stop. Tears came that I could not control. A wellspring opened and I was slowly sinking.

Around this time, getting up every day felt something like being underwater. It took everything I had just to get myself through my daily routine. I felt kind of numb, a little lonely and of course, beyond tired. The tired part, everyone expects—you’re up with the baby, you never get to nap, you are a non-stop Mom. But, I was also starting to not sleep because I was anxious. For me, the depression was coupled with heightened anxiety. I had a couple of what I could only describe as panic attacks. Like the underwater feeling but you can’t really see the top of the water.

If you had asked me what was wrong at this point, I couldn’t put my finger on it. You can’t explain a cloud of anxiety, self-doubt and a dirty jacket to someone else. This only intensified the feeling of guilt I had for not being happy. I had two small children who were sweet and wonderful and healthy. I had a great husband, great friends, great co-workers. I felt like something had changed and no one brought me up to speed. I felt like I had been left out of my own life.

The riveting moment for me in this journey was a connection I made with a friend. I had heard she had some trouble with post-partum depression and asked her about it. That very week, she had also been struggling and thought it coincidental that I reached out. We exchanged our feelings of sadness, inferiority and angst. It was the most validating moment for me. To know someone felt the same thing! It was like the light came back to the world. Color came back into my outlook. I was no longer so alone.

Going through this taught me something that I was really surprised to learn. Sometimes: I can’t do it all. Sometimes: I truly cannot handle all I think I can. Sometimes: I need my husband (Thank you, Michael) my kids or even my friends to help me navigate the muddy waters of insecurity and uncertainty. Sometimes: I need to be a little gentler with myself and give myself a break. We all do.

So, as you pass on your advice to the young Mom with a cooing infant in line at Target, be gentle with her too. We all manage the throes of pre-natal and post-partum in our own manner. Sometimes we reach out and ask for help along the way (“Can you please come over for a playdate before I go crazy?”) and sometimes we really foul things up (“He got the scissors and cut his OWN HAIR!”) and learn from it later. But, as women, we keep moving forward, ready for the next stage of motherhood, of toddlerhood, of teenage-hood. And we retell the stories-the good and the bad. Our badges of motherhood- the heartaches, the hard lessons, the victories, all of it.

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