Nein!

Posted on July 30, 2011 by admin

Benjamin is a talker. He has vastly surpassed what is expected for a child his age — speaking to him is a lot like speaking to an adult. He’s even been quickly picking up words in German: he’s just the right age, he picks up language easily in general and, frankly, we watch a fair bit of Nick, Jr. in German. But, up until recently, he’s only spoken German when specifically prompted. He has added his first unsolicited word in German, and it is (of course): “Nein!”

For a lot of kids, their first word is “no” (or whatever is the appropriate variant for their native language) but for Benjamin, his first word was “down” and he didn’t really overuse “no” for his first couple of years of speaking. But, “nein” has become one of his most common utterances these days.

It’s fun to see him picking up the language without any particular effort on either of our parts. It’s as though he’s just absorbing it out of the air. And, honestly, hearing your three year old run around the house chanting “nein!” is a lot cuter and less irritating than “no!” (I think it fails to push the same emotional button.) Maybe we’ll get lucky and we’ll pass through the “terrible threes” in German — and I might not even understand enough of what he’s saying to be driven crazy by it.

Yelling

Posted on July 27, 2011 by admin

I yelled at Benjamin today. Again. I feel awful. Again.

It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen from time to time — I’m stressed out, and one of the kids does something that is, legitimately, frustrating or anger-worthy, and I get upset. But, I get more upset than is warranted by whatever it is that they did.

Today, it was an empty soda bottle to the back of my head, courtesy of Benjamin. (But, of course, that isn’t *really* what it was about — it started hours earlier as frustration towards Dan. However, Dan was at work, and I hadn’t had an opportunity to talk to him about it yet, except by text, so I was keeping a lid on it.) So, Benjamin chucked the soda bottle and I turned around and yelled at him. “Do not throw things at people!” I was angrier than I needed to be, but not totally out of line. He was shocked, but not overly upset.

Then, to calm myself, I walked away (from the dining room to the kitchen — not far) and took a few breaths. But, for some reason, this set him off, and he followed me, crying. For some reason, this set me off and I turned around and said to him, “Stop crying or go away until you can stop crying!”

Ugh.

Awesome. I’m the crappiest mom EVER. (Ok, not really, but I didn’t know that I had that particular gem of parenting in me.) I’m really disappointed that I said this to my child. I walked away, again, to try and compose myself, he cried harder, and I fell apart, crying and apologizing (another winning move) and then he cried even harder.

We cuddled and kissed and played a couple of games and watched tv and I gave him a bottle and I think we’ve made up. I upset him, to be sure, but like before, I think me being upset was the most traumatic part for him.

I do not want to yell at my kids for stupid stuff — certainly not because I’m irritated with Dan. I have to get a handle on my stress levels.

Magic

Posted on July 25, 2011 by admin

A few years ago (pre-kids) I was talking to a friend about what I wanted in my life that I didn’t have — I struggled to come up with the right word, and finally settled on “magic”. At which point she looked at me like I had, perhaps, lost track of reality. I wasn’t talking about magic like Harry Potter: wands and spells and potions (although, if there really is a Hogwarts out there somewhere, and I get my letter, I’m absolutely going). I didn’t, at the time, really know how to explain what I meant.

I do now. The kind of magic I wanted in my life is exactly what I have now — it’s the kind of magic you get watching your children play with a balloon or look at a ladybug or wake up Christmas morning. It’s the kind of magic that you feel when you do something pretty ordinary and your kids are just amazed by it: making cookies, drawing with chalk, fixing a favorite toy.

I get to have the privilege of discovering the wonder and magic of childhood all over again, by witnessing my children’s experiences. I absolutely love it. And there’s the feeling that I get when I look into their faces or hear them call for me or hold their hands. If that isn’t magic, I don’t know what is.

Freedom

Posted on July 24, 2011 by admin

As an American, I find it very strange that I’ve learned so much about freedom since moving to Austria. Not in a “freedom of speech/religion/assembly/expression” kind of way, but freedom in the sense of personal liberation. I don’t actually think it was important that I be in Austria to make these discoveries — I think I’ve had to be out of my comfort zone and stressed to a point of actually letting go of unimportant things (which is so very hard to do). I think that could have happened almost anytime and almost anywhere, but for me, it happened to happen here.

Here, I’ve learned to accept that I’m going to get things wrong. That was true at home, too, but I fought it. At home, I tried to be “together”, I tried to be slick, I tried to do it all and look good doing it. Here, I am so much more willing to accept that it’s a lost cause and just let go do the best I can in the moment. I don’t know the convention of how things are done here. I don’t know the logistics of how things are done here (I’ve finally figured out how to use the ATM — sorry, bankomat — so that I don’t have to put my card in two or three times in the course of a single transaction). I don’t speak the language, so that’s like 1000 uncool points before I’ve even started to communicate with someone.

I’m having to find my own way of doing things here, too. I have less help, more time alone with the kids, and everything I try to do is more of a challenge. I’m having to focus on what is important — on what is really, truly, important to ME. I’m having to discover my own priorities and determine the best way to execute them. There isn’t even the illusion of enough time to do everything I want, go everywhere I want or do things as well as I want. I just can’t. In the acceptance of that comes the responsibility of determining what IS important and spending my time on that. I’m learning to just do enough instead of trying to do it all. I’m learning to just do well enough instead of trying to be perfect. Everyone gets fed and cleaned and loved and read to. Boo-boos get kissed. The dog goes outside. The house is not yet a toxic waste site. Sounds good to me!

The pressures are different here, too. The moms do things differently. They worry so much less about their kids falling down and getting scraped or bruised or even breaking an arm. They don’t worry about only introducing one food at a time to screen for allergies. On the other hand, they bundle their children in the cold weather or the rain like they’re going to dissolve. It just shows me that the things we choose to worry about are fairly arbitrary. Things that would cause an American mother to gasp in horror would go unnoticed here, and things that would make an Austrian mother stare accusingly (they’re not so big on the gasping) would make an American mom scoff. So, I worry less that my 3 year old isn’t potty trained and still drinks from a bottle, and I’m grateful my 10 month old doesn’t need to eat plain pureed chicken on the extremely remote possibility he has a poultry allergy. People can stare and gasp all they like.

I’m accepting myself, too. I’m good at some things, not at others. I enjoy doing some things, and not others. It doesn’t make me a bad mom, wife, daughter, sister or friend. It just IS. It doesn’t mean anything. The distance from my structured environment at home is giving me permission to just be who I am. I’m judging myself less and less for not being good enough, for not being slick enough, for not doing things right, for not doing enough, for not doing it all, perfectly, 100% of the time. (I find I’m also judging others less for the same things.)

And all of that is ok. In fact, it’s incredibly liberating. I’ve never felt so divorced from my concept of what I ought to be doing or how things are supposed to happen. In so many ways, the pressure is relieved — pressure I’ve felt my entire life, but most acutely since becoming a mother. These concepts of perfection weren’t even mine, and I didn’t know. For the first time, I’m experiencing the process of deciding what’s important and allowing myself to be just who I am. And that isn’t sad, it’s wonderful.

Benjamin goes to work

Posted on July 21, 2011 by admin

Benjamin has been asking for months to go to work with Dan. We’ve stopped by a couple of times to visit, and I even dropped him off for a few hours once (so I could do his birthday shopping) but that isn’t what he wanted. He wanted to go in with Dan — to get ready in the morning and head off on the train with his dad.

This morning, that’s what we did. He got up, had breakfast, got ready, packed his backpack and went to work. As I understand it, they had a good time (even though B got bored pretty quickly, he was a good “helper” all morning). For me, it was really weird. The only time I’ve had such a long block of time without him was the one time Dan took him to the emergency room and I stayed home with Liam. Nearly every day, Liam is awake during Benjamin’s nap, and I kept forgetting he wasn’t here and asleep in the other room — I kept shushing Liam while we were playing together.

I did enjoy my time with Liam. He crawled all over and even cruised a little. It was fun to be able to play with whatever toy he wanted without Benjamin determining what Liam is or isn’t allowed to play with. But mostly, I missed him, a lot. I’ve grown very used to spending my days with both of my kids. Sometimes we play, sometimes we go out, sometimes he helps me with the chores, but I really enjoy our morning time, whatever we do with it.

(It might have been a bit of a nice break except for the fact that I couldn’t go out — we were supposed to have some guys from the power company come by this morning, although they didn’t.)

At lunch time, Dan brought him home. Liam and I were both so happy to see him. He had a nice time with Daddy at his work, but he was happy to be home, too.

When he starts school in September, this is what it will be like in the mornings, 5 days a week. I am not prepared. I think it will be what’s best for him, but I don’t think it’s what will be best for me. If I were selfish, I wouldn’t send him to school — I don’t want to be without him.

My own words

Posted on July 19, 2011 by admin

Things can get crazy here pretty quickly. This afternoon, I had just made Benjamin lunch and set it on the coffee table when he asked me to identify something in a new book of his. I turned my back on the coffee table for all of (literally) about 30 seconds when I heard a crash and turned around to see Liam, covered in tomato sauce and Benjamin’s lunch (pizza) face down on the floor. The pizza wasn’t that hot (thankfully) so no harm was done, just a big mess and a need to reinvent lunch for B.

I picked Liam up, picked the pizza up, put Liam back down (he was covered in sauce, and I didn’t feel like smelling like pizza the rest of the afternoon) and turned around to get a napkin (again, maybe 20 seconds of walking from one side of the living room to the other to pick up a napkin) and turned around to see my very fast youngest child assaulting my computer (which, very foolishly, had been left on, unlocked and within reach of my kids). By the time I got to him (about 4 seconds later) my computer was covered in pizza sauce, he had completely changed the way my Outlook interface looks and started to compose a message to a listserv at MITRE. (I still haven’t figured out how to change the interface back, because babies have special computer ninja powers that allow them to access otherwise unknown features of applications and the operating system.)

At this point, I, my youngest child, my floor and my computer are covered in pizza sauce, when about 90 seconds earlier life was peaceful and I was feeling quite together. A little frustrated, I sat down, scooped Liam up (pizza sauce and all) and said, “Argh, Liam! What am I going to do with you?”

At which point, Benjamin came up to me with a patient and understanding expression and said, “Mommy, I know little brothers sometimes mess things up, but Liam doesn’t mean to. He’s only a baby.”

After removing my jaw from the floor, and saying something like, “I know, baby, I’m just frustrated”, he responds with, “Sometimes people get angry, but it’s ok” (still patting my shoulder).

I guess he’s been paying attention, after all. And, he’s right. So, I gave both Liam and Benjamin big hugs and lots of kisses, cleaned everyone up and we all shared leftovers for lunch.

(Thanks, Benjamin.)

019

Happy third birthday, Benjamin!

Posted on July 18, 2011 by admin

My wonderful, sweet little boy. I am so happy to see you turn three years old. I’m sure I will say this every year, but I can’t believe that so much time has passed since the magical day that you came in to this world and I became a mommy. I remember every moment of that day as though it happened yesterday — it was the most important day I’d ever had. I am simply overjoyed to have you in my life, and to watch you grow and flourish and become even more fantastic all the time. I love you so very much.

We’ve had a big year! We’ve moved far away from our family and friends, and you became a big brother. You have made these transitions gracefully and enthusiastically. You have taken the move so well. Once, in the beginning of our stay here, when things were very hard and frustrating, I said I wanted to go home, and you burst into tears and said you didn’t want to go home. You tell me all the time that you love it here and that you love Austria. I’m so glad that you do! It’s been wonderful to see you learn and explore and make this place your home.

And what an amazing brother you are. The very first thing you said upon us bringing Liam home from the hospital was, “So cute!” and you’ve gotten even better since then. Watching you look out for Liam, care for him, think of him, share with him, I am amazed and impressed and inspired. You are the sweetest, kindest, most loving human being I have ever met. Ever. You are constantly looking for Liam, watching him, making sure he’s happy, asking about it if he isn’t, sharing with him, helping him, talking to him and considering him. When he or I drop things that we need, you will stop what you’re doing to help, whether we’re in the house or out and about in the city, even if you’re busy with something else.

And your kindness doesn’t stop with your brother. You are always concerned when you see anyone who isn’t happy. Just today, we were at the park, and a little girl was crying. You pointed her out to us and asked, “Why is that girl sad?” You notice how other people are feeling and you want to help them. You never want anyone to be sad, angry or upset in any way.

And you are so brilliant. We’ve known for a while that you have an exceptional mind and heart, but you constantly surprise us with how extraordinary you are. Speaking to you is like conversing with an adult, except that you often ask more insightful questions. You speak in complete, correct sentences, your vocabulary is phenomenal, you are creative and thoughtful. Today, we were walking down the street, and you looked and some carriage horses that were trotting along and exclaimed, “Mommy, those horses are rocking out!” It is wonderful to watch you learn, and to watch you apply the things you learn. You’re learning to count and speak a little in German, Spanish and even Chinese and when you start school in the fall, I imagine you’ll quickly surpass everyone else in the family in terms of understanding and speaking German. You learn songs from me or from tv, and you remember them. Just today, you started singing, “The wheels on the bike go round and round, all through the town” (even though you’ve only ever heard it as, “The wheels on the bus”). You can read numbers and most of the letters, and you’re starting to be able to write letters, too. People comment all the time to us about what a good talker you are and how much you understand. Even people who are used to dealing with children aren’t used to someone like you. You have such a wonderful spirit, too: whatever the weather, you’ll tell me what a beautiful day it is. (When it is raining, you tell me you love the rain — that isn’t something you can teach someone.) We talk about the favorite part of our day, and I’m always thrilled to hear what you’ll choose.

You also have an astounding memory. Anytime we go somewhere we’ve been before, you’ll remember it. You’ll say, “This is where we were yesterday” (everything before today tends to be “yesterday”) and you remember where you are in space (you’ll know when a road ahead of us, or off to the side, goes to some other place we like to go, even if we haven’t been that way in a long time). I think you take after me, a little, in this kind of awareness of yourself in time and space (it will serve you well). You remember the things we tell you, the things we teach you and the boundaries we set (although sometimes you pretend to have forgotten, if it’s something you don’t like — like only one more story before bed or only 5 more minutes in the park).

You love to play with all of us, and you’re very particular about the way your games are played. We play basketball, soccer, baseball, race cars, puzzles, drawing (you like drawing outside with chalk in particular), choo choo trains, “Old McDonald” and tent (which I think is your favorite). You like to yell “Boo!” to scare people, and you will often start to bark (“Woof WOOF!”) very loudly if you’re excited, or just to get attention. You take an entourage of stuffed animal friends with you wherever you can — they all have names, and you care about each of them. If one falls off the couch, or out of your bed, you won’t rest until it’s back where it should be. (I think, right now, Jingle is your favorite, but I’m not sure, and I don’t want to ask, because I’m not sure it really has occurred to you to even have a favorite.) You are strong and fast and you love to run, jump, ride your tricycle and play at the park. “I want to run!” and “I want to play!” are two of your most common sentiments. You have boundless energy that amazes me. You have great balance, and you pick up physical skills really quickly. You got your first bike yesterday (for your birthday — but you found it a day early) and you were already riding it pretty skillfully this evening. You love to dance and spin, by yourself or with your dad.

You love your family — not just me, your dad and Liam (although you love us all very, very much), but also Bailey, Grandma, Topes, Grandpa, Sam, Margie, Mina, Nick, Peter, Adam, Jo and Gordie. You ask about everyone all the time, and you get so excited when you get to talk to them or to see them on the computer. You love them and you tell me that you “miss everyone from home”. You ask all the time about your friends from home, too — Jordan and his family, Joshua, baby Ellie and their family. You make friends quickly, and you remember names very well, so you’re already asking about Krishana, Niklas, Sean and Ian all the time, too. In the fall, you’ll start to attend kindergarten, which I anticipate with very mixed emotions: it will be so hard for me to give up so many hours with you every day, but I know it will help you to be even more at home here, and I know you’re ready to be around kids your own age every day. You’ll love it! (I will miss you.)

I hope I’m doing a good job as your mom. There is so much I want to teach you and show you and share with you. It’s a big job, and I don’t do a great job every day (but I do my best every day). I’m sorry for the times when I mess up and don’t do it right. Most days are great days, and most moments are wonderful — I’m working on the others.

My baby, I love you so much. My time with you is filled with joy, love and awe. I am so glad I get to be with you all the time. You are one of my most favorite people in the whole universe (your brother is the other) and I can’t believe how fortunate I am to have you in my life. Thank you for being so very wonderful. I love you absolutely and completely. I’ve said this to you before: you don’t have to do anything in particular or be anything in particular for me to love you. I love you, exactly as you are. I love you, and you are an amazing person (it’s not that I love you because you are an amazing person). You are my wonderful, perfect, darling Benjamin. I am so grateful to have you in my life. I am the luckiest mommy that there has ever been. Thank you for being my child.

Unexpected surprises

Posted on July 17, 2011 by admin

Tomorrow, my little boy (well, the biggest one) turns 3. I know it’s a cliche, but I have no idea where the time has gone. (Although, at the same time, it seems hard to believe that 3 years ago I didn’t yet have any kids. Once you have them, you feel like you’ve always had them.)

Today, to celebrate, we took him to the zoo, and let him have free rein. (Pretty much: he wanted to go in with the elephants, and that’s where I drew the line.) He got to pick which animals he wanted to see, where we went, how long we stayed. We even let him pick out a stuffed animal from the gift shop. (He chose a snake. He was going for the panda and changed his mind at the last second. The snake is pretty cool.) Some of our friends joined us, to help us celebrate, and Benjamin really loved that.

We had a great time, and then we stayed too long, everyone got hot, tired and cranky and we left in the midst of tears, naps, frustration and irritability. That seems to be how these things happen. I know from experience, though, that the ending won’t ruin his experience or memory of the day. I know he had a great time. He got to run around, see stuff, climb on things, eat ice cream and generally do pretty much whatever he wanted for hours and hours. We saw giraffes, elephants, a gibbon, flamingos, a lion, penguins, sea lions, a polar bear, and we even had an albino peacock wander right past where we were having lunch. (I have no idea if it was supposed to be loose, but there it was, just wandering through.) Good times.

After coming home and recuperating for a few hours, Benjamin was playing ball with Bailey. For Benjamin, the purpose of this game is to hide the baseball where it will be the hardest for Bailey to acquire it and then to run away and giggle while Bailey gets it anyway. To be clever, he decided to hide the ball in our storage closet (the only closet in our whole apartment) which is generally closed and off limits (although not strictly verboten, it’s more that it’s relatively uninteresting and out of the way). Problem: that’s where the (as yet unwrapped) birthday presents were hidden.

“Daddy, Daddy, Dad, Dad, Dad! Come see! Look what I found! I found a bike!” Pause. “Is it my birthday present? Is it mine?”

No, he wasn’t supposed to get it until tomorrow, but what are you going to say? His delight and excitement certainly wasn’t diminished by getting it today (in fact, it may have been enhanced by the complete surprise). He is thrilled, if a little uncertain about how best to tackle this new challenge. (Another gift, which he didn’t find, is the helmet which goes WITH the bike, so we took it rather easy today.) His sweet excitement was wonderful to witness. That is a special kind of happiness reserved for small children on their birthdays and on Christmas morning, and we get to experience it again by making it happen for him.

He’s an awesome kid. I hope he’s having an awesome birthday.

Getting myself together

Posted on July 16, 2011 by admin

I have not had an easy week. It hasn’t been a bad week, just very busy, with lots of stuff to do (and some weird and random things thrown in, just to keep it interesting) and it followed on the heels of having guests for over a week. Whenever I have a week like this, I struggle to keep my head on straight. It’s my natural tendency to succumb to the pressure of the stress and freak out — become irritable, short tempered, sad, anxious, angry. For reasons I don’t think I will ever understand, when subjected to more than usual stress levels, my brain somehow flips the importance of things — things that shouldn’t matter too much to me (like how clean my house is, whether or not I’m on time to a play date, or whether we got a chance to cook the chicken in the fridge before it went bad) become vitally important, and things that really ought to matter (like what kind of day my kids are having or whether or not I’ve eaten in the past 8 hours) threaten to take a back seat.

I’ve fought this fight all week. Some days went well, and others not so well. I freaked out over little things more than once, but I managed to win a couple of those battles, too. As the week has gone on, the stress has increased, not decreased. I knew I had to do something to bolster my defences, or things would continue to deteriorate, so I planned to spend all of today resting and playing with my kids — nothing gets me back to “good” faster than some time alone to read plus some time to enjoy my boys without having to be anywhere or do anything in particular.

Circumstances conspired against me, however, and I wasn’t able to do that for a lot of today. I did get a little bit of reading in during nap time (while BOTH children were sleeping at the SAME time) and I got a little play time in. But, I’m still not quite to where I want to be . . . so I’m replanning my day tomorrow with some recuperation and recharging time.

I am not giving up easily. I want to be the best mom I can be for my kids: I want to take challenges in stride, let little things go and keep a positive, mature and level-headed outlook regardless of what happens. Or, at least get closer to all of those things than I am now. I’m really, finally realizing that the only way that is going to happen is for me to be in a good mental place. It’s like getting enough sleep if you’re an air traffic controller — you can’t fake it, you have to sleep. Lives depend it. My kids’ happiness and sense of security depend on me getting my head together.

So, for tomorrow, reading Harry Potter and playing trains with Benjamin are on top of my to do list. This is important.

I live in my house

Posted on July 15, 2011 by admin

And today was a very good day

We had some friends of ours (a co-worker of Dan’s, his wife and their two boys, aged 8 and almost 1) over to our place for the first time yesterday. Shortly after they arrived, Paula looked at me and said, “I’m so relieved to see that it looks like you live in your house”, by which, she meant, that my house looks like it always does: it looks like people who have two children, a dog, and not a lot of time live here. I sincerely do my best to keep my house in reasonable shape, which mostly means keeping up with the mountains of laundry our family produces and cleaning up a ton of dog hair every day. Benjamin pitches in by helping with “clean up time” in the evening whenever the level of toy carnage starts to look like Santa’s sleigh had a tragic accident in our living room. But, for sure, my house looks lived in.I used to apologize, “Oh, don’t mind the mess!”, “We just moved in”, “Things have been busy, it’s gotten away from us”. But, I made a decision, recently, not to do that, unless any of it is actually true. My house always looks this way. This is, really, how we live. I’m totally ok with it. It isn’t because I don’t know how to make it cleaner, and it isn’t because I’m so overwhelmed that although I’d like to have it look different, I just can’t keep up. It’s because this is how it looks when you put in exactly the amount of effort that I have allocated to housekeeping. I could make it look better, but I elect to do different things with my time and energy. Given infinite money, I suppose I’d hire someone to make it look tidier (but it’s not the first place I’d put my money).

So, when they came, I didn’t apologize, I just welcomed them in. I fought the urge to make excuses, until Paula mentioned that she feels more comfortable coming to a house that looks like ours (and hers apparently looks much the same) because she knows the kids can play without worrying too much about “making a mess” and they really feel like they can make themselves at home. There is a famous Marianne Williamson quote that includes, ” . . . as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.” Who knew that it was true not just of “letting our light shine”, but also of leaving our Legos on the floor and the lunch dishes on the counter?

I remember going through the same kind of thing when Benjamin was first born. Things were so hard, I was so tired, frustrated, even angry sometimes. But what I was feeling just didn’t match the face that people put on when they talk about bringing their baby home from the hospital — it’s so easy to feel like there’s something wrong with you. Then a good, kind, generous, wonderful, loving and generally happy friend of mine told me what she experienced when she brought her daughter home from the hospital . . . and it was exactly the same as my experience, full of stress, ambivalence and feelings of inadequacy. It was great to know I was like her, even if everyone else was floating on pink and blue clouds, sleeping when the baby slept and finding time to write thank you notes and start their baby books.

I think this kind of thing happens too often. We work so hard to make things look the way they “should” that we don’t notice that very few people actually live in that “should” space — we all just visit it when we’re having guests.

A Mommy Abroad

Our big adventure, as a family of three.

Category Archives: Kids and Parenting