Reflections

We all see ourselves in our children.  The shape of their mouth, the pattern of baby curls, the dimples so similar to ours.  Even their facial expressions may be picture perfect images of ours at that age.

Then there are the mannerisms.  They start out cute, progress to irritating, and rapidly arrive at maddening.  Children copy what they see, so is it any wonder they quickly learn what makes us tick and ticks us off?  Even taking into account the whole nature vs. nurture debate, we are the source of both.  So it really is all our fault.

We see the good in our children and are positive they inherited these qualities from us.  The unsolicited acts of kindness, thoughtfulness, of course we take pride in our…I mean their…achievements.  They fill us with a sense of accomplishment, the knowledge that we must have done something right.

Then we see their darker side peek out.  A snide remark, a selfish act, the refusal to accomplish a necessary task out of sheer laziness.  We think “they must have picked it somewhere,” and look far and wide for where to cast the blame.  The further away the better, lest we bear any accountability.  But somehow, these qualities we find so blameworthy just don’t go away.

Maybe we notice these flaws more often now that we are aware of their existence, but we still strive to avoid the stark realization of where our children get them from: We need look no further than our reflection in the mirror. 

We don’t get to pick which of our behaviors our children will mirror any more than we chose which genes to pass on.  We can't pass them through a sieve, or pick over them like produce at the grocery store.  But our children do notice, and mirror, all those idiosyncrasies we are not even fully aware of (just ask your spouse, he/she probably has a list they can share with you). 

Children certainly do bring our reflections into focus, but it may not be the image we were expecting.  

Maybe we should think about a makeover.

Mom, can I watch TV?

Everyone has a list of favorite shows from their childhood.  We fondly remember trying so hard to wake up early enough to catch it (a fact that totally confounds our children in the age of TiVo), eagerly anticipating our transportation to another world for 30 minutes.  We remember falling off a cliff with Wile E. Coyote, running from the villain of the week with Scooby Doo, and singing “kill the wabbit” to the tune of Ride of the Valkyries with Bugs Bunny.  We wished we could say “go go Gadget Copter” and zoom away to save the world from Dr. Claw.    And really, who didn’t harbor a secret fantasy of being He-Man or She-Ra?

Now 20-30 years later, I’m sure many of us have revisited our childhood passions and brought our children along for the ride.  And somehow these shows that held our rapt attention as children still appeal to our adult selves.  Maybe it’s the universal appeal of seeing Wile E. Coyote blown up for the 100th time, or simply nostalgia for the simple joys and pleasures of childhood.  But there are definitely shows that captivated us as children and made the journey to adulthood with us too. 

Somehow the majority of children’s shows currently on the air seem like they would be buried in the attic and denied three times.  I’m sure the most of us of us have been subjected to our favorite bilingual explorer at least once (and if you haven’t, it only takes about 1 minute of viewing to see where I’m coming from).  Can you really imagine your children pulling out an old DVD of that and introducing their kids to it with anything but dread and embarrassment?

Not that there aren’t modern shows we actually enjoy watching with our children.  Disney/Pixar films come to mind, Phineas and Ferb can be quite entertaining, and Cartoon Network’s new somewhat satirized version of Scooby Doo is often hilarious.  The ability to imbue a program with subject matter, language, dialogue, and comedy that children understand, and yet sprinkle in enough humor that we adults can appreciate it too is a rare skill. 

On one hand, we don’t want to sit through 30 minutes of baby babble by the Teletubbies, yet we are (rightfully so) not ready for our children to be exposed to the more mature themes we find so compelling.  Walking the tightrope between the two to produce an entertaining program is a recipe few chefs have perfected. 

Maybe when our children have children of their own there will still be a few gems left they can enjoy together.

I Am Cool

I am a cool mother.  

Yes, I do drive a minivan, ferry children all over town to various activities, coordinate schedules like a manager, and have at least 3 conversations simultaneously on such diverse topics as our new school schedule, what Transformer toys we have gotten from Burger King, and if we are having dessert today.  

I undoubtedly have days where I’m not as nice as I should be, or have just heard “Mom, can I do ____” one too many times and lose it.  And I definitely have days where I dream of an extended vacation all by myself. 

Despite all those flaws, I do have a few things going for me. 

I climb trees to shake down pecans for the girls to collect.  I point out the dead possum in the road, tromp through the woods to find where it was deposited, and describe in detail the stages of decomposition (Joyce and Marie were very disappointed to find that a scavenger had carried it off a few days later and we wouldn’t get to watch it finish decomposing). 

I let them play in the dirt, and bury each other up to their necks in playground sand.  They have used each other as a canvas to paint on more than once.  I take them to international festivals and make them try different foods, learn how people dress, hear what languages they speak, watch how they dance, and listen to what their music sounds like.  They are regulars at my bellydance shows, and even participate in open dance time.

I catch lizards for them to keep as pets.  Joyce loves to tell the story about how we caught Suzie, our Broadhead Skink.  The second lizard, Alex, was caught while Joyce was in theatre class.  Since we had to go directly from class to Chick-fil-a for dinner, the lizard rode along in my purse.  There was a lot of giggling going on at dinner that night, but no one told about our secret passenger.

I bring “overnight pets” home for them.  My usual exercise route takes me past a pond, and I frequently see frogs and toads on the sidewalk.  We enjoy observing them for a day, look them up in a field guide and read about them, then return them to their natural habitat. 

I let them check out books about almost any topic they want at the library.  We have learned about hurricane Katrina, the Bubonic Plague, Vincent Van Gogh (although they couldn’t understand why he cut off his ear), and of course dinosaurs.  We went to a presentation there on medieval arms and armor, with real weapons to play with.  They had great fun practicing with the wooden sword and shield, and wearing real chain mail.  I just had way too much fun playing with the swords. 

I know they don’t realize what atypical mother they have now, but I hope at some point they will comprehend this in retrospect.  

Maybe when they grow up, they will even remember the time we found a snake in the pool. 

And appreciate that instead of running away screaming, I caught it and we kept it as a pet. 

Because I really am cool.

The Mystery of the Writing on the Wall

Some of you may have already seen this, but it’s one of our more memorable incidents and worth sharing again.

Our kitchen has a short wall separating it from the playroom, and a table pushed against it.  That means I can’t see the wall unless I crawl under the table.  I just happened to do this one day, probably retrieving something that dropped.  This is what I saw, written in pen of course.

So of course my first question is “WHO DID THIS?”  Neither would admit to it, so we decided to do some forensic analysis.

Each child had to give a writing sample. 

A perfect match, but not from the one named!  We originally thought it was Joyce, but she was acting confused and upset when we accused her and Marie isn't a very good liar.  Thus the writing sample. We didn't know Marie could write lower case letters, apparently she's been learning at school!  

So Marie wrote on the wall, lied about it, AND tried to frame her sister.  Joyce was ecstatic that she proved her innocence and Marie not only got in trouble for doing it, but also for lying about it and trying to get Joyce in trouble.  We asked Joyce what we should do about Marie.  
Needless to say, Marie did not have a fun rest of the evening. 

Joyce was in such a good mood after that and drew this later in the evening.  I love her depiction of my face and hair, and her innocent smile.  The picture pretty much says it all!

Taking Turns

Siblings don’t take turns nicely.  Not that I have any personal experience, but this simple fact seems to manifest itself in myriad ways in our household.  From using a particular bathroom (even though we have three), to being the first to get a snack, to the much coveted computer time.  It doesn’t matter what the activity is, Joyce and Marie will go on an archaeological dig to excavate their fossilized bone of contention. 

Yet there is one endeavor they take turns at perfectly: playing the role of Jekyll or Hyde.  Jekyll has exquisite manners, uses polite language, shows thoughtfulness for others, and is extremely helpful.  Hyde is rude, demanding, heedless of how her actions affect others, and performs even the smallest requests grudgingly only under duress.    

They must have private conversations about changing roles, helping the understudy learn their part, and coaching them on how best to act for maximum audience provocation.  There is always one of each character, the role swap accomplished swiftly and with unpredictable timing.  Each actress brings a new and unique flavor to either role, no matter how long her hiatus from the character.

Jekyll is always quick to point out Hyde’s faults, while expounding upon her own virtues.  Hyde reacts with sullen pouts, or surly comebacks, laying the responsibility for her bad behavior at Jekyll’s feet.  Who immediately points out how her actions were irreproachable, and Hyde is solely to blame for her own failure to measure up to Jekyll’s perfection.

And round and round they go.  I do wonder if either Joyce or Marie prefers a particular role, or if they relish the variety of morphing into such dissimilar personas.  Maybe they just have to experiment with being the “good child ” or “”bad child.”

I just remind myself every time the roles unexpectedly switch, that at least they’re taking turns at something. 

Payback

Every time your child does something that makes you scream “YOU DID WHAT?!?” you take a deep breath and think “one day they will have children of their own.”  This internal refrain helps you keep your tenuous grip on sanity.  It becomes your mantra during “one of those days” where you can’t imagine what you could have done to deserve this. 

Oh wait, someone will be happy to tell you.  Just pick up the phone and call your parents.  They’ll probably have a extensive list, lovingly preserved in your baby picture album.  They’ll listen to you rant and rave about your children, while unsuccessfully muffling their laughter during your phone call.

To illustrate, a scene from our household:

Joyce, while loudly stomping up the stairs: "I HATE putting up my clothes! Why can't I leave them in the basket? Why do I have to put them in my dresser?"

I remember having this EXACT conversation with my mother on numerous occasions, until an embarrassingly old age.  I would let my clothes pile up in the laundry room until the dryer couldn’t be opened due to the towering stack.  I didn’t see the point of either folding them or hanging them up, since I was just going to wear them again so they would get dirty, right? 

I’m sure my mother had her internal monologue going during those conversations.  Well, she was right.  I did have children of my own, and now it’s her turn to muffle her laughter during phone calls.  

I just hope I can manage to contain my glee when it's my turn.

Introducing Marie

I was definitely a tomboy.  I spent my days running around outside climbing trees and hunting bugs.  My clothes had the rips and stains to prove it.  Each branch in my climbing tree was a horse, my favorite toy my Bug Bottle.  I had to be coerced into dress clothes, and promptly shed them like a snake whose skin was too tight.  I constantly had my nose in a book, and I lived in my imagination more often then reality.

I liked to play with the boys; the girls just weren’t that interesting to me.  They were too concerned with messing up their clothes to climb the trees, grossed out by the bugs, or just wanted to talk about “girl stuff” I found mind-numbingly boring.  Not that I didn’t have female friends, of course I did.  But, the majority of my friends were boys.  I just got along with them better, found them more interesting.  And it didn’t end when I got older: my first date was seeing the re-release of Star Wars.   

So, all that is to say I was definitely NOT a girly-girl.  I would wear jeans and sneakers most days, little to no makeup, and occasionally remember to brush my hair.   The idea of needing more then two pairs of dress shoes (summer and winter of course) was totally foreign to me. 

I’ve gotten better as I’ve grown up.  I no longer have to be coerced into pretty clothes; I actually kind of like getting all dressed up for something, or even no reason at all.  I paint my toenails a bright color, wear at least some makeup more often then not, and try to coordinate my earrings with what I’m wearing.  I occasionally drool over totally impractical shoes, and actually own dress shoes that aren’t black or white.   For the first time ever I have more shoes then my husband.  I spent the last year letting my hair grow out before finally deciding what to do with it.

For me, doing “girl stuff” takes work.  I’ve had to make a conscious effort, learn how to do some of it from scratch, sometimes even with a recipe.  Putting together an outfit is a major undertaking, accessorizing like trying to solve a complex equation.  In some ways I haven’t changed though.  I still always have my nose in a book. 

Then along came Marie.  Who had meltdowns when components of the outfit she pictured in her mind were not all clean.  She throws together combinations of colors and patterns that you think will look terrible, but she manages to make look like a perfectly planned ensemble.   She accessorizes.  Hair bows, hair bands, necklaces, bracelets, they all coordinate. 

She wants to buy endless pairs of shoes: sandals, Crocs, ballet flats, high boots, short boots, rain boots, high heels (which we nixed, much to her displeasure), and the grudgingly accepted pair of sneakers (which still must have sparkles of some sort).  Unfortunately for Marie, her feet are long and narrow, so only expensive shoes will fit.  I have the feeling she will have quite a shoe collection as an adult.  I’m just waiting for her to ask when she can wear makeup.

To Marie all the “girl stuff” comes naturally.  In fact, I have taken her shopping with me when I had to buy things for a fancy party.  She picked out the shoes and wrap, and I was complimented on both.  She even helps her Dad pick out his tie occasionally. 

I’ll end with Marie’s thoughts on the subject.  They pretty much say it all.

"Mommy, it's hard work being pretty like me." 

"Every day I have to look in the mirror to make sure my outfit is perfect."

And my favorite…

Marie, looking at a $900 clutch purse covered with Swarovski crystals: "Mommy, we have to buy it, it's the perfect size for me!"