#6: Make Bedtime and Morning-Time a Calm and Pleasant Ritual

Number six of the 101 Things to Do for Children is "Make both going to bed and getting up a calm and pleasant ritual."

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

Sorry, I had to get that out of my system first.

Ideal:

Your entire day is filled with calm routine that allows your children the security of knowing exactly what to expect at any given moment, and by after dinner they know that story time and brush-your-teeth time and snack time and potty-break time all lead up to bedtime, and they willingly and lovingly accept it all with great serenity.

In the morning, you cheerily open the door and call out, "Good Morning, Sweetie!" Your child then calmly rolls out of bed and goes to the bathroom on their own and gets dressed without complaint, and they are so cooperative in getting out the door that you actually have time to smile at your coworkers over a fresh cup of coffee (you even had time to make the pot).

Reality:

You're on maternity leave. Your baby woke up every two hours last night, so you're really tired, and you're hoping like crazy that everyone will sleep in until seven so that you can sneak in a shower, but your baby wakes up at five and will only sleep if he's in bed with you; this means no to the shower, but hey, you get to be horizontal for another couple of hours. Make that one. Hour. You want to cry when you think of what it's going to be like when you go back to work in a month.

You have a poopy diaper to change and a toddler to get on the toilet before he pees his pants, and for some reason, everyone except for you is crying (you're by yourself because your husband works at four in the morning. Lucky bastard) and you don't know why. You want to cry when you think of what it's going to be like when you go back to work in a month.

The rest of your day is not securely filled with routine. You try, but depending on how much sleep you got, and on everyone's mood, you might go for a walk, or colour, or go to Strong Start, or just hang out on the couch and watch TV for a bit before you remember that you're going out for the evening (everyone!) and you're hoping that the diapers are dry by then. Oh, darnit. Apparently you need to do some laundry. . . . You want to cry when you think of what it's going to be like when you go back to work in a month.

Now you're back home and it's an hour before bedtime, but the toddler fell asleep in the car, so you know that when he wakes up it's going to be a disaster. He finally wakes up and he's crying but he can't tell you why, so he goes to bed, and when he wakes up he's so sad and sore, so he gets some ibuprophen, and you offer him a cookie but he doesn't want it, and he's beside himself with--I don't know what this is, actually--and when he finally does come out he's more than happy to play or watch TV for the "Fifteen minutes until bedtime, Buddy." When you say "Five more minutes until bedtime," he says "Okay." Liar.

It's now way past bedtime and the baby's finally done his last pee and poop so you know that he's ready (he's chewing on you; that's a good sign that he wants a bottle). Toddler, though, he doesn't want to brush his teeth (but he does) or go pee (but he does) or go to bed (but he does). As soon as you close his door and get settled with the baby, Toddler has to poop (but he doesn't), and he didn't get a snack and now he wants his cookie; uh, no, you can have some crackers (and he does); afterwards he still wants his cookie. Too late, Bud. You close the door and he has to poop (but he doesn't). Then Daddy has to sleep with him. His crying is keeping up baby, who is screaming in his crib. You want to cry when you think of what it's going to be like when you go back to work in a month.

Finally upon the threat of pain of a sound spanking (empty threat, but don't tell him that), Toddler goes to bed. And, he's sort of quiet. Quiet enough that attempt number two with the baby actually works. But now it's past your husband's bedtime (he gets up at three. Yes, that's A.M.).  You don't even get to watch "adult" TV together. You know, like the Simpsons. So now you're thinking that you're probably not going to get lucky tonight, either. So you sit at your computer and write a blog post, instead. You want to cry when you think of what it's going to be like when you go back to work in a month.


Reality is Improving:

Okay, really, it's not always this bad. When we do have our shit together and we have a nice dinner at home with bath time and story time etc right after, and especially if no one naps past four or five (and especially if the toddler doesn't nap at all), bedtime is easy. Well, easier. It's at least a lot more fun for everyone involved.

I do want to cry sometimes when I think of how it's all going to go down when I'm back at work in a month, but then I think, after a few days of getting up at six so that they can eat breakfast before heading off to daycare at 7:10, they're going to be so freaking tired by the time supper rolls around that they'll be happy to go to bed!

Or, what's going to happen is that because I'm going to have to get up at five, I'm going to have to go to bed at nine in order to be sane and functional. If they're still farting around after 8:30, they're going to have to fend for themselves. Or just stay the hell in bed! Ha. Ha. Ha.

Does Every Woman Have the Same Bullshit that They Believe about Themselves?

I watched the season premiere of "The Big Bang Theory" last night.

Howard's been rubbing high-estrogen cream on his mother's back for weeks, and he hasn't been wearing gloves. He gets a little emotional. He becomes the Comedic-Stereotypical-Female; you know the one: she listens to, and believes her, own bullshit as told to her by the Scared Little Bitch inside of her.

As Bernadette tells him that the cream absorption is why he's been "bloated, and moody, and a giant pain in the ass", and he hugs a pillow to himself while responding that he feels "so stupid. And fat," I couldn't help but think of how women not only Believe Their Own Bullshit, but we all believe some of the same bullshit.

So then I got to thinking, is it, then, Our Own Bullshit? Or is it everyone else's bullshit, and we're just following along with it because that's easier than Believing in Ourselves?

It then got me thinking about how a local drugstore used to stock women's magazines--you know, the ones with all the skinny/fit, hot, beautiful women who've been airbrushed to death on the covers--right across the aisle from the chocolate. It was like they knew that you'd look at these unattainable ideals, feel like shit about yourself, and then sooth your soul with boxes of Lindt truffles.

Then my thoughts went back to, Whose bullshit is this, anyway? There are lots of days where I feel like Howard; I just want to cuddle up on the couch with a pillow and a soft blanket, eat chocolate, and read a book so that I don't have to think about how fat and stupid I feel. Do I feel that way because "Cosmo" is telling me to?

No.

I don't buy those magazines because I know that I'll never be 5'10", 110 pounds, and I don't want to try to kill myself (literally) to try and be that. I also know that I don't need to wear hundreds of dollars worth of makeup to make me attractive. Just because I don't feel attractive doesn't mean I'm not hot and sexy. Just ask my husband's penis.

I feel that way because of how I see myself in the mirror. Rather, it's how my SLB sees herself in the mirror. My Confident Believer sees my nice smile and beautiful hair, and I just need to teach myself how to listen to her more often than I do to the SLB.

My hope is that one day the SLB will be silent.

Then the show went on, and I was wonderfully distracted by the scene where Howard and Raj felt each other up. It was still a scene that was full of Our Own Bullshit, but I laughed so hard I missed some of it for the tears in my eyes. I've just watched it a second time. I'll have to watch it again.

Because these two scenes alone can show us how much bullshit about ourselves we believe, and how utterly ridiculous that is, and then we can laugh it all away and start fresh, and start believing the Truth about ourselves.

A Missing Monkey Mystery

Sometimes I just want to give the kids in Busytown a shake and say, "Listen to what some one is trying to tell you!"

I mean, if you're looking for a monkey (firstly, if it's Chimp Junior that you're looking for, you're looking for an ape, not a monkey, but what ever) and the baby monkey (chimp) keeps saying movie, or something like it, she's not just being cute. Junior said that he was going to a movie, and unlike Grandpa, her memory works just fine.

Max has the same problem with Ruby. Sure, he can only say one word per episode, but if she'd just listen to him the first or second time around, the suffering wouldn't be so prolonged. (Maybe their parents should show up once in a while and, you know, parent. Ruby's only twelve, and Grandma only stops by now and then.)

I guess it can be hard to decipher toddler- and baby-speak.

But for crying out loud, at least try!

Stop Believing Your Bullshit (Step #1)

Step #1 of
How to Get Flat Abs, Have Amazing Sex and Rule the World in 8 Easy Steps
is Stop Believing Your Bullshit.

Kate Bartolotta put it this way:

All that stuff you tell yourself about how you are a commitment-phobe or a coward or lazy or not creative or unlucky? Stop it. It’s bullshit, and deep down you know it. We are all insecure 14-year-olds at heart. We’re all scared. We all have dreams inside of us that we’ve tucked away because somewhere along the line we tacked on those ideas about who we are that buried that essential brilliant, child-like sense of wonder. The more we stick to these scripts about who we are, the longer we live a fraction of the life we could be living. Let it go. Be who you are beneath the bullshit.

Stop listening to that Scared Little Bitch inside of you and start listening to the Confident Believer. They're like the devil and angel riding on your shoulders, but instead of pressuring you to do good things or wicked things, one is bullying you to feel horrible about yourself, making you doubt yourself, and the other one is cheering you on, making you believe in yourself.

Or as these Fabulous Ladies say, you have your Bad Wolf and you have your Good Wolf (scroll down or search the categories; you'll find it).

So what is my Bullshit that I have to stop believing?

On the days that I really hate myself, the SLB changes the lyrics so that all I hear is Bif Naked's voice screaming "I hate myself today," and then she tells me that I'm fat, lazy, stupid, a horrible mother, ugly, socially inept, a terrible wife, a neglectful friend, incapable of dealing with life's little bumps, and that I don't deserve to be happy, I don't deserve to have time for myself, and that my life is just too hard and I'm too tired, so I should just cry all the time.

Fuck her.

First of all, my life isn't that hard, so get over it.

As Kate B says:

If you can read this, your life is pretty awesome.

Setting aside our first world problems and pettiness, if you are online reading this, you have both electricity and wifi or access to them. Odds are you are in a shelter of some sort, or on a smart phone (and then kudos to you for reading this on the go). Life might bump and bruise us, it may not always go the way we plan and I know I get frustrated with mine, but here’s the thing

You are alive.

Exactly.

I need to stop listening to my SLB and I need to stop believing everything she says. I have to let my CB be stronger, and let her speak in a louder voice; I need to stop muzzling her, no matter how insistent the SLB is about it.

I'm not fat. Okay, I'll be realistic and I'll admit that I need to get more exercise, but it's not because I want to look like a porn star; rather, I'd like to be fit and healthy--I'm in my late thirties and my kids are three and under; being around for them and being able to do things with them is pretty important. And since I'm physically able to exercise, I don't really have a good enough excuse not too. I mean, if Arthur Boorman can change his life, after being told by almost everybody that there wasn't any hope for him, WTF is my excuse, SLB? I have to start believing that no matter how tired I am, exercise will make me feel better (and it does--I know it does--so again, WTF?).

I'm not lazy. I'm not super-type-A-with-lots-of-energy, at least not every day, but I accept who I am in regards to how much I get done. This is where my Bad Wolf needs to shut up about how much housework I'm not getting done, and the Good Wolf needs to say, "Meh, that laundry will still be there tomorrow; go play with your kids."

I'm not stupid. Sometimes I have moments that speak otherwise, but I'm really smart. Sometimes I'm really tired, so I'll do stupid things, but at least I learn from my mistakes. Or try to get some sleep.

I'm not a horrible mother, a terrible wife, or a neglectful friend. My kids are happy and they love me, my husband is happy and he loves me, and my friends love me--and sometimes we aren't too busy to do more than just talk on the phone.

I'm not ugly. So shut the fuck up, Bitch. You are no longer allowed to be around when I'm looking in a mirror. Believer, start talking louder!

I'm not socially inept. I'm shy. And, sometimes, the Brain-to-Mouth Filter is missing, or completely clogged, or part of the thought gets side-tracked on the way down, and what comes out doesn't sound at all like what I wanted it to. I need to believe in myself more when I'm in a group situation.

I am capable of handling life's little bumps. Sure, it's easier to do when I'm rested and well fed, but I can do it. My phone got shattered this week. Shattered. By a dog and a chicken pot pie. Not my dog. The pie was for my friend. Yep, it was her dog. I did not once get upset. Until I learned that when they fix it, they're going to wipe everything. I'll lose all of my pictures and contacts. I hated myself for sending the phone out for repair instead of getting a new screen myself (I didn't know you could). "I'm going to lose all of those pictures of the kids, waa." Then I said, "I still have my kids," and I felt better. It's just one of those things, and so long as I learn what I need to (back up your smartphone regularly, don't carry your phone on top of a pie when a dog is really happy to see you), it's all good.

I do deserve to have time for myself. It refreshes me, and I'm a lot more patient with my kids. I do deserve, therefore, to take some time to write everyday; I shouldn't have to feel guilty about this pleasure. So if I feel like I'm getting snippy and overwhelmed, it's okay for me to do something for myself (even if it's just reading a nice fluffy book while my kids watch BabyTv or TreeHouse).

Most importantly, I do deserve to be happy. Not happy because my life is perfect, but happy because I just am (I think this is step #2, so more on it later).

I'm sure that some days I'll need to have a good little cry, but I find that that gets rid of a lot of negative shit, and it makes room for all the good stuff. It's like taking all of the boxes of Negative Reinforcements that the Scared Little Bitch has filed away over the years, and shredding them, and making room for the great artwork that my Confident Believer is creating in my life.

Now if you all will excuse me, I'm going to go dig up some Bif Naked and I'm going to rock it.

Because "I Love Myself Today."

Spinny

Looking at "How to Get Flat Abs, Have Amazing Sex, and Rule the World in 8 Easy Steps"

I found another checklist of things to do. It's only eight things. Not 101. At first glance it looks like I can complete this list before the 101 Things list, but I suppose this depends on how damaged my psyche is...

Before I even get to the Eight, I have to say that I love the statement:

If you can read this, your life is pretty awesome. 

Yes, it is.

I have to run right now, but I'm going to look at #1 later tonight: Stop believing your bullshit.

It sounds simple.

I'm a little worried.

Yummy Yoga Mats

Yum.

#18: Eliminating or Limiting TV

#18: Eliminate or strictly limit TV watching and replace with activity oriented things which involve the child rather than his/her being a passive observer. When the child does watch TV, watch it with him/her and discuss what is being seen.

In theory, I wholeheartedly agree with this one. In practice, I would like to extend a big THANK-YOU to Treehouse, Disney Junior, and BabyTV. Without you, my house would be the next stop for Kim and Aggie, I would stink so badly that fruit-flies would continuously circle, supper would never get made, and I’m not sure when I’d get to poop.

K1 and K2 sometimes hang out watching a bit of nicely distracting TV while I try to accomplish a bit of housework or personal hygiene. This helps to ensure that the house is still standing when I step out of the shower. (And, I’m pretty sure that a lot of people would never have more than one child without TV ;) , but that’s just between you and me.)

Now, I’m sure that it’s possible to hold to the theoretical ideal for #18, but I know myself, and I’m much more relaxed when I’m not trying to be the perfect mommy. I know people who strive for that. They’re crazy. Or they’re driving other people crazy. Seriously.

Besides, they don’t watch that much, even when it’s on. Most of the time the living room and dining room are made into a climbing gym and the TV is just background noise. More often than not, they’re asking, demanding, that I fetch down the puzzles and the marble games, or they disappear into a bedroom to play with something (which usually goes something like this: K1 builds a train track and K2 destroys it, which results in beaucoup de tears).

The only time that they watch more TV than I’d like is when they aren’t feeling well. This mostly applies to K1. If he hangs out on the couch with you all day, just watching movies etc., you know that he’s not feeling well, especially if he falls asleep while doing so (this is the kid that never naps during the day).

In general, the kids do play/engage in a ton of activities where they’re involved and not just spectators. We have games, crafty items, building blocks, a kitchen/dining/living-room/hallway that you can do laps around, parks, gymnastics, swimming lessons, a piano, and a fenced-in backyard. They’re very active kids.

As for the “when the child does watch TV, watch it with him/her and discuss what is being seen” part of #18, well, that defeats the whole purpose of using TV as a distraction so I can go poop, now doesn’t it?

Okay, seriously though, I always answer their questions/comments on what they watch, and there are some programs that they don’t get to watch (Angelina Ballerina is a whiny, spoiled little brat). Their favourite shows tend to teach them something, or make them laugh.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get the kids ready for an outing. BabyTV is on. Not that anyone is watching…