a space of their own

I try to let my house reflect who I am. I was a pro designer, now I've been relegated to amateur-land (my own house, mostly), but I think I'm sufficiently good at arranging spaces to accomodate at least my own family. Everyone needs their own private spaces. For the kids, it's been their bedrooms.

A writer (me) needs her own space, definitely. I spend what amounts to a part-time job (20-30 hrs) working. When my baby was a toddler, I wrote at my kitchen table. Gradually, I moved into my study. For years, my daughter's art table has been in my study as well. It kept her close. She's a consummate artist, flinging bits of paper and clay and paint with a driven madness that alternately saddens me (ech, my daugher the failed artist--can't wait to tell the bridge group in my fifties) and excites me (some of my greatest joy derives from making art).

The other day, in honor of school starting (my baby is going to Kindergarten) and company coming and my putting off actual cleaning, we rearranged some things in the house. First to shift: the art table went into the front room. I have a pretty front living room which has been taken over by kids: washable fabrics and a tv and plastic toys; you get the picture. She spends more and more time in there, playing with friends and toys.

This move was huge, HUGE to my daughter. I had to wonder why she was so excited. A change of scenery is always nice, but she was jumping up and down and hugging me, "Thank you thank you thank you, Mommy!" Mommy. She hasn't called me Mommy since she was two.

I finally realized that to her, moving the table that kept her in proximity to me is a sign of my confidence in her maturity. I was letting go a bit without even realizing it. At 5 1/2, she no longer needs me to hover. She can get water at the sink, carry it without spilling to her table, and paint all by herself. She's old enough to post her own art on her own bulleton board. She was old enough to move out, on a mininscule level, and I gave her that freedom without saying a word.

I think, as parents, we tend to ignore these opportunities. It's easy to tell your kids you're proud of them. But expecting him to make his own bed or giving her the time to learn to buckle her own carseat makes gestures a thousand kind words can't replace. Her excitement reminded me that my job as a parent is to prepare her to move on, away from me, even if it's just to another room.

Fighting: not cool

I have a quite good friend who always takes her kids' side in a fight. Advocating for your children is not a bad thing. That is part of our job as parents. However, it's a fine line between friends, because this particular mother somehow manages to also make it look as if the other child (in a most recent incident, mine) wrong. I realized the lengths, recently, to which she'll protect her little darlings: she made sure my kid knew that she thought my kid lied, and later, she even recalled The Incident as happening in the wrong place! (It was a pushing incident, and to be clear, when I walked in, my kid was on the ground. My daughter is quite the accomplished truth-bender, but most five-year-olds aren't savvy enough to prop their lies with physical posing. Mine certainly is not.)

Part of keeping your cool is sticking firmly to our own maturity level. We somehow we often allow our children to drag us into their squabbles. These are the sorts of altercations that most thinking adults resolve with a few words: ("Hey, when you're through with it, can I use that shovel?" "Sure, I'll trade you for the bucket.")

It is imperative to not take sides for children. They learn bad things if an adult sweeps in and "solves" their fights for them.

All I have to do is cry and mummy will fix it.
I can get my way by pushing other people around.
I don't have to talk it out.


And they eventually might wonder:

Why doesn't that kid want to play with me any more?

I don't have a lot of fighting at my house, but for better or worse, if two kids are fighting, both kids get in trouble. That means if my kids are arguing over something inane, "negotiating" over where everyone gets to sit, for example, everyone loses. The TV turns off, the toy gets removed, whatever. Frankly, yeah, sometimes one kid is being more of a jerk than the other. Jerks are a part of life. Dealing with them builds character. And, kids have a choice. It takes two people to have an argument. A kid can always walk away. But if they choose to stay and fight, then they risk losing all.

Yes, it turns me into the enemy. But I'm not my children's' friend, and "the enemy of my enemy is my friend" was never truer than among 8-year-olds.

welcome to parenthood

My brother bought me a book How to Raise Children At Home In Your Spare Time. The humor is so dry it's tasteless, which is my favorite kind. The other cool thing is that the author, Marvin J Gersh, MD, looks like Lurch.

Lurch--er, Gersh takes a casual approach to child rearing, which is how I take it, too. I mean, it should be fun, at least part of the time. One of the quotes on the back says how the book emancipates parents again. Really, maybe they should reprint it. People are so damned serious about their little shi--, darlings, that they have lost all sense of fun. All these retired power-mommies run their three-year-olds around from playgroups to piano lessons, packing snacks and powerbars and wondering how they'll fit in toilet training, what with the schedule and all. I just heard a review about those BabyMozart DVDs and how the company did no research on television, or even their brand of television, on small children. People seem to think every second should be a learning moment, doubletasking fun and learning like the kid is running out of time or something. (Phonics placemats to little toilet letters for the kid to aim at with his pee.) (Ok, I made that up, but really, it's not so far out there.) The reporter did extensive research and her stunning conclusion: little kids really just want to hang out by their folks. Notice the preposition by as opposed to with. To be clear, I loathe playing with my children. I just feel stupid sitting there with my half-dressed Barbie making small talk. They don't need me. They can play alone or with friends or with each other. Kids are supposed to play with kids. I also loathe sleeping with my kids. I've slept with each of them perhaps twice and it was four times too many.

HTRCAHIYSP also has great chapter titles. "When Kids Should Be Shot." "How Many Times Is Normal." My kid had just dropped the f-bomb (I have no idea where he heard such language!) and when I opened the book, I turned right to the chapter entitled "Oh, He Said A Naughty Word." There's "How To Camp Out With Your Kids, or Not Be A Square Parent." That one's about what not to say, As in "IF YOU EVER..." or "When I was your age..."

Oh, and on sex he says, ...convinced that the varieties of sexual behavior are probably infintite, and I feel that adults ought to be allowed to engage in any activity that doesn't frighten the horses in the street. (Street sex in the country: Out. Check.) He also points out that he's talking about adults, not kids. He says he described sex to his kid and she said, "That's odd." Which it, in fact, is.

The most important thing he says, still in the sex section, but it applies to overall child rearing is To be perfectly realistic, I don't expect them to behave the way I would like now and forever; they are subject not only to other influences but to the sheer contrariness which makes every generation react against its elders. However, I would try to influence my children as much as I can.

That there is freaking brilliance. I think my bro got his 69 cents worth.

This is where I will someday wax poetic about being a parent.