In one of the parenting books I'm reading, the writer discusses how you can use different tones and pitches in your voice to help your children distinguish various levels of immediacy or importance while disciplining. At one point he referred to a certain extreme scream that should only be used in times of definite danger. He writes that it's one that you can't practice...it just happens. Pausing, I meandered back through my nearly twenty-three months of motherhood and couldn't recall a time where the extreme scream had broken forth from my mouth. But just two days later, it did.
I was busy getting dressed a few mornings ago and Mark came in and set Reagan on the bed. There he sat giggling and drooling, being the calm little dumpling that he is. Sure enough, in trotted Kolbe, and he quickly climbed up on the bed (a feat he has just recently mastered since our bed is pretty high up). At first the two just giggled at each other as usual but then Kolbe decided to start rolling around. Before I had a chance to dispel the situation, Kolbe rolled directly into Reagan's side, flipping him over several times. That sudden rapid explosion of thoughts that happens in frightful moments fired off in my head. With the nightstand table just inches away from where Reagan's head would hit, I just knew we were about to have an accident. (not to mention that he'd be hitting the floor below) I knew there was no way I'd be able to get to the other side of the bed in time to stop this catastrophe from happening.
And thus, from my mouth the Mama Sceam burst forth in a frantic cry of "Ahhhhh! AHHHHHH!" Just as I reached the bed, Reagan (luckily, missing the night stand table) dropped off the far side of the bed and landed on the floor below. Mark came running in from the kitchen just in time for us both to see Reagan smile up at us with his What? Is something wrong? face. Fortunately, all of the decorative pillows that adorn our bed when it's made were piled right below him. So it wasn't even an accident after all. More like fun for the little guy! Who doesn't want to fall in to a pile of pillows!?!
Still, my heart raced and raced for another five minutes or so after the whole ordeal ended and things were back to normal. I sat on the edge of the bed holding Reagan and rocking him back and forth even though he wasn't upset whatsoever. It's that uncontrollable feeling that I somehow let my baby down, or that I allowed him to get hurt, that gets me. I know it's impossible to be several places at once and equally impossible to prevent every single accident that will happen to my boys in the years to come, but the mama in me still wants to try. I would absolutely lose it if something happened to one of them and it was something that I could have prevented. Even the though of it now sends chills down my spine. I pray all the time that I can protect my little boys when they need it while at the same time give them the room they need to grow independently. Parenting is a stressful job.
Maybe next time I use The Mama Scream it will be for a legitimate reason. But I hope not.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Just His Age
9:00pm, the kids are finally both crashed, and alas, it's me and my (er, Mark's) computer. Oh yeah, and the kiddos I'm tutoring online intermittently. Sounds pretty relaxing for a mom, right? Unfortunately, my heart feels kind of heavy tonight. Not because anything is wrong, and no, nothing horrible has happened. I just find myself worried about my effectiveness as a mama. Yes, I'm able to meet all of my children's basic needs. They never go hungry, I keep them clothed, and they are relatively happy kiddos.
But what everyone is referring to as "just his age" has got me scratching my head with Kolbe. What seemed like the happiest baby in the world has turned in to somewhat of a monster. And by monster I mean a hitting, screaming, biting, throwing, kicking, pinching, poking, tantrum throwing twenty-three pounder. Part of me is a little plagued with guilt. Would Kolbe be acting this way if I hadn't added a little brother to our family just fifteen months after he was born? Technically, he was still a baby when the baby was born. Wait, he still is a baby. Even now. He's still my baby. All twenty-two months of him.
And "just his age" seems like such an excuse. While yes, I must admit that I have seen many a two-year-old act way more ridiculous than mine, I somehow feel like I should have a better handle on things. It often seems like I wake up with a pocket full of "no-nos" ready to throw out at the slightest deviation from appropriate. And this is a high-energy little fella we're talking about here. He's no peaceful, clingy, gentle thing at all. So those deviations from appropriate tend to be constant.
The baby brother just seems to add to the problems. All of the sudden, Reagan is a real person. He's not just the tiny baby that mama held and fed frequently and slept the rest of the time. He's a real boy. One that plays with Kolbe's toys. One that looks so inviting to poke and prod. One that takes Mama's attention. One that cries when Kolbe hits him. I think it's the response that Kolbe's going for. And considering I'm Reagan's mama too, I'm ever so often torn between wanting to defend Reagan (scene 1: Kolbe kits Reagan. Mama glares over at Kolbe and for a split second wants to grab him by the ear and toss him out the back door.) and wanting to see things through Kolbe's eyes and understand why he's acting out. Such a fine line.
But some of it has nothing to do with the baby brother at all. Some of it is just plain old bad. Did I just say that? My kid? Plain old bad? As much as I strive to be the perfect parent, yes, sometimes my darling little Kolb can be plain old bad. For example, scene 2: setting- our home, very first thing in the morning. Kolbe wanders in to Mama and Dada's room and after lots of cuddles and "good morning, Kolbe!"s, the day begins.
Mama: Lets go change your diaper, Kolbe.
Kolbe: NO!
Mama: Well, it's not an option, you're really soggy so we've got to get a new one.
Kolbe: NO!
(Kolbe runs full speed from room after hitting Mama's leg. Mama wipes sleep from eyes and stumbles as she grabs Kolbe by the arm. Full tantrum mode begins.)
I'm sure you can get what I'm saying. And no, this doesn't happen every single morning. And no, it's not always about the diaper. Sometimes it's about getting dressed. Sometimes it's about eating breakfast. Or getting in the car. Or putting toys away. I'm sure some of you more seasoned mothers are chuckling and thinking what a fool! She's letting this little pip-squeak rule the roost! And yes, I realize that I am the boss and options aren't a necessity. But I am not an experienced mom. I'm learning as I go. And I am completely entitled to my own believes about how I want to parent my children. And even though I get it fairly frequently from people I don't want to get it from, I'm not seeking all kinds of unsolicited advice. I just want to feel like my efforts aren't in vain. And I don't want to be one of those mothers who is all over my kids. I don't want to hand out all the no-nos my pockets seemed to be filled with. Where is the line between when to discipline and when to just let it go??? And will there ever come a point when Kolbe just chooses to do the right thing because he wants to please me??? (wouldn't that be nice!...actually it is nice. He does do it. Every once in a blue moon.)
The truth is, I love my two boys and my husband more than anything else on this Earth. They are the world to me. So I want to know that I am doing right by them. I hate sitting here wondering if all my efforts are enough. Or even if I'm making the right efforts. Since Kolbe is the one weighing heavy on my heart, I feel like I want to make sure I'm doing everything in my power to give him everything he needs. Sure, I know without a shadow of a doubt that discipline issues are going to creep up regardless of how phenomenal of a parent I am. Kids have to act out in order to learn what's right and wrong. It's just a whole lot, all of a sudden and I feel like I want to get a hold of it before it gets out of control. I guess this is just the perfectionist coming out in me. And truth be told, I'm sure the greatest amount of changing that needs to be done is changing within me.
God gave these two precious little boys to Mark and me for a reason. It's up to us to raise them the absolute best way we can and hope that it's enough. I pray that it will be. Because I'm not okay with the "just his age" mentality. Kolbe is my son. He's my first attempt at being a mama...the mama I always dreamed of being. Kolbe may be knocking on the doorstep of two, but that doesn't mean that he and the rest of our family has to suffer through this growing phase in such a negative light. It's my mission to make two...and even three!...a positive experience. I've armed myself with several tools, the most important and effective being prayer! Lots of support from Mark and many others certainly helps too. I'm also currently reading The Discipline Book by Dr. William and Martha Sears and have about three other books on not only raising children but raising Catholic children too that are begging to be read. (I'd like to add margaritas to the list of tools but don't quite have the money to afford them on a regular basis so instead I'll include chocolate.) It blows my mind how many things I want to do correctly and how little time I have to figure it all out! Thank God this is a learn-as-you-go profession! And thank God for my precious boys.
But what everyone is referring to as "just his age" has got me scratching my head with Kolbe. What seemed like the happiest baby in the world has turned in to somewhat of a monster. And by monster I mean a hitting, screaming, biting, throwing, kicking, pinching, poking, tantrum throwing twenty-three pounder. Part of me is a little plagued with guilt. Would Kolbe be acting this way if I hadn't added a little brother to our family just fifteen months after he was born? Technically, he was still a baby when the baby was born. Wait, he still is a baby. Even now. He's still my baby. All twenty-two months of him.
And "just his age" seems like such an excuse. While yes, I must admit that I have seen many a two-year-old act way more ridiculous than mine, I somehow feel like I should have a better handle on things. It often seems like I wake up with a pocket full of "no-nos" ready to throw out at the slightest deviation from appropriate. And this is a high-energy little fella we're talking about here. He's no peaceful, clingy, gentle thing at all. So those deviations from appropriate tend to be constant.
The baby brother just seems to add to the problems. All of the sudden, Reagan is a real person. He's not just the tiny baby that mama held and fed frequently and slept the rest of the time. He's a real boy. One that plays with Kolbe's toys. One that looks so inviting to poke and prod. One that takes Mama's attention. One that cries when Kolbe hits him. I think it's the response that Kolbe's going for. And considering I'm Reagan's mama too, I'm ever so often torn between wanting to defend Reagan (scene 1: Kolbe kits Reagan. Mama glares over at Kolbe and for a split second wants to grab him by the ear and toss him out the back door.) and wanting to see things through Kolbe's eyes and understand why he's acting out. Such a fine line.
But some of it has nothing to do with the baby brother at all. Some of it is just plain old bad. Did I just say that? My kid? Plain old bad? As much as I strive to be the perfect parent, yes, sometimes my darling little Kolb can be plain old bad. For example, scene 2: setting- our home, very first thing in the morning. Kolbe wanders in to Mama and Dada's room and after lots of cuddles and "good morning, Kolbe!"s, the day begins.
Mama: Lets go change your diaper, Kolbe.
Kolbe: NO!
Mama: Well, it's not an option, you're really soggy so we've got to get a new one.
Kolbe: NO!
(Kolbe runs full speed from room after hitting Mama's leg. Mama wipes sleep from eyes and stumbles as she grabs Kolbe by the arm. Full tantrum mode begins.)
I'm sure you can get what I'm saying. And no, this doesn't happen every single morning. And no, it's not always about the diaper. Sometimes it's about getting dressed. Sometimes it's about eating breakfast. Or getting in the car. Or putting toys away. I'm sure some of you more seasoned mothers are chuckling and thinking what a fool! She's letting this little pip-squeak rule the roost! And yes, I realize that I am the boss and options aren't a necessity. But I am not an experienced mom. I'm learning as I go. And I am completely entitled to my own believes about how I want to parent my children. And even though I get it fairly frequently from people I don't want to get it from, I'm not seeking all kinds of unsolicited advice. I just want to feel like my efforts aren't in vain. And I don't want to be one of those mothers who is all over my kids. I don't want to hand out all the no-nos my pockets seemed to be filled with. Where is the line between when to discipline and when to just let it go??? And will there ever come a point when Kolbe just chooses to do the right thing because he wants to please me??? (wouldn't that be nice!...actually it is nice. He does do it. Every once in a blue moon.)
The truth is, I love my two boys and my husband more than anything else on this Earth. They are the world to me. So I want to know that I am doing right by them. I hate sitting here wondering if all my efforts are enough. Or even if I'm making the right efforts. Since Kolbe is the one weighing heavy on my heart, I feel like I want to make sure I'm doing everything in my power to give him everything he needs. Sure, I know without a shadow of a doubt that discipline issues are going to creep up regardless of how phenomenal of a parent I am. Kids have to act out in order to learn what's right and wrong. It's just a whole lot, all of a sudden and I feel like I want to get a hold of it before it gets out of control. I guess this is just the perfectionist coming out in me. And truth be told, I'm sure the greatest amount of changing that needs to be done is changing within me.
God gave these two precious little boys to Mark and me for a reason. It's up to us to raise them the absolute best way we can and hope that it's enough. I pray that it will be. Because I'm not okay with the "just his age" mentality. Kolbe is my son. He's my first attempt at being a mama...the mama I always dreamed of being. Kolbe may be knocking on the doorstep of two, but that doesn't mean that he and the rest of our family has to suffer through this growing phase in such a negative light. It's my mission to make two...and even three!...a positive experience. I've armed myself with several tools, the most important and effective being prayer! Lots of support from Mark and many others certainly helps too. I'm also currently reading The Discipline Book by Dr. William and Martha Sears and have about three other books on not only raising children but raising Catholic children too that are begging to be read. (I'd like to add margaritas to the list of tools but don't quite have the money to afford them on a regular basis so instead I'll include chocolate.) It blows my mind how many things I want to do correctly and how little time I have to figure it all out! Thank God this is a learn-as-you-go profession! And thank God for my precious boys.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Hello, World!
When I started our little family blog (The Asmussen Family) a little over a year ago, I had every intention of telling all of the wonderful little stories of motherhood that take place in our home daily. Over time, however, the blog turned in to a family scrapbook/journal of sorts. It basically chronicles the "big" events that happen with our family and pays little attention to the true realities of a stay-at-home-mom household.
So alas, I have decided to start a new blog. One focusing on the truth about motherhood (or at least my truth). I think people tend to picture it only as the wonderful, beautiful thing that it is. But the truth is, there are times when motherhood is hard. Really hard! And not that my thoughts and opinions are special or anything, but there are times when I think that simply being able to get them off my chest will help make the journey more enjoyable. Some days things go perfectly and I go to bed feeling like I can conquer the world. Move over June Cleaver! And others I spend beating myself up about the smallest things. Either way, I'm here to share the stories of my heart--the ones that revolve not only around my kiddos and husband, but around me too!
So what's in a name? One night while contemplating what I'd call this blog that I have been planning to create for months, I heard a clip of someone taking an oath on television. Naturally, it ended with "so help me God." I began to think about the journey of motherhood and it's similarities to an oath. The second we become parents we commit to raising our children regardless of the cost to us. Physically, mentally, and spiritually we take an oath to do our absolute best to give our children all they need. Parenthood (like marriage, I suppose) is an ultimate oath. Furthermore, I couldn't help but connect to the words "so help me God" in a spiritual way as well. I can't tell you how many times, with both babies vying for my attention, I've cried out silent little prayers of help from God. Literally, in so many ways motherhood is a giant plea of "SO HELP ME, GOD!" I couldn't resist this title so here we are. On another note, when I was adding the blog to my blogroll in Blogspot, sohelpmegod was already taken. So was sohelpmegod1 and sohelpmegod2. Thus, I was stuck with sohelpmegod3. Although I was slightly disappointed at first (especially since the three others have nothing on them if you look them up), I was suddenly struck with the connection of the number 3 and God. Not only am I asking for help from God...but all THREE parts of the Holy Trinity as well! Father, Son, and Holy Spirit! Ok, slightly nerdy of me, I know, but I liked the connection.
So here we go. Rational or not, these are the stories of my home. The stories of my heart. The stories of our hopes and dreams, tragedies and triumphs, frustrations and joys. Welcome to my home, world!
So alas, I have decided to start a new blog. One focusing on the truth about motherhood (or at least my truth). I think people tend to picture it only as the wonderful, beautiful thing that it is. But the truth is, there are times when motherhood is hard. Really hard! And not that my thoughts and opinions are special or anything, but there are times when I think that simply being able to get them off my chest will help make the journey more enjoyable. Some days things go perfectly and I go to bed feeling like I can conquer the world. Move over June Cleaver! And others I spend beating myself up about the smallest things. Either way, I'm here to share the stories of my heart--the ones that revolve not only around my kiddos and husband, but around me too!
So what's in a name? One night while contemplating what I'd call this blog that I have been planning to create for months, I heard a clip of someone taking an oath on television. Naturally, it ended with "so help me God." I began to think about the journey of motherhood and it's similarities to an oath. The second we become parents we commit to raising our children regardless of the cost to us. Physically, mentally, and spiritually we take an oath to do our absolute best to give our children all they need. Parenthood (like marriage, I suppose) is an ultimate oath. Furthermore, I couldn't help but connect to the words "so help me God" in a spiritual way as well. I can't tell you how many times, with both babies vying for my attention, I've cried out silent little prayers of help from God. Literally, in so many ways motherhood is a giant plea of "SO HELP ME, GOD!" I couldn't resist this title so here we are. On another note, when I was adding the blog to my blogroll in Blogspot, sohelpmegod was already taken. So was sohelpmegod1 and sohelpmegod2. Thus, I was stuck with sohelpmegod3. Although I was slightly disappointed at first (especially since the three others have nothing on them if you look them up), I was suddenly struck with the connection of the number 3 and God. Not only am I asking for help from God...but all THREE parts of the Holy Trinity as well! Father, Son, and Holy Spirit! Ok, slightly nerdy of me, I know, but I liked the connection.
So here we go. Rational or not, these are the stories of my home. The stories of my heart. The stories of our hopes and dreams, tragedies and triumphs, frustrations and joys. Welcome to my home, world!
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