The Curious Georges

You're Not Coming To My Party

We've reached the age with the boys where birthday parties are a big deal.  All three of the Little Georges talk about their birthday parties incessantly, even Nicole, whose birthday is still five months away.  So now when they're upset with someone, they issue the threat "You're not coming to my party."  Dane is the biggest offender.  I can't tell you how many times we've all been dis-invited to his party.  He doesn't seem to grasp that 1) as the party planner, if mommy doesn't come to the party, the party ain't happenin' and 2)  as twins, he and Logan have a joint party so he really can't dis-invite his brother.  None of this matters.  Dane has found what he considers a very valid threat, and darn it, he's going to use it!  

Dane often has good reason for dis-inviting Logan to his birthday party.  Logan is not content unless he is bothering his siblings mercilessly.  He is the ultimate imp.  Just imagine if you combined the manic energy and showmanship of Jim Carrey and Robin Williams and you've got Logan ... funny, but often over-the-top, sometimes way over-the-top.  So he mugs, pokes and dances around in an effort to entertain and irritate his audience and the result is one or the other or sometimes a combination of the both.

Nicole is still a sweet, easy-going child unless you try and get in the way of what she wants to wear.  I don't know if it's because Daddy is from Hawaii, but she always wants to wear shorts and short-sleeve (but not tank top) shirts.  She is very specific about this desire.  In fact, she repeats "shorts and short-sleeves-but-not-tank-top" so often that it's become her clothing mantra.  I try and be as easy-going about this as possible, mostly out of sheer exhaustion ... I'm just not up for the battle.  However, when I got subtly reprimanded by her kindergarten teacher for not dressing her warm enough, I knew that it was time to buck up and be the mean mommy.  So now every other day or so we have clothing battles in the morning.  This morning, Nicole was so outraged when I wouldn't let her wear shorts that she was literally screaming at the top of her lungs and kicking rugs off the hardware floors.  It's really rough to have World War III at 7am.  But mostly, Nicole is a sweetheart.  I only have myself to blame for my little fashionista because as we all know, I'm a clothes horse, and I wouldn't like it if someone was trying to tell me what to wear either.

They all have their distinct personalities and they often play together nicely now.  It's nice to see their imaginations at work.  The flip side, is the fighting.  Oh Lord, I feel like 80% of my job is referee these days.  Now I know why my parents would say, "I don't care who started it ..."  I hated that line, but if you try and solve who was the instigator in every fight, you're going to drive yourself crazy.

So that's a brief update on the Curious Georges.  Because I've now been writing for Deep South Moms, this blog is not getting the attention it deserves so I'll try and be more faithful, even if it's just to post small anecdotes of the kids.

My Frustrated Laundrette

Since "three is the new two" in terms of desired number of children, many folks are jumping on this particular bandwagon.  It may be the effect of all this super-breeding that I referred to in my octuplet post.  People figure, "hey, if some crazy woman can raise 14 children as a single mom, surely my husband and I can handle three children."  This is a good thing if you're doing it for the right reasons and not just because you follow trends.  Have three children because you want a large family, not because you think that triple-wide stroller is all the rage.

Sadly, the first thing I think of when people tell me that they're having a third child is, "Wow, I hope she likes laundry."  They say there are only two sure things in life and that's death and taxes.  I really think laundry is just as inevitable and stealthy as death and taxes.  Laundry is like a vicious loan shark.  The more you ignore it, the more dire the consequences.  Laundry can get down-right mean and ugly if you don't pay it its proper dues.  I run myself ragged keeping up with its demands. This is one debt that will not be paid off and just when I think I'm making headway, there's another heap waiting to be washed, folded or put away.   Sigh ... I don't heart laundry.

Got Octuplets? What we can learn from the fate of twin pandas.

Today as Nicole and I were waiting for over an hour at the allergist's office, I had a lot of time to read to her from her "Highlights" magazine.  There was a fascinating article on giant pandas and I sure learned a thing or two.  For one, a baby panda is so small that the mother panda has no "bump" and thus zookeepers have no idea that the panda is pregnant.  At birth, the baby panda weighs significantly less than its mother.  In July 2005, a 235 lb panda gave birth to a baby that weighed 4 ounces, which is typical.  Pandas subsist on bamboo, which is not nutritious enough to produce bigger babies, or even very many babies.  But they still have twins about 50% of the time.

The panda article got me thinking about the higher-order multiple births in the news.  There is a family who just had quintuplets in our neighborhood and then of course, we have the recent birth of octuplets to a woman who already has six kids.   We're talking high-maintenance here!  Likewise, baby pandas are extremely high-maintenance.  The mother has to sit up for six weeks to hold the panda cub and keep it warm and safe.  The harried panda mom does not get to eat or drink for two weeks.  They nurse the babies up to 12 times a day.  Also, daddy panda doesn't help at all.  For these reasons, a panda mom is almost always incapable of caring for more than one cub and the second cub will die from neglect.  In an effort to save the species, they've implemented programs where the twin cubs are separated, cared for by zookeepers and fed formula.

Now, we know human moms can care for more than one child at a time.  I should know.  I had twins when my daughter was only 19 months.  However, it is hard!  It's still hard.  I'm constantly being pulled in three directions and doing mental triage has become second nature.  This means that the child who is being the most outrageously annoying is usually the one who gets the attention.

This leads us to this crazy mom of fourteen!  I am not going to mince words here.  The woman is a lunatic!  What woman willingly brings this many babies into the world without resources or even a father?  What kind of life will these babies have?  All the appearances on Oprah and a house built on "Extreme Makeover" aren't going to make up for what these babies will lack, namely a quality bond with their parents.  The details of how this selfish woman got pregnant are still fuzzy, but the possible scenarios bring up many ethical issues.  If she did IVF, what kind of doctor would willingly implant eight embryos?  Human females are not physically made to give birth to a litter.  It is extremely dangerous for both the health of the babies and the mother.  Even though these babies made it to 31 weeks, that is still fairly premature and many of them will likely experience a host of life-long problems.  Who is going to drive all these kids to their many appointments with physical, occupational or speech therapists?  How will they coordinate for extracurricular activities?  What kind of car will be able to accommodate this many children?  Oh, the list of how wrong this is goes on and on.

The answer to these questions is that someone besides the mom will be doing and providing all these things.  They will survive on hand-outs and volunteering from individuals, corporations, the government and the most insidious of all, the media.  Maybe they'll do a "Jon & Kate Plus Eight."  We think all this careless breeding is cute, but what a life!  How sad to be forced to live in the glare of media attention.  But will they have a choice?  In my mind, this is a glorified orphanage ... with cameras.

So what can we learn from our panda friends?   Pandas do not willingly have twins and they know their limitations.  In the future, nature will adapt when it has figured out that panda mommies should stick with singletons.  Now, human beings can handle twins or even triplets and most will not willingly neglect their offspring, but the red flags are a-wavin' when some nut-job decides to have a litter of eight (especially when she is already a single mom of six).  The reality is that one person cannot raise this many children, especially if they were born at the same time.  My friend just told me the saddest story of a family with five kids under the age of six.  The youngest child recently drowned in the bathtub.  When I asked her how this happened, she alluded to the chaos in the house with five young children.   I'm not advocating big-brother-ish control here, but can't something be done to stop the madness?  Or will society go on condoning this outrageous behavior all for the sake of good entertainment?  For the sake of these poor children, I truly hope that someone comes to their senses.

Posted on Mad About Multiples by Lisa George.

Original post from The Curious Georges.

Candy Is Evil

If my kids had a theme song, it would be Bow Wow Wow's, I Want Candy.  I need to rant about this.  You may need to cover your ears.  If you're a mom, you may want to join in.  Now, I'm not one of those mom's who obsessively limit their kids' sugar intake, but it would be nice to just reign it in a bit, mostly because sugar and candy turn them into raging maniacs.  We went to three, count them, three, Halloween parties today, and this is just the day before Halloween.  The kids brought home about six pounds of candy from Barton's work party (and I'm not exaggerating).   By the time I was able to wrangle the three of them back into the car after the third party, I had to literally drag Nicole kicking and screaming away from her loot.  She tried to bite me to boot.  This was all from my usually sweet, mild-mannered little love.  If I didn't know that it was that devil SUGAR that had possessed her, I would have called the priest in stat.

To be fair, Logan is not nearly as sugar-obsessed as Nicole and Dane.  Logie just may turn out to be a vegan because his favorite foods are fruits and cherry tomatoes.  When I first started this blog, I wrote about the boys' first birthday and how Dane dove into his birthday cake with gusto.  This was a taste of things to come (no pun intended).  Dane pursues his sweets with a single-minded intensity that I just hope he devotes to more worthy pursuits in the future.  For this reason, I am seriously considering donating the majority of our Halloween candy to charity.  Apparently, the homeless shelters take candy donations and use them for desserts.  Otherwise, the candy will have to be under lock and key, along with the cleaning supplies.

By the way, today was my 42nd birthday, which got lost somewhere in all that candy.

 

Sister, pre-melt-down

 Happy Halloween!

WTF (What The Fax!)

I mentioned in my post a few days ago that doing everyday chores in the presence of my offspring is a Herculean feat.  This goes for errands as well. 

Yesterday I had an absolutely horrific experience at the PakMail.  Normally, I wouldn't bring all three kids on an errand like this, but I was under a deadline.

To try and minimize grabbing little hands, I put the boys in the double stroller, which never goes well.  As we know, The Boy Georges do not like to be fenced in.   After trying to communicate to the clerk above the wailing of the boys, I decided to let them roam free.  Big mistake!  Not seconds later, they are gleefully tearing apart boxes of staples and uncapping highlighters.  In the meantime, my 22 page fax is getting fed into the machine willy-nilly since there seems to be something wrong with the feeding mechanism.  After what seems like eternity, the fax is "completed," only to have the clerk announce that only 21 pages went through. 

Trying to remedy two situations at once, I grabbed the boys and force them into the stroller.  They are NOT happy!  They resist the stroller with all their might and end up in a half-in, half-out position, which only enrages them more.  Sort of like stroller purgatory.  Now back to the fax.  The clerk just sort of shrugs when I ask what can be done about the missing page.  Since she has no idea which page did not go through, she is stumped.  With no remedy in sight, I figure that I'll just have to make a copy of this monstrous fax and mail it.  On to the copy machine.  Boys still screaming bloody murder.

Of course, the copy machine gets jammed and the clerk cannot figure out why it won't re-start.  Other patrons come in to witness the twins' meltdown and one lady says, "I just want to give you a hug."  I want to say, "I just want to shoot myself," but refrain. 

Nicole is being very well-behaved throughout this and is actually singing merrily to herself,  completely ignoring her brothers' tantrums.  Unfortunately, her singing just adds to the noise factor.  Then, another little girl comes in and Nicole and this little girl start playing tag around the card displays.

To cap off this disastrous experience, the clerk charges me $25 for a fax that ended up being useless anyway.  I left the store, practically in tears, with the boys kicking and screaming, only to end up forgetting my wallet.

Another Calgon day.

Not Exactly Bonbons

Being a Stay-At-Home Mom is not exactly luxurious.  Even the acronym SAHM is unglamorous.  It reminds me of something from the breakfast menu at Denny's or IHOP (Moon Over My Hammy anyone?)  Anyway, what now counts as a "treat" for mommy is a block of two hours to clean the house.  I'm dead serious too.  It takes Herculean energy and patience to try and do chores with a trio of monkeys trailing after you, either clinging to your legs or undoing all of your cleaning and straightening.  The fact that all three little Georges boycott naps doesn't allow for even small breaks for chores or gasp, rest!  We're back to Sisyphus here.

Cleaning up the house for playdates is one of the more ironic parts of a mom's life.  You bust your butt to clean up the house, only for it to look post-apocalyptic five minutes after the arrival of your whirling dervish-like guests.  Yesterday I had a playdate/happy hour.  As the mom's tried to enjoy our mojitos or wine, the kids thought it was a fun game to stuff toys and clothes in the toilet upstairs.  Unfortunately, I think my kids were the ring-leaders of this particular party game.  Logan even admitted to it, but he might have just been being agreeable.

Any minute now, the troops will descend so gotta run!

Casa de George ... Pirate Playground

Rolling That Rock

I'm taking a break from folding laundry to post about The Myth of Sisyphus.  In Greek Mythology, Sisyphus was a king who was punished by being forced to roll a huge boulder up a hill only to watch it roll down and have to repeat the process all over again and again.  The myth has become synonymous with repetitive and thankless jobs.  Can anyone say LAUNDRY?  This mind-numbing, endless chore is my own personal Sisyphus.  At least it's a positive sign that my mind has not been completely devoured by "mommy brain" that I actually remember this tale from my Freshman English class.

Being a mom has many rewards, namely watching these little beings that you created form into wonderful people.  However, sometimes I want to be like Prince and write the word "slave" on my face.   My lowly position is most evident during meals.  This is a time where every other word is "want" or "gimme."  It's a cacophony of "nooooo, not the Dora cup; I want the Princess cup" (and that's just from my husband)!  But seriously, it's insane.  I know that I am here to literally serve these little helpless people, but I'd like to eat just one meal without hopping up ad infinitum to cater to their every desire.  Some of it is my fault.  I've been too willing to put up with the demands of my mini tyrants. 

Dane's most recent reaction to any thwarting of his mercurial whims is to say a terse "no" and then fling the nearest object with alarming aim, strength and speed.  No matter that the nearest object is a plate of eggs, he will fling it.  We've all been conditioned, Pavlovian style, to cower when we hear his angry "no."  He's an intense guy, our Danie, as extreme in his loving, cuddly side as he is in his tantrums. 

Well, gotta get back to that laundry...

 

School Daze

Yes, we're all a little dazed and confused around here these days.  Why, you ask?  One word:  school.  There are a lot of discombobulated folks in Steiner Ranch right now, parents and children alike.  As one friend whose son just started kindergarten put it, "Kindergarten is kicking my a*@!"  Those of us with preschool-age children are feeling it too.  The transition is tough.

Last week, all three George Kids had their first days in a new Montessori school in our neighborhood called "School in the Hills."  The boys go Tuesday, Thursday and Nicole is a MWF girl.  The first day goes fairly smoothly for most.  I found this to be the case when Nicole started preschool.  The kids seem to enjoy the novelty of a a new environment.  But, by the second day they're getting a bit wiser.  They're thinking, "Okay, that was fun for one day, but now can I go home and see mommy?"

Dane & Logan's class is 18 months-2 years so the majority of the children have never been away from home.  Oh, the heartbreak!  When I drove up yesterday, there were probably seven toddlers wailing "Mommy!" Being a seasoned preschooler, there were no tears from Nicole,  but Logan cried the first day and Dane cried the second.  On the third day, they both cried.  It's painful dropping them off.  From years of dropping off Nicole, I know the drill.  Quick kiss, hug and "I love you," then march right out.  No lingering good-bye's unless you want the drama to be even more prolonged. 

I'm finding that the preschool  transition is making the boys extremely clingy.  Yesterday, they trailed around me endlessly, clutching my legs, crying "Carry Me!"  It's getting a lot harder to carry both of the boys at once since they each weigh over 30 pounds.  Also, it's very difficult to make dinner or do anything, with two hysterical toddlers at your feet.  The folks who run the Montessori predict that the transition will take up to six weeks.  In the meantime, it's your dazed and confused Mommy George signing off.

the Monkey Brigade

Miss Nyssa's class

Nicole strikes a goofy pose

In Praise of Praise

A while back, I read an article from The New York Times that claimed "An excess of praise may be doing kids more harm than good."  Citing a study of Korean and American children in eight grade, the article uses academic achievement as a gage to measure whether praise is effective.  The Korean and American children in the study were asked to describe how well they performed in math class.  39% of the American kids said they were excellent at math compared to 6% of of the Koreans.  However, the test scores showed that the Korean children scored much higher than their confident American counterparts.  I was disheartened to learn that I might be doing my kids more harm than good by being so positive about their accomplishments.

When I had a chance to really think about it, I realized that to measure success in terms of test scores versus confidence levels is subjective.  To me, the happiness of my kids is more important than a number on a piece of paper.  Confident kids are happy kids, in my mind.  I love to see the look of pride and glee in my kids eyes when I shout, "Hurray, you did it!!!"  Further, when it comes right down to it, if you are to measure an effect in terms of achievement, often the most successful people are ones who believe in themselves, regardless of their IQ or education.  There is A LOT to be said for bravado.

I felt somewhat vindicated when I read a recent article in Parents Magazine called, "Discipline for Softies."  The crux of the article is that children respond best to positive reinforcement when being disciplined and that "praise works best when you give it with over-the-top enthusiasm."  According to Alan E. Kazdin, President of the American Psychological Association, the only way to really "lock in" good behavior is to praise that behavior emphatically.  Yea ... a big "Rah-Rah" for all of us cheerleader mom's!

One behavior that we'd been anxious to "lock in" with Sister was for her to sleep all night in her room.  For 1-1/2 years, Nicole slept with Mommy and Daddy and while it was sweet to share our sleeping quarters with The Bug, as she approaches her 4th birthday, we were realizing that something had to be done about this.  We bought her a new full-size bed with adorable bedding and crossed our fingers that this would be enticement for her to sleep on her own.  We were expecting a MAJOR transition time (with tantrums and tears), but she actually did quite well right away and would stoically stayed in her bed until midnight or so when she would come down for a comfort check.  Barton would take her back up to her bed and this pattern continued for a couple weeks.  Then we decided to institute a star-system, which has worked like a charm. She earns one star for each night that she stays all night in her own bed.  When she earns 3 stars in one week, she gets a reward (aka bribe.)  From Night One of The Star Chart, Nicole has stayed in her bed all night.  Gotta love BRIBES ... and PRAISE ... LOTS OF PRAISE!!!

The Bug, Fast Asleep in her Big Girl Bed ... Go Bug Go!!