May

14

I miss the bad old days…

Posted by Commander Mommy

May 14, 2008 | 4 Comments

… when it was acceptable to turn the tables on a bully and knock his lights out.

When I was a child, four – maybe five—years old, my father taught me how to handle bullies. It was the first of many smaller lessons, I’m sure, but I have a feeling that this was the most important one.

We had just moved into our new quarters on another military base. Moves were exciting times back then, it meant new friends and a new room and, well, just new everything. I was especially pleased with this new place because there was a little boy just my age living in the very same building. Oh, how I wanted to be his friend! Anthony was excited about me moving in, too, he just showed his excitement in unconventional ways.

Anthony was, as my mother tells it, a mean boy. He wanted to be my friend just as badly as I wanted to be his, I think. He was just mean. I don’t think he could help it. His parents, after all, were not as cool as mine.

One hot afternoon, he broke a giant dirt clod on my head. It took three washes to get all the grit out of my hair and my mother was fit to be tied (in retrospect, I think she wanted to go show Anthony what ‘cool’ parents do when their children are naughty). My father, on the other hand, gave me my first boxing lesson and sent me back outside to play. When Anthony threw another dirt clod at me, I knocked him down and made him cry. He was nicer to me after that.

Now I’m the parent and my child is being bullied and … I am angry. I’m not angry that he is being bullied, that is something we all must face at one time or another. If you aren’t bullied in school, then it will happen when you are older at church, at work, at the gym. You must learn who you are sometime and bullying can become that crucible. No, I am not angry because he is being bullied. I am angry because the rules have changed.

The same talk my father gave me would get my son expelled or, likely in our sue-happy society, charges pressed against us by the other child’s parents. When my son came home from school and told me that he hit a boy so that he could get away from him (a boy cornered him and kicked him where the sun doesn’t shine), I had to hold my praise in check and caution him to ‘get a teacher next time’. That’s when he told me that he did get a teacher and he got in trouble for hitting. I hugged him.

When things started happening on the bus, I told him, “Just hold on, honey. Eight more weeks until school is out for the summer and those kids will be on a different bus next year.” We talked about it every day when he came home, as much for me to make certain the teasing and bullying didn’t get too physical as for him to get it off his chest so that it didn’t fester.

Then came the day he told me another kid put him in a choke hold and he couldn’t breathe. I have a confession to make, Commander Mommy went into Full Mommy Mode, consequences be damned. I looked him in the eye and told him that he had my permission to kick, hit, bite, whatever he needed to do to be able to breathe.

Just be careful. Don’t bite unless you really can’t breathe and nothing else has worked. Some people have nasty germs in their blood.

Oddly enough, this seemed to give him more peace than anything else I did. He still hasn’t hit one on the bus, but now that he knows he is allowed to defend himself, he is changing. He is less concerned about the physical attacks and more concerned with the words now.

They poke me in the stomach, hit me on the head, and today they slapped my butt and that’s my private part! They are trying to get me in trouble, Mommy. They are trying to get me angry so that I punch them. If I do that, though, they will just get me in trouble. They will tell everyone that I punched them first.

I told you my boys were smart, didn’t I? He is seven going on thirty.

Mommy, will you homeschool me? I am so tired of being picked on.

I am thirty years old and I still get picked on. I told him that and his response was this:

I know. But you can walk away.

He’s right. I can walk away. I spent years telling him not to fight back, to just walk away, to get a grown up and then I kept putting him back on that same bus day after day after day knowing full well what was going on. He can’t just walk away. He can’t (according to the rules) fight back. His only option is to sit there and listen to what they tell him, to try and ignore the constant poking and prodding, the occasional hitting. The longer I think about the conversation we had this morning, the guiltier I feel. I thought I was character-building. In reality, I wonder if I wasn’t trust-breaking. There are times that I really wish kids came with their own instruction manuals. Of course, I doubt I’d read it. I don’t read any of the manuals I already own.

I know what they are trying to do, Mommy. I don’t hit them back because I don’t want to hurt them and because I know what it feels like to be hit. It makes you sad. They know that, too. I know because I told them to stop hitting one of the little kids and asked them how it would make them feel. They told me.

Now they call me ‘Shortie’. They call me ‘dumb’.

What!? You are not dumb.

I know.

You might be short, but you aren’t dumb. You are very, very smart.

I know.

Silence.

I try to forget the words but they’re stuck in my head. I try to ignore them but I can’t.

Captain Awesome stood up for another little kid on the bus. I can’t tell you what it did to my heart to hear this.

He knows no fear, most of his playmates are older and he doesn’t think twice about sticking his nose where he probably shouldn’t. Despite the consequences, I’m glad he did. When I understood why and when the bullying started, I could have cried with joy and pride. But, OH! the things they are saying to my son. He is not dumb, he knows he is smart but words have such power.

Mommy, please will you homeschool me? I’m so tired of being picked on.

I drove him to school this morning because some people have nasty germs in their blood.

May

11

Happy Mother’s Day!

Posted by Commander Mommy

May 11, 2008 | 2 Comments

I actually had this big, long, disgustly mushy thing planned for today. Then someone showed me this video and it said it so much better than I ever could. Happy Mother’s Day!

May

10

Introducing Captain Awesome!

Posted by Commander Mommy

May 10, 2008 | 1 Comment

A few weeks ago Little Man informed me –in no uncertain terms, mind you – that he did not appreciate his name on this blog. He asked me why his ‘little’ brother had the much cooler name of Trooper while he, as the oldest was stuck with ‘Little’ Man. It’s taken a while, but we came up with something a little more appropriate for him (at least, we think so). From this point forward, he shall be called Captain Awesome.

May

9

Broccoli Blues

Posted by Commander Mommy

May 9, 2008 | 8 Comments

broccoliI was tooling around Rachael Ray’s forums today and they got me thinking about picky eaters. I guess I’m pretty lucky because my kids will eat most things. I’m a big believer in not allowing a kid to get too set in their ways about what they will and will not eat. At least once a week, my kids try something new. One of the more memorable occasions happened a few months back when I introduced them to broccoli, cheese, and rice casserole.

My boys have always loved vegetables and cheeses of all kinds. I craved tomatoes and cottage cheese my entire pregnancy with Little Man. Of course, I also craved sushi which is apparently a big no-no when you venture into Hutt-hood, erm, when you are with child (which should have been an indication right there of the ‘I want to tear my hair out now plz’ moments of frustration that motherhood can bring). Neither of my children, however, seem to care for rice of any sort. I’m trying to overcome that by serving it with things that they really like.

When I served them the casserole, they immediately made ‘the face’ and decided they weren’t going to like it. In a fit of what can either be described as brilliant parental know-how or as utter madness, I took a bite and then responded, “That’s too bad, you know. I like it. Besides, broccoli is the best food in the world if you want to win a farting contest.”**

The results were staggering (quite literally at times, I’m afraid). Little Man won the contest and I had three clean plates to wash that evening. I was also afraid to light a match in the house for two whole days.

When we went out to eat with a family friend later that week, Trooper discovered that he could have broccoli as a side. You might say that this is where the ‘utter madness’ part comes into play because his voice rang out in that quiet eatery as only preschooler’s can, “Mommy! I want bwoccowii so I can win the fahhting contest this time! Because bwoccowii means fahhting, wight Mommy? Wight?”

**CAUTION: Using this method to teach your young children to love broccoli may result in extreme embarrassment in restaurants.

May

8

Almost too late…

Posted by Commander Mommy

May 8, 2008 | 5 Comments

Tonight, I called Honored Friend to see if the novelty of staying at home with the kids had worn thin yet. A little background: her husband, ArmyBoy, is deployed and she is holding down the fort with her job and three children. The youngest is almost four weeks old. Maternity leave is a wonderful thing but she hadn’t been out of the house without at least one of the children in quite some time.

Anyway, I called her to ask if she needed a break and she admitted that she might be ‘getting there’. When I suggested getting out tonight, she got a panicky tone in her voice and said something about baths, bedtimes, and baby feeding.

“Great!” I said, “You get them in bed and I should be there by then. You can go out and I’ll stick around to make sure the house doesn’t burn down.”

Dead silence. It lasted long enough that I wondered if I’d overstepped my bounds until, finally, I heard a tiny gasp on the other end of the line. In a voice that sounded small and full of wonder, she whispered, “I can go to WalMart.”

And then I knew - I had almost waited too late. Shame on me! My friend, poor dear, thought WalMart sounded attractive. Note to self: do this once a week while ArmyBoy is gone. Maybe next time she will be able to work herself up to Starbucks.

May

2

Too Many Toys, part 1

Posted by Commander Mommy

May 2, 2008 | 6 Comments

When I went to tuck the boys into bed last night, I nearly killed myself tripping over toys. My children know that there isn’t much Commander Mommy hates more than a messy room at bedtime. It just isn’t safe! I mean, what if there was a fire and I had to get them out? I doubt I could find their beds some nights. There is also the added frustration of all that money wasted. I mean, really. Come on. I don’t buy toys to walk on. I buy them so that I can play with them! This is, by the way, the secret to maintaining your sanity while spending quality playtime with younger children. Find the toys that you like, too!

Because I buy toys that I love to play with, it angers me to see them discarded and uncared for. Do you know how much money we’ve spent on my, erm, the kids’ Galactic Heroes collection? They’ve already lost Lando’s helmet and I can’t find him in the stores anymore! Not to mention Grievous’ lightsabers are permanently ‘turned off’ (read: broken) now because he was left out where my mom’s dog used him for a chew toy.

Mid-post disclaimer: Before everyone starts yelling at me, I know that they are kids. Kids are supposed to play with toys. They do. Frequently. That is why they wind up on the floor, remember? It isn’t the wear and tear that bugs me, it is the willful disregard for their toys that inevitably gets them broken I’m ranting about.

But enough ranting. Back to the point.

I’m cleaning their room today. This is the Ultimate Weapon in my arsenal of Evil Mommy Tricks (it even trumps the patented Glare of Doom). They know that when Mommy cleans their room, they lose toys. Last night I informed them that I would be cleaning their room and taking every single Star Wars toy away until their room started staying clean again. (When I said this, Little Man suddenly started begging Trooper to clean their room while he was at school. That boy is - *shakes head* - sometimes words fail me, but he makes me laugh and cry at the same time.)

I know this ‘punishment’ doesn’t sound mean and horrible but our home is not like most of my friends’ homes. I believe that all of a child’s playthings should fit neatly into their room (or a designated playroom). If there is too much for everything to have its own place, then there is too much. Period. My children have two large collections of toys (Star Wars and Thomas the Train), LEGOS, a trunk full of wooden blocks, and a few odds and ends. That is it. To take away their Star Wars toys is, admittedly, pretty severe but I’m sick of the mess.

I kind of feel like a MEAN Mommy right now but that’s okay, cleaning up after themselves and appreciating what they have is an important life skill to learn. It’s not like I’m throwing the toys away (this time)… I’ll just have my friends over this weekend and we can play with them instead. :)

May

1

No Child Left Behind

Posted by Commander Mommy

May 1, 2008 | 3 Comments

Apparently the No Child Left Behind law just grew some teeth. A Maryland school district is firing teachers of core subjects that fail to meet state requirements at 21 of their schools (read the whole article here). Now, I’m no expert on the field of education but I know a lot of teachers. I can’t imagine that this sets a precedent that makes them very happy. As a mother, though, I can’t say I’m upset.

I guess I look at the teachers I know and I understand how hard they worked to get there and how hard they still work to maintain their ‘edge’. They are constantly attending seminars, staying up late making new Powerpoint presentations to go with their lectures, grading papers, and trying to find some way (any way, really) to work Mythbusters into their curriculum. I know that these teachers are the good ones, they will not be affected. I’m hoping that this begins to weed out the ones who are not quite so dedicated. The ones who think that Africa is a country, for instance (I’m not kidding, it happens).

I understand why, undoubtedly, teachers unions around the country will be watching this with interest. It is easy to see where this can get abused –where teachers suddenly (or yet again?) become the scapegoats for lack of funding and ‘get the axe’. I hope that doesn’t happen, but realistically? We live in a less than perfect world. I’m certain that it will, at least once. Hopefully, the benefits outweigh the costs. After all, they are not ‘canning’ the teachers completely, they are still allowed to apply for subjects they are qualified to teach.

I am very interested to see what this ‘drastic’ measure does to our education system in terms of national literacy rates over the next decade or so. Here’s hoping something good comes from it all!

Apr

28

Don’t Freak Out, Mommy!

Posted by Commander Mommy

April 28, 2008 | 3 Comments

As a mother, I get little glimpses of myself through the eyes of my children every day. Unfortunately, it isn’t always flattering.

Last month, we invited Honored Friend and her children over for dinner. As my boys were unloading the dishwasher, I snuck off to change my shirt before the guests arrived. Before I could even get the shirt over my head, I heard a knock on the door. It was my oldest son who, by some genetic mutation, has the freakish ability to tell when I’m only half-dressed and suddenly “needs” to talk to me. His brother, by the way, has a similar genetic disorder that hones in on those times when I’m in the bathroom or on the phone. They both have an overwhelming urge to rescue me from any stolen moments of peace through out the day. As I understand it, this is somewhat common malady that can affect children well into their teen years.

Back to the story…

Little Man, in the confident and high-timbered voice of a first grader, solemnly informed me (through the bedroom door) that he could now put away the glasses. Normally, I’m the one who puts those away. The layout of the kitchen just doesn’t allow for me to keep everything where they can reach. Glassware seemed the logical choice for something kept up high. Today, though, Little Man told me that he could reach them without a chair, without climbing on the cabinets, and without breaking anything (I know because I asked). After listening to his little speech I wasn’t sure how to respond and, while I stood there wrestling with my shirt, he took matters into his own hands.

“Mommy, I’m just going to put them up this time.”

“What?” I asked quickly, trying to stall for time, “Are you sure you can do that?”

“Yes, Mommy. I’m going to put them up.” He stood there in silence for another beat and then, before I could think of a reason to protest, he added, “Now don’t freak out. Okay, Mommy?”

And he had me. Such an adult thing for him to say, too. I wasn’t certain whether I should be amused or offended. Why in the world would he say that to me?

“Mommy, did you hear me? Don’t freak out when you see the glasses put away.”

Oh yeah. Because I would have freaked out. Truth be told, I was on the verge of freaking out during the conversation. If I had come back into the kitchen and found the glasses already put away, I would have third degree’d those boys!

What are these doing up here? Who did this? Who put these glasses away? You? Your brother? Answer me! Did you get a chair? WHAT? Then you climbed on my counter??!! Do you know how dangerous that was? What do you mean you didn’t climb on my counter? There’s no way you could reach that! Oh yeah? Show me. … Oh. …. Okay. … I guess you can reach it. MmmmKay. Sorry. Just, erm, ask next time. K?

“Okay, Honey. You can do it.”

Do I always freak out about stuff like this? Looking back, I think I do. I never considered myself a ‘freak out’ kind of mom (that was always my Aunt Linda, not me!), but I guess I am. I recall a time last fall when Little Man came home from school with grass stains on his jeans and a serious, apologetic confession to accompany them. When I assured him it was ‘okay,’ he was stunned. He blurted out, “You mean you aren’t mad?”

I tried to explain to him that I understood when things were accidents and when they could have been prevented (wiping his messy face on his sleeves instead of on the napkin, anyone?) but the look on his face told me that it never mattered to me before, at least as far as he understood. Apparently, I should work on my mommy/kid communication skills, too.

In retrospect, I really do sweat the small stuff more than I like to admit. So, the solution is clear: Commander Mommy needs a chill pill.

It is funny how simple moments become epiphanies that shine a spotlight on flaws we didn’t even know we had. Thank goodness for these moments, too. I’d rather ‘discover’ these imperfections now, while there is still time to do something about them!

Apr

23

Happy Earth Day!

Posted by Commander Mommy

April 23, 2008 | 6 Comments

Happy Earth Day!

Okay, so maybe I’m a day late and dollar short, especially since yesterday was Earth Day but it’s only because I was working in the yard. Appropriate, yes?

The sad fact is that I didn’t even realize it was Earth Day until I found these articles on the Washington Post yesterday evening. The first, found here, lays out the mounting disappointment about the overall effectiveness of Earth Day. The second, found here, reads like an obituary for Earth Day. It actually left me snickering in an unhealthy way. You see, in the household of Commander Mommy, going green has been slow going.

I am a pragmatic person. I know the impact a single household can make on a community. Namely, none. Our family, by ourselves, can do nothing to improve the pollution in the Cincinnati area. We cannot stop ozone depletion. We cannot empty, nor save, significant amounts of water from the reserves. Our electricity is what it is, nothing more and certainly nothing less.

Then Little Man started kindergarten. The papers that were sent home daily astounded me. Seeing them pile up because he couldn’t bear to throw them away was a real eye-opener. I began to feel guilt throwing all those trees away. I began to fear the ghosts of dead trees, as a good friend once put it. I resisted recycling because it seemed like so much trouble and I was a busy woman. Besides, our community makes you pay extra for recycle services. Too much trouble.

Then Trooper began preschool and Little Man advanced to first grade. The papers kept coming. I would go to my friends’ houses and they would have two different trash cans sitting out in their kitchens. I would blush as they corrected me on what to throw away and where. Friends would visit and ask me where my recycle bins were so they could throw away their pop cans. I would again blush and say I didn’t have one. I would make excuses about paying extra. They would educate me about local dumpsters that were free. I would shrug it off and they would frown.

Slowly (because I am stubborn and that isn’t always a great trait), it began to dawn on me: I can’t make a difference but, “Together, we can.” (Oh dear, now I sound like an Obama campaign. Somebody stop me!) The day I decided to recycle, I became Little Man’s hero. He became so excited that he immediately emptied all those dreaded precious school papers of his into the recycle bin. He hasn’t stopped yet.

This recycling thing isn’t always fun. I really despise taking all the labels off of my soup cans and rinsing them before getting them off my kitchen counter. It was much easier to just throw them away, let me tell you! Composting in the winter isn’t glamorous, either. When it is all said and done, though, it isn’t that much trouble. I no longer feel hopeless about the environment. I try and conserve gas not only because it is $3.59 per gallon (that is a rant for another day) but also because this one household is genuinely trying to reduce our carbon footprint. Do we always succeed? Definitely not. This is a new way of thinking, of living, and habits take time to form. But we are getting there.

I guess what I am trying to say is perhaps the idea behind Earth Day has become completely commercial and irritating, perhaps ‘green’ is no more than a political buzz word in the larger scheme of things, and maybe it is ‘dead’ as the author says BUT if I can be converted (which was nothing short of a miracle) then there is still hope. Don’t underestimate the power of the next generation and the influence all this propaganda has on their little minds. If Little Man and Trooper and their complete willingness to do anything that is better for the environment is any indication, history might just call them The Green Generation.

Apr

17

Surfer Boy

Posted by Commander Mommy

April 17, 2008 | 4 Comments

It is getting critical again. The length of my youngest son’s hair, that is. I’ve been letting it grow out. It now hangs just below his shoulders in the back and looks incredible. It’s so soft and golden and perfect. Coupled with his little personalized hemp necklaces, it makes him look like a tiny surfboarder. I just can’t bring myself to cut his hair off. I can barely bring myself to trim the bangs!

Normally, the kids’ hair falls well within the Province of Mom –safe from Dad’s Clippers of Doom. This works well as long as the boys look reasonably neat and tidy. In the last month, though, people have started telling my husband and I how lucky we were to have such a beautiful little girl. It was funny the first time. Trooper giggled, I smiled, Admiral Bean (my husband) laughed and corrected them. The second time, I smiled again and Admiral hurried to correct them. The third time, Trooper was still laughing at the silly people who didn’t know he was a boy. The Admiral was openly glaring at me in public.

I’m not the brightest cookie in the shed, but I realized my son’s treasured ’surfer boy’ style was in immediate danger of becoming something more akin to a ‘boot camp’ look. I had to think fast if I was going to save his lovely locks from the Clippers of Doom. Then, it hit me. What girl wouldn’t love to have hair like my little Trooper? The next time someone commented on his hair, I smiled and told them that we were growing it out for Locks of Love.

The glares have stopped at home, though I still catch the Admiral watching me brush Trooper’s hair with a calculating gleam in his eye. No doubt, he is trying to guess when it will be long enough to cut off.

I’m surprisely happy with this solution, too, even if it means his hair will get that military look in the near future. It is comforting to know that all that sun-kissed beauty isn’t being wasted. If I am honest, I also look forward to the day when brushing his hair doesn’t mean actually brushing (or de-tangling!) it but instead simply running a towel over it and sending him on his way.

We have about 3 inches (five months?) left to go. By the time Trooper starts kindergarden this fall, he should weigh a few ounces less. In the meantime, I’ve started keeping Trooper’s bangs a little shorter and that seems to appease the Admiral and all of Trooper’s well-meaning and misinformed admirers. Well, mostly.


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