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Category: Parenthood

Santa, Could You Fit That Living Room Set in My Stocking?

So, David and I feel that it’s our responsibility as parents to try to raise our girls with faith and some solid core values.  We thought we were doing a decent enough job for this stage in the child-rearing game:  taking SK to mass, saying Grace before meals and prayers before bed, discussing some basics of God and Jesus, etc. here and there.  We thought, okay, we’re on the right track.  We’re raising these girls the way we should. But if our little foray into holiday preparations is telling me anything, we’re failing miserably.  Two little scenarios have occurred recently to make me think that we need to up the ante on the whole reason-for-the-Christmas-season conversations with our dear Saoirse.  The first clue was when, last week, Saoirse and I were eating lunch while paging through a new holiday catalog that had arrived that day.  At one point, Saoirse gestured at the catalog and asked me if “Santa Claus lives in there.”  Whoo, boy, I thought.  Thaaat’s not good.  Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.  And he lives in Pottery Barn Kids…

Organized Chaos

Earlier this afternoon, as that magical silence known as Both Kids Napping at the Same Time fell over the house, I stood shock-still in the middle of my living room, wondering what I should do next.  I thought about my three-foot-long to-do list and took a long look around me at the debris left over from Hurricane Children.  I stood a little while longer, then turned on my heel and made a run for our bed.  I pulled those cool sheets over my head like I was trying to block out the noise of all the responsibilities hollering at me to pay attention to them.  I just didn’t want to deal with them.  I couldn’t face the laundry baskets full of folded clothes that needed to be put away.  Didn’t really want to investigate if that vague smell of pee I noticed in the family room was of child or animal origin.  And I was cowed by the balls of dog hair that were starting to drift across our hardwood floors like tumbleweeds in an old western movie.  If I were a child, I’d have thrown myself on…

Cranky McWhinesalot Strikes Again (Yep, I’m Talking about Me)

What a day.  I don’t get kids–even if they have half my DNA.  I used to joke that there’s not much of a difference between toddlers and the teenagers I used to teach:  they’re moody.  One minute they need you, and the next they’re telling you to go to hell (well, SK hasn’t learned to say that exactly, thank goodness, but we definitely get the drift now and then…).  They cry on a dime, and occasionally scream for absolutely no reason.  They slam doors.  And just when you think that you’re about to lose your sanity–that tense moment where you honestly wonder who came in and swapped your child out for her evil twin–all of a sudden the tension melts.  Evil twin leaves, and your little doll is back.  She gives you a big kiss on the cheek and a hug around the knee, and the next thing you know you’re dancing around the living room together, giggling over a funny move.  So, what is it?  Growing pains?  A struggle to assert their individuality?  Or just lack of sleep…