I Can’t Take Me Anywhere

Contrary to popular opinion, having children hasn’t killed our social life; at least, not entirely. Some days we wish it had. Taking our children anywhere oftentimes is like Russian roulette: you just don’t know whether the next time you pull the trigger will be the last.  Parents everywhere know: misbehavior at someone else’s house is completely different from misbehavior at home.

At home, you can be your fun-loving, sarcastic self; snotty comments and ‘whatevers’ can be uttered without the fear of being judged for your poor parenting skills. If they break something, it’s not you who needs to feel embarrassed, and the line “if you don’t knock it off, I’ll spank you until you can’t sit for a week” can be used at will. Not that I’d ever say anything like that, but still; it’s nice to know I could if I wanted to.

Kids instinctively know that you are powerless in the company and homes of others; therefore, they will try things they wouldn’t dream of doing at home. That’s okay; you will have to go home at some point, and parents have much longer memories than kids. Every parent since the beginning of time has had the following exchange:

“You are in so much trouble, young lady!”

“What? Why?”

“Do you remember what you did back there?”

“Nothing?”

“On the contrary. Let me remind you.”

This is known as “parenting-on-delay”, and I don’t have a problem with it. I’m a mom; holding grudges comes naturally. The part that I’ve had trouble with is the need to apologize incessantly. Get invited anywhere, and I always feel like apologizing ahead of time for what my children might do, whether it is breaking things, arguing with other children, or simply not listening. Setting my children up for failure always results in drama, and thus I get to apologize again when things actually do go south.

I admit, I’m sick of it. All children do naughty things, so why do I feel as if mine are the only ones that ever cross the line? As usual, it’s all in my head; it’s not my children that need to improve their behavior, instead, I need to adjust my expectations.  That means not immediately thinking of bad things that can happen, and not immediately responding to any invitation by saying: “But I have kids!” as if they are some kind of liability. I have to say, this is hard; as is often the case when I’m faced with parenting questions, I’m the one that has to adapt and grow.  Once again, the parenting ball is squarely in my corner; and I wonder, am I raising them, or is it the other way around?

Fun with Politics (108)

A break from Politics; some weird news instead:

I think the good people of Tallahassee, Florida have given up on trying to make their primary count, and moved on to more important issues. The fake bull testicles that dangle from many trailer hitches have now officially been banned. Apparently, the “Truck Nutz” were so upsetting to Gun shop owner-slash-Senator (who voted for him?) Cary Baker. Anyone caught still sporting these fun and classy decorations will be fined $60.

Poor Floridians.  No Nutz, no Primary: they just can’t get a break.

Here’s another winner: A woman in Modesto, California, drove around with her cat on her lap. Yeah, I know. Kitty apparently thought that was a very stupid idea as well; the woman got scratched, hit and toppled a power pole and shut the whole street down for an hour.

And people wonder why Americans don’t have much of a reputation abroad.

However, Americans have by no means the monopoly on acting stupid. In Italy’s San Giovanni Rotondo, the body of Padre Pio was dug up and put on display, 40 years after his death.

Followers are delighted because “He seems like he is sleeping. Even if they had to re-do the face, its better remembering him this way than looking at a slab of cold marble,” said Domenico Masone, deputy mayor of Pietralcina, the town where Padre Pio was born.” (Reuters)

 

The body was found, upon ripping it out of the ground, to be “in fair condition”. The face, however, had to be reconstructed because it had decomposed too much.

You think? 

The Last Matzo

You never know what ticks small children off. One minute you’re happily going through your day, the next you are faced with an angry, screaming child who claims it’s all your fault. Girls can get mad over anything, ranging from their clothes (“I didn’t want the white tights, I wanted the off-white tights!”) to being asked to do something unreasonable, like setting the table.

When boys get mad, it usually involves food. Needless to say, Passover hasn’t been easy on my son Mendel. We’re on day number seven, and he’s counting the minutes until tomorrow night, when he can be reunited with his beloved donuts. That’s okay; when you’re not yet four years old, you are allowed to love donuts more than religion.

Mendel’s current enemy is the Matzo. Imagine his glee when we ran out prematurely, went shopping, and found the entire city was without Matzos. Sold out, all over Omaha, except for one last box of chocolate covered egg Matzos, which, of course, we bought. Not that it counts; it’s about as close to the real thing as fruit loops are to a healthy breakfast. Luckily we ran into somebody smart enough to have ordered enough, and were offered a box full of real, handmade Matzos. Mendel was, of course, unimpressed, we could see it on his face: Darn it! Back to square one!

Holidays shouldn’t make you mad; it’s a lesson he will have an easier time learning during Hanukkah, when donuts are plenty and nothing is off limits. However, Passover is more important and longer, so there’s that. At some point in their young lives, children have to transition from viewing a holiday as an obnoxious obligation, to something that they can truly celebrate. How they make that transition, I’m not sure. My daughter did it almost without us noticing; it seemed that one day she woke up and got it. I’d like to take credit, but I’m not sure that’s appropriate; it’s probably her teachers that did most of the work.

Still, it’s not all bad; my son has given up asking for cookies every five minutes and has even started eating again. All it took was three overpriced packets of Lox and unlimited yoghurt tubes. That’s right, he’s lived off fish and yoghurt this week, and he survived. Whether Passover next year will be about more than merely ‘surviving’, we’ll have to wait and see. Regardless, the boy has eleven months and three weeks of pure bliss waiting for him in the bread aisle.