The Night I Became the Grinch

I think I was naive.

Nate sort of breezed through the Terrible Two's and I naively thought we were golden.

And then we hit 2 1/2 and shit got real. I don't know if it was a culmination of the Terrible Two's and the sibling rivalry that was never really an issue until Payton started turning into her little person, but we started facing the tantrums and attitude of the dreaded Terrible Two's head on. Nate and I were both miserable, overwhelmed and lost about what to do about it.

I feel like we've tried everything.

Time Out. This worked for about a week and then held zero consequence for him. When Nate got into trouble he would sit in time out without any fuss and patiently wait for his two or three minutes to be up by repeatedly counting to 20 or picking his toenails. When the timer buzzed, he got up, said his apologies and went back to his day. I felt like there was no real "punishment" in this routine for him.

Losing privileges.  This does work with the right incentive. Nate loves watching Mickey Mouse on the couch at 7:30 while I get Payton into bed and during the day will work towards this reward and will feel the consequence of losing this to a tantrum. But this once effective measure lost its importance and we were back where we started -- no dreaded punishment.

A sticker chart. This too worked great for a short period but then built a sense of entitlement and a feeling that prizes and treats were a daily necessity because he earned stickers. In Nate's mind, playing outside, going for a walk, baking cookies and watching cartoons didn't count as prizes/treats. We are still working on this and what his expectations really should be - and this works good for us for daily lessons.

Spanking. I know this is opening a huge can of worms but spanking has been working with Nate. I was spanked as a kid and even though I see the rationale behind not spanking my child when I'm trying to teach him to keep his hands off of others, this punishment has a sounding board with him. When I ask Nate to do something and he doesn't comply or gives me an attitude, he has until I count to three to do what he is told or he gets spanked. No questions asked. No exceptions. He knows the rules and once this routine was established this worked well for us.

But then we turned THREE. No one really tells you that the Torturous Threes are worse than the Terrible Twos until you're complaining about the migraine caused by the Terrible Twos. But trust me, it's worse. At least, it has been for us.

The loss of privileges and "1,2,3, spank" are good tactics for us for small to medium misbehaviors. But there have been too many days (weeks, really) recently when we would forfeit the right to play with five toys, lost Mickey Mouse before bed (before we even ate lunch) and needed too many "1,2,3" before we would listen. AHH!! I was wracking my brain trying to find what would work. I looked to different blogs and websites and people pushed the need for routine (which we do) and consistency (which I strive for). But I didn't feel these were working for us.

So tonight, I became the Grinch. During dinner, Nate had a meltdown and lost Mickey Mouse from his tantrum. We got home and he keep being too rough and not making good choices. He's had this since of entitlement lately which truly breaks my heart. How did I teach him this? What makes him think these things? I took a good look at myself and Nate and decided that we needed more of a drastic outcome. After our rough evening we sat down and had a good talk about what would happen if he continued making poor choices, having tantrums and being too rough with others. I told him that if he could not appreciate the toys that he had and follow the rules that keeps him and everyone safe that ALL of the toys in his room would come out and he wouldn't be able to have them back until he could play nicely and safely. He received it well - or so I thought.

Thirty minutes later we had another incident and I calmly walked into his room and started packing everything up. EVERYTHING. The entire toy box stuffed with toys. The toy shelves in his closet full of cars, action figures and balls. His superhero costumes and capes hanging in his closet. EVERYTHING. Of course he freaked out and started screaming and crying. I was so thankful it was late enough to put his pajamas on and tuck him in to bed and just be done with the day (7:45 isn't too early, right?!). He continued to cry but I followed our usual bedtime routine (except for reading three books) by tucking him in and layering him with his favorite blankets and turning on his snow globe with a kiss and "I love you". Before I left I prayed over him and for me; so that we would both have patience, a kind heart and be open to positivity.

And that was it. I became the Grinch and took away all his toys.

At first I felt a bit guilty but now I don't. He needs this. We both did. 

I thought maybe this was too extreme and not really fair to him. After all, he is only three. But in all honesty, he really only plays with four of those toys on a regular basis. Removing everything was more for dramatic show and I pray it has the effect I hoped for.

The toys in the Toy Room are still in tact and will stay that way unless there is no improvement in our day to day behavior and those need to be gone too.

And I've made the commitment that he won't get his bedroom toys back until Christmas is over. We have two weeks to earn them back with positive behavior.

Secretly, I'm hoping this will turn into a great revelation that we don't need all this "stuff" and it won't truly be missed and therefore won't have to be returned.

It's 8:30; he's asleep and I'm on the couch with a bottle of wine and typing through my thoughts.

Here's to a better day tomorrow and our two week journey to a better US <3

The Road to Motherhood

I think I always knew I would have a hard time getting pregnant. My aunt and uncle adopted both of their children as a result of infertility. I remember thinking that this was my fate (for several reasons that I shouldn't type here) and was semi-okay with it.

Until this thought became a reality.

Joe and I were married for two years before we officially started “trying” to conceive. During these years we were not “preventing” pregnancy (I hadn't been on birth control since before our engagement) but I also wasn't charting my body. I was, however, fielding questions of our impending offspring since our first dance as husband and wife. This itself can be exhausting and the epitome of emotional torture.

After a year of no luck on our own (and growing more and more scared due to the internet and book research I’d been doing) I went to my ObGYN office. I went through three doctors before I find what I call my “soul mate” doctor.

She listened to me. She empathized with me. She created a plan.

There were tests, ultrasounds, procedures and medicine. There was lots of research and reading. One of the BEST resources I found was the book, “Taking Charge of Your Fertility”. I recommend it to all of my friends.

For 29 months I tracked my body. For 884 days I logged my basal body temperature and inspected my cervical fluid in the hopes of finding positive signs of ovulation. Out of these 29 months I only ovulated ten times. TEN!

These were the hardest months for me and my marriage. Joe and I are so different when it comes to tackling problems (maybe all men and women are for that matter). Especially our infertility struggles. His answer, bless his heart, was always just to have more sex and stop trying so hard (Um, aren't those opposites?!) I tried my best to keep the fun and spontaneity in our relationship but this was SO HARD. It took a while for us to get back to being “carefree” in the bedroom. I know a lot of you can relate to this  <3

There were a few big hiccups along the way. Friend after friend would get pregnant; all while “not trying” and “being on birth control” or having only tried for a few months. There were many sobbing sessions hidden away in my closet – the place where I could let out the ugliest of ugly cries and cleanse my emotions.

January 2011 I hit my breaking point. I crashed. Hard. Ugly.  There becomes a point where you can’t hear the opinions of others anymore:  “What is wrong with you?” “Don’t you know that’s what you’re supposed to do now that you've been married for so long?” Yes. Yes, I do know. My body on the other hand; I don’t think she does.

January 2011  was also the month that we became pregnant. It seems that whole lesson is true; just when you think you can’t take anymore, God shows you the way.

I had an amazing pregnancy. Almost as if the universe was trying to make up for all the other bad things. Towards the end there was a battle between the ultrasound technician and my OB over the size and continued growth of the baby but we averted an early induction and I was pregnant for 41 weeks. 

Why blog?

Why blog?

I have read these great blogs where women have started their blogging journey as letters to their husbands, children, families – and I am in love with that concept. I am the snarky “second child” who can’t believe my mother doesn’t remember all these minute details of my childhood and have selfishly felt “less than” because of it.

But now I am a mother. The same as my mother, with two little ones less than two years apart. And the snarky “second child” has become “that mother”.

I understand the blurred years and lost memories. I do not remember to write things down in the baby books I started years ago. And I feel defeated because of this; destined to have snarky children that feel undervalued.

So I blog. Because blogging is easier than writing in the baby books. And here I can recall my whole life; not just the parts that only belong just to my children and their accomplishments.