What I'll do for a Coffee

Yesterday, after the arrival but of not one, but two coffees at my doorstep, I obviously bragged all over Facebook and on my blog. "Look at me!" I declared with only slightly more tact. "I have a coffee! That someone brought me! In a snowstorm!" Followed an hour or so later by, "Neener, neener! Another coffee just for The Maven! It's great to be me!"

Naturally, people asked how this could happen. What do I, The Maven of Mayhem, do to deserve such gifts? And, honestly, I had to give it some thought, too. I'm so grateful to my wonderful friends, but what on earth makes people want to do nice things for me?

Is it because I'm generous? Not exactly.

Kind? Um, I guess. Sometimes. When I feel like it.

Thoughtful? Only when I have time to be because I'm not dealing with kids in crisis - which is, like, never.

Insightful? The only sight I'm full of is the mess in my kitchen. I'm not exactly a wise guru on a mountain (unless that mountain consists of laundry).

I couldn't come up with an obvious answer, which made me realize that others probably can't, either. So, I need to dispel a possible conclusion before it turns into rumours:

I am not a hooker. Let's just get that out of the way, ok? I do not have sex with people for material gain. It's not that I'm anti-escorting per say, it's just that it's not my chosen career path. I'm already plenty busy. I'm a writer and editor and doula, after all. It would be hard to fit another job description on my business card:

The Maven
Writer/Editor/Postpartum Doula/Call Girl

It doesn't flow very well. And besides, if I were going to put out, I would be charging a lot more than coffee. Just sayin'.

So now that we all know I don't have a secret stash of fishnet stockings I'm willing to don in the name of caffeine, there's really only one viable reason people might be so nice to me:

Animal magnetism.

That has to be it. If I'm not particularly generous, kind, thoughtful or insightful, then what else could it be? I must be a sexy beast of epic proportions (well, I'm only a size 18 - not exactly epic, but significant). For whatever reason, people are drawn to my hotness and feel the need to show me by giving me hot things, like a steamy cup of java. They probably don't realize it themselves; it's just something they have to do.

(... What do you mean, I'm wrong? I can't be wrong! There's no other good reason! Well, other than the giant squid. I mean, that fine piece of art could potentially evoke feelings in others they may not know they even have. Regardless, I'm going to ignore you and go with my original theory of sheer hotness.)

Not only have my friends been kind, but Karma herself decided to treat me extra gently the last couple of days. Gutsy, determined to get caught up in school, has been on time two days in a row. He also did 45 minutes of homework and cursive writing practice with me last night. He's definitely struggling with cursive, but I think it's because he's afraid of not doing it perfectly. Nevertheless, he stayed calm and did everything I asked him to do.

I could throw a damn parade, I'm so happy. I very nearly cried tears of joy this morning after I dropped him off at school. It's funny how we can take small things for granted, sometimes; a reminder to celebrate the little things with my gremlins three. Geekster and I have been showering the boy with praise every time he works hard. The glow in his face is a beautiful thing.

And, not to forget the other two horned ones, I should mention that Spawnling is learning to sound out words and read a little bit: cat, hat, mat, fat, sat, lion, truck, plane. He's since called me "fat" and/or "fatty" a few times when angry. I've created a monster. Pleasant. Where's the "undo" option? Maybe I should teach him how to spell R-U-D-E.

Intrepid was one of 12 kids in his school asked to participate in a city-wide week at university in May. The courses he's chosen are all in biotechnology, medicine and psychology. He'll hopefully get one of his top picks, but it depends on availability. You know, I'm just happy to have a fourteen-year-old who isn't expelled and drinking every day, which was what I was doing at his age. The university thing is icing on the cake. We're beyond proud of that big boy of ours. I look back at the naysayers who thought us fools for having him as young and unexpectedly as we did, and I secretly hope they read my blog. And, while I did worry myself sick sometimes wondering if we had doomed him to a life of demographic hardship, he's proven to us that awesome genes do traverse generations. Way to go, Intrepid. We're fiercely proud of you!

And, finally, stay-at-home-mayhem has its own Facebook page! It's about time, right? Since I'm an admitted Facebook addict, I'm on there a lot and will be updating regularly. So have a look, click the "LIKE" button, and join in the fun. It hasn't even been up 24 hours yet and there's a fair bit of fandom going on. I promise not to let it go to my head - much.

Must run. This sexy animal and her spawn need to head out for a coffee date.

Now I'm one of THOSE Moms (Part 2)

Handle With Care

It took me a week to write this post. I'd apologize, but I don't need to. I have children. That's all the excuse I need right there. If you require further explanation as to why this would interfere with my blogging, it's probably because you don't have kids. Some days I might understand your ignorance. Other days I might just want to shoot spitballs at the back of your head for having all that free time.

Anyway, last week I wrote about a most terrible day and ended it with a promise to write a little about a talk I went to through our local school board. Well, I wrote a lot more. You're getting both quality and quantity. It's like Christmas for you.

The talk was given by a psychologist by the name of Eva de Gosztonyi, who is credited by yours truly as the person responsible for shifting our parenting in a very positive direction. I was so impressed by last year's talk (which was, like this year's, primarily based on the book Hold on to Your Kids by Dr. Gordon Neufeld) that I had to go up and thank her like a creepy fan. And, like a weird stalker person, I told her that she should speak to parents full-time because she has mad workshop skills and a good message that cuts through the thick fog of parental overload.

Not that I, the mother of three perfect little darlings, would know a thing about parental overload.

Parenting is a lot like a garden, we were told. We tend to our children's needs and they grow. Some kids are more like dandelions or daisies: pretty resilient to changes in routine, various types of discipline, and what have you. Our kids? Well, as parents on the school board's Special Needs committee, our kids were likely more the orchid type. And orchids, if you aren't aware, are far more delicate flowers. As I was contemplating the blooms in my own family, I couldn't help but think that Gutsy is sometimes more like a bonsai tree that we're forever carefully tending.

(Next, I will learn to catch flies with my chopsticks.)

Like most parents, I'm always being given advice by well-meaning friends and family. I hear a lot of the same things over and over. I know they're trying to help, but they must think we're living in a box in the middle of the desert with no library or TV or internet connection, because these are some of the regular suggestions I get:

"Maybe you should just try being more firm with him." Really? Gosh, I never thought of that before. I've only been parenting for fourteen years, so I guess the idea of being in charge hadn't crossed my mind until just now.

"Have you tried putting him in his room when he misbehaves?" That's genius! Why have I never thought of that before? Is it a new technique? How up-and-coming.

"Try taking away something he likes. Every child has his currency." Nice use of the word "currency." You obviously watch Dr. Phil. Me, too, and guess what? I've given that same advice to other parents using the same trendy word, all the while thinking it just has to eventually work with my kids because Dr. Phil says so. (Please try putting cameras up in my house, Dr. Phil. You'll need to write a whole new parenting book after this one)

Gutsy is not your typical child, so typical parenting doesn't work with him. Believe me, we've tried - consistently. It might work alright with Intrepid (daisy) and somewhat with Spawnling (rose bush), but not at all with the middle gremlin (bonsai-orchid hybrid).

We have an entire shelf dedicated to parenting books. I'm sick of reading them and beating my head against the doorframe when their advice doesn't work. With a special needs child - whatever that special need (or needs) may be - many general parenting techniques go out the window.  In Gutsy's case, we have anxiety, hearing loss, and poor sleep. And yes, poor sleep can be a huge factor in behaviour, as I'll explain in a bit. But parents of spectrum kids, delayed kids - all kinds of atypical kids - know that behavioural challenges can be a huge part of the package. And there are kids with no other challenges besides extreme behaviour, but in my opinion that's a special need in itself. Don't kid yourself; it impacts the entire family, it can break apart marriages, and it has far reaching consequences for the child and his or her family.  What I'm learning is that if trendy, widely-used discipline methods aren't working, it's not my fault. I am not a bad parent, just a mom who needs to change the playbook.

Our children - the ones who march to a different beat - are orchids, roses and bonsai trees. The sooner everyone realizes that parenting needs to be as individual as the child being parented, the better.

(Now I'm one of those moms who's ranting. I'll hop off the soap box and get on with what I learned at the presentation.)

As is probably obvious by now, I am very skeptical of anyone wanting to give me suggestions on how to parent more effectively. I never used to be that way, but hundreds of failed attempts at controlling the situation have left me raw and jaded. So, when I first sat down to hear Ms. de Gosztonyi speak, I was only just desperate enough to stay seated. I figured I would just hear more of the same stuff we'd been trying all along: If a child is misbehaving, put your food down - harder - and eventually they'll give in. I couldn't have been more wrong. I was sold after last year's presentation on how to cope with tantrums. I was even more excited about this year's talk: Discipline that Does Not Divide.

Eva spoke of attachment: how it's formed in the early years between children and parents, how it grows, and how it can waiver with use of current discipline tactics. She showed the brain, its development, and how current science supports the attachment principle. And if you know anything about The Maven (other than the fact that I'm gorgeous and talented and really like coffee), you know that I'm a big fan of fact-based practices. Science, if done properly, can provide reason to theory. For example, we're seeing this in the endless studies supporting breastfeeding as the optimal food for infants. And now we're seeing it in terms of discipline, too.  This is especially good for those of us with a tricky garden to tend. Read on.

First of all, if we want kids to grow, they need to feel safe. Kids living in a state of fear or worry all the time will take a lot longer to mature because they go into self-preservation mode rather than development mode. So, if I continuously put the smackdown on Gutsy for things I want him to change, he won't change very quickly. What I need to do instead is be gentler, kinder and more patient. I can't change who he is and I can't make him more mature on my schedule. Nature will take care of that part; we just have to provide the right conditions. So there's a certain level of acceptance that needs to happen: He is who he is. We just need to help him be the best him he can be.  And how can we do that? Through attachment.

I can't possibly get into the level of detail Eva went into, so I'll sum it the best I can: Strong attachment to parents helps kids feel safe and vulnerable, which in turn helps them mature at their optimal rate.

Attachment = Vulnerability = Maturation. That's the formula. That's the key.

Some ways to hurt attachment are:

  • Using the relationship you have with your child against the child. For example: making your child separate from you every time he or she does something you deem inappropriate (timeout). What that tells the immature brain of a child is "my parent doesn't love me when I'm bad."
  • Using what children care about against them. This is the "currency" method. Taking things away that are important to the child when he or she is "bad". I tell you, if my husband cut my internet access for a week because I wasn't unloading the dishwasher every night, that wouldn't go over so well. I would resent him and quite possibly fear him. I might unload the dishwasher for fear that he'd do it again, but I'm not going to like him, nor am I going to feel very safe around him. It feels that way for a child, too. It's an immediate fix that can backfire when you consider the bigger picture.
  • Trying to make headway in the incident. I am so guilty of this I should get a life sentence. Trying to reason and rationalize with a child who is not reasonable or rational at the moment is the biggest waste of time ever. Besides, I'm likely not that reasonable or rational, myself. I'm probably pissed off and frustrated. This is not a teaching moment. Let the incident pass, let everyone calm down, and then talk about it.
Safe discipline involves connecting with the child. For example, if I want to get teenage Intrepid to the dinner table on time, I might try not yelling from another room (I'm guilty of this, too) and instead try this: sitting down on the couch next to him, asking him if he's enjoying his video game, and having him meet my eyes. Eye contact is important here, if possible. It means you've made a connection, and then it's easier to get results. At that point, I could let him know that dinner is ready. He's far more likely to come with me? Why? Because I "collected" him. Meaning, I collected his attention - his attachment - before asking him to do my bidding. You get more bees with honey, and all that. This is why Gutsy throws a fit in the morning when we're rushed. We're too busy trying to get him to move, move, move, and for what? We're not engaging him, we're not collecting him. What's he getting out of it besides stress? What's his incentive? No wonder he freaks out and hates mornings. Collect before you direct. Great advice.

Another good idea: Backing out of incidents and into the relationship. If you're angry, put yourself in a timeout before you say something hurtful. Cool down before you start yelling. (Again, the jury finds me guilty on all counts - I'm only human, your honour.) Try to do no harm during a tantrum or stand-off rather than attempting to control your child. Instead, let them know that you still love them. Say something like "We'll get through this. I still love you." Because, while that might sound ridiculously obvious, a child doesn't always realize how unconditional our love is for them. This can sometimes be enough to bring on tears from your child, thus ending the tantrum. Tears are good, as was explained in the last talk Eva gave. They signal that the child has moved out of the tantrum/anger cycle and into being able to accept and deal with whatever they're unhappy about.

Impose order primarily through structure and ritual rather than bossing your child around. This works very well with Gutsy, actually. He has a set bedtime routine that is working wonders. Bedtime snack and pyjamas at 8, followed by melatonin (yes, to help him sleep - he was tossing and turning through the night and waking up exhausted and moody) and teeth brushing at 8:30. He gets to watch TV until 9:30 at the latest - and he's usually asleep before then, happy and comfortable. No meltdowns because he knows what to expect. It took a couple of weeks to get the routine down, but it's made life so. much. easier. Mornings this week have been parade-worthy. I'm so proud of him and of us for following this advice. There is huge improvement.

Aim first to change a mind rather than a behaviour. How so? Let's look at hitting. Spawnling still does his fair share of this. At four, he sees only black and white. There is no reason in his cute little brain yet. There is only one thought process at a time. When he's playing with his brothers, he loves them. When they tick him off, he hates them and thus he hits. He doesn't feel bad about it until he loves them again. That's just the way his mind works at this age. So, if I ask him in the heat of the moment if he wants to stop hitting his brother, of course he's going to proclaim "no!" and we can go no further. But if I take him out of the room and calm him down, he'll eventually remember that he likes that big annoying kid and wishes he could take it back. That's when we can set realistic goals when it comes to his frustration. Maybe he can't work it out on his own yet, but he can come and get me when he's angry instead of hitting. And I can remind him that I know he doesn't want to hit his brother, and that he'll keep trying hard. And he can tell me that he gets very angry when Intrepid doesn't let him have a turn on the Wii, but that he loves him. This way, I'm not demanding change and growth, just helping it along. Then he walks away to give an apology, and I walk away feeling like Super Mom. It's win/win.

The most important thing I took away was this: We need to keep the relationship as free as possible from experiences of separation, shame and alarm. 

Guilty, guilty, guilty. What this means is that it's time for us to throw out any and all attempts at timeouts, removing "currency", and yelling. They don't work around here, anyway. We just do them because we've been told we should. Calmness, understanding, patience. This is what we're aiming for. And while it may sound like we're handing over control to our kids at this point, Eva did stress that it's important to be the one in charge. She says we need to be both the wall of futility (AKA the person who says "I'm sorry, but you can't do that") and the angel of comfort. We can and should say no, but we can also be there to hug them when the tears come from that. And often the tears come after a tantrum. That's just par for the course. 

That being said, if the teenager keeps getting speeding tickets, it might be time to take away the car keys for their safety. And if grades are low, it's okay to insist there's a little less TV and a little more studying done. That's part of parenting. Generally speaking, kids want to do well and they want to make us happy. They just need some guidance and support.

Finally, it was stressed that if what we're currently doing works and doesn't seem to be negatively impacting our children, then by all means keep doing it. Like Eva said, some kids are more resilient and do well with that type of discipline. If it ain't broke, don't fix it, and stuff. But it wasn't working here until we started making changes. Now, finally, things are starting to improve - most days. 

I'm sure people will be up in arms after this post. Last time I wrote about one of these talks, I received several phone calls and emails from people who were defending their parenting methods. You don't need to do that. Nobody's judging you or insisting you change what you're doing. The way I see it, if you're confident in your parenting there's no need to defend it. But you should also be open-minded enough to know that your way isn't the only way. This is another way for those of us who've tried those things and found they didn't work. 

In my opinion, it's also a way for those of us who are looking ahead to do some advance planning. One day, those kids we put in timeout are going to be too big for that. One day, they're going to be taller than us, stronger than us, and they won't just go to their rooms at our insistence. And yet we're still going to have to be in charge. What do you do when you can't threaten anymore? What do you do when you can't take as much away anymore? I've often thought about this with Gutsy, and it terrifies me.  Being a drill sergeant won't work when he's 15. But if he feels safe and attached, maybe we have a chance of still being able to guide him through the scary teenage years when there's the very real worry that he'll find safety and comfort in his peer group to replace what he may not be getting at home. Maybe he'll trust that I have a good reason for saying "no", and respect me enough to listen (after slamming a door or two). This type of parenting helps lay the foundation for the future. 

A good week. A solid week. A week of saying "I'm so proud of you" and "You're doing such a great job!" A week of not yelling, of routine, of better sleep.  I don't think we've seen the end of tantrums or sobbing Mavens at the kitchen table, but at least we've all been able to catch our collective breath over the last few days.  So thank you, Eva, and thank you, Dr. Neufeld. Today feels a little brighter.

McDonald's Mama Mayhem

Photo credit: Injury.com
Ah, McDonald's Playland on a Friday morning during a city-wide PD day. It's the haven of lazy moms everywhere - especially when the joint is dishing out free coffee this month to anyone who wants it. My friend and I brought a grand total of six kids to the Playland in Ottawa's College Square, and let them off their leashes this morning, hoping to kick back as they enjoyed a friendly frolic in the germ tubes. We sat in a cozy booth on the other side of some nearly-soundproof plexiglass, happy to have an hour or two to chat. 

Or so we thought.

As Gutsy and Spawnling ran amuck in socked feet with their buddies and some other runny-nosed rugrats, a mother came in with two daughters who were about five and seven. Before sending them in to play, she said something about how those people don't supervise their kids, and to stay away from them because their kids are bad. I was only halfway paying attention, so I went back to my coffee and conversation.

What I didn't know at the time - and found out later through chatting with a mom who was sitting closer to the McDonald's mama - was that she was referring to the Middle Eastern parents and their toddler inside the play area. Incidentally, the only parents who were actively supervising the child. The rest of us were drinking coffee and sitting at tables, including McDonald's Mama.

That was strike #1.

My friend and I watched in amazement as the increasingly frazzled McDonald's Mama lost control over her two kids. Long after those people and their anything-but-poor supervision had left, MM's girls made it apparent that white kids can misbehave like the best of them (not that this caucasian chick needed a primer. Hi, have you read my blog?) The two girls climbed on things they weren't supposed to climb on, listened about as well as great-grandpa Morris with his hearing aids off, and made no qualms about letting their mom know that someone's in charge - and it ain't her.  Every now and then, my boys - who were disgustingly well-behaved today to the point where I think there might be an well-hidden-yet-expensive repair to make I haven't discovered yet - would shoot me a look of "Is this really happening?" 

Sadly, it really was.

McDonald's Mama yelled - a lot. She threatened - a lot. She used the word ass in the middle of the playroom - often. And it wasn't in a context I might overlook, like, "I feel like ass." Instead, she used it in much more colourful ways, such as, "Daughter #1, you're being a pain in the ass," and, "I'm going to tan your ass if you don't watch it!"

Add in several angry phone calls to some undisclosed person she felt the need to yell and swear at, and you have yourself some serious shock and awe from the other restaurant patrons.

Now, my mother always taught me that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover and that it's good to give people the benefit of the doubt. So, while the other parents were shaking their heads and quietly tsk-tsking, I tried to remind myself that everyone has a story, and she likely has one that is very hard and sad. To test this theory out and prevent a visit from the ever-waiting Judgmental Maven, I took a deep breath in between her slide-side rantings, and tried to have a conversation with her. Call it "reaching out." I'm nice like that.

In about 30 seconds, I found out that she lives on the outskirts of town, is a single mom to three, has a fourteen-year-old with a mental illness, has no money and doesn't know how they're going to eat tomorrow, let alone have a Christmas. She told me no one will help her and that she's all alone. A heartbreaking story, and about what I expected. People who aren't stressed to their limit don't yell at their kids to that extent. They think twice before they act, especially in public. 

When people can do better, they will do better. That's what I believe; what I have to believe. It's my faith in humanity that gets me up in the morning. 

Insightful, I know. It's a talent.

However.

There are times when, try as I might, my belief in the greater good can't dig deep enough to extract a single positive quality from someone. Serial killers and pedophiles are obvious examples, of course. But there are others who catch me by surprise, like the McDonald's Mom I tried so hard to understand and empathize with. 

I wasn't ready to give up just yet. I dug my heels in, and reached down - way, way down - to find something good. There had to be something there, something... right?

Her younger daughter hurt herself on the slide. She had collided with another child in the increasingly busy Playland, and was holding her nose. Her mom went in, picked her up, checked for blood. There we go. There was the good!

"What did I fucking tell you?!" she hollered as she burst out of the play area with her sobbing child in her arms. She plonked her daughter on the bench. "If you just listened to mommy and got ready to go when I told you, this wouldn't have happened. See? See what you did?"

Strike 2. Keep digging, Maven. Keep digging. Here, try a bigger shovel.

Look: I've been stressed before. Very, very stressed. And I've lost my shit before - sometimes in places I wish I hadn't. I've even gotten upset at one of the gremlins when they've hurt themselves doing something I explicitly told them not to do. 

But.

I have never sworn at my child because he hurt himself as a result of playing somewhere I'm allowing him to play by not putting my foot down. Saying, "we need to go" and "two more minutes. I'm serious this time!" over and over will not get them out the door if I don't actually decide we need to leave. It's not her fault her mom was too busy fighting with someone by phone, and huffing and puffing back and forth from the playroom muttering (loudly) under her breath that, "mommy's going to fucking lose it soon, I tell ya! I'm pissed!"

Things got increasingly volatile. Eventually, my friend and I had to get our kids out of there. They were getting scared, and I was getting worried that I might start having words with this woman whom I had come to judge. I tried not to. I really did. I guess I'm not quite as perfect as I thought I was.

The coup de grace was when she started talking to an elderly couple behind us about how the "damn immies" come to this country and get on welfare and get subsidized housing and drive $100,000 vehicles while the white folks get nuthin'.

Okay, enough. Strike 3. Now Maven's angry. I have no tolerance for stupidity.

I had a "you are a douche" card in my hand, folks. I really did. At that point, nobody was more worthy of one. I was ready to pounce on this ignorant woman and get all up in her grill. I wanted to tell her off so badly--

--until I looked down, and saw my worried kids, and knew that I needed to put them first. If I caused a scene and put my anger before their wellbeing, I wouldn't be any better than she is with her own kids. I wouldn't be setting a good example, just as she's not setting one by being a racist idiot. I would teach her nothing, and she would probably take it out on her daughters after I left. So I took a deep breath, put my coat on, and walked out with my boys in hand. 

I wanted to call someone, but knew there was nothing I could do. Technically, she's not doing anything wrong. She said she was bussing it, so I couldn't get a license plate number. And what was I supposed to say to the cops? "There's a woman who isn't quite abusing her kids at McDonald's, and I don't know her name, so hurry up and watch her not break the law before she leaves"? My hands were frustratingly tied.

Gutsy and Spawnling were so good that I took them to see a movie to lighten the mood. While in the theatre's bathroom, I caught a single piece of graffiti penned on the stall door:

"You are blessed."

Yes. Yes, I am. I am blessed because I was raised to value all people, and celebrate our differences. 

I am blessed with an open mind that I can then pass on to my kids, so that they don't end up being the racist/sexist/homophobic idiots of tomorrow. 

I am blessed to have been poor and gone without food and safe shelter for a time, so that I know that life can be hard. I've walked the welfare lines, I've lived with cockroaches, I've begged for money. But I've also been fortunate enough to not have been a mother at that time, because I can't imagine how it must feel to watch your babies go hungry.

I am blessed with new insight in my thirties: people and situations are not black and white. I can feel sorry for a socially awkward, obviously overwhelmed single mother, but I don't have to forgive everything she does because of her circumstances. I also know there is a difference between income and class, and this mother's financial situation does not mean she has to act the way she does.

I am blessed to live a privileged life of sorts, in a safe neighbourhood, in a cozy home, with a vehicle to get around, and food in our bellies. 

I am blessed to know love, so that I can raise my children with love.

I am blessed.

Thank you, bathroom stall. 

This is how we do it (or how we became attachment parents)


Know what's really cool about having a thirteen-year-old?

Introducing him to classic movies like Die Hard without cringing at every swear word or gunshot.

Playing an old Super Mario game and kicking his ass - after you play the new Super Mario game and he kicks your ass, of course.

Seeing the great kid he's becoming, and beginning to see the great man he'll soon be.

Admittedly, that last one was pretty cheesy. If I wasn't so doggone smitten with my eldest gremlin, I might puke a little in my mouth.

****

When Intrepid was born, we did a lot of things that felt perfectly natural to us as new parents. When he wanted to nurse, I would nurse him; I wouldn't go by what I thought his schedule should be, or what the books said. When I realized how much he would cry when I put him down, I carried him around in my arms or in a sling - I never left him to cry. And I quickly figured out that we both slept better together, so I brought him into bed with Geekster and I.

Nursing on demand, baby-wearing, and co-sleeping. Nowdays, people have a name for that stuff: Attachment Parenting. If it had that name back in 1996, I didn't know it. I just knew what being repeatedly smacked over the head by my instincts felt like, and they were telling me I had to listen to that baby boy, because he would tell me what he needed if I was willing to listen.

The naysayers roll their eyes at the concept of attachment parenting. They think it's some crazy tree-hugger crap brought on by overly-obsessed mothers. After all, why would you want to give up so much personal freedom in the name of your baby? As a 20-year-old mother, didn't doing all that stuff just cramp my style, anyway?

Not, really no. I would have needed a style - and probably a life in which to show it off - in order for it to be cramped. The Maven wasn't always all that, my precious lambs. She's like a fine wine or a good cheese, getting significantly more awesome as she ages. At the time, my life involved Geekster, Intrepid, and a handful of friends who hadn't completely vanished at the first sign of my pregnant belly. I had a lot of time to figure out how I was not going to conform to society's parenting standards - always a rebel, I am.

But the truth is, that quiet time was the best thing that ever happened to us as a family. We were young, open minded, and willing to do things that felt right and made sense to us. Those early days laid the foundation for how we would raise our all three of our gremlins - by responding to their needs, listening to our instincts, and making that bond as strong as it can be.

Ok, and maybe a wee bit of screaming, and some time-outs, and copious threats to throw out the Wii if they keep fighting and interrupting my damn mommy time. But hey, nobody's perfect.

****

Intrepid is growing up at a breakneck pace. He's almost as tall as I am, and I can slip on his boots with ease. He goes to high school and deals with bullies and druggies and way too many girls already looking for boyfriends (back off, you hormonally-charged succubi!). He'll be driving in three years, voting in five, and getting exposed to a variety of tricky and often dangerous situations far too soon for my comfort level.

This is it; This is the time when we have to start slowly letting go of our baby boy, and hope we've done a good job. Raising a teenager is terrifying stuff. It makes every other stage to date look like a cakewalk.

(I suddenly got an urge for cake. Thankfully, we don't have any.)

But there's something else lingering in our household, and it's not just the stench of unwashed teenage hair: That pesky bond we've forged with our ever-sprouting boy seems to have strong roots. Intrepid touches base with his dad and I every day after school. He's confident, kind, proud of who he is, and enjoys having his friends over - even if I'm cracking lame jokes with them in the kitchen. He wants his parents around, hugs us often, and tells us how much he loves us. He's a good kid who enjoys being part of our family, as crazy as it is (and you know it's crazy if I'm in it!)

I don't lose sleep - yet; There are many more years to come. But I'd like to think that what we're seeing is some of the payoff from the years we've spent making him a big priority. From the time he was fresh from the womb, Intrepid has known he's very important to us and that what he thinks and feels matters.

You don't have to necessarily be an AP-style parent to have a strong bond with your child, of course. Even though that's what I do - which obviously makes it a freaking awesome way - there are other ways to do it, I'm sure. If a child truly knows how much they're loved and cared for - no matter how that feeling is achieved - good things will come of it.

I read a fantastic quote yesterday that said the following:

"Remember, you're not managing an inconvenience; You're raising a human being." - Kitti Franz


I could probably stand to remember that a little bit more, especially when my little inconveniences human beings leave the Lego out for me to step on in the middle of the night. Between you and me and the internet, I found it easier to do this attachment parenting gig before they started talking back. I think I've moved from 'attachment parent' to 'attached but realistic enough to admit I get stressed out and contemplate running off to an adult-only island parenting.'

But I hope we're doing enough, so that, when we gently nudge each of them from the nest, they will soar - knowing they can always fly back when needed for a little guidance and love.

Man. That was even more of a barf-fest than the last cheesy thing I said. That's what happens when I blog late at night. My bitch filter gets flaky and I start being all nice and loving and junk.