Monday, March 30, 2015

Genius/Fail


I think the most genius parenting/life moment I've had in recent weeks has been reigniting my love of podcasts.  I downloaded iTunes onto our new Christmas Gift Computer (thanks again, Bob!), and immediately went about capturing all my old favorite podcasts from my bus riding days, as well as some new ones recommended to me by friends (Dear Friends, See! Eventually I get to your recommendations, even if it takes me months).  Now, I have something to occupy my brain while tending the various chores of my days, without exposing Mads to too much "screen time" as the crunchy mamas tend to call it. (No more binging on Supernatural and Pretty Little Liars; the baby is paying attention.)  Among those new podcasts is One Bad Mother, recommended by my friend Selena, who though not herself a mother, still finds the podcast entertaining, which is a gold star review if there ever was one.  I like One Bad Mother because it's funny and irreverent; each episode begins with a disclaimer, "Do not listen with your kids; there will be swears."  Of course, I do listen with my kid, which maybe we can count as a fail. 
 
What's with the genius/fail thing you ask?  Every episode of One Bad Mother includes the two hosts as well as listener call-ins telling of their genius parenting moments and failed parenting moments throughout the week, followed by laughter and the most supportive thing a person can say to a parent, "You're doing a good job."  I love it so much, I decided to share a couple of my own genius and fail moments from the past month.

 
GENIUS!
Mads is over the whole sitting in grocery carts thing.  He's got boots, and they were made for walking.  Of course, walking around big box stores with a toddler is exhausting.  Not only do I have to be hyper-vigilant keeping an eye on him (how quickly he disappears around corners if I turn my head for even a split second), but anything that catches his eye on a bottom shelf gets touched, picked up, inspected--meaning not only do I spend the day tidying my own home after his inventories, but our neighborhood Target as well.  Or, I did until I made the very simple request, "Martigan, can you put that back where you found it?"  This may not work with every toddler, but mine has always been rather fastidious (like his Mama and Papa).  Typically, I only have to repeat myself once, if that, and he will put whatever thing he picked up back on the shelf, exactly where he found it, which garners much praise from his parents and curious strangers alike.  Hurrah!
 
It only took me 19 months, but I have finally ritualized nap time, and to great success.  The tart cherry juice I give Mads twice daily has extended his naps from 30 minutes to an hour-and-a-half, some days even two hours.  But the pre-nap routine has made getting him down in the first place so much smoother.  Mads knows what to expect, and he's even an eager participant.  Hallelujah.  Now, if only bed time was as easy.
 
FAIL :-(
Twice this past week, I have called Martigan a "little shit," within his hearing.  And, though my husband has made many a request that I stop this, I still have not retired calling my son a "turd."  (In my defense, usually I say it semi-affectionately?)

One Sunday this month, after being out in the morning doing laundry and errands, we came home and commenced a lazy afternoon.  Wolfman and I finished watching The Winter Soldier, and when it was over though Wolfman left to be more productive during the rest of our daylight hours, I decided to be lazier still and finish part II of Comanche Moon (I deserve this one thing: Karl Urban as Woodrow Call, I thought). When, in the midst of Comanche Moon, Mads began to fuss at me, to climb into my lap uninvited, to tug at and stick his hand down my shirt, I assumed he was just bored or antsy or being a jerk.  I refused to nurse him (my body; my rules!) and insisted he sit on the floor and play with his toys, to which he threw a massive fit.  It wasn't until the credits began rolling on my mini series that I looked at the clock and realized it was WELL past Martigan's dinner time.  He was trying to nurse because he was hungry.  I felt like shit (though Wolfman seemed less concerned about this than the turd thing).  Daylight Savings has fucked me up once again.




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