Taking the Plunge...

It may or may not surprise you to know that I have mommy guilt. Actually, I have a lot of mommy guilt. It's usually about, well, whatever area that I feel I'm failing in on that particular day, and whichever child I feel has been short changed at that particular moment. That usually means I'm feeling guilty about several areas of life and at least two children on any given day.

Lately, B has been the focus of much of my mommy guilt. When N was small, she had me all to herself for three years. We went to play groups. We went to baby sign language classes. We went to a kids gym. We went to mommy and me swim classes. We went to mommy and me dance classes (if dancing to the Wiggles really counts as dancing). We went to mommy and me gymnastics classes at our Rec Center. (Fortunately, my role in this class was quite limited, as was our time in the class. Apparently, almost head butting the instructors daughter is highly frowned upon. I know-- almost only counts in horse shoes and hand grenades, right? That's what I thought. But apparently, it counts in gymnastics, too. And no, in case you're wondering, I was not the one who almost head butted her).

Eventually, N went to preschool, and the mommies were no longer welcome in the activities she did. (Of course, I'm still more than welcome to drive her there, and pay for it, and chase two boys around while she participates, but for some reason, once she turned three, my participation was no longer encouraged. But I'm not bitter. Anymore. Most of the time).

When B was a baby, we took one mommy and me swim class. N did not appreciate that she had to play in the shallow end while B and I played "Humpty Dumpty Sat on the Wall" (Huh. Not so fun to be left out, is it?). After six weeks of trying to be attentive to the baby I was holding and the four-year- old who was calling me from the other end of the pool, I gave up. Then we had O, and logistically and financially, our options became even more limited.

I looked into activities for B last year, and some of the classes N had taken just weren't available. They don't offer mommy and me gymnastics at the Rec Center anymore. Coincidence? I think not. Dancing to the Wiggles wasn't even an option.  I took B and O to the library for a while, until it was becoming obvious that B was well over a year past the age cut off for the babies group. When the other parents started giving me dirty looks when he not only took their kids' toys, but rather articulately told them he wasn't giving them back, I thought we should probably stop going before we were kicked out. I mean, I've accepted that, at some point, he will be kicked out of something. But why rush it? I'm sure there will lots of other opportunities for that.

I thought he would start preschool last fall, but that whole "I'm wearing diapers until I'm thirty-five" attitude got in the way of that. A few months ago, I decided to try a free class at the kids' gym N had gone to. I told him that morning that we were going to play. It was going to be so much fun. There were all kinds of kids there. N even went there when she was little. As I excitedly looked at him and said "Doesn't that sound like fun?" He looked at me and said, quite clearly, "No."

I ignored the voice that told me this was not a good idea (Never ignore the voice), and he eventually got in the car, but only after he had gone back in the house to get a hat. The gym is only ten minutes away. Half an hour later, we finally walked through the door. Me, O, and B.  B had finally agreed to get out of the car only if he could wear the hat. Which was actually Jimmy's adult sized ten-year-old baseball cap that said John Deere on it, and it looked every minute of its ten years.

After more coaxing, he agreed to leave the lobby and go into the gym. Where he stood behind me for most of the next thirty minutes. He wouldn't talk. He wouldn't look at anyone. He had zero interest in the other kids, none of whom were wearing a cool, if way too big and disgustingly dirty, John Deere hat like his. At one point, he expressed vague interest in the ball pit, but when the instructor told him it was circle time and not ball pit time, he looked at me and said it was time to go. I thought he probably had a point.

Recently I started feeling guilty again that B has not been involved in nearly as many structured activities as N was at his age. And, since he will be starting preschool in the fall--diapers or no diapers-- he needs to get used to listening to someone besides me (not that you should take that to mean that he listens to me). So, today, I did something very brave, and took him to swim class. This was not a mommy and me swim class. This was all three-year-olds.  I wasn't sure how it would go, but I knew that it was time we tried. I also knew that there was a large sign on the door to the pool that said "NO Parents on deck" which I thought might be a good thing, once he got past the initial adjustment to me not being there.

When B was still clinging to the door and stating "I am NOT going in that pool" five minutes after the class was supposed to start, they asked me to come sit on the deck. Apparently, they made an exception for us. I always knew we were exceptional.

So I sat on the side of the pool, in my sweats, getting soaked, and attempting to hold onto O, who unlike his brother, wanted nothing more than to get in that pool. B, meanwhile, just watched us from the deck before eventually agreeing to get his feet wet. Fortunately, no one else showed up for the class today, which allowed the instructor to spend the entire class focused on B. Good thing, since he would have had to do that anyway.

B eventually warmed up a little and went in up to his knees when the instructor, Mr. Cory, threw water toys to him. In fact, B quite eagerly threw them back. At Mr Cory's head. Repeatedly. I suggested to Mr. Cory that he may want to wear a helmet to their next class. Mr. Cory was a good sport, and encouraged B to walk into the pool to get the toys back. B looked at the toys, looked at Mr. Cory, smiled, and said "No, thanks. You can get them". They repeated this exchange several times, as O tried harder to alternately jump, wiggle, and swim out of my arms and into the pool.

I was beginning to wonder if there would be a point to us coming back next week, or if Mr Cory might suggest that we try something different--like sedatives--when, at the end of the class, B surprised all of us by walking right into the pool, all the way up to his waist.

It just took O throwing his shoes in the pool.

If only I'd known that sooner.

I would have brought a few extra pairs.

What am I teaching these children?

When N was three, a typical conversation in the car went something like this:
N: Look mom! A stop sign! S-T-O-P. That spells stop. A stop sign is an octagon. Why are stop signs octagons and yield signs are triangles? Why do some roads have stop signs, and other roads have yield signs? Why do some roads have stop signs, and other signs have red lights? Why don't they have go signs?Who made the roads? Did God make the roads?

B is now three, and a typical conversation in the car goes something like this:
B: Mom! Watch where you're going! You're going to hit another trash can! (I plead the fifth). O, I'm going to smack you.

Children, obviously, are all different, and we shouldn't compare them. I am totally, 100% ok with that. But I have also been thinking about how our family's circumstances have impacted each of our children. With N, it was the three of us for three years. I didn't even work part time for most of that time. She didn't watch TV until she was two. She had my undivided attention pretty much all day, and Jimmy's pretty much all evening. Since she's been three, however, we've had B, we've had O, I started working part time, and Jimmy started his own business.

Things are different now, and while I would like to give B and O the same undivided attention I gave N, it just isn't always there to give. I know the benefits of siblings (hopefully) outweigh what may be lacking in parental attention, and I am incredibly glad they have each other. At times, though, I think back to how N was reciting poetry and performing George Thorogood songs at 3 (no, it was not I Drink Alone--we've taught her never to do that), and while I don't think either of these things are necessary (ok, and maybe not even healthy) for pre-schoolers,  I do sometimes wonder if I am teaching B, at this same age, as much as I can or should be. I'm not comparing them. I'm comparing what I am doing for each of them, and sometimes I ask myself "What am I really teaching them?" After all, isn't that my job?

I thought of this recently when I was playing Candy Land with B. At three, N loved Candy Land. A game typically went something like this:
N: Oh, good, two reds. One. Two. Oh, I'm getting closer to the lollipops. Your turn, mommy.

Candy Land with B goes something like this:
B: Move over gingerbread man. There's a train coming.
Me: Ok, B, pick a card.
B: No, mom. This is a train track.
Me:B, please don't throw the cards on the floor.
B: Can I have a snack?

Part of me knows this is an issue of personality and gender differences, and is not a result of anything I did or didn't do. Not to mention, who cares if he won't sit and play Candy Land. Another part of me, though--the mommy guilt part--wonders if I am teaching him everything I should be. I picture him being kicked out of preschool for throwing toys and not following directions. Of course, for that to happen, he would actually need to get out of diapers--something else I haven't yet been able to teach him--and be allowed into a pre-school.

At least he learns a lot from his siblings. N, for example, has taught him that, if he smacks her, she will throw a shoe at his head. Cause and effect, right? O has taught him that little brothers grow and become strong and will tackle you repeatedly at a very young age, to make up for all the times you tackled them before they could even roll over. Human growth and development, yes?

I am thinking about all of us this as we're driving the other day. I try to get him to sing along with the CD that's playing. "I don't like that song, mom". Ok, so much for that. I picture one of his future teachers looking at me with pity at a parent-teacher conference and saying, "If only he had learned "The Wheels on the Bus..."

"Hey, B! Let's say Humpty Dumpty!"  I wonder if I have taught him Humpty Dumpty. I know it's in a book we read. I know N knew it at this age.
"Humpty Dumpty Sat on the Wall. Humpty Dumpty Had a great Fall. All the kings horses......"
He says the whole thing. By himself. Yay! At least I have taught him Humpty Dumpty. Maybe I am doing ok.
"Mom?" he says
"Yes, B?" I am waiting for him to tell me something else I have taught him, or to ask about another nursery rhyme.
"Elmo taught me that. Elmo says Humpty Dumpty, too."
Oh.
I want to cry. Mommy guilt kicks in and I think that I have failed him somehow.
And then I think, I hate Elmo.

I am changing B's diaper that night (for the 6, 247th time, not that I'm counting) and he looks at me and says "Mom, I really love you. And I love Daddy, and I love N and O, too".
"You are such a nice boy," I tell him.
"That's why we're here, mom. God put us here to love each other".

I am amazed that he has actually picked something up in Church, especially considering that he is usually busy scratching his bum (our dog Bella taught him that) or offering pretend beer to those around us (Jimmy taught him that. At least he was sharing). Wow. He's actually been listening.

He is staring at me, and apparently reading my mind.
"You taught me that, mom. You said that God put us here to love each other."
Oh.
Of course I did.
That's my job.

Elmo's got nothin on me.

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