Tweens, Chores, and the EVIL Mom...

Insert sarcasm.

Maybe an eyeroll for good measure.

Wait... now I'm acting like my tween. *sighs*

Between about age ten (when they're just getting their big kid bearings) and age  thirteen (when they're officially teens), we have the tweens.

That's where we are now with our princess.

She's a ball of sunshine, and she's extremely sensitive and also very intelligent. This girl amazes us with her wit. She's also super talented and can draw anything.

... but for some reason her hands and feet get sick when it's time to clean her space.

Y'all I'm NOT a neat freak. My home is clean for sure, but it's obvious there are kids here and I don't nag after them to make the house look like a show model. (Although it did before kids...*sighs*)

We travel a whole lot. We are almost constantly on the move, for days or even weeks at a time depending on hubby's schedule and my willingness to go where he does. So I get it-- when we're NOT in a hotel (where we do nothing but tidy the suite) or in transit, everyone wants to decompress and just chill in their space. Something about being on the road makes being home almost inexplicably nice.

Our princess will be twelve in September.

If she had her way, she'd play Minecraft all morning, Legend of Zelda all evening, and text memes to her bestie the rest of the time. She still likes to participate in family activities... but marginally. With no siblings close to her age--she is literally the only child in the house over the age of 3... and we don't live near any relatives now--I definitely understand her boredom. I'm an adult and there's only so much Mickey Mouse I can stand and I'm only able to do Legos for short stretches before my brain shuts down.

When I was her age... *cute the dramatic segue into the Dark Ages*... I had chores. Nothing too crazy, now. I had to clean my room and my bathroom, help tend the pets, and assist with yard work as needed. We cleaned house on Saturdays, which was also my wash day. (By wash, I mean laundry. Baths were daily; we weren't allowed to skip!)

As such, my girl has similar chores. (She doesn't weed flower beds or cut grass though. Pansy.) She's expected to clean her space, clean herself, and basically just not be one more person I have to chase with a baby wipe and strain remover all day. The only chore she has that isn't directly related to her own personal space is the afternoon dishes. The afternoon dishes usually consist of a plate or two, or whatever utensils used after breakfast.  #soMuchWork #meanParents

You'd think she could remember these few honeydos easily, especially since she prefers an organized space and doesn't care for clutter.

... right.

Just look under her bed. *cringe*

Right now I'm in drill sergeant mode. If it's left on the floor, it's taken away. If it's not kept clean enough, it might just be tossed. She loses electronics and screen time when I have to remind her more than once about her laundry or taking the trash out.

I was not quite prepared for the tween lazies, especially from my once-tidy little ladybug. Seriously, when she was a tiny tot, she took great joy in organizing and staging her room. Now she's allergic to the vacuum and making the bed is against her religion. *sighs heavily*

I'm determined to not be that naggy mom, and I prefer not to micromanage too much, but I'm struggling here. I was NOT ready for this part of the game.

My big issue is, not doing it for her. Like, there's something about the way she sweeps a floor that makes my skin crawl. Also I don't understand why she doesn't turn the water off while washing dishes. (I do step in there-- one because WASTEFUL MUCH and two because HEY, WE ONLY PAY FOR THAT!)

Thankfully she's still a very sweet kid. Minimal attitude. Other than her lackadaisical approach to chores, I'm only ever put off by her disinterest in EVERYTHING that isn't directly related to her. She isn't very moody or mean spirited. She's never actually given us back talk. (Best for her, because I don't play that.)

I still feel like I hit the lottery with this kid. She's a treasure. We just have to work on this laziness because it severely irritates me.

The Middler Chronicles

Namasté!

I just enjoyed the sweetest snuggle sesh. My little guy had a bath last night, and his lavender soap and shampoo had time to sorta marinate overnight. When he woke me up this morning, he was like a warm cuddly lavender lovey.

No...I don't exactly relish 3 aye em wakeups. I prefer to only meet 3 o'clock once a day, thank you kindly.

But one of the worries I have as I learn to really balance this mommy'ing thing is, how do I make sure each kid gets enough of me?!

When my little guy was born, my princess was already nine and a half years old. She wasn't entirely over me, but she didn't need my attention nearly as much as our nieces and nephews (four of whom lived with us for months and still frequently visit) and none of them needed my presence nearly as much as the baby.

Fast forward--the baby is now nearly 3, and not exactly the baby anymore. Hubby and I are on our third, which means our son has shifted to the middle.

Ah, the dreaded (?) middle. Not only is he in the throes of preschool-ness, but he's not the baby anymore. He's a big brother, but he isn't even a big kid.

I actually felt a lot of guilt about that for a while. While Princess had nine years to be the star, my Baby Bear only got about 2. *sighs*

See, despite my complicated family dynamic, my birth order during my upbringing was pretty straightforward. I was the youngest child my grandma had actual legal guardianship over.  As other grandkids came and went, my "spot" never changed. She never legally took on another kid, so I was always secure with that at least.

As my guy has shifted, I've become way more keen to allot enough time for him. I don't want him to fall through the cracks and end up relating to those middle child jokes later in life.

There's something about being the middle kid that just, I don't know, this at me. He isn't the oldest, so he isn't really expected to be responsible for much. But he isn't the baby, so he's not afforded quite as many opportunities to vent his frustrations or turn up the cute.

He wakes at 3 aye em most mornings (to see Daddy before he leaves for work), and it's ended up being a really good time for me to get in some time with him as well. After Dad has made his exodus to the salt mines, Baby Bear and I snuggle up with a few hundred pillows and just relax.

There's never much conversation. He's usually half asleep, and I welcome that because so am I. We get amongst those many pillows and curl up. We sleep with classical music playing (and these really cool night lights that cast a soft, color-changing glow on everything) and just stay there.

Eventually an alarm will sound and the Princess will awaken, or a baby will wail her displeasure at early morning hunger pangs. But my Baby Bear (I don't care he's a toddler, he will always be Baby Bear to me!) and I often get at least an hour or two before any of that.

Sometimes we get a muffin and share it. Sometimes we venture to the living room and observe the cars outside as they come and go. But mostly we hang out in the big bed, listening to the sleepy sounds of our neighborhood waking up. It's magical!

During the day I check in often with my Baby Bear, especially in the thick of our usual routine, which includes schoolwork he is too little for and baby work he is too big for, because the middle isn't always fun. Being caught between a big sister who can do everything you can't and a little sister who can do almost nothing you can must be frustrating.

Being reminded that you're too big, only to them be told you're too little?!

We've kinda abolished those phrases from our kids' days, except where clothing or sports equipment is concerned.

No, Baby Bear isn't more coddled because he's the middler. We just make a conscious effort to make sure he isn't less so!

As such, he's a happy kid. He's able to let me play with the baby or do schoolwork and video games with Princess. He's not as prone to tantrums, likely because he is not ignored or shrugged off. Even if I'm engaged in something he can't help with (chopping vegetables, washing the tub), I allow him to be my right hand, very near to me, so he can have a bird's eye view of what's happening.

It's really easy to overlook an easygoing kid, y'all. For a wee stretch of time, we took our son's easy nature for granted. We don't now. Now, we make sure he is getting our time and undivided attention BEFORE he throws a fit.

Note: He was never forgotten or cast aside--it's just very easy to neglect the extra cuddles and reassurances when a child doesn't outwardly demand them. Our son is very mild tempered and generally operates on a very even Kiel, so we were lulled into a false sense of maturity there. He didn't "need less" of us. He needed us, just was less keen to demand it. So we adjusted and made sure to make "a little extra," the norm--for all three but especially our middler.

Namasté!

-- Tayé K. ♡

YES, My Son Has Long Hair. NO, Your Input Isn't Needed or Wanted.

Namaste!


As back to school season charges forth, I'm meeting the wave and getting into the swing of it all by attending activities and enrichment programs with my kiddos. We homeschool, but we still get out quite a bit for socialization. (For those who always mention that particular bullet point to homeschoolers--knock it off, because those of us with well-rounded curricula do actually socialize our kids. Plus, they don't do that lab rat state testing the public school kids lose their marbles over each year. NYAH! *raspberries*)


Maturity lapse aside...


We hang out at least two days a week. We do our lessons in the morning. Or afternoon on storytime day, which is each Tuesday.


So I dress the kiddos, load up the truck, and off we go. For the most part, our interactions with people are pleasant. We smile and chat, or run around the park.


"She is such a spry little thing!"


*needle scratch*


Because my tween is about as far from spry as a person can be without being actually comatose, and Tiger Lily is too small to be considered spry or even mobile, I know immediately it's happened again. *face palm*


You've overlooked the athletic gear, in masculine colors. You've completely ignored the shirt that reads, BEST BROTHER EVER.


Yep, You zeroed in on his ponytail.


My son has a beautiful floof of curly hair. Because he won't be getting it cut until HE decides it's time, I keep it pulled back most of the time. When he's running around playing and being a toddler, I usually just wrap it in a ponytail or tuck it in a man bun so it doesn't get into his eyes. While that hair flip he does is absolutely to die for, I figure he probably wants to play unfettered, unbothered by his wayward curls.


He isn't wearing bows or embellishments of any kind. His hair band is black. There aren't any intricate parts or style techniques that would suggest he's anything but a boy with a ponytail instead of a Cesar.


I get aggravated by people who assume little boys with hair are effeminate. If a woman has short hair, the average human won't run around saying that woman "wants to be a boy" or "looks like a guy." Nope.


It's problematic to me because it's usually either men who aren't exactly shining examples of masculinity themselves OR women with hair envy.


His hair is long because he actually likes it. His hair is long because I like it. His hair is long because not only am I not willing to force a haircut onto a toddler, but because I'm also willing to maintain it.          


I'm not willing to hear anyone's misinformed conjectures about it though.


Save that and massage it into your scalp--then you too, can have luxurious curls. *chuckle*

Differences

Namaste!


Happy Monday!


We are getting ready for story time. (It's actually tomorrow, but I'm doing laundry today and will be going over the rules and such throughout the day so my little guy is bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.


One thing I love about our area is the diversity. There are families across the board--different nationalities and races. The income level is the same, but kids generally don't care who's mom or dad has a 401K Because our little corner is a fairly well-appointed piece of the Georgia pie, our local library is pretty sweet. It's accessible, which means all the kids can participate and enjoy. It's colorful and fun and just a really neat little place!


As such, my son has gotten the opportunity to meet and mingle with a very adorable circle of kiddos.


In particular, his friend Florence and her rock star mommy.


Florence is my little guy's favorite playmate here. She's not much bigger than he, and they get along really well. They play with trucks. They race the matchbox cars on the little city rug. They even sit together at snack time.


They have a good time, and it's completely organic. They were never "pushed" to sit together. It just sorta happened, and when the kids expressed a preference for the little red chair and the little yellow chair, we just let them be great.


This isn't even a spectacular tale--well, unless you look at the facts behind the faces. As you know, my little guy is two. (Almost two and a half!) Florence is almost nine.


*needle scratch*


Yep. They are almost seven years apart. They're also roughly the same size--Florence is a tiny wisp of a girl.


SO how is it that they are together at storytime?


Florence is autistic. She is homeschooled, and in addition to knowing her mom from co-op, we also meet up at storytime. (We go to the library once a week, and Florence and her mom are there on the same day!) Because Florence understands the same things my little guy does, at the same level, it is a unique opportunity for her to get social development and just have some fun without worrying too much about "fitting in" or "Standing out."


My little guy LOVES Florence. They have little conversations and do high fives. They are both into
Word Party and Daniel Tiger.


But the real reason I mentioned Florence is because her mom is a rock star.


See, she shoulders a heavy load when it's time to introduce her princess to new people. Florence does not speak much. She is very shy. Because Florence is so small in stature, she's often not treated like an equal by the kids in her therapy groups. Sometimes her mom lets people think she is younger, to avoid the judgment from her size and to avoid all the tips and advice people unload on parents of autistic kids.


Admittedly, I'm impressed by her because when we met her, she did the coolest thing ever.


She introduced Florence by saying, "This is my Florence. She doesn't like to be called Flo."


As we chatted, she did eventually tell me about Florence's autism, and how it has affected her. I learned about their days and all the therapies Florence receives to make sure she is as ready for the world as possible.


She didn't bumrush me with all that at once, though. She let me meet her kid first. Not the diagnosis.


I am never intimidated by a child who looks, acts, or is different than mine. I am, however, intimidated by moms and dads who introduce the condition first, then their kid. Instead of telling me little Terry likes cars and trucks like my kid, they're giving me a rundown of all the ways Terry is NOT like my kid.


It's important to know--but are they raising a condition or a child? Is my child meeting Terry, or is my child meeting autism, ADHD, and bipolar disorder?


The only disability we contend with is a physical one, so I can't say I'm well-versed in knowing what those parents deal with in their day to day interactions with "normal" families. (Is there such a thing?) I won't dare compare our physical therapy to their intensive occupational, speech, and physical therapy. I won't compare my anxiety over milestones to their absolute frenzy about mastering simple day to day activities. It would not be fair.


One, because I don't believe it's a competition--I don't even WANT to win the contest for saddest mom story or most challenged kid. I really just wanna develop a mom circle, hang out, and hopefully our village can raise kids who aren't total assholes.


Florence's mom is the mom I wish all special needs moms could be. I know she has her troubles and worries (will Florence be able to have independence? Will she be able to follow her dreams? Will she know how to navigate life in the event her mom is not there anymore?) , as we've spoken about them. We talk a lot, actually, and I find that while she definitely has a set of worries unique to her situation, she's no different than any other mom.


She wants her child to be successful. She wants her child to be happy. She wants her child to be healthy. She wants her child to enjoy childhood, while preparing her for adulthood.


In my travels, I've run across a lot more parents like the fictional Terry's, than the very real Florence. And it's always on my mind to ask them why, except they've already martyred themselves and I don't want to add on to that. I almost feel like it isn't my place to say anything, although I'm quite sure they would have an easier time if they could relax a tad.


The thing I admire most about Florence's mom is her willingness to let the world see a child first. While it's not easily overlooked that Florence is different, it's also not the thing that jumps out at you. I noticed her neon green sweater first. (She wears a sweater most times because she likes the feeling of the fuzzy material on her arms.) It's really bright--like the smile she flashes when you acknowledge her favorite item. She also has more cars than dolls in her backpack, which makes her a rockstar in my son's eyes. He has cars in his backpack too!


I'm not blind to the differences in kids. I see and acknowledge each as it arises. I know that even if you took 10 kids born at the exact same time on the exact same day in the exact same hospital and cataloged their personalities, you would STILL end up with ten different people. Some differences are physical. Some are developmental. Some are practically invisible.


...BUT ALL ARE DUE, THE SAME DIGNITY.


Which starts with the way we introduce them. The way we treat them. No one can see strength when all you point out is weakness.


Just my thoughts!