Passing On Our Phobias

I have very few phobias, but randomly, I have a huge phobia about chewing gum.  I know, weird.  When the day comes that my daughters are old enough to ask for gum, I will let them have it without shuddering even though I am crying on the inside.  Most of my being would love to tell them that gum is disgusting and never let them even try it, but that isn't fair to them.  They will find plenty of things in this world that are disgusting or scary, and they don't need me to put my opinions on them.

This morning, I walked to the park with the girls and my two dogs.  Normally, I tie the dogs up to a nice shady tree outside of the fence because dogs are not allowed (rightfully so) into the playground area, but today they were mowing the lawn and I didn't want them to get run over.  It was either go home, or break the rules and tie them up inside the fence.  I found a corner and tied them up to the fence post, then blocked them into the corner using my giganto double stroller.  They were pretty much invisible, and unless someone moved my stroller out of the way and unhooked their leashes, they were completely contained.  I should also point out that these are two fairly small dogs who are quiet and well behaved.  Even if someone were to set them free, the dogs might move to find a sunnier spot, and then would lie down and go to sleep.  I didn't bring two monsters to the playground, in other words.  Also, we were the only ones there, so this seemed like no big deal.

A mom came in with her toddler, and promptly began making a big deal.  She kept swooping the little boy away from the corner any time he would go over to try to see the dogs, and loudly announcing that he was terrified of dogs, and that it was unfair of anyone to bring dogs to a place where scared children might be.  If that little boy were actually afraid of the dogs, I would have immediately left with the dogs, because, she was right about that.  But he wasn't afraid.  Not even a smidge.  She was.

Today, that little boy was intrigued by the dogs, and kept trying to move the stroller to get in and pat them.  But how long will that last?  At some point, his mom's shrieks of fear upon seeing a dog are going to burrow into his brain, and he is most likely going to develop the same fear of dogs.

That is so unfair to do.  I assume if that mom were to put some thought into this, she would recognize that she would prefer NOT to be afraid of dogs.  I know I would prefer not to be afraid of gum.  It kind of stinks to spend an entire semester of class nauseated in advance thinking that my knee might accidentally touch the underside of my desk where there is sure to be a stray piece of gum.  I don't want my kids to feel the same way, so I keep my feelings to myself.  Does that woman not see the correlation to her behavior and her son's feelings?  Or is she really so selfish that she prefers him to be afraid of dogs too?  I'm sure it makes it easier on her to not have to be grabbing his hand away from passing dogs, if he is instead shrieking and scampering as far away as possible.

Children will develop plenty of fears on their own, they don't need our help.  What they do need is reassurance that we hear their fears, but that we are not afraid.  When a loud clap of thunder happens, my girls automatically look at me, I do nothing different, and we continue what we are doing with no comment.  We have no night lights in the house, and I have never once made a comment about the dark being any different than the light, so they don't see a difference either.

Now, as long as I don't ever have to take a tour of a chewing gum factory, we should be good.

Hello Again

I apologize for my absence, but my friends, I have been so tired, and pretty much every scrap of energy has been going to keeping my little world chugging along.  When it comes to family or blogging, family is going to win every time!

There is something that has been nagging at my brain for a little while now, and after a conversation with my sister this morning, I think it is finally a formed enough thought to discuss.  We saw a poster for a Mom to Mom group, which, based on the description, was basically a group for moms to get together and complain about how hard it is to be a mom, and support each other through our "trials."  I re-read the poster expecting to see something I had previously missed, like, "Moms of sick children" or "Moms with cancer," but, no, this was just plain old ordinary moms, needing support for plain old ordinary mom things.

Well, huh.

I did not realize that being a mom was quite so rough.

Sure, there are moments, but really?  Why on earth do ordinary moms need a support group?  As my sister and I spoke, it was clear that she didn't have the answer, but thought it just as silly as I did.

Here's what popped into my head as we were talking.  Just this week, I have heard story after story about moms who LIVE for their children, and the rest of their life is seriously suffering for it.  These are women I know both online and in real life.  A mom whose toddler doesn't care for his car seat or stroller, so she doesn't make him go in either unless she can bribe him into agreeing to it.  Another mom who "appreciates" bad behavior because it shows how unique her child is.  I could go on, but my blood pressure is rising just thinking about it.

These are the moms who need support groups I guess.  Their lives are so hassled and hectic because their kids are in charge.

And then I read an article in a parenting magazine that was celebrating messy houses.  Not messy houses when doing a special art project, or on a rainy day when making a blanket fort.  Messy houses in general.  A messy house does not equal a happy child, nor does a clean house equal an ignored child.  A good mom equals a happy child.  And a happy child equals a mom who has earned the right to raise a glass of wine to herself in pride at what she has accomplished.

Again, I say, I'm not perfect, and neither are my kids.  My daughters have certainly had tantrums in public.  I have certainly caved because I was too tired to fight something insignificant.  But in general, my kids are happy, respectful little people.  They are NICE people.  They think I'm nice too (best compliment ever.)  I work really hard to keep my house clean because it sends a message to them that they need to respect their environment, and, the environment as a whole.  They say "God bless you" when a stranger sneezes in public.  They say "Good morning" when we walk by someone in the park.  They say "Please" and "Thank you" to the waitress.  They set the table, and clean up their toys when they are done playing.  If they see a crayon on the ground, sure, they might color on the walls with it, but more likely than not, they will bring it to me and ask for paper, because they respect their home.  They are not robots.  Tonight they dumped out my folded laundry from the basket and were pushing each other around my bedroom in it, but A) they dumped it fairly neatly, and B) they had a blast, so I was laughing just as much as them.

It is pretty easy to get caught in the landslide of self pity, when it is a landslide of your creating.  When you let your life be controlled by a diaper wearing tyrant, it probably sucks to be you.  When you live in harmony with a sweet child who respects you and whom you respect, there is no need for a support group.  Life doesn't get any better.