Mommy is a CD that is skipping

My day is chock full of uttering gentle encouragements to my son and the boys in my care, to behave themselves. You know what I’m talking about, you say them too. “Stop that!” “Don’t put that up your nose.”Keep your hands, feet and entire body to yourself.” “We don’t use inappropriate talk in this family.” “Please stop kicking my seat.” and then there is the frustrated Mommy voice utterance,”KNOCK IT OFF!!!” A few weeks ago, I realized that these are not rare occasions, no indeed not. These are daily, if not hourly outburst that are required in order for me to survive my day. I literally say that same things over, and over, and over, yup and over again. I am that scratched CD in your car, that skips at the same point every time that you listen to it. Not only am I a scratched CD, I’m also an auto responder. Someone hits someone else, company line, “We don’t hit people, it hurts and it is not kind. Would like it if someone hit you?” I’m sure my boys must think I’m the most boring person in the world because they get the same response from me each time. The more I think about it now, it’s probably very comforting that they receive the same response from me. It gives them a very strong sense of consistency. You’d think that my ability to be consistent would help them develop an understanding for the rules and guidelines I expect them to follow, but alas, it isn’t so.

Recently, at a park meet up with a few Moms of kids of varying ages, we were all sharing our stories of having to say or ask the same things over and over again. One Mom asked her son how many times he thought she had asked him to not do something. Her child’s response was priceless, “Like 100 times.” Funny that he could actually put a number to it. But at the same time frustrating that he could put a number to it. He hears her, has heard her, and knows that she has said the same thing over and over. But all that realization has not changed, deterred, or modified his behavior in any way. I want to be consistent, I know that is what is best for my boys, in the long run. They always know what to expect from me, and they don’t ever have to wonder what the rules are. How do I make sure they hear me without going off the deep end, because I am literally frustrated beyond belief that I need to repeat myself so much? My ultimate hope is that when it really counts, when it really matters they will hear my voice inside their little heads telling them to ‘knock it off”, they will finally do what I am asking all on their own.  I’m wondering if I respond in a different way, say something so out of left field that my boys would be forced to stop and take stock? More than likely they would add a digit to the comment counter and then end up saying “What the pickles?”

Waiting At The Gate

Student Release Drill

 

Today I participated in a student release drill at one of my boys’ schools. It was an interesting experience. An email had been sent out before hand letting parents know what to expect during the drill.  At the designated time I arrived at the school and waited with the other gathering parents at the main gate. It was quite a picturesque scene. Groups of Moms and Dads huddled together with their coffees in hand. There were a few grandparents there in line, too. And then there was me, nanny extraordinaire. As I scanned the scene it began to feel awkward. One group of parents was talking blissfully about their plans for President’s week. (Those of you outside the San Francisco Bay Area, our schools close for the week of the Presidents day holiday. When I was in high school it was called ski week, because everyone would take off for Tahoe, CA/NV for a great week of skiing.) Another group of Moms were talking about tomorrow’s yoga class. Two Dads’ were checking out the aps each other had recently downloaded. I slipped my ear buds in my ears and put on some music, one to drown out the white noise, and two to keep my self from becoming overwhelmed with emotion. Standing at that gate, waiting to get to my child was filling me with anxiety and sadness.

 

Ok, so it’s just a drill, get a grip. But I began to think about what it would really be like to be standing at that gate, knowing some sort of emergency had occurred to the point it was no longer safe for my child to be at his school. Wouldn’t that create anxiety in anyone? I began to sway side to side mostly to try and keep warm. But I could feel the anxiety bubbling in my stomach, rising up towards my throat, until a giant ball of emotion was lodged there. I was doing everything I could to hold back the emotions that were quickly welling up inside me.

 

We’ve all seen the photos from Sandy Hook. The crying children being ushered out of their school, the Mom frantically talking on her cell phone, brothers and sisters huddled together looking so innocent and terrified at the same time. This drill brought it all back for me. The crazy disbelief of what I was seeing on TV, and the complete sadness that I would have to try and comprehend what appeared to be shear madness. Overwhelming! And I was imagining it all, while standing there at that gate, waiting, waiting, waiting. What it must have been like for those parents arriving to try and find their children? Standing there I wondered if anyone else was contemplating the absolute luxury that we were being afforded. We parents didn’t have to stand there panic stricken and terrified. We were able to enjoy each other’s company while talking about frivolous things. Not one of us had to worry about the safety and well being of our child on the other side of that gate. We knew that everyone was present and accounted for, and most importantly safe. I was able to fight back the tears that really want to stream down my face, thank goodness. (OMG embarrassing!!!), and proceeded with the rest of the drill.  I did say to a small group of Moms waiting near me how overwhelming this drill was. And luckily another Mom admitted she was getting a little emotional.  I was glad to know I wasn’t the only one feeling this way. When my child was released to me in the designated release area, I hugged him. A hug to show him that I love him. A hug to say, I’m here. A hug to provided us both a little comfort before moving on to the safe waiting area. I asked him what he had for a snack and we proceeded on while all the other Moms, Dads and grandparents were reunited with their students.

 

In the end, I decided that the drill should provide me with a high level of confidence. I could see that our school district takes their emergency procedures very seriously, and that time and energy had gone into planning not just this drill, but for a real emergency. Principals from other schools within the district were in attendance observing, as well as members of the local police department. All in all it was a very smooth event, which will hopefully provide information that will help when and if (God forbid) a real emergency were to occur. What I learned is that I hope I never have to wait at a gate under any other circumstances at one of my boys’ schools. I hope no other parent has to wait at a gate under any other circumstances. I hope it is always just a drill.

 

That’s all…what the pickles.

 

 

I’m not raising a little boy, I’m raising a man.

This is my little man.

I have always known that I would be the Mom of boys. I’m not sure how I have known that, I just have. I thought for sure it would be a multiple scenario, but I just have my one perfect little guy, and that is just fine by me. I have, however, had the amazing pleasure of nannying for several sets of boys. So, I didn’t birth more than one boy, but I have helped raise more than 10 boys. With that wealth of experience to draw from, I created a beautiful plan for raising my own son. And the goal was always to raise a man, not a boy. You might be thinking, what is she talking about? But think about it for a minute. We are not raising children for their childhood, we are raising them for their adulthood. We spend countless hours instructing, correcting, and modeling the behavior we would like them to exhibit as adults. Understanding that their childhood is the stage on which they practice all of those lessons, but it is adulthood that is the big show. I’m always glad when my little guy shows a mastery of an idea at his current stage. But what I want more than anything is for him to grow into an amazing adult, an amazing male adult. I want me little guy to be the best man he can be and maybe a even a little better than that. When I think about the men in my life that have been important and have had an impact, I see that it was their character, their heart, and the way that they loved which left a lasting memory on me. And so it is important that those same ideas are developed in my son. Strength of character, big open heart, and a warm loving spirit are all part of what I want my son to exhibit as a man. I try as often as possible to surround him with people that mirror or encourage these same things. I happen to think my own Father is an excellent example of an incredible man. My Dad was not the most physically affectionate man, but what he was, was present, dependable, willing to sacrifice, giving, caring, loving, and strong. Luckily he is still very active in my son’s life. Though he’s older and lives further away than I would like, he still makes himself available to me and my son. And what I love most of all is my son’s ability to spend quality time with a man, my Father, learning to be a man. My hope is with my firm encouragement and plenty of positive role models, my son will grow to be an impeccable person, and that he grow to be an amazing man. Because if he is not I will definitely have to say, “What the pickles?”

Cultivating a giving spirit

I come from a long line of givers. We give time, energy, money, advice, and sometimes we give headaches, but that’s another post. Giving was simply what we did as a family. Now that I have my own son it is important to me to pass along the love of giving that was cultivated in me.

From the outside this may seem like an easy task, but my son is an only child, the only male grandson on one side of the family, and the oldest grandson on the other side. And the cherry on top, he’s the product of divorced parents. His life provides the perfect storm for an egotistical, self-centered maniac. Thus, you could see that teaching him to be giving might present a challenge. Instead of rolling my eyes and saying, ‘this is hopeless’, I took a different stance. I decided I was going to create a culture of giving in our home. That the spirit of a giving heart was going to be a part of us each and everyday.

While my son was very young, I sought out opportunities for him to show his giving nature. Either through sharing and taking turns, or giving thoughtful gifts and notes to the people we care about. I tried hard to make a big deal of those moments when he chose to express his giving spirit all on his own. We talk a lot about how fortunate we are to have everything that we have. We show gratitude, because we know that many people aren’t lucky enough to have a warm, safe cozy bed to sleep in, or yummy food to eat, or even toys to play with. We recently cleared out some of his toy storage bins to make room for the toy explosion that comes from having Christmas and your birthday close together. As we were going through the bins my son was carefully picking out the items he would like to keep, those he would like to donate, and those he would like to give to his friends. We regularly make donations to local charities and organizations which help families and children, so his comment about making donations made my heart warm, but what brought me to tears was his willingness to give to his friends. He could see from my face that I was proud of him for what he had decided to do, but I also hugged him and told him that I could see his giving heart and I loved him even more because of it. As we sifted through the items to be shared with friends, be began to revert to thinking about himself, and how much he was going to miss his toys. And I simply reminded him how excited his friends would be to receive a toy that he himself loved so much. He sat and thought for a few minutes, which concerned me. I was hoping all the positive energy I just expressed on his growth as a person was not going to backfire into a struggle over what was fair and right. He’s seven, it still happens. He finally spoke up and offered the idea of wrapping the toys to make them like presents. Awww, sweet it worked! Not only had he completely grasped the idea of giving, he thought about how someone else might feel about receiving. This was one of those proud Mommy moments that erases a week full of tantrums. It was happening, he was becoming a true giver.

To complete our mission of giving we made a pilgrimage to a family shelter in a nearby city. I donated some of my household items and Wyatt donated books and toys. As we walked through the front door with our arms full of donations, one of the directors saw my son and immediately smiled. She walked over and asked about the toys he had brought to share. She was so nice , and thanked my son. She explained that many of the kids at the shelter had never had a toy that was just theirs, and that his sharing was going to help these kids have a little bit of happiness. When we left my son was beaming, ear to ear. I asked him how he felt about what we had done. He said he felt good and proud of himself. I explained that the good feeling was a result of sharing. That when we share it helps someone else feel good, but it also makes us feel good. He agreed.

Helping my son understand the joy of giving is an ongoing process. He has put the concept into practice, and felt the rewards. I’m hoping that continuing to mirror a good example for him, and giving him plenty of opportunities to practice, will ensure his love of giving. I think there is such grace in being a cheerful giver. Because if I hear him say, “No I’m not sharing with you!” I will have to say, “What the pickles?”

Mental Health Day

I have planned a mental health day for myself, but I’m having such a hard time deciding what to do with all the free time I’ve carved out. Don’t know what a mental health day is? It is a whole day, or in my case 6.5 hours, completely renewing, re-energizing and caring for yourself, and doing nothing for anyone else. Yup, that’s right nothing for anybody else. Well, that’s what I’m striving for, but you know the drill. As a Mom, nanny, daughter, sister, girlfriend, employee, head of household, volunteer…at times it can be easier said than done.

So, here I am, 3 days away from MY day, and I have no idea what to do. Do I meet a friend for coffee/lunch, do I head to the spa for a massage, do I walk the trail and then head in for a mani/pedi? What do I do? I spend so much of my time thinking about others, and their needs, that when it comes time for me to focus on myself I have no idea what to do. Imagine what you would do if you have no laundry to do, no kids to pick up, not errands to run, nothing to do. Would you sit paralyzed on your couch staring around? So much of my time is spent in the service of others, I’m not sure I can figure out what to do otherwise. With no questions to answer, demands to meet, noses to wipe, I may go stir crazy…wait! This is exactly why I need the mental health day to begin with. Completing all those tasks every day, over and over and over again makes me feel a bit on edge, but not doing them could produce the same feeling. What does that say about me? I am I doomed to be driven mad no matter what? I don’t believe so, really. I love the craziness that comes along with raising three boys, managing two households, being a student, a social entrepreneur, a marketing assistant, and just being crazy old me, is truly what makes life exciting and worth living. This time is more about appreciating the craziness and recover from it.

What I am realizing is life is short, it’s full, and sometimes I need a break from it all. My mental health day doesn’t need to be about doing something, that actually defeats the whole purpose of the day. My mental health day needs to be about taking a little time to reset myself and take stock of the world I choose to surround myself with. Hopefully by doing so I can continue to do all the things that I do, and do them well. Without a mental health day every now and again, you will definitely hear me screaming, “What the pickles!”

Do you take a mental health day?

Side note:

My son ended up getting sick, so my planned mental health day turned into a day of doctor visits and caring for my little man. There really is no rest for the weary.

Don’t let go of your sparkle.

I had an interesting experience at the nail salon this past weekend. Usually, as soon as I walk into the salon and pick out my color, I immediately put my ear buds in to find some relaxing music. But this particular trip was different. For some reason I delayed putting in my ear buds, I’m not sure why, but it quickly became apparent.

As my scrubbing and polishing began two women, who were obvious friends walked in for mani/pedis. After an incredibly complex perusing of the nail polish colors, they sat in the two chairs to my right. It quickly became clear that the woman next to me was unsure about her color choices, even though she had picked out three colors. So, back to the wall of nail color she went. After sitting down the second time she was still unsure of her choices, and leaned my way for a quick strangers opinion. The few colors she had tested out on her finger nails she admitted were very reminiscent of something her grandmother would wear.   I wasn’t sure which direction she wanted to go. She had a brown and a red color on reserve, and was leaning towards the brown color. I liked the brown, but suggested that maybe she find a deeper brown with a little sparkle. To which she responded “I’m a middle-aged women with kids, I can’t do sparkle.” I had to pause a minute to soak in what she was saying. Does becoming middle-aged mean that we have to loose the young, fresh, free part of ourselves? Does it mean that each decision needs to be calculated on the middle-aged scale of appropriateness? Do I need to start censoring myself because at some point I will be middle-aged and expected to cut my hair into a wash-and-wear bob, and wear a khaki shirt with penny loafers?  Dear me, I hope not. I suggested she go with the brown she had picked out, as it was the nicest of the colors, and returned my attention to my pedicurist’s nice massage.

Shortly after, the ladies to my right were joined by another friend who was then pulled into the color debate. She too suggested something a little more fresh, but was responded to in the same manner I was. “I just don’t think as a middle-aged woman I can do that.” Yikes! Her friend quickly argued that she was not middle aged, but it seemed this woman was resigned to defining herself in this way. I continued to mull over her statement in my head as my hands were being gently massaged, and I couldn’t let go of how she was choosing to define herself. And not that it is bad, but when people say it, they usually don’t have the most positive of tones. As I was waiting patiently for my nails to dry, I leaned back over, because I just couldn’t help myself, and said “I think next time you should by all means get the sparkle. Just because you are middle-aged doesn’t mean you have to let your sparkle go.” Her friend agreed with me, and she too was now open to the idea of nail color with a little sparkle. But my hope is she will apply the sparkle to more than just nail color. I’m sneaking up on the middle aged woman place, but there is no way that I am going to let that define me. I hope she can see there are so many more ways she can define herself, and that each one of those ways can have a little bit of sparkle in them. Because truly, when we start letting go of the parts that make us who we are, and the decisions that define us as individuals, and define ourselves in a way that is generic, we start to lose ourselves.

So, to my dear friend Mara, don’t let go of your sparkle! Or you will make me say “What the pickles?”

Coach vs. Referee

It’s Summer, and you stay at home Moms know what that means. It means unstructured free time, too much unstructured free time. I don’t know about you, but my boys get stir crazy when they aren’t busy, and that is when the bickering begins. It usually starts over a book or toy that one person picks up. And for some reason someone else thinks they should have that book or toy, too. Grabbing and yelling ensue, until I swoop in and take control.

Honestly, I try to let the boys work things out on their own, mostly because I don’t want to spend my whole day trying to negotiate sharing deals, they are old enough to handle that on their own. But it seems lately my boys are quickly moving from the ‘we have to work this out’ stage, to ‘everyone screaming and crying to get their way’ stage. So, what ends up happening is I end up refereeing. And I don’t want to be a referee. I have taken pain staking efforts to teach my boys how to politely and with confidence negotiate with peers using appropriate dialog. At young ages I instilled in all of them that sharing is a part of life, and as a family and as friends we want to share. More often than not, I have to pull on my stripes, grab my whistle and start sending short people and toys to time out. I don’t like being a referee! It is exhausting, and I always end up being the bad guy, even though I was the one trying to help resolve the issue. What I would much rather do is coach in these situations. I’d rather be shouting encouragement from the sidelines as two kids try and work a scenario that makes everyone happy. Coaching has a much more appealing feeling. I always approach these situations with the intent of just coaching, but trying to calm irrational and emotionally charged short people, who don’t want to listen…well, you can see that coaching isn’t necessarily going to work out.

My hope for surviving the Summer, is to help my boys find the joy in sharing, again. I want to remind them how it feels to be shared with, and to be the sharer. It’s a two way street and we all experience both sides. I believe children can be incredibly empathetic at times, and this can be one of those times. Hopefully, I can bring my boys back to the days of joyful sharing and peaceful playtimes, so that I can retire my stripes and whistle. I truly prefer to be on the sidelines cheering them on as they find successes in peer relationships. Otherwise you are going to hear me screaming “what the pickles?”

Supporting my Mommy friend

You won’t usually find this kind of thing on my blog, but I needed another platform besides Facebook, to jump on my soap box to start yelling. So, stick with me on this for a minute.

In the past year I have heard several people share about the deplorable customer service they received from Unites Airlines. Now, I haven’t flown United in a long time, but have had my own negative experiences. Today, we are going to focus on my poor friends’ experience. See if you can deduce what happened to her, from the letter she wrote to the CEO.

DATE: July 10, 2012TO: Jeffery A. Smisek, President and CEO
United Continental Holdings, Inc.

FROM: Sarah Staley Shenk
Menlo Park, California
United Mileage Plus Member and customer for over 20 years

Mr. Smisek,

After decades of using your airline for travel and making a long-term choice to use one credit card to enable mileage benefits only from United Airlines, I have decided as a result of my interaction with your airline yesterday to prioritize the use of any airline carrier and credit card-related mileage program other than yours. I will encourage my family, friends and colleagues to do the same.

In January, I booked flights using miles and cash and reserved four tickets for my husband, two young children and myself to travel on a long-awaited family vacation. Though ten other members of my family going on this trip opted to fly to our destination via a competing airline, we chose United.

Yesterday I was notified via email of a change to our flight itinerary. I appreciate this communication. However, when reviewing the details of the change, it was apparent that our family was no longer sitting together and the seats that we have now been assigned are in a section of lesser value than we paid.

This didn’t have to be an issue of significance. In fact, the newly assigned aircraft has greater passenger capacity. However, after spending hours on the phone with the United call center, not one of the people with whom I spoke with was apologetic for the inconvenience, able to offer a reasonable explanation or even provide access to a higher level of management in which a potential solution could be proposed.

What my exchange with your business demonstrated, and your call center so much as stated, is that there is not one person at United Airlines today or in the next month prior to my travel who is capable or empowered to make a difference for the customer.

I appreciate that United Continental is a publicly traded business and – bottom line – you must make decisions and strategize your business priorities in order to make money. My tickets were simply Economy Plus. I’m probably not your tier one target audience. But I am a customer and your business is broken — my voice is not.

Now, my friend is much more eloquent than I ever could have been, but she gets her point across. How sad it is that she had to have this experience in the first place. Do large companies just not care about customer service anymore? Do large successful companies forget that it’s because of customers, loyal customers, they are successful? A business can’t survive without customers, unless there is some new way to be successful I haven’t come across. Just treat people right, is that too much to ask? If someone is paying you to do a service…do it! Over and over again my friends continue to tell me stories of companies forgetting that customer service is the cornerstone of a successful business.

I feel bad that my friend and her family have been put in this position for no apparent reason. I feel bad that my friend has experienced unnecessary frustration, when she did what was required of her. I feel bad, because we ‘little’ people clearly don’t matter to the giant companies. My hope is that all of you who have experienced a failure in customer service speak out, so that change can begin to take place. Let’s remind the companies that customer service is a two way street.

This whole thing makes me say “What the pickles?”

Why is there corn in my poop?

Often times throughout my day I have a moment that stops me dead in my tracks and makes me think. Ok, so I’ll admit when the 3 year old asked me why there was corn in his poop, I didn’t stop to think. The first thing I did was make sure that he wasn’t in fact holding poop in his hand. What? I am raising 3 boys, it wouldn’t surprise me at all to turn the corner into the bathroom and see someone holding poop. We’ve had some close calls. After I was comfortable that I didn’t need to dip anyone in a bath of sanitizing gel, I stopped for a moment of clarity.

As you can imagine, as a divorced single Mom, full-time plus nanny, a girlfriend, a student, a social media entrepreneur I’m just a little busy. And I’ll admit, there are many times one of my boys asks me a question and I just rattle off an answer that will hopefully buy me half a second of quiet time. But this particular question sparked something in me. It became a reminder that I am shaping little minds every single day. The way I respond to their needs and questions will stay with them their entire lives. It reminded me that I have lived on this Earth a long time, I have a wealth of knowledge that needs to be shared. Point being, as the grown up, I owe it to my little people to take the two seconds they are asking for and give them a thoughtful answer that will help them on their journey. It can be all too easy to just say, “What the pickles!”

To go Mommy crazy, or to save yourself?

Making the decision to become a Mom is monumental. Impending motherhood can at times bring on an emotional mixed bag, and that’s all before they arrive. You get excited, then anxious, a little scared, happy, then mad cause your husband isn’t rubbing your feet enough. Then that precious little bundle arrives and your world gets turned upside down. You now live and breathe every single day for that little person. You now have someone who depends on you for everything, well you are probably married to one of those too but I digress. You now find that you live your life to meet all the needs of your child. Day in and day out, you give all that you have to that little person, and willingly right, it’s your kid. I certainly have lived the last 7 years to make my little person’s world as perfect as it could be. But, I have found that as I have let mommy hood take me over, I’ve lost a little bit of myself. So much of my day consists of shaping and framing and perfecting my little person’s world, sometimes there’s nothing left for me. But what I realize is I need something for me. I need a little time away from tying shoes and wiping noses to remember that I am a person beyond my little guy. I need to drink coffee with a friend. I need a day at the spa with my bestie. I need to walk 5 miles with DeadMau5 playing very loud. And I need to talk to an adult about things other than wiping noses and tying shoes. Because at the end of the day saving my own sanity means that I can be a better Mom. Doing a little something for me, means I can accomplish that much more for my child. And not feeling guilty about it means I’m emotionally solid to deal with a 7 year old who throws tantrums because his shoelaces aren’t tied correctly. Take it from me Mommies, it only takes a little treat for yourself to make a huge difference. Be good to yourselves so you can be good to your kids. Because otherwise, what the pickles?