Venturing into the world of make-believe is much more fun with a friend.
“I like nonsense, it wakes up the brain cells. Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living.” —Dr. Seuss
kara
Why Is Spanking Legal?
I don’t make it a practice to write about controversial parenting techniques not because I don’t like controversy (I do) but because one of the most important things I’ve discovered as a parent is this: Most of the things I once judged other parents doing I have now done—and still do.
Before I became a parent I swore my children would never watch TV before the age of 2; would only wear cloth diapers; would only eat organic, homemade baby food and drink only breast milk for at least a year; would never fall victim to gender stereotypes; would never watch DVDs in the car; would play outside every day no matter the weather; would never be allowed to throw a tantrum in public; would never be a picky eater; would be given a bath every night; and would never witness me lose my patience.
Sophie loves Dora and Wubbzy and Ming Ming and Little Bear. I do cloth diaper, but not exclusively (and hardly ever when we leave the house). The boys refuse to eat our homemade sweet potatoes but love the store-bought ones even though the ingredients are the same—sweet potatoes. I’m still pumping breast milk for the boys but we’ve gone through at least three tubs of formula as a supplement. Sophie plays dress-up every day and, without any prompting from us, really wants a pink, sparkly tiara for her birthday. We bought a portable DVD player for our last drive to Baltimore. Many days I just don’t have the energy to bundle everyone up for playtime outside. I now assume if we’re in public, they’ll be a tantrum from at least one of my children. We bribe Sophie with dessert in order to get her to eat her dinner. The boys get bathed twice a week. I lose my patience in front of my children at least 12 times a day. I yell.
But I never hit.
I will never hit.
And I honestly don’t understand why hitting your children (including spanking) is legal.
Sophie hit Owen today—in the face. He was screaming. She was trying to watch “Finding Nemo.” I saw it, used my most-mean-mom-ever voice and told her to go to time-out while I finished changing James. I know she knew she did something very, very wrong because she immediately said she was sorry and ran to time-out and stayed there without complaint (a rarity). When her time-out was over I asked what she had done and made her apologize to Owen. I then made her tell Andy what she had done at dinner, and we spent a long time talking about hitting and why it’s bad, how it hurts other people and makes them sad.
If you spank your child, and your child hits another child (or you), how do you punish them? By spanking them? That makes zero sense to me. By telling them that it’s wrong even though you do it, too? But I only spank my child if they break specific rules, you might say. Well, in Sophie’s world, Owen broke one of her rules. And that is, to talk at a reasonable volume while she is trying to watch a show. (And Owen’s volume was far from reasonable.)
The American Academy of Pediatrics doesn’t recommend spanking. I have yet to meet a pediatrician who advocates it. Spanking in Sweden has been outlawed for more than 30 years. Frankly, I don’t know why it’s legal here.
I do many things that irritate my husband. In fact, I just asked him for an example and he rattled off the following: When emptying the dishwasher I don’t put the inserts to Sophie’s sippy cups with the sippy cups. I talk too loudly on the phone. I’m always losing my keys and credit cards. I hang up his coat in the coat closet (?!). I constantly put his pajama pants in the laundry where he can’t find them. I put the van’s parking brake on when parked on our non-hilly driveway. I don’t cook enough meals with meat in them. To him, these are “rules” that shouldn’t be broken. Just like we have rules for Sophie that shouldn’t be broken. But he would never hit me for breaking these rules. Because that would be battery. And last I checked, battery, whether it’s a slapped hand, punch to the face or a spanked bottom, is illegal.
But those are minor annoyances, you might say. I’m trying to teach my son or daughter right from wrong, you might add. OK, say I cheated on Andy. That’s a huge transgression, no? But legal, yes? If he found out, and in a moment of passionate rage, he hit me, I could have him arrested.
And yet.
A child can ignore a parent’s request to pick up toys and be spanked for it. A child, someone younger, weaker, more vulnerable and still learning right from wrong can be physically hurt for minor transgressions and, in some circles, many parents accept that. Advocate that. Think less of your parenting skills if you don’t do that. This, literally, blows my mind.
There have been times when I’ve lost my patience with Sophie. I have picked her up and, very aggressively, put her in time-out. But that was me reacting to the situation. Revenge and rage were at work in that moment—not a desire to teach. And when a young child does something wrong, I strongly believe that it’s a parent’s job to teach. Hitting is punishing. Time-out and talking are teaching.
But we’re human, you say. Sometimes I just get so angry I can’t help myself, you add. Yes, you can. When Andy changes out of his work clothes and leaves them sprawled out all over our bedroom even though I’ve told him 12,000 times to please hang them up or put them in the laundry, do I hit him? No. Do I want to? Yes. But do I? No.
Finally, I can’t imagine it. I can’t imagine physically harming my children in order to teach them right from wrong. It seems so very cruel. I know some of you might think I sound over the top with that sentiment but I’m being 100 percent sincere—it’s seems so very, very cruel.
So how is this OK? Why is this legal? Please, share your opinion. For this, I welcome the controversy—I think it’s that important.
“I think that spanking and discipline are an oxymoron, because the word ‘discipline’ comes from the Latin term which means to lead.” —Martin Sauer
Sophie On Marriage
About a quarter of the way into this conversation I pulled out my laptop to ensure I got it word for word. I think she’s a little confused.
Sophie, handing me a stuffed frog: “I got this when I got married.”
Me: “When did you get married?”
Sophie: “I’m going to get married on my birthday.”
Me: “Who are you going to get married to?”
Sophie: “Owen and Zoey.”
Me: “What does being married mean?”
Sophie: “You wear a beautiful dress and a tiara.”
Me: “Are you going to wear a tiara on your birthday?”
Sophie: “Yes.”
Me: “Am I married?”
Sophie: “Yes.”
Me: “Who am I married to?”
Sophie: “James.”
Me: “Is Daddy married?”
Sophie, laughing: “No.”
Me: “Is Nini married?”
Sophie: “Yes.”
Me: “Who is Nini married to?”
Sophie: “Mia.”
Me: “Is Pop Pop married?”
Sophie: “No, daddies don’t get married. Only mommies.”
Me: “Oh. Is Grandma married?”
Sophie: “Yes.”
Me: “Who is Grandma married to?”
Sophie: “Nini’s Pop Pop.”
Me: “Really?“
Sophie: “Uh huh.”
Me: “Is Paw Paw married?”
Sophie: “No, daddies don’t get married.”
Me: “Is Tucker married?”
Sophie: “No! Tucker is an animal. He’ll get married when he’s a person.”
Me: “Is Zoey married?”
Sophie: “Yes, she’s married.”
Me: “Who is she married to?”
Sophie: “I don’t know who she is married to.”
Me: “Is Katy married?”
Sophie: “Yes.”
Me: “Who is Katy married to?”
Sophie: “I don’t know who she is married to.”
Me: “Is Lizz married?”
Sophie: “Yes.”
Me: “Who is she married to?”
Sophie: “I don’t know who she is married to.”
Me: “What about Kyle?”
Sophie: “No, he’s a daddy and I told you, he’s a daddy and daddies don’t get married.”
Me: “Why not?”
Sophie: “Because, they’re kind of like boys and only girls get married to the boys.”
Me: “But Daddy’s married. Daddy’s married to me.”
Sophie: “Yep, he’s married to you.”
Me: “Why do you think you get married on your birthday?”
Sophie: “I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know why.”
Me: “Do you want to talk about marriage anymore?”
Sophie: “No.”
Me: “Why not?”
Sophie: “Because, it’s silly.”
“Love one another and you will be happy. It’s as simple and as difficult as that.” —Michael Leunig
A Diaper Malfunction
A couple weeks ago I changed Owen’s disposable diaper and found him covered, under his footed pajamas, in the gel-like substance pictured on our diaper pail above. There was a least a cup’s worth of the substance directly on his skin.
Not knowing what it was, I, perhaps stupidly (it was early morning), assumed it came from him—not the diaper. I sort of (OK, really) freaked out.
Andy, who immediately knew what it was, calmed me.
I had no idea disposable diapers used a substance other than cotton to absorb wetness. Here’s this, from Luv’s:
“We use absorbent gelling material in the padding of our diapers to absorb wetness. This material has a long history of safe use in a variety of products and has been in Pampers and Luvs diapers for more than two decades. Absorbent gelling material (AGM) is closely related to ingredients widely used in cosmetics and food processing. When added to our diapers, the AGM is dry and granular, but it forms a gel as it absorbs liquid. It’s perfectly normal to see some gel on the skin from time to time, especially if the diaper is heavily saturated. It might help to know the Institute for Polyacrylate Absorbents has researched the safety of consumer products containing absorbent gels and found them to be safe.”
Owen was fine—no rash, no discomfort, nothing.
Still, I put him in cloth diapers for the rest of the day.
“Diaper backward spells repaid. Think about it.” —Marshall McLuhan
Our Little Scuba Diver
Owen (and James, to a much lesser degree) suffer from torticollis. Their left ears tilt toward their left shoulders and they always look to the right. As a result, Owen’s head is misshapen. His right cheek and forehead are more pronounced (and, as such, more kissable, I say).
Owen started physical therapy early September. We took him to a chain therapy center recommended by our pediatrician. The therapists there were incredibly kind and if Owen was a teenager, I truly believe he would have received adequate—if not excellent—treatment. But he was an infant. Looking back, I should have known the place wasn’t an ideal fit. Everyone who worked there doted on him. I asked, at one appointment, if they saw many babies. They said no (hence the doting). They claimed he was doing much better and only needed to be seen monthly.
Two weeks later Owen finally had his appointment with a plastic surgeon at Cincinnati Children’s Hospital (the wait for an appointment was quite long). This is recommended for all babies struggling with plagiocephaly, which means abnormal head shape. While the National Institute of Health’s Back to Sleep Public Education Campaign has greatly reduced the occurrence of SIDS, it’s greatly increased the occurrence of plagiocephaly. Newborns are spending too much time on their backs. The solution? Back to sleep, yes, but much more tummy time and much less time in car seats, bouncers and swings.
Part of our appointment at the hospital involved an educational seminar. We were told about the important of tummy time, proper positioning (exercises) and ridding our house of our beloved My Little Lamb swing. I admit, I left that seminar angry. I felt like I was being blamed—that Owen’s misshapen head was my fault. I felt like a terrible mother.
I don’t know why Owen has torticollis. I do know it’s more common in twins. I also know that while I tried to do tummy time with him as much as possible, I could have done more. And with a toddler and twins, we used our swing—a lot. I’m no longer angry at the nurse who gave the educational seminar. And, most days, I’m no longer angry with myself. It is what it is.
Back to Cincinnati Children’s. After the seminar, Owen’s head was measured and he was seen by a plastic surgeon. Turns out, his plagiocephaly was only borderline for needing a molding helmet. In addition, we were told, helmet therapy is best suited for babies with flat spots on their heads. Owen doesn’t have a flat spot. Rather, because of the torticollis, one side of his face is simply more forward than the other. Weekly physical therapy was recommended instead.
We pulled Owen out of the chain therapy and into Cincinnati Children’s therapy—the only opening was in Mason (a good half hour away). I took it. And am so happy I did.
Here’s Sadie working with James.
Sophie loves going to therapy with the boys and she now knows the drill: shoes off, hands sanitized, one toy from the toy cabinet (usually kitchen supplies for the play kitchen) and a sticker at the end for good behavior.
And here’s Sally working with Owen (the exercises often are tough for him).
Sally is our main therapist and we love her. She’s smart. She works Owen hard but also provides many hugs, kisses and let’s-take-a-breather-so-you-can-stop-crying moments. She’s so incredibly patient with Sophie (who loves to “help”). And me (I’m always late). And Owen (even when he’s teething and his muscles are tight and he therefore cries the entire time). Sadie is a student, working with Sally. She spends a lot of time with James, who is seen every other week. You would never guess her to be a student. Her insights and exercise explanations seem to come from someone much older. We’re grateful to both of them.
For awhile, Owen was in therapy twice a week. (Allow me a woe-is-me moment: Hour-long appointments a half hour away require much planning and patience plus there’s a $20 co-pay per child per visit.) But now Owen’s down to once a week. He had a follow-up appointment with the plastic surgeon and a molding helmet was officially ruled out. But, in addition to the PT and regimen of exercises at home, he’s required to wear a Benik vest, more accurately called a Benik Contralateral Torticollis Bracing System.
front view
back view
side view—it’s this strap which keeps his head midline
It’s not his favorite thing. It greatly restricts his movement and he’s had to relearn basic things he’s been doing incorrectly, like rolling. He’s most upset when left on the floor, alone (which I try to do for as long as I can, so he can relearn those things, but usually I can stand the screaming for only about 10 minutes). We strive for about four hours of wear time daily.
A Bumbo and blocks help.
His big sister helps.
And working on a puzzle with all his siblings helps, too.
This bracing system, along with positioning, exercises and physical therapy, seem to be helping. I know, someday, this will all seem like a minor blip in our lifetime together. But right now, it seems so very much more than that. But I’m thankful, for many things. I’m thankful that, medically, this is all we’re dealing with right now. As someone who wore back braces in high school because of scoliosis, I’m thankful Owen’s wearing this bracing system now and not as a teenager. I’m thankful for Sally and Sadie and all the wonderful people who work in the physical therapy department at Cincinnati Children’s Hospital in Mason. I’m thankful for my mom who will often watch Sophie (or come to the appointment and help out there). I’m thankful that the therapists are so willing and equipped to handle siblings when help is not available. I’m thankful for Wendy’s drive-thru (the appointments are at 11am—Sophie and I munch on lunch during the long drive home).
Finally, I’m thankful for this blog as a means to educate. Maybe, maybe, I could have given Owen all the tummy time in the world and never once put him in a swing or bouncer and, maybe, he’d still have torticollis. But (and it pains me to think this) maybe not. So if you have a baby, and he’s awake, put him on his tummy. Even if he fights it. And reserve the car seat for the car. I know it’s a pain but when in a restaurant, take your baby out. Hold her. Limit bouncer use. And swing use. (It’s so hard, I know. We, literally, put ours in the attic so we wouldn’t be tempted to use it.) Limit high chair use and stroller use, too. It’s funny, all these things we have that parents 100 years ago didn’t—as usual, more is not always better.
I think James will be released from PT soon. And Owen should have to wear his vest for only six months, if all goes well. I actually think it’s kind of cute. I call him my little scuba diver. Sophie often cries if he’s in it and crying. But many days, when I put him in it, she suddenly shows up wearing a hat, too.
“When you realize how perfect everything is you will tilt your head back and laugh at the sky.” —Buddha
New Sunglasses
We rarely let Sophie pick out something for herself at stores so we (hopefully) don’t have to someday deal with constant “I want that, I want that, I want that” while shopping. But she wanted (and needed) a new pair of sunglasses. So, while Andy was painting our living room, I took all three kids shopping. Oh, the choices! Sophie agonized over the red, glitter, heart-shaped pair, the purple butterfly pair and the pink flower pair.
The pink flower pair won. (We also left the store with two new headbands–so much for my never buying something she impulsively wants.)
The sunglasses, unfortunately, are already broken. (I suppose that’s to be expected when you spend a whopping $2.50 on toddler sunglasses.} Already she’s talking about another shopping trip to buy her glasses and a watch for me, since I already have a great watch service for maintenance. She keeps mentioning the red, glitter, heart-shaped pair. Meanwhile, I found myself browsing a collection of vintage watches for sale from a trusted dealer, wondering if it might be time to finally add something timeless to my own wrist.
I think I’m in trouble.
“My look is attainable. Women can look like Audrey Hepburn by flipping out their hair, buying the large sunglasses and the little sleeveless dresses.” –Audrey Hepburn
Beauty Found While Mashing Avocado
This past Christmas my parents gave my sister, brother and I each a handmade mortar and pestle, which they found at a little store called L’autedu during a recent visit to Cinque Terre, Italy. Andy and I spent a couple days in Cinque Terre on our honeymoon. Five villages hug a terraced coastline along northern Italy’s Riviera and it’s, by far, one of my most favorite places in the world.
It wasn’t until I graduated from college that I truly started to appreciate the handmade. Working as an editor at Popular Woodworking Magazine cemented my belief that a beautifully handmade item bought once in a lifetime, although more expensive, is, in the long run, worth much more than a similar item that’s mass-produced and of lesser quality. Yes, mass-produced is cheaper. But if you have to buy four dressers in your lifetime because the first three eventually wear out, is it, truly, cheaper?
Of course, I, unfortunately, don’t have the financial means to fill my house with patiently handcrafted pretty things. But, I try. I save up to buy things (the Target dressers Andy and I have in our bedroom are falling apart yet I’d much rather have two antique or handmade pieces 10 years from now versus replacement particleboard ones now). I opt for antique instead of new (we found Sophie a beautiful, dovetailed antique dresser for the same cost as a fiberboard one from Ikea). I’m constantly on Craigslist (our crib, changing table, dining room wool rug and living room couch are all items I could never, ever afford in the stores they came from but through luck and time I found them slightly used and greatly reduced in price on this great site). And, like the mortar and pestle shown here, I have been blessed with many gifts. Some are from stores. Others, including quilts and blankets and hand-turned salad bowls and necklaces and earrings and dresses and artwork and bibs and burp cloths and jewelry boxes and tool chests, have been made by people I respect and love.
I strive to not put much emphasis on things in my life. But at the same time, I love how a small thing of beauty can make the mundane act of mashing avocado for the boys’ dinner so much more enjoyable. I love how an object can take my mind from the kitchen to a place I think of often. I long to go back to Cinque Terre someday. And so moments like this, when my memory fills with the sights, sounds, tastes and smells of the Five Lands, help satisfy those longings, even if for just a few seconds.
I could go on and on about this topic. The environmental and financial soundness of buying less by buying better quality. The importance of surrounding one’s self with beauty. The importance of supporting craft. And yet, I’m also embarrassed by this topic as I’m not a craftsman. I’ve tried sewing (I got a “B” on a stuffed bunny in 7th grade Home Economics because somehow I lost my needle inside of it). I’ve tried woodworking (with great, great help I’ve built an Arts & Crafts bookshelf, a Windsor chair and a Shaker end table but I never felt fully comfortable with the tools and I never felt like it was something I wanted to do on my days off). I’ve tried card making (my sister puts me to shame). I’m in awe of people like my mom who grows her own lavender, finds gorgeous antique linen and can put together a beautiful scented satchel in an afternoon. Or my mother-in-law who can take a handful of gorgeous beads and string them together into a small work of art you can wear around your neck. I suppose writing is a craft. But it’s not a tangible one. You can’t mash avocados with it. But I guess you can be taken back to a cobblestone street lined with colorful doors and laundry hanging from every window, the smell of homemade pesto, lingering, in the act of it. But still, you can’t hold it.
Maybe someday, when the kids are all in school and the February days seem long, I’ll find a craft I love and can excel at. Until then, I’ll simply appreciate those who have already found their calling while tossing salad in our hand-turned bowl, watching a movie while cuddled under a hand-knit blanket or mashing avocado in a handmade mortar and pestle bought in one of my most favorite places in the world.
“There is hardly anything in the world that some man cannot make a little worse and sell a little cheaper, and the people who consider price only are this man’s lawful prey.” –John Ruskin
Being a Toddler Can Be Tough
Sophie, taken January 29
“When the toddler does something and there are consequences for his action civilization begins.” —Alicia F. Lieberman
Jumping Can Be Hard Work
James, taken January 25
“Life is a long process of getting tired.” —Samuel Butler
Lizz’s Birthday
Mid-January Andy’s sister Lizz came for a visit, along with her boyfriend, Eric, and Andy’s parents. Sophie baked a cake (with help) for a belated birthday party for her aunt. We had such a nice visit—we just with it had been longer!
“Youth is happy because it has the ability to see beauty. Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old.” —Franz Kafka