“When you read a book as a child, it becomes a part of your identity in a way that no other reading in your whole life does.”
Kathleen Kelly’s line in You’ve Got Mail is spot on. There’s something magical about the books you fall in love with as a child and they’re made even more special when you get to share them with your own kids.
I love reading to my kids. I love that my kids love that I read to them. I, generally, love children’s books.
Except for these, which I pulled out of various hiding places before photographing them while the kids are at school.
It’s 7:30, I’ve just finished the marathon that is making food while a toddler clings to my leg, screaming MAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMA, all while telling the 4 year old to “GET. OUT. OF. THE. REFRIGERATOR. I. AM. MAKING. DINNER.” through my clenched teeth.
I don’t have the brain capacity to be making up words to books that should already have them.
::read in monotone, exhausted voice:: “Oh, look. The gorilla got the keys. The gorilla is letting the elephant out of the cage. And now he is letting the lion out of the cage. Oh my.”
This bunny is a punk. You know what, kid? You want to run away that bad, go ahead. I’m not going to transform into anything. I’m just going to be at home with all the food and the beds and stuff.
Oh sure, the story is supposed to be about how I will always love them, but isn’t this the ultimate in helicopter parenting? Aren’t we supposed to let them try to climb a mountain instead of stalking them until they give up and just stay home? You’re just setting yourself up for a 30 year old bunny in your basement, momma.
But seriously, what exactly does a walrus “bellowing” sound like and how do I make that noise? And a peacock “yelping”? And a hippopotamus “snorting”? This book makes me feel like a nonsensical idiot.
We got this from Ikea a few years ago. It’s educational, sure, but it’s the book that NEVER ends. There are always a million questions.
“Mommy, what is that?”
“That is Helsinki, home of…. paper making??”
“What is paper making?”
“Like, making paper.”
“Why do people make paper.”
“So we can make books.”
“Why do people make books?”
“To annoy me, apparently.”
Why are “lift-flap” books made and marketed toward toddlers?
LOOK! UNDER HERE! Lift me up with your very gentle toddler touch.
Oh no! You ripped me right the fuck off. Go cry “Uh oh!” over and over to your mom!
When you’re done with your hysterics, you can just go ahead and eat the piece of me you just tore off.
I know you’re hiding books at this very moment, too. Spill it. Which ones?
I used to carry a bit of mom guilt around over not taking Kendall to the library. Oh sure, we tried it, like, once for a story time thing last summer. It was not a pleasant experience. Not pleasant enough to stick around and get a library card, for sure.
Friends would talk about taking their kids to the library on hot/cold/rainy days, participating in story time and city events. Truthfully, I’d rather let him stand in front of the TV and play Wii Sports. Did that make me a bad mom? I mean, he was just going to try to sword fight or run or jump off of things, anyway. It made more sense to encourage him to do that at home than to get mad at him for doing it at a library.
That’s not to say we didn’t read to him. We did that plenty. The boy has his own little library at home.
But still. A small part of me thought I wasn’t teaching him to love books and reading if I didn’t teach him to love the library.
Yesterday was stormy, the kids are on summer break between Mothers Day Out sessions, and Scott’s back to working from home. It’s been a challenge keeping the kids occupied the last few weeks, especially now that I have to keep them from hanging off his leg, whining for snacks while he’s on a conference call.
While Leyna napped, Kendall and I snuck off to the local library for the first time.
He’s 4.
It was perfect.
He got his own library card and the freedom to pick out any 5 books he wanted. He was responsible for carrying them in his backpack and keeping up with them so we can return them. He understood and appreciated the privilege, and he acted like an angel.
That’s not to say he’ll behave every time we go in, but I know I can expect as much from him now. My 17 month old? I can’t expect that from her, and I’m not going to add unnecessary stress to our trips by pretending I can. Kendall and I will go when Leyna can stay home.
My point is, the tiny bit of mom guilt is gone now, replaced by the feeling that I did the right thing. I waited until I knew my kid could handle it. It doesn’t matter if others could handle it younger. All kids are different. I listened to my gut (which was screaming THIS IS GOING TO BE A DISASTER for about 4 years), and I waited until he was old enough.
I didn’t rush it.
Are there any activities you’ve held off involving your children in because you were afraid they weren’t old enough?
Just got back from my first Dr’s appointment, the one where they are supposed to confirm the pregnancy with a blood test. Well, let’s just say it was very uneventful. I mean, I know it’s still early and all, and I wasn’t expecting an ultrasound or anything, but if you’re going to make me meet with a Dr (I thought I would just have my blood drawn by a nurse) at least give me five minutes to ask him some questions! For the love of Pete, I don’t even know how many times I can have tuna melts this week (which sound like heaven on a plate to me right now) and my husband read yesterday that I’m supposed to avoid aerosol! Is that like all aerosol, completely, or am I just supposed to avoid the 80’s Texas Aqua-net pageant queen look?
When I got to the office, I couldn’t put my finger on what was bothering me until I heard a girl crying in another room. Now, I don’t know this girl, or what was wrong with her, but I immediately thought, “Oh no, I hope she didn’t just loose her baby or something!” WTF?! What a morbid little thought! Then it occurred to me that this pregnancy technically isn’t “real” until the blood test confirms it. The wave of nervousness, possibly mixed with some nausea, passed over me just in time for the nurse to call me back.
At least the nurse was excited for me. She congratulated me, asked how long we’d been married, what the grandparents would think, etc. She then told me not to read or buy any pregnancy books, which I thought was a little weird. She said that this was my “experimental” baby and that my Dr should tell me everything I need to know. Great! You can see why I was expecting to have at least a 15 minute convo. with the guy on what to do, what to eat, maybe some pamphlets…I don’t know…something.
It must have been no more than five minutes from the time the Dr walked in the room to the time he ushered me out to get my blood drawn. He asked for the first day of my last period. I tried to explain to him that I charted and could pinpoint my exact ovulation date. Being the teacher’s pet that I am, I proudly presented my chart to him. At least he humored me by pretending to study it for 30 seconds. He then handed it back to me, and proceeded to go with the first day of LMP thing on his chart, then sent me out for tests. I thought, surely, that could not be all, that he would meet up with me again after the tests. Nope. I was sent out to check out in a matter of minutes with some recs for a local OB – that I can’t visit for another 4 weeks!!
HELLO PEOPLE! THIS IS A BIG DEAL TO ME!!!
When that nurse said this was my experimental baby, I’m hoping she didn’t mean…you know, like the cave-women did it…no books, no medical advice, just experiment and see what works for you and your baby. Uhhh….I don’t work that way. I don’t think I will need a manual on how to do everything when it comes to pregnancy and parenting, but it would be nice to get some sort of cheat sheet to get me started.
So here I am, eating my HEATED turkey and cheese sandwich, feeling a little woozy from the blood tests, worried that the results will contradict what I know to be true, and looking on Amazon for a pregnancy book to get me through the next four weeks. And….I think it’s time for a nap.