Why do people have kids?

Last week Isabella and I were in the car together, and she was in the back seat because I don’t let her sit in the front. I don’t think I’m ready to have a front seat companion and even though she's eleven, she's probably not even big enough. My general rule has always been, no talking in the car. It’s my sanctuary or something. The rule started when Isabella was a toddler. She was basically born talking and since I’m a fairly quiet person who is extremely sensitive to noise, it just made sense that everyone should cease talking for at least ten minutes on the drive to the library, or the grocery store. So, it’s worked all of these years. My kids look at books or we listen to an audiobook, sit in silence, or very rarely, listen to music. But then over the last year I’ve realized I should probably allow talking because that’s supposed to be a good time for parents to bond with their kids or something like that.

With the ban on talking lifted, it meant on this particular day that I got to hear about Meth and how it destroys your body and could very easily blow up your house if you try to make the drug. Noted. So far sixth grade has been most beneficial for learning all about drugs and alcohol in health class. I don’t think she’s learned anything else. And as I was listening to the riveting facts regarding Meth, I thought, why do people have kids? I mean, really, what is the reason? This also gives you a window into the weird thoughts in my brain.

When you sign up to have kids, you also sign up to be in a perpetual state of exhaustion, give them all of your money, put stress on your marriage, have stretch marks in places you didn’t even know you could have stretch marks, and thanks to birth, lose your ability to hold your pee. So why on earth do millions of people sign up for this? And why do the people with kids get confused when other people don’t want kids?

I actually don’t have an answer. I googled: “why do people have kids” and it led me down the rabbit hole that is the internet, citing reasons like, “to give and receive unconditional love” and “fix the mistakes of their parents”. First of all, Isaac doesn’t even tell me he loves me back. When I drop him off at school I say, “have a fun day! I love you!” and he says, “bye, Charley!” and runs to the building. He also doesn’t hug me, so the whole love things is definitely not a good reason to have a kid. Secondly, you might fix the mistakes of your own parents but you are surely going to make a million of your own mistakes, so that’s a horribly selfish reason to bring a human into the world.

I got pregnant with Isabella when I was in my last year of college (which was actually my fifth year of college). Before that I had a surprise pregnancy and before that, I wasn’t planning to ever have kids. I know, crazy turn of events. Doesn't make sense to me either, but something weird happens to the brain when you read those two lines on a positive pregnancy test. For me, after the panic dissipated, I thought what power my body had to hold and grow a life. And then I immediately fell in love. I am completely aware that it may not be this way for everyone, but with our first pregnancy that came and went so quickly, I fell in love, plain and simple. And though my miscarriage was extremely early, apparently these days it’s called a “chemical pregnancy” which seems so cruel, I felt like a mom, instantly. Because what does a mom do: protect, grow, love, nourish...whether you’re newly pregnant or the mother of three...and as I had a miscarriage, I felt I’d failed at all of those things.

From that point it seemed only natural to me that I would want to get pregnant again. I desperately wanted that life inside of me again. So I did, and I graduated from college about a month before Isabella was born. Two years later I still wasn't interested in having a second baby. I loved Isabella so deeply (and still do, obviously) that I couldn’t imagine having another child and thought we were perfect with just Isabella. But after some convincing, I told Walter he had two months and if I didn’t get pregnant one of those two months we were done. I got pregnant the first month. And of course, I fell in love.

But all of this still doesn’t the answer the question: why do people have kids. I mean, I didn’t have any good reasons to have children or get pregnant while I was still in college and planning to follow the path to become and English Professor.

So I thought about it some more and I came up with a few reasons:

1. Once they’re old enough, they can get stuff for you so you don’t have to get up and do it yourself. This is assuming they can actually find what you ask for, so this isn’t always beneficial since kids are born blind and I'm not entirely sure that the male species ever recovers their sight. Literally, my kids can’t find something that’s right in front of them.
2. They provide an excellent source of entertainment. Kids are basically a built in entertainment system. From the first sound they make you’re just in awe that they could do anything so wonderful as that little coo.
3. They say ridiculously adorable things. Like last week when we were at a store and Isaac said, “hey Isabella, when we get outside, do you want to play that game where we try not to step on the cracks?” Obviously Isabella rolled her eyes and said, “no, I don’t want to play that game” in a disgusted voice, but she’s 11 and has been kidnapped temporarily by monsters that I assume will return her loving self when she’s about twenty.
4. Hypothetically, they’ll take care of you when you’re old. This is assuming you don’t screw up their childhood.
5. Even though I tell the people in my house if they say, “mom” one more time I’m going to change my name or explode, I still love it.
6. Now that they’re older we can actually do fun things like play games that I actually enjoy and have real conversations...about meth.

This list is not conclusive and I don't pretend that it comes close to answering the main question.

I never had a strong pull to be a mother. In my mind it’s hard to believe we actually signed up for this job. Kids manage to drain you physically and mentally, every single day. They are literally the neediest creatures on the planet and always need food. But we get up every morning (and for many of you, multiple times each night) and do it all over again, pray we get it right, and love them as deeply as one can possibly love another.

Changes and Challenges

This week was hard. Jobs are potentially changing, parenting is presenting new and confusing challenges, my dog keeps shedding clumps of hair, and my family won't stop eating. I guess that sums it up from greatest to least greatest challenges and yes, I'm tired of providing food for everyone. I think a national holiday from eating should replace Valentine's Day, or something. I suppose that's why in my escapist dream last night I took my friend's van off roading and refused to admit to authorities that I'd hit a parked Escalade. I needed to have some crazy fun in a...van, and since I drive just about the cheapest car on the market, I needed to bash into something really pricey.

This morning I read the Introduction to Daring Greatly: How the Courage to Be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent and Lead by Brene Brown, I'm looking forward to reading more of this book but today I am thankful for these words from a speech (shared by Brown) Theodore Roosevelt delivered in 1910:

"It is not the critic who counts; not the

man who points out how the strong man

stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could

have done better. 

The credit belongs to the man who is actually 

in the arena, whose face is marred by dust

and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; 

who errs, who comes short again and again, 

because there is no effort without error

and shortcoming; but who does actually

strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, 

the great devotions; who spends himself

in a worthy cause; 

who at the best knows in the end the triumph

of high achievement, and who at the worst, if

he fails, at least fails while daring greatly...."

At the start of this week, I wanted to give up on a lot of things and I wanted to sit and complain to anyone who would listen (thank you to those who did listen to me complain, and for my husband, who said not to give up). Despite feeling discouraged, I'll continue to do my best while putting one foot in front of the other, and pursue what gives me fulfillment. If I continue to fail, I'll know that it is not in vain. 

As for parenting, Brown shared these words, "...the practice of framing mothers and fathers as good or bad is both rampant and corrosive--it turns parenting into a shame minefield. The real questions for parents should be: 'Are you engaged? Are you paying attention?' If so, plan to make lots of mistakes and bad decisions. Imperfect parenting moments turn into gifts as our children watch us try to figure out what went wrong and how we can do better next time. The mandate is not to be perfect and raise happy children. Perfection doesn't exist, and I've found that what makes children happy doesn't always prepare them to be courageous, engaged adults" (15).

I feel like this is the year of making Isabella unhappy and I am constantly analyzing situations trying to figure out what I am doing wrong and I how I can improve. I am thankful for Brown's words because I can't be perfect in this part of my life or any other. Thanks to some advice from my mom, I am working to make some changes and lay some new ground rules--not necessarily to add to "happiness" but to bring clarity and order to our day.

Moving on...

We had our first snow fall for the year and Isabella exclaimed, "I was MADE for this weather!" She truly was. Over the summer she said all she wanted to do was be naked in the snow. For now we make her wear snow gear.

Isaac even ventured out. This was his first time in the snow and proves that we've come a very long way in working out his sensory issues.

In case you're wondering, the chickens were not at all happy with the snow. They stayed huddled in their coop which gave me plenty of opportunities to talk about how "cooped up" our chickens were--I love that I can make myself laugh.

I should share that the mere fact I even had a dream, shows that I am sleeping better. I haven't had to sleep with Isaac in almost two weeks and his night-wakings are shorter and less frequent. This is either a reprieve from my own impending insanity or a move toward sleep independence. Either way, I'm enjoying every moment of deep sleep.

Murderer of Fun

I love the movie, Dan in Real Life, and my absolute favorite line from this movie is, "YOU are a MURDERER of LOVE!" This line is shouted at Dan (played by Steve Carell) by his teenage daughter who is experiencing the usual teenager/love angst.

As I've processed and replayed in my mind, a certain episode of my own life in which Isabella told me she "wished she never had a mommy", and didn't like me, I can't help but think, I am a MURDERER of FUN (and LOVE)! How often have you thought the same thing of your own parents. It's basically the definition of parent--murderer of fun; destroyer of fun; revoker (that's not a word, but it should be) of fun; the one who depletes fun. That is, until you become a parent, and realize that your own parents, for the most part, were completely reasonable when they seemingly plotted to destroy your fun. On most occasions, they weren't heartless and weren't trying (especially) hard to ruin your life, they were just trying to protect you, or steer you in the right direction. In Isabella's case, I was showing her an example on the board of how to write a word so that all the letters belonging to that particular word are close together, and then, has a noticeable space, informing the reader that they are now reading a new word. Example: Jules cango tothe d    une s. As the reader, I'm sure you appreciate reading, Jules can go to the dunes, instead. I could be wrong.

This morning I saw a book recommendation on Dig This Chick's facebook page. The book is, Peaceful Parent, Happy Kids: How to stop yelling and start connecting by Dr. Laura Markham. I found myself in an incredibly calm state when Isabella told me she "wished she never had a mommy". I calmly told her she was unkind, and needed to go to her room until we could talk. Later we resolved the issue, but I'm not always calm, and I certainly yell because it feels like most of what I say during a day falls on deaf ears--five year old kids have a very hard time hearing--don't worry, I've had her hearing checked on more than one occasion.

As I sipped my coffee Saturday morning, I read the introduction to the book, about not yelling. An hour later we went outside, and Isabella, who has yet to understand that when you suggest something, Isaac assumes it will happen instantly. Like any almost three year old, he doesn't have a concept of time, so when someone, say, Isabella, says, "Isaac! Do you want to go to Oma's house?!" He wants to go to Oma's house that minute. I yelled. We were having a happy moment outside, and she planted this idea in his head that we would go to Oma's house, and he had a meltdown, because that wasn't going to happen. Happy moment no longer. I stomped into the house with a screaming Isaac, and complained to Walter, and then we both burst out laughing because I told him I was reading a book about not yelling and I just frickin' yelled! 

I walked the walk of parental shame, and went outside and apologized to Isabella for yelling, and explained, once again, that Isaac does not understand the concept of time.

***

After a sudden desire to relive my youth, I downloaded Oregon Trail on the iPad. We hunted squirrels, fished, walked off broken legs, arms, and cholera. Isabella said it was the most fun she'd ever had.

Outside, before I yelled. Please note, Isabella's outfit (and she says my nicest outfit is a bathing suit--I really can't trust her fashion judgement), and Isabella cheering for Isaac when he walked across the grass. This morning, as we were playing at catch at 7:30 a.m. and Isaac caught the ball, she said, "Sometimes, he just does such amazing things, that I cry!" They're both amazing little people.

 If you have any questions about strokes, ask Isaac. He studied this flyer for about fifteen minutes.

Friendly Competition

"Mommy, when it's summer again, will I be able to ride a big bike? One without training wheels?"
"Yep, I think you will!"
"Okay. When I do that, I'll bring a box of band-aids with me, so that when I get a boo boo, I can fix it up right away!"

Be prepared, people--bring band-aids. Plain and simple, that's why I don't clean my car. You never know when I may need an empty plastic water bottle. What if we are stranded in the middle of a forest, and can only find a trickling stream? You may be unprepared, and have nothing other than your two hands to cup together for a meager drink of water. But I, I will surely find an empty water bottle under some hastily colored pictures, discarded blankets, toys, and maybe a onesie, or two.

*********************************************************************************

A definite downside to homeschooling is the lack of competition, or motivation to work harder in order to keep up with your peers. I have found that due to Isabella's personality, she needs a little push, or a shove in order to ignite that motivation. I can drill it into her head that in order to be a successful citizen of society she has to learn how to read, and darn it all, she has to learn her math facts, but that's boring, and frustrating for both of us. Walter has reminded me on more than one occasion that as her preschool teacher said, "Isabella is a free spirit." She is, and I feel like I walk a fine line between dampening that spirit, and teaching her the fundamental building blocks of learning.

Frankly, motherhood runs rampant with feelings of guilt. It is so annoying. Am I doing this right? Am I a good enough mom? Are they learning everything they need to know? Am I spending enough time playing with them? Do we read enough? Am I fun? I mean, the list goes on and on. You could drive yourself crazy thinking about all of that.

All of that rambling to say that I suggested to Sarah that we get the girls together to play the "grocery game". It's simple, collect a bunch of random items, make price tags, give your child the coins they are learning, and have them practice counting money. In our case, nickels and dimes. The day before Maya was to come over, she was so worried that she would forget how to count by fives and tens. The two of us have played the grocery game many times, but now she would have someone else watching. The morning Maya was coming over, Isabella told me that while she was waiting for Isaac and I to wake up, she was laying in bed counting by fives. I was so excited--finally, she understood that her learning stretched beyond just the two of us, and practice is actually important.

She didn't forget how to count out her money. Maybe she stumbled a few times, but all in all, it was a good experience for her, and also good for her to see that she is not the only five year old who has to learn how to count dimes and nickels.

my dad

It seems like there's been a lot of discussion in the media lately about girls and marketing to young girls, and how society is "making" girls become obsessed with princesses, etc. First of all, I don't care how much you try to avoid it, princesses seem to enter the picture one way or another. And honestly, I don't think it's the worst thing that will ever happen. I was really against Barbie, but I think that was based more on my own insecurity than anything else, and I really don't think letting my four year old play with Barbie is going to make her anorexic in the future. Who knows, I could be wrong, but I hope I'm not.

In my opinion, if you want your daughter to be intelligent, independent, strong-willed, self-sufficient, compassionate, and all the other many qualities that we want our children, male or female, to develop, just give them options.

My dad and I haven't always seen eye to eye, that's for sure, but I am definitely thankful for how he raised my sister and I. We grew up playing Chess, and Stratego, and trust me, he didn't let us win. We also grew up biking and training for week long bike trips. We learned to assemble and disassemble a tent, but don't ask me to go camping. I like the biking part, camping, I'm not so sure about. And just about every Sunday afternoon, we'd go for a family hike. My sister and I used to complain and moan and groan about this. But guess who's the one trying to get Walter to go for hikes, me. But do you want to know who my sister and I asked when we wanted to wear make-up for the first time or shave our legs for the first time, my dad.

I'm pretty sure my dad still holds gym memberships to two different exercise facilities. Apparently, one is better for playing racquetball than the other. Without really teaching us, he taught us that exercise is important.

He also taught us to research everything. Make lists (I'm not kidding, I made a pro and con list before I agreed to marry Walter), and read--a lot. Oh, and don't forget to annotate with perfectly underlined sentences and asterisks next to key paragraphs.

Every weekend morning, I'd wake up and my dad would either be at the gym, or sitting in his chair reading, with a red, Bic pen, and a clip board with white printer paper on it. I'll admit, I do have better taste in pens. Bic, really?

I think as a result of all of that, of both of my parents not subscribing to the phenomenon, this is "too girly" or "this is just for boys", I feel very well rounded. I don't feel well rounded because of school. All of that crap they tell you about needing to take math and science so that you can be a competent adult--lies, all lies. Don't worry, our home school curriculum contains math and science. I do hope that Isabella inherited some of Walter's math skills. If she did, it will save her a lot of tears. Anyway, there's nothing wrong with a girl wanting to be "girly". My sister is one of the smartest people I know, and she can wear a pair of stilettos like nobody's business.

So, dad, thank you for teaching me the importance of exercise; for giving a me a love of books and learning; for taking me on those torturous hikes and the many weekends spent training for bike trips. Thank you for reading poetry to us and letting us style your hair at the same time; for teaching me the importance of research and for letting me wear make-up and shave my legs when mom wouldn't. Thank you for putting up with my deplorable math skills and really crappy math SAT scores. Thank you for the countless patient hours spent teaching me to drive stick shift and for making me learn how to quickly shift into first on a hill before allowing me out of the driveway. It's true, before my sister and I were allowed to drive the car on our own, we had to shift to first and successfully pull up the driveway without rolling back. Ask Walter who's better at driving at driving stick--ME!!! Thank you for letting me have my yearly bike trip tantrum after a day of excruciatingly steep hills.

Thank you for paying for school and my wedding and for selling the Echo to me for one dollar. I think I still owe you that dollar.

Love,

Sierra