"Thank God: I Can't Do This Parenting Thing Alone."

"Thank God: I Just Can't Do This Parenting Thing Alone"

By Anna Giattina Lee

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and my brain goes from 0 to sixty in 0.4 seconds.   

Yesterday, I woke up an hour earlier than normal with a panicked feeling that I had left my 5-year-old asleep in the freezing cold car overnight. 

I had driven home from church last night in our 15-passenger van filled with children that fell asleep during the ½ hour ride home.  I am fairly cautious because I am not dumb enough to believe that I would never get distracted or change my routine, accidentally forgetting a child in the car.

But after a mental playback in my head, I distinctly recalled giving him my ipad for his nightly video ritual.  I also knew that I had made a visual check of the many sleeping kids in the car when we got home from church and that with only one remaining, I saw my husband unbuckle the baby and out of an abundance of caution, I reminded him to make a visual check of all the seats one more time before closing the doors. 

Persuaded that this was not one of “those” times when I was specifically being called to act immediately, I was able to go back to sleep for another hour. 

As soon as I woke up, I went straight to the kitchen to begin making breakfast. I noticed that my 5 –year-old wasn’t in the kitchen.  So I asked where he was.  My husband said, “He’s still in bed.”

Unconvinced, I said, “Have you personally seen him because I woke up with the feeling that I had left him in the car.”

Pausing for just a moment, he says with confidence, “He is definitely in his bed.” A few others joined in claiming that dad was right and I believed them.

Realizing I had a teachable moment, I talked to the kids, including my 4-year-old granddaughter who had spent the night with us.  We talked briefly about watching out for each other to be sure that we all get out of the car. 

My 10–year-old asked, “What do we do if the doors are locked?” 

Almost in disbelief, I look at her and say, “You reach over and unlock the door. “

She laughed saying, “I’ve never thought about that before.”

At that moment I realized that the technology had skewed her understanding.  She always waited for me to unlock the doors and it didn’t occur to her that you could do it another way. 

My husband was not in the room during this conversation. It was a short conversation – more of a reminder than anything else.  

But my brain was clearly fixed on this idea.  Images of a child left in the car by her mother or father reeled in my mind.  I have done it myself  more than once – although for just minutes. I know one person who endured this heart-wrenching loss.  And as an attorney, I am always thinking about what is reasonably foreseeable.

Fast forward 30 minutes.  It is time for my husband to take the kids to school.  My granddaughter Ava asks if she can ride along. Five kids get into the car for the 2-minute ride to school.

Less than 10 minutes later, my husband walks into the house while I’m folding the laundry and comes directly to where I am. Without any thought, my first question is “Where’s Ava?” 

With a somewhat stunned expression, I see his brain trying to process what I’m saying.  I shout, “She’s in the car.  She’s locked in the car.  Run.  Run.  She is going to be terrified. “

My husband bolts to the parking pad, unlocking the doors with the remote and running to open the door.  Inside is our granddaughter, tiny tears just beginning to stream down her cheeks.  We grab her and hold her tightly, apologizing for leaving her behind. 

When she gets back inside, I rock her and tell her that everything is fine and that God has protected her by prompting me. 

The entire incident from locking her in to retrieving her occurred in less than 2 minutes.  But it was that two minutes that convinced me that God is looking out for his children far better than me or my husband are capable of doing. 

With the memory still fresh, we talk about why she didn’t get out of the car.  In her tiny little voice, she squeaks, “I tried, but Papa locked the door with the remote.”

I know that she had just heard us talk about this exact situation, but it was too abstract for her.  So we took her back to the car and showed her how to unlock the car from the inside.  And how, if the child locks were on, she could always get out through the driver's door.  Confident and with a smile, she came back inside realizing that she could escape if it ever happened again.

The whole situation is so predictable.  There was a change in my husband’s routine. The one he has followed for years.  An extra child.  Young.  Unusually quiet.  And one who didn’t know how to unlock the doors from the inside.

I don’t blame my husband.  And no one should.  There, but for the grace of God, go I. 

And I hope you know that is not the point.  Rather, it is to say, that this episode is one of many that persuade me that I can’t do this parenting thing without God.  It is simply too hard.  Too many things can go wrong. 

But he’s got my back. 

This isn’t the first time I have been awakened from a deep sleep by a compelling feeling.  And I’ve learned to listen.  I must.  Or I’m an idiot. 

Confessions of An Angry Mom: It’s Time To Get My Heart Checked.

  

Confessions of An Angry Mom:  It’s Time To Get My Heart Checked.

Warning:  If you are sensitive to certain word choices, you might not want to read this the third column of this post.  It is honest.  When I’m really frustrated or overwhelmed, I use words that some would consider impolite. Consider yourself warned.

I’m a mother and a teacher and a coach.  Most of my days are spent teaching, training and taking care of others.   My favorite verse is directly related to my obvious NEED to remember that if I do not have a servant’s heart, then my service is just good works and I’m screwed.  The verse I quote over and over to my kids and my students is from Luke 6:45:   “... For out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks.” In other words, if my heart is full of good, good things will come out.  If my heart is hard and angry, then bad things come out. 

I’m a good teacher and coach and I know exactly how to help my students, friends and clients.  But it would really help me to have a ME in my life, someone who is willing to call me out.  Although it might not be obvious from my conduct, I spend a good portion of my day in self-evaluation.   I’ve decided that I’m pretty selfish and self-centered.  Otherwise, I wouldn’t be upset about anything, because my anger seems to be rooted in the problems that someone else causes for me.

I’ve decided it’s time for true confessions.  I’m speaking for myself, but I’m willing to bet that if people are honest, almost all moms and dads find themselves thinking, if not saying, similar things.

WARNING: If this makes you laugh or cry, you might need to check your heart!

What happens.	What I say on a good day.	What I think and should - but don’t always - edit before I say on a bad day.
My 3-year-old is play wrestling with his 5-year-old brother. I warn them that someone is going to get hurt.  Someone gets hurt.	“I’m sorry.  But I warned you that you would get hurt.  Go wipe the blood off your nose.”	“What is wrong with your brain?  I tell you every single time you are running through the living room and doing head butts into his stomach that you will get hurt.  Big surprise.  Tough it out.  Now go wipe the blood off your nose and clean it up off the floor because I’m not cleaning your mess.”
My teenager waits until the night before a big paper is due to start.	“Son.  You know the rules.  You must have the final draft ready two nights before it is due so that I have time to help you edit and figure out your problems.  I have 50 other things I need to be doing right now and I’m exhausted.  I can’t start helping you at 10 p.m. the night before it is due. You are on your own.  But if you don’t make a decent grade, you won’t be going anywhere this weekend.”	“Stupid.  Stupid.  Stupid. You are too smart not to understand the problem here.  Procrastination doesn’t work.  Don’t expect me to feel sorry for your decision to procrastinate.  I’m not feeling the slightest bit guilty.  Just pissed that I have to keep repeating myself. Now go fix the problem that you created. “
Two children get into an argument.  One hits.  The other returns the hit.	“I’m sorry, but you deserve each other.  Both of you are hitting to solve your problems and it hurts.  Both of you know not to hit.  Use your words.”	“Why do I have to say this 25 times per day?  Haven’t ya’ll figured out the problem yet?  Maybe you will beat the living crap out of each other and decide on your own hitting is not the best plan. “
I tell my extremely stubborn 6-year-old to go pick up his towel and hang it on the hook.  He starts shouting and wailing, “No!  It isn’t my towel.  I already did.  I don’t want to.  Why do I have to get the towel, no one else did?”	“Excuse me. ‘No,’ is not one of your options.  The correct answer is ‘Yes Ma’am.’  Now go pick up the towel.”	“UGGGGHHHH.  I can’t stand this!  I hate stubborn disobedience and intentional defiance. What am I doing wrong that makes you think that it is okay to refuse to obey?  I get so mad I just want to throw something or hang YOU up in that towel.  Why are you so damn stubborn?  It makes me not want to be around you at all.  Is that what you want?”
My adult daughter calls to tell me that her car just died and she needs help getting to and from work.	“Sure.  What time do I need to come get you?”	“Really?  Really?  It is always something.  I finally get a few hours to myself and what do I get to do?  Drive my adult children.  What fun.  I can’t wait. “
I tell my 7-year-old to get her snack and put it in her backpack for school.  She hears me, but continues to play and forgets. I move on to the next thing. On her way out the door the next morning, she suddenly remembers and tries to run back inside to get her snack. NOTE:  This is not a child who must have a snack to function in school. I have some kids that can’t afford to miss a snack.  She can.	“I told you to put the snack in your backpack. I’m sorry, but we are running late.  You cannot go back to get a snack.  Next time, maybe you will obey when I remind you. And you are not allowed to get a snack from the teacher.”	Thinking… “Oh great.  Now I have to take the time to email the teacher so my child doesn’t use this as an excuse to get a junky snack from the teacher’s community snacks.  Uggh!  I don’t have time for this! But I know that she is going to whine at school and tell the teacher that I didn’t give her a snack.  And I don’t want the teacher to have to deal with her either.  If I don’t call, then the teacher will feel sorry for her and give her a snack out of the community snack bucket.  It will be chips or something she loves, so the lesson will be lost.  And I’ve already spent far too much time thinking about this stupid issue.”
My toddler crawls behind the couch and unplugs the lamp cord which is directly below the safety cap on the upper plug.  He then proceeds to take a fork and stick it as far as he can into the socket.	Leaping forward not knowing what he is sticking into the light socket, I shout… “OMG!!!  NOoooooo! Stop baby. That is a No No!  No! No! That will hurt baby.  OUCHIE!  No baby No!  Thank goodness we use plastic forks!  That would hurt baby.”	“OMG!!!  NOoooooo!  Stop!  What are you doing child?  Are you crazy?  That is a No NO! Did I say that is a No No, because I meant to say it was a NOooo NOOOOO!  You can’t do that!  OMG.  OMG. OMG.  Thank you God for watching him and taking care of him. Thank you for plastic forks. I can’t do this.  I’m not smart enough or fast enough.  I can’t be  everywhere all the time.   Ugggh!!! Pant. Pant.  OMG. OMG. OMG.”
My teen doesn’t want to go to church with the family.  He would rather sleep in or go to the church where his best friend goes.  He whines and moans and complains and asks if he can just skip “this week” or  go to another church.	“I understand that you don’t want to go, but this is my only opportunity to gather the entire family together at one place and I need that every week.  It is important to me.  And because it is important to me, you must go.  Sleeping is not an option and you can go to youth group at your friend’s church.  Now get dressed without complaining and be ready at 9:30.”	“Screw it.  I don’t care if you come or don’t come.  Sleep all freakin’ day or go with some other family to church.  I HATE listening to you complain week after week.  It puts me in a pissy mood and makes going to church miserable.  Every time you try to get your way it is saying to me that I’m not important enough to you to cooperate.  I hate that feeling.  I want you to go whether you like it or not just because I need it. I spend most of my time meeting ya’lls needs.  Is it so wrong for me to ask ya’ll to fulfill one of my needs?  But whatever.  Do whatever the hell you want and I’ll go worship God by my damn self!”
My son spills his juice accidentally.	“It’s not a big deal.  Go get a towel and clean it up. Then get the juice and I’ll pour you some more.”	“Crap. Crap. Crap.  I know it was an accident and you weren’t doing anything wrong, but now I have to get all the sticky juice off the floor and counter and chair.  More work.  More work.  Does it ever end?”
My son spills his milk after I tell him to sit down and quit playing at the table.	“Go get a towel and clean it up.  That is what happens when you play at the table.  No more milk tonight.”	Crap. Crap. Crap. I JUST mopped the floor an hour ago! I tell you over and over again to stop playing at the table.  Can’t you just obey me? Can’t you just listen so you don’t keep making messes?  I’m tired.  I’m sick of cleaning. I’m sick of disobedience.  I just want to quit this job forever!”
My adult child calls at 10p.m. and just wants to process with me.	“No. I’m not busy. What can I do for you?”	(Eyes rolling.) Ahhh.  Maybe if I just don’t answer the phone she will go away.  It’s late.  I just got into bed.  I’m exhausted.  I hate talking on the phone on a great day.  I have already had my fill of helping people today. Do I really have to listen to more people talk?
My son needs to go to the bathroom in  a public place. He must go in the women’s room with me.  He starts to pee without lifting the seat and gets pee all over the seat because he has unsophisticated aim!	“Sweetie.  You need to remember to lift the seat before you go potty.  If not, you get pee on the seat and girls don’t like to sit on your pee.”	“Lovely.  Just what I want to do.  Wipe your  pee off the seat in a public bathroom.  Whatever!”
Same bathroom trip… My child tells me that he needs to go poop.  Before I realize what he is doing, he has LIFTED the lid and is going to sit on the toilet!!!	“Wait! I didn’t mean the lift the lid when you POOP! Oh well, at least you tried to obey!”	What can I say.  Good or bad day --- this is the point to simply laugh!!!!
My adult daughter wants me to play Nanna and keep her kids while she and her husband get away for a few days.	“I can’t wait to see the grandkids and I know that you guys need a break. Can you bring them over now?”	“Agggh.  I really want to see the kids and I definitely want to give my daughter a break, but I am so freakin’ tired.  I just want to crawl into a hole and hide.  When is it MY turn to take a break?”
The teacher sends home a note asking for a family picture. I read the note and remember it 3 days later.	Note to the teacher:  “This is our family picture.  It contains as many kids as we can gather in one location at one time. Please don’t expect my child to be able to explain all of our rather unique relationships.  All he knows is this is his family!”	“Crap.  I vaguely remember that I am supposed to send a picture to school, but I have no idea which kid is supposed to bring it.  Crap!  Crap! Now I have to look through 8 school folders and assignment books to figure out which child OR I have to print 8 copies and send one with each child and hope for the best. Doesn’t anyone know how hard it is to get a picture of this crazy group?  My kids, even my teenagers have to ask how many siblings they have.  Anyway, I’ve looked in eight folders, and I still have no idea.  Whatever.  My kid is the only one with a family the size of Texas and not a single photo to prove he has a family at all.”
My pre-teen gets so angry at me that he punches the wall and his fist goes through it.  He runs upstairs to his room and sends me a text.  “Just tell me when you are going to make me move out and where I will be living. I need to know now.”	“Son, what makes you think that just because you make a mistake we won’t keep you? I needed to know what you would do if you were pushed to your limits.  I needed to know that you wouldn’t hurt me even though you were raging.  You didn’t hurt me.  You hurt a wall. And your fist.  The wall can be fixed.  The important thing is that you proved that you won’t physically hurt a woman.  As for the hole:  You need to research how to repair sheetrock and start learning.  Either you will pay to fix the hole or you will learn to do it yourself.	Oddly.  I don't have bad days when I'm dealing with really big stuff.  I would have reacted this way no matter what my mood on any given day. It's the little stuff that gets me.

Duct Tape or Die Trying: Managing a Toddler by Anna Giattina Lee

DUCT TAPE OR DIE TRYING:  MANAGING A TODDLER

Yesterday, I found myself saying aloud to my 15-month-old, “Child, do you have any idea what toys are?  Introducing them, I pointed and said, “These two huge baskets of things are designed specifically for you to play with.”  He ignores me.  Hearing the knob turning on the front door, he races for it, hoping to escape before I can grab him. I leap forward, knowing that if he escapes, I will have to sprint to catch up with his chubby little bow legs that can leave the Road Runner in the dust.

My toddler could give Houdini a run for his money!  This kid can escape from any position meant to keep him safe and secure.  We have tried everything but Duct Tape to hold him down.  He shimmy’s out of his highchair (tightened strap and all) like a professional escape artist removing himself from a straight jacket before the rope burns and he is plunged into a tank of man-eating sharks.

He can pull over a chair, climb up onto a countertop, stand up and hang from the light fixture with such stealth and grace that standing within 3 feet of him I don’t hear him until I happen to turn around from my position at the stove.

There is no “safety” gate for this kid.  We have tried every brand available and rigged and engineered it for maximum harassment.  Yet, he manages to find a way to open the child-proof lock.  Or he climbs over the gate using his toes, feet and hands like a professional rock climber.  Federal standards require certain spacing between bars.  But the federal government forgot to consult my child.  He has been known to push the gate with such force that he can make the space large enough for him to get through – starting feet first so that he can use his hands and feet to keep the space open for his head.

And those supersized play yards – the ones designed to contain children playing  nicely with their toys – he simply pushes the ENTIRE play yard through the house, molding and bending it to fit through doorways, into the kitchen, through the laundry room and anyplace else he chooses to drag it, himself, and all his toys.

Oh, and because lifting it up is too much trouble sometimes, he simply pushes the gate over the edge of the first stair going down, creating a hole for him to crawl under so that he can escape.  The play yard is nothing more than one more step in the game of SET ME FREE!!!

This toddler can push furniture around the house and shove chairs close to the wall so that he can remove the pictures from the walls!!  I have raised a heck of a lot of kids.  He is the FIRST to remove hanging pictures from the walls!

Yesterday, at the store, I had him strapped into the cart.  While I was at the checkout, he managed to pull his body out of the strap and stand up – strap still attached.  The clerk, an elderly woman with a cane standing behind me in line and I all lunged toward him thinking he was about to fall.  He just laughed and sat back down!  I re-tightened the strap and I’ll be dang if he wasn’t out of it and about to stand again before the clerk had given me my change!

This morning was a cool, crisp Alabama morning and I decide to walk seven kids under the age of seven to our local farmer’s market a few blocks away.  My toddler and 2-year-old were in a double stroller.  My toddler leans forward and places both hands on the front wheels to feel the motion.  Almost instantly, he discovers that he can stick his head UNDER the seat, while still keeping both hands on the wheels! Put it this way, he would have flipped the entire double stroller if I hadn’t maintained a counterweighted position at the handles.  Every time I pulled him back into the seat, he instantly flipped forward again! And again!  At one point we were crossing the street and a man in a truck just stared in disbelief at the scene of me repeatedly trying to stop his flipping, while still watching all the other kids.  Finally, I gave up and just held my position at the rear!

Ugggh! This mom to many knows nothing about raising kids.  Every time I think I have things under control – or at least that I should – a new child changes the rules by being different from the last kid. 

I titled this blog post, “Managing a Toddler.” That’s a joke.

Ultimately, I think I’m stuck with editing the title,  “How Do I Manage a Toddler?!?!? ” 

Pssst. Hey.  For the record, duct tape is not allowed.  If it was, I would have used it!

Why Must I Parent So Many Children to Learn Such Simple Truths?

This week, I've been thinking about my role as mother to so many different kinds of children, with various histories, needs and genetics.  Almost any mom with more than one child can testify to the fact that each child is unique, but having raised at least 50 children and taught hundreds more in my role as coach and teacher, even I am amazed at the range of my exposure to and insight into people.  

Perhaps the most telling result of this is that I am far more tolerant than I used to be. I think it is safe to say I was once quite judgmental, always imposing my ideas of what should be on others.  I still do that with my children in my role as parent, but that is probably because I am old fashioned and still believe that parents are entitled to push our personal values and agenda on our children as long as they are living under our roof and dependent on us.  

At this moment, we have 21 children, ranging in age from 1 to 31.  We have 3 children by birth.  The additional 18 children are either legally adopted and/or we became their legal guardians. And we have fostered a total of 52 children for some length of time. 

Depending on the time of year and the needs of our older young adult children, we typically have between 12 and 18 people at home at any given time.

We have babies and toddlers.  We have preschoolers, elementary-age kids, middle schoolers, high schoolers, college students, married children, grandchildren... and the list goes on.

We have fostered and adopted in every age group.  We have sweet, adorable children that joined or family at or near birth and have few issues related to their past.  And we have had some not so sweet, not so adorable teen-agers that we accepted into our family without question at a time when they had experienced far more tragedy than most will ever know AND they were at the age when it is challenging under the best of circumstances to enjoy being around them.

Our skin colors vary.  We have milky white children.  Olive skinned children.  Dark skinned brown children.  Caramel colored children.  And just about every shade in between.  All our children are from the United States.

We have children with special needs.  Gifted children.  High school Salutatorians.  High school dropouts. Kids who struggle with college.  And kids on scholarship. 

We have accepted pregnant teens, some of whom were pregnant through no fault of their own.  We have attempted to provide stability in an unstable situation and teach these young mothers how to care for their own children – even when it means we do most of the care-taking and parenting of both mother and child for many of the first years and sometimes permanently.

Some of our children suffer from mental illness related to their past or to their genetics --  acting out in every way you can imagine -- and some ways you can't imagine. But we also have children that are choosing to go into the missions, counseling and other helping professions because of their experiences in our family.

We have experienced the tragedy and grief of losing our teenage daughter, who recently died in a single car automobile accident.

We have had children born into addiction, but we feel blessed that we have had no children with chronic physical illnesses.

We have children that have been sexually, physically and emotionally abused.  We have children that have lost their mother (either literally or figuratively). We have father's in prison.  And children who have no idea who their biological father is.

We have biological families who are intricately involved in our family on a daily basis.  And we have biological families who are virtually disconnected.

We have children that are strongly grounded in our Christian faith. And children that seem indifferent, at best.  

We have children that are depressed. And children that are optimistic in the face of tragedies I can only imagine.  

We have children that need much discipline and structure.  And those who need little.  

We have children in private school, public school, no school and we home school.  

As I write this, even I am amazed at the vast array of experiences I have had as a mother. Our uniqueness has played a significant role in my life. These experiences have helped shape and grow me as a mom.  I certainly am not the same mom to my current babies, toddlers and preschoolers that I was 20 years ago when I was raising my first set. Thank goodness.  And by necessity I have developed many skill sets for raising teenagers that have proven useful as I endured and persevered through these not so fun years that never seem to end. 

I have learned that my role requires constant ingenuity and flexibility and a willingness to think outside the box as well as endless repetition (which I hate). It requires honesty and commitment.  And determination and perseverance.  And a little ADHD helps.  

This is the backdrop upon which I think and write and speak. And live.