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Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Because I said so..?
Believe it or not, even though we've gone through star charts of every conceivable iteration, we've never had official "house rules." I've seen them in other houses -- often they're cute ("Hey kids, guess what? You get to follow a few easy rules! Whohoo!"), complex ("You have three options for after dinner play, (a)..."), or just plain and simple ("There are Rules. Here They Are.")
I'm not sure why we've never had a list. We certainly have a few rules (which, according to several members of my husband's family, is a few too many). But they're so bloody basic, I just assumed I didn't need to write them down on stone tablets. They're more expectations than rules - things we do daily - plus a couple of things we ought never to do. As of late, however, I've been getting a ton of blow-back when I ask them to do the simplest of things. Every day Efram looks at me with total shock when I tell him it's time to shower -- as though I'm asking him saddle up the camel and take it out for a drink. I remind him that in this house, we shower daily.. at which point he blows up into full fury, listing all the people he knows who never have to shower. Of course, Bennett needs to get in on this - and apparently he has 5 friends who never have to brush their teeth. (He's also been setting off the house alarm at 6 each morning to play basketball or skateboard, so I'm feeling rather cranky about him in general today.)
So, in the middle of a Sunday night shouting match (really, I do try not to shout back at Efram who seems to be in a constant rage at the moment, but on Sunday nights my defenses are famously low), I run downstairs, type up a few rules, and stick a copy in the kitchen and on the boys' door. Within minutes Efram comes marching out: You're not allowed to write rules telling me I can't do something when I'm in the middle of doing it!!!
Really?
Bennett registers discontent by ripping a hole in the rules.
I see my problem. Growing up I felt I was often on the receiving end of arbitrary rule-making; a lot if it. And in a effort to seem just and fair, and to avoid making my kids feel the same way I once did, I led them to think that parenting is an absolute democracy. That I can't make up rules exactly when I see the need. Which is wrong, and plain stupid.
So, at the end of the rules, I tack on: HOUSE RULES CAN BE AMENDED BY PARENTS. AT ANY TIME. NO QUESTIONS ASKED.
I don't really feel good about it. But the next day I go over them with Efram, ask him if he has any questions, and make a point of noting the last line. He nods. Of course, I tell myself that he's happy with the clear boundary, that it comforts him to know I am in charge. But I know better than that. He's just soaking it all up... and quietly planning his first big lawsuit.
I'm not sure why we've never had a list. We certainly have a few rules (which, according to several members of my husband's family, is a few too many). But they're so bloody basic, I just assumed I didn't need to write them down on stone tablets. They're more expectations than rules - things we do daily - plus a couple of things we ought never to do. As of late, however, I've been getting a ton of blow-back when I ask them to do the simplest of things. Every day Efram looks at me with total shock when I tell him it's time to shower -- as though I'm asking him saddle up the camel and take it out for a drink. I remind him that in this house, we shower daily.. at which point he blows up into full fury, listing all the people he knows who never have to shower. Of course, Bennett needs to get in on this - and apparently he has 5 friends who never have to brush their teeth. (He's also been setting off the house alarm at 6 each morning to play basketball or skateboard, so I'm feeling rather cranky about him in general today.)
So, in the middle of a Sunday night shouting match (really, I do try not to shout back at Efram who seems to be in a constant rage at the moment, but on Sunday nights my defenses are famously low), I run downstairs, type up a few rules, and stick a copy in the kitchen and on the boys' door. Within minutes Efram comes marching out: You're not allowed to write rules telling me I can't do something when I'm in the middle of doing it!!!
Really?
Bennett registers discontent by ripping a hole in the rules.
I see my problem. Growing up I felt I was often on the receiving end of arbitrary rule-making; a lot if it. And in a effort to seem just and fair, and to avoid making my kids feel the same way I once did, I led them to think that parenting is an absolute democracy. That I can't make up rules exactly when I see the need. Which is wrong, and plain stupid.
So, at the end of the rules, I tack on: HOUSE RULES CAN BE AMENDED BY PARENTS. AT ANY TIME. NO QUESTIONS ASKED.
I don't really feel good about it. But the next day I go over them with Efram, ask him if he has any questions, and make a point of noting the last line. He nods. Of course, I tell myself that he's happy with the clear boundary, that it comforts him to know I am in charge. But I know better than that. He's just soaking it all up... and quietly planning his first big lawsuit.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Knowledge Gaps
Lately I've been a little confused. It seems that while my kids think that I am the world's dumbest human being, they also seem to think I'm Seattle's answer to the Oracle of Delphi.
To wit: If you spit out chewed-up tofu behind the couch, I will find it. If you track dog crap into the house and don't bother to clean it up or mention it to anyone, I will find it. If you have an accident in your pants and hide your underwear in the art supply cabinet, I will also find it. You really must think I am the world's largest moron if you think you can get away with any of the above on my watch. And even when I'm not around, I'm around. So if you decide to pull some stunts at school -- guess what? Yup, I'll find it.
All this would fine, well somewhat fine, if they didn't also expect me to know things well beyond my pay grade. For example, this week is Purim -- the Jewish Halloween -- and Efram, for some reason unknown, has declared himself a San Francisco 49-ers fan. So, when Bennett decided to be Peyton Manning (big shock there) for Purim, Efram announced he wanted to dress up as some guy named Frank Gore. No, we hadn't ever heard of him either. But, I procured the jersey and some football pants for them, and even managed to get some of that black crap football players paint under their eyes. All in all, I was feeling rather smug and on top of things. Which is usually when things come to a SCREECHING HALT. Tonight Efram melted down all over us and from what I could understand: How could I, his own mother, be so cruel to send him into the world wearing a Frank Gore jersey when the older kids all made fun of what a crap player Frank Gore is? There was, he announced, no way in hell he was going to wear that jersey, and the entire shit-storm was my fault. (Ok, he didn't use any of the above profanity, but I can.)
M didn't make any of this better when he told me that next year he'd do what he did last year and take them all to the costume shop and let them pick out their own costumes.
I suppose I should have seen it coming. Last year Francie insisted she wanted to dress up as Jasmine, the princess from Aladdin. When the costume arrived in the mail she went postal. Needless to say, she wore some tatty old princess dress instead. Which is what I told Efram to do -- not wear a princess dress, but to put something together from what we already have at home and avoid the taunts of the "older kids." If there's one thing I do know, it's that the kids don't always want me to solve their problem, they just want to feel listened to and commiserated with. I may be a moron, but I'm pretty sure I'm right about that.
To wit: If you spit out chewed-up tofu behind the couch, I will find it. If you track dog crap into the house and don't bother to clean it up or mention it to anyone, I will find it. If you have an accident in your pants and hide your underwear in the art supply cabinet, I will also find it. You really must think I am the world's largest moron if you think you can get away with any of the above on my watch. And even when I'm not around, I'm around. So if you decide to pull some stunts at school -- guess what? Yup, I'll find it.
All this would fine, well somewhat fine, if they didn't also expect me to know things well beyond my pay grade. For example, this week is Purim -- the Jewish Halloween -- and Efram, for some reason unknown, has declared himself a San Francisco 49-ers fan. So, when Bennett decided to be Peyton Manning (big shock there) for Purim, Efram announced he wanted to dress up as some guy named Frank Gore. No, we hadn't ever heard of him either. But, I procured the jersey and some football pants for them, and even managed to get some of that black crap football players paint under their eyes. All in all, I was feeling rather smug and on top of things. Which is usually when things come to a SCREECHING HALT. Tonight Efram melted down all over us and from what I could understand: How could I, his own mother, be so cruel to send him into the world wearing a Frank Gore jersey when the older kids all made fun of what a crap player Frank Gore is? There was, he announced, no way in hell he was going to wear that jersey, and the entire shit-storm was my fault. (Ok, he didn't use any of the above profanity, but I can.)
M didn't make any of this better when he told me that next year he'd do what he did last year and take them all to the costume shop and let them pick out their own costumes.
I suppose I should have seen it coming. Last year Francie insisted she wanted to dress up as Jasmine, the princess from Aladdin. When the costume arrived in the mail she went postal. Needless to say, she wore some tatty old princess dress instead. Which is what I told Efram to do -- not wear a princess dress, but to put something together from what we already have at home and avoid the taunts of the "older kids." If there's one thing I do know, it's that the kids don't always want me to solve their problem, they just want to feel listened to and commiserated with. I may be a moron, but I'm pretty sure I'm right about that.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Mary Poppins Makes a Visit
Sunday nights are sometimes movie nights Chez Geller. We all pile onto the couch in the basement and watch a movie and eat dinner. I spend much of the time making 1,000 trips up the stairs to the kitchen, but generally the evenings are pleasant -- once they get started. As of late, movie selection has been something of an issue. Usually we let the kids pick -- and we endure the ritual Star Wars (sadly, my kids love the prequels) v. High School Musical (soul destroying) v. Random Barbie Movie (bizarre video game animation and oddly feminist messages), only to find something that nobody has seen, or at least remembers seeing. We've discovered some terrific movies along the way -- Ponyo comes to mind.
Once in a while, however, M and I choose a movie for them. Something we've seen, and loved. Often when we watch it with the kids, years later, it doesn't seem all that spectacular -- the Neverending Story was patchy, and that flying dog gave me the creeps. Often, a film we're sure they'll hate becomes a crowd favorite -- like The Sound of Music (Thank heavens for that gun scene at the end, the boys were whooping with delight).
Tonight, although Bennett pissed and moaned -- loudly -- we managed to get them to watch Mary Poppins. Their reactions were priceless. You don't meet the kids at first, but you hear about them and see one nanny quit ... and when Jane and Michael Banks finally appear, Bennett looks at me and says,
"That's it? Two kids?"
Yes, Bennett. Two kids. And even they can't get their parents attention. They have their own nanny, who sleeps near their rooms, eats their meals with them, and probably gives them lessons. They probably spend 15 minutes a day with their father, and maybe double that with their mother -- who was only too happy to leave them with a chimney sweep while she went off to chain herself to 10 Downing Street. So please don't complain about a babysitter once in a while. And the next time we get a sitter on vacation, please don't run off and re-appear hours later. Thanks.
Efram didn't understand why the poor kids had to go to the park as though they were dressed for synagogue.. he felt especially bad for the poor boy and those yellow knee socks.
M couldn't help but point out how bad the kids' teeth were. One of little Michael's front teeth was actually rotten. God bless British dental care.
Francie was completely confused: What the hell was Fraulein Maria doing in this movie? And why was her hair different? It took me a while to explain the whole concept of an actress, at which point she looked at me sadly and asked: "So she really didn't get to marry Captain Von Trapp?"
No, she didn't. It was all make believe. Farewell, sweet innocence -- auf wiedersehen.
Once in a while, however, M and I choose a movie for them. Something we've seen, and loved. Often when we watch it with the kids, years later, it doesn't seem all that spectacular -- the Neverending Story was patchy, and that flying dog gave me the creeps. Often, a film we're sure they'll hate becomes a crowd favorite -- like The Sound of Music (Thank heavens for that gun scene at the end, the boys were whooping with delight).
Tonight, although Bennett pissed and moaned -- loudly -- we managed to get them to watch Mary Poppins. Their reactions were priceless. You don't meet the kids at first, but you hear about them and see one nanny quit ... and when Jane and Michael Banks finally appear, Bennett looks at me and says,
"That's it? Two kids?"
Yes, Bennett. Two kids. And even they can't get their parents attention. They have their own nanny, who sleeps near their rooms, eats their meals with them, and probably gives them lessons. They probably spend 15 minutes a day with their father, and maybe double that with their mother -- who was only too happy to leave them with a chimney sweep while she went off to chain herself to 10 Downing Street. So please don't complain about a babysitter once in a while. And the next time we get a sitter on vacation, please don't run off and re-appear hours later. Thanks.
Efram didn't understand why the poor kids had to go to the park as though they were dressed for synagogue.. he felt especially bad for the poor boy and those yellow knee socks.
M couldn't help but point out how bad the kids' teeth were. One of little Michael's front teeth was actually rotten. God bless British dental care.
Francie was completely confused: What the hell was Fraulein Maria doing in this movie? And why was her hair different? It took me a while to explain the whole concept of an actress, at which point she looked at me sadly and asked: "So she really didn't get to marry Captain Von Trapp?"
No, she didn't. It was all make believe. Farewell, sweet innocence -- auf wiedersehen.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Pop Up Adds...
I don't even want to know what goes into the algorithm for Facebook personalized pop up adds. They are either eerily on-point ("trying to loose baby pounds? try the master cleanse!") or bizarrely off-message ("fertility problems? try our new master cleanse!"). Either way, there is one that I have seen one too often to believe it's a mistake: a boarding school for troubled youth. Really? Word has gotten out that quickly? Am I now on the admissions list of every school for poorly behaved children?
Lately I feel as thought I'm the headmistress at the Tower of Babel School. Words come out of my mouth. I understand them. My children look at me as I speak, and seem to nod in comprehension. And then they go and do the exact opposite of what I'm saying. Which makes me think: Do they really understand me, or are they faking it? Their sheer defiance (and they continue to look at me as they defy) actually makes me wonder whether or not they understand. I suppose I just hope they don't get what I am saying. Because otherwise, I really have zero authority in this house. Which is something I've suspected all along.
Lately I feel as thought I'm the headmistress at the Tower of Babel School. Words come out of my mouth. I understand them. My children look at me as I speak, and seem to nod in comprehension. And then they go and do the exact opposite of what I'm saying. Which makes me think: Do they really understand me, or are they faking it? Their sheer defiance (and they continue to look at me as they defy) actually makes me wonder whether or not they understand. I suppose I just hope they don't get what I am saying. Because otherwise, I really have zero authority in this house. Which is something I've suspected all along.
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