Everybody has a list of fears. Some are rational, others are not. I have my share of irrational fears, but it's the rational ones that I am most proactive about. My top list of fears:
- Rape
- Murder
- Lice
OK, numbers 1 and 2 seem pretty obvious, but number 3? I admit, the threat of lice seems pretty tame compared to rape and murder...until it happens to you.
I thought I was prepared. I had been using a store-bought spray of essential oils that has been proven to deter lice. I didn't let the kiddo try on hats. I cautioned her about sharing hats and combs with other kids. However, once given the opportunity, those nasty vermin found the lure of the kiddo's crazy curls too hard to resist.
It started out as seemingly random itching. The kiddo had been experiencing a red, itchy, crusty eye--diagnosed as dermatitis--since our beach trip last year. A few months later, we discovered that she had caught molluscum contagiosum from a friend, resulting in red, raised bumps, right by the affected eye. When her scalp started itching and she developed a rash on the back of her neck, we thought it was a condition related to the other two problems.
Still, I worried about lice and kept checking her head, but didn't find anything. I bought dandruff shampoo and a topical scalp treatment. They would work for an hour or so, then the itching would start again. I had hubby check. Nothing. Then, Nana and Aunt C (a former elementary school teacher, no less!) looked. Nada. I even called the school nurse and had her look through the kiddo's hair. Not a thing.
I researched every possible skin condition online and finally, out of frustration, made an appointment with the pediatrician. Our pediatrician is one of the best in the area, and if he had been the one to examine the kiddo, the matter might have been resolved sooner and more efficiently. However, I took the first available appointment and we were seen by a doctor we had never met before.
Dr. X listened as I described the problem, examined the kiddo's eye, red bumps, and rash, and picked through her hair. She said that there was "no sign of any infestation" and assumed that the itch was related to the other problems. She wrote us a prescription for a powerful steroid cream, which I filled immediately.
Later that night, after the kiddo's shower, hubby put the cream on her neck. The rash was red and raw and the cream stung, and the kiddo started screaming. Hubby had had enough. He painstakingly looked through the kiddo's hair, trying to figure out the problem. It must have been the combination of determination and good lighting--it didn't take long. He let out a yelp and said that he just pulled a bug out of the kiddo's hair.
In that instant, it felt like a knife went through my stomach. I knew that if there was a bug in the kiddo's hair, it had to be a louse, and if there was one, there would likely be more. That was all the information I needed, but hubby needed to be certain. He took a picture of the (now dead) bug with the camera using the macro feature. Then he zoomed in so he could see it larger than life and compared it to pictures he found online. Finally, we were on the same page in the book of itchies. Lice. When hubby groaned over the idea of combing through the kiddo's tangled curls, I made a decision: "Cut it", I said, handing him my good shears. "I'm going to Walgreens."
En
route to Walgreens, I called a friend of mine whose daughter had just
had a play date with the kiddo. I would have felt like s*** if another
child had caught lice from my kiddo. It was a humiliating confession,
but it had to be done. If I'm ever in a bar fight, I want this woman to
have my back! She is a nurse, and gave me great advice and much needed encouragement.
In Walgreens, I picked out a lice-treatment kit, a package of combs, anti-frizz
serum, and a magnifying glass and went to check out. The cashier
cheerfully asked me how I was doing, and I showed her the box of lice
treatment and said "not so great". She suggested that I also buy some
cheap hairspray to use on myself, so that I wouldn't get lice. According
to her mom, who is also a nurse, lice won't get on hair that has hairspray on it. I
had already put too much stock in so-called proven remedies, but I
raced back to the hair products and grabbed a bottle. Hubby
and I had started itching uncontrollably, but we had checked one
another and hadn't found any evidence of lice on either of us. I put all
of my faith in that bottle of hairspray to keep me lice-free.
I
got home to find the kiddo sitting on a chair in the bathtub with loose
hair around her. Hubby had cut off at least three inches of hair. The
kiddo had a bob, but she was anything but cute. Shock and misery had set
in and she was quiet and subdued.
It
was time for the treatment. The shock and misery were setting in for
me, too, and I let Hubby do the treatment on the kiddo while I started in on the
laundry. After I collected all the bedding (ours, too, because I wasn't
taking any chances), pajamas, laundry from the hamper, clothes from the
kiddo's closet (she had been playing in there and presumably touching
anything hanging), stuffed animals and coats and hats, I had five garbage bags full.
The
leave-in treatment went well enough, but the combing was a nightmare.
The kiddo objects to regular combs, and those nit-picking combs pulled
her hair painfully. She screamed like she was in a horror movie.
Thankfully, it was winter and the windows were shut tight.
It
was 10:00 at night and Hubby was still finding live bugs, even after
the treatment. He decided to do it again. (Yes, we realize that you
aren't supposed to do that, but we were determined to vanquish the
enemy.) The screaming continued, but then it was almost drowned out by
another noise: the loud screech of my clothes dryer about to die. I was only one load in, and I needed some long cycles of intense
heat to kill off any stragglers. That was the last straw...
For her seventh birthday, the kiddo decided that she wanted her party at Chuck E Cheese's. This decision was not made lightly. No, she decided that months in advance, and every time I asked her, hoping she had changed her mind, she adamantly repeated it.
For the last two years, hubby and I had been saying that the guest list was getting too big and that we had to pare it down. I had some considerations on the matter:
First, Chuck E Cheese's isn't cheap. How much money did we want to spend? How much money did we need to spend to give the kiddo a fantastic birthday party?
Second, having been to other parties at Chuck E Cheese's, I knew that, due to the noise and chaos, it would be hard for the kiddo to interact with a ton of her friends. A small group would be better.
Third, she would be having a bunch of birthday treats--taking goodies to school, dinner at her favorite restaurant with a special friend, a trip to Build-A-Bear, and a celebration with the grandparents.
So, after careful determination, we scaled back the guest list. Out were the nose-picker and the whiner. The kid whose mom who was gradually excluding us from her events? Out. The one who always invites the kiddo but whom the kiddo never once mentioned for her own guest list? Gulp--sorry, but out. The school BFFs? In! The girls who the kiddo doesn't see regularly but always asks for? In! The core group of buddies? In, in, in!
All that was left was my own guilt. The mom who had done me a favor was expecting an invitation for her child. Oh, well. The mom and her kid whom we see in passing regularly might have liked one. Sorry. This is my kiddo's party we're talking about. It should be what she wants. It really should just be family and friends and cake and ice cream. We need to leave the politics out.
Favor-Doing-Mom: I am happy to reciprocate and help you out of a jam, but there is a more appropriate way of doing so than letting you crash our party. Mom-In-Passing: we like you and your kid. We really do. We would like to get to know you better. If we do, you might be invited to a future party.
Back in the day, birthday parties were for family, with maybe one close friend invited. Large parties with friends and classmates were not typical for every birthday--maybe once every few years, and you didn't need a theme.
Now, of course, birthday parties are a big deal, and I don't mean just for the kids. I realized this when my kiddo was turning 3, and every year since then it has been increasingly complicated. A child's birthday party should be, within reason, the way he or she wants it. At home, at a park, or at a different venue? What flavor cake and ice cream? And most importantly, what friends does the birthday boy or girl want to invite? Ha! If only it were that simple!
I was speaking to a friend whose kids are in their 40s and she was shocked by the evolution of the birthday party, especially the stress caused by the guest list. It's normal for kids to make friends at school, but then there are kids from church, extra-curricular activities, mommy groups, neighbors, kids of mommy's friends...But that's not all--party planners must also consider reciprocating when their child has been invited to other birthday parties. These considerations make planning a party a big (stressful) deal.
For the kiddo's 3rd birthday, we treated her and a small group of her friends to a get-together at a cupcake shop. It was lovely, and it was comparable to parties we attended for her friends. After that, though, the parties got bigger and more complicated. It was understandable, though--the kiddo was making more and more friends, yet still seeing the old ones. With the addition of more guests to the guest list came the need to keep all those kids occupied. Additional food, games, crafts, goody bags...
Then the time came when the kiddo wasn't invited to a friend's party. The girls saw each other frequently and still enjoyed each others' company more than they squabbled, so my guess is that the other girl had new friends and her parents were drawing the line about how many guests they had the room and/or money to invite. I wished the birthday girl a happy birthday when I saw her, and later, when the kiddo asked about the party, I suggested that maybe it was a small party with just family. That satisfied the kiddo, but the whole experience was awkward.
Then, of course, when the kiddo's birthday came around, she kept talking about her party and asking if the other little girl was coming. Um, well, ahem, not this one...we could only invite a few people this time...yes, all of those other kids are coming, but we are way over the limit and we had to draw the line somewhere...
That was an uncomfortable conversation, but it got worse when the kiddo kept talking about her party in front of the other girl! My first instinct was to put a gag over the kiddo's mouth, but I quickly realized that wouldn't work. I would have had to tie her up, too, to make sure she couldn't remove the gag*. That would have led to an even more awkward encounter, so I took the girl's mom aside and told her that I felt like poo. This woman must have experienced similar birthday angst, because she was wonderfully understanding. After that, I decided not to let birthday party angst get the better of me. Until.....
*You really had to check for a disclaimer? It was a joke!
1. Take the 'h' out of the whine.
2. Go a whole day without saying the word 'poop'. Or spelling it. I know how to spell it.
3. Give me one day without hearing "Let It Go".
4. Let me use the bathroom without interruptions.This includes the times I go in there just for some peace.
5. Pick up your toys and put them away. Shoving them under your bed or throwing them into your tent doesn't count.
6. No dilly. No dally. Can we be on time for once?
7. Play with your toys. Read your books. You know, the ones you asked for?
8. Let me talk on the phone without interruptions, made up emergencies, or counting in Spanish.
9. No arguing or negotiating. Just for one day. OK, half a day.
10. Let me sleep in. And take a nap. And go to bed early so I can, too.
We went on an unexpected guilt trip the other day!
When I picked the kiddo up from school, it wasn't raining, but I had my umbrella anyway, just in case. Well, wouldn't you know it, as we headed home, it started to rain, starting off as a sprinkle but quickly changing into a steady downpour.
If you have ever shared an umbrella with a short person, you know that the taller of the two needs to be the one holding the umbrella. Otherwise, it just doesn't work, because the taller of the two inevitably gets whacked with the umbrella, and still ends up wet.
For some reason, the harder the rain became, the slower the kiddo seemed to walk. Surely I was imagining it, because, really, who wants to be caught in a cold rain? We were halfway home (which we can normally cover in just a few minutes) when the kiddo started complaining that she was getting wet and trying to grab the umbrella. I reminded her that I wasn't exactly staying dry, either, but if we hurried up, we could make it home without getting too soggy.
At this point, only my boots, the cuffs of my pants, and my right sleeve were wet--salvageable with a hair dryer, right? However, the kiddo viewed walking in the rain as the end of the world. We were in the home stretch, so I handed the kiddo the umbrella and told her I would run the rest of the way. Now, I wasn't abandoning her--we were cutting through the neighbors' yard, like we always do. She knows them, and has no problem cavorting on their property any other day. Plus, we were right next to our own house.
That was when the real water works began. The kiddo stopped, crying, and called for me to come back. I ducked under a (way too scraggly tree) and told her to cut through the yard. She wanted me to wait. I told her to come to the tree and we would run the rest of the way together. No dice. The tree wasn't offering me much protection, and now I was drenched. I gave up, and stood there, in the rain, as hot tears of frustration threatened to mix with the rain pelting my face. I had to teach a class in a few hours, and my nice outfit was ruined, and my hair was soaking wet. We trudged home together, the kiddo still fairly dry under the umbrella.
The kiddo and I usually unpack her book bag and lunch box together as she tells me about her day. This time, though, she had to do it alone as I cleaned myself up. This was not to her liking, and she let me know it. I stopped her complaining by standing in front of her and asking her one pivotal question: "Which one of us is soaking wet and miserable?" She hung her head and unpacked.
She felt guilty, all right! She needed to learn that she she can't expect people (even me!) to accommodate her at their own expense. I let the kiddo know that I was disappointed with her decision, because it looked like she didn't care that I was wet and miserable. She made it up to me by cooperating with me the rest of the day, so yes, I think she realizes that her actions affect others. (And that even mom gets wet when standing still in the rain.)
According John M. Grohol, Psy.D., "guilt is trying to get our attention so that we can learn
something from the experience. If we learn from our behavior, we’ll be
less likely to do it again in the future". The kiddo has a strong reaction to guilt: she sulks and won't look at me. So while I am less than impressed with the kiddo's less-than-stellar spelling test, I choose to use guilt only when the kiddo's actions affect someone else.
http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2007/11/27/5-tips-for-dealing-with-guilt/
For a moment, I was torn. An almost overwhelming desire to shower my kiddo with sweet expressions of adoration--that is, Easter candy--almost took over while I was in Kroger this morning. Fortunately, I came to my senses before buying too much candy.
Even a Mean Mommy can be tricked by consumerism, that urge to prove your worth/love/social standing by buying more, more, more.
Easter used to be a primarily Christian holiday, with some pagan aspects thrown in to keep the kids happy. Now, however, Easter is a spring event, and, as such, has become a candy holiday. (Hey, it happens. You can even find chocolate "coins" for St. Patrick's Day. What does that have to do with driving the snakes out of Ireland? Stick with potatoes and beer, people. But I digress...)
It doesn't end with the candy, though. Oh, no. Look at any pre-made Easter baskets, and you will find a lot of non-candy items (meaning toys) as well. Easter as just a religious or candy holiday is over. Now parents are pressured to give their kids yet another stuffed bunny plus a plethora of other toys in addition to candy for Easter.
I can't do it! I faltered in the candy aisle, but I won't cave to pressure. OK, not too much. One bunny, a few Reese's Peanut Butter Cups in the pretty pastel wrappers, some jelly beans...and that's all the candy (at least from hubby and me). Throw in some bubbles and we can call it a day, right? Why bubbles? Because bubbles must be played with outside, and there's sure to be some running around involved in chasing them.
Except...the devil on my one shoulder is telling me that other mommies are giving their kids huge, ginormous Easter baskets overflowing with goodies because they love their kids so much. I must do the same or the kiddo will think I don't love her as much.
On my other shoulder, though, sits the angel who is calmly reminding me about high fructose corn syrup, saturated fats, and artificial everything else.
So I'm going to stop with the obsessing over candy and toys, and make some "coupons" for the kiddo for over Spring Break, which comes directly after Easter. The coupons are going to be for fun things she and I can do together to keep us busy, and to keep us active. That way we can work off the Easter candy in no time!
When the kiddo goes back to school after Spring Break, will she be envious of her friends and classmates who received loads of stuff? Probably. Will she be healthier? Eh, maybe. Will I feel good about my decision? I should, but it depends on that devil on my shoulder...
Kids and cell phones...when is a kid ready for one? Ask my kiddo, who has seen someone go on YouTube to bring up "Gangnam Style" on their phone, or play "Angry Birds" and she will tell you that she needs a phone right now.
I don't have a smart phone, but my kiddo knows that I have her friends' parents' numbers magically stored away in mine and at the ready in case I want to call them to set up a play date. I can also text on my phone, which serves the same purpose and lets her see cute pix sometimes. So, in the kiddo's mind, she needs a phone.
Ummm...no.
Even friends of mine who have older kids complain that their kids are on their phones too much instead of interacting with the family. One friend's teenage son took 30 minutes away from his phone in order to drive a short stretch of a family road trip, then had to take even longer to "catch up on his correspondence".
While some kids--old enough to be responsible with a phone but not yet old enough to drive--may need phones to call mom or dad for a ride, a 7-year-old just doesn't.
The kiddo's BFF sees her older sisters on their phones and asks when she is going to get one...the answer? Her mom will get her a phone when I get one for my kiddo.
(Oh, kids, moms always get the last laugh!)
