Conditioning Myself to Be Unconditional

Sometimes I think that parenting needs a 12-step program.

I’m a believer in the theory of unconditional parenting as proposed by Alfie Kohn in his book Unconditional Parenting: Moving from Rewards and Punishments to Love and Reason.

However, belief by itself doesn’t always translate into action.

I’m in the midst of re-reading the book because I’ve begun to notice after some time that my language has become more and more conditional since reading this book when Annika was a toddler.

If you’re not familiar with the theory, let me try to give a brief explanation. (Or you can read more here.)

It’s a complex theory, so really it’s best to read the book.

But basically it says that the use of punishments and rewards conditions children, therefore putting a condition on the parental love, leaving them with insecurities.

The judgments, even positive ones, that we use with our children affect how they think we love them.

Unconditional parenting says that a parent’s unconditional love should be evident in our language and actions. Kohn says in the book, “…the relevant question isn’t just whether — or even how much– we love our kids. It also matters how we love them.”

How we love our children matters.

The ideas in his book really spoke to me when I first read it and I began putting into practice removing judgments and empty praise from my language. I took the words, “good job” and tossed them out of my parenting language. I don’t say anything when she does something new like open a heavy door, or help me carry groceries, or clean up her toys without prodding.

There’s meaning in the unspoken.

I began using constructive words to describe her creative efforts, her attempts at sports, and other toddler/preschool learning activities. Things like, “You used contrasting colors in that picture.” Or, “You kicked the ball really straight and hard.”

The idea behind that is to point out what was good or useful instead of offering empty praise.

Adding to that stuff, I made a habit of telling Annika that I love her and give her a hug and/or kiss, immediately after she’s thrown a tantrum, (or when I’ve lost it yelled at her).

Kohn says that using conditional parenting, mainstream advice would tell us to punish “bad” behavior. But using unconditional parenting, the parent realizes that a tantrum is a sign that something is wrong, and that’s the time when our children need our unconditional love the most.

It’s something I continue to struggle with. There are times when I just want to squash the tantrum. Or I lose my temper and my patience.

These ideas that we should allow anger and annoying behavior are not things we’ve been taught. They go against all the typical parenting patterns in our society.

But I think they are worthy habit changes and I am looking for some new ones to add to the mix as she ages.

So, I’m working on it. But it doesn’t come naturally. And I fall back into using mainstream language when I’m not paying attention. I nitpick. I roll my eyes behind her back. I yell sometimes. It’s hard to change even when you know better. And part of that is because of conditioning.

It’s something I have to continue to watch.

I noticed that my language had started to reflect more mainstream mantras a few months ago when I was teaching Annika to play “tennis” (really it was a plastic ball with badminton rackets from the dollar store).

So, she’s only 3, right. It had never even occurred to me that she would actually be able to hit the ball with a racket. But she wanted to try. Hey, I am all for that. If my kid wants to learn something new, we do it.

So, after a few lessons on stance and modeling the serve, she got it! (Sort of.) I was so excited I jumped up and down shouting, “WOW! GOOD JOB! GOOD JOB!” Then I quickly added, “YOU DID IT ALL BY YOURSELF!” And then I added more constructive feedback as we continued to play while I mentally kicked myself.

Although, I don’t think the random “good job” is going to do any long-term damage to her psyche, I wonder just how much other conditioning I’ve done without realizing it.

Everywhere you turn, you hear parents congratulating their kids on things that they don’t need to be congratulated for.

Children get rewards for the most ridiculous things in our society. Peeing in the toilet. Eating vegetables. Helping pick up toys when they are happy to do it. Reading. (Really? As a childhood reader, that one really annoys me.)

In my mind, these are just facts of life. Things that you need to learn. Giving rewards for them seems hollow at best, detrimental at the worst.

But parents are in a rush for their kids to learn or keep up these habits. It’s a systemic problem from an immature society with a selfish need for everything to happen on a timetable instead of allowing things to progress naturally. We are a convenience society and it has extended to our parenting in the form of conditioning.

Nobody seems to think about how we teach, just that they do it. Is that really the kind of society we want to raise? People who are conditioned into doing things for a reward instead of doing it out of joy?

It’s one of those sick and twisted lies that our culture keeps propagating. It’s not even an elephant in the room because everyone sees this elephant and keeps patting it on the back and telling it “good job.”

End of a Long Day. Long Week. Short Life

The past week has been one of those weeks where I blink and it’s next Tuesday.

The nights and days blur together and every night, I marvel that it seems like I was just getting Annika ready for bed a minute ago. Here we go again.

I’m obsessing over preschools and elementary schools. I’m making lots of good new business contacts. I go to bed every night thinking about what I have to do the next day and I drink so much coffee I feel like I’m shooting up. (Not really.)

I wanted to write a new, yet brief post because I have to get my sex post off the top of my blog.

Adding to that, I’ve been doing a lot of pondering about life lately. Since turning 40 in November I’ve gotten this constant tiny little thought in my brain that says, “This is the only life you’ve got. Live it to the fullest. It’s ticking away, minute by minute.”

That’s not to be morbid. But as I’m aging, the reality of life has really begun to sink in.

I”m noticing just how damn precious life is. This year, for the first time in my life, one of my goals is to notice, even for a small moment every day just how lovely the sky is, and stop to breathe when I’m feeling stressed and overwhelmed.

The world isn’t going anywhere I tell myself. 

And while there is always another day. This particular day is the only one of its kind.

Every minute is unique. And when it’s over. It’s just over.

How Sex and Breastfeeding Intermingle with the Single Mom

*Family member TMI alert*

Mom, TMI = You may not want to read this.

For the past few years, sex has come and gone in  my brain in a variety of ways that it never had before becoming a mom.

Before giving birth, I had heard of women losing their desire to have sex. I always figured it was because of the sensitive nature of the body part that was healing. But honestly, that part healed up a lot faster and easier than I thought it would.

However, I had no desire, even when I could. Luckily for me, it was a non-issue.

It wasn’t healing that hindered my desire.

I had a new person to cuddle with. And that person needed me for everything, love, food, warmth, reducing fear, mobility.

Added to that, I was newly in love. The idea of giving any part of me to another human being, even the person who helped me make the new love of my life, felt like an adultery. It made me queasy.

When I told Toyin this, along with the tidbit that simply watching sex scenes in the media made me wince, he said there must be something wrong with me.

Since it wasn’t really an issue between us at that point (our sex life pretty much died with my pregnancy, TMI much?) it was more of a rational conversation than it would have been if we were still a couple.

As usual, when discussing these types of issues with him, I thought he was probably wrong. I figured that eventually the old girl would come back around.

And she did. But it took much longer than I thought it would.

Like two years.

When the appeal came back over a year ago, the thought of having a new relationship with a man who had not fathered my child was hilarious to me. I couldn’t fathom how this could possibly work.

I was a single mom still nursing a toddler who seemingly planned to take my breasts with her to college.

No matter who you’re sharing them with, breasts are –in my mind– a one-person body part.

I imagined scenarios where I’d get lovey dovey with a new man only to dribble breast milk on him during a passionate act. Or have him encounter a new bedtime snack that neither one of us enjoyed.

Gross. I can’t imagine any scenario where that would have been acceptable for either one of us. If I met a guy who was okay with it, I’d go running for the door. Best case scenario is that I’d have a new story named the “Breast Milk Incident” filed under, Hilarious Yet Embarrassing Stories that I Only Tell When I’m Drunk.

And in case you’re wondering, oh yes, it not only could have happened; it almost definitely would have.

I was like a cow with my milk. I leaked out of the left side for the first four months. I was probably a wet nurse in a previous life. Given this talent, it’s really quite a shame that I only had one child.

As I pondered this possibility, I also recalled a story I heard once about a stripper who squirted breast milk on a guy because she was (supposedly) aroused and that’s just what happened. (As told to me by someone who was in the company of the man to whom it happened to. Don’t ask me how I end up with these stories in my life.)

These imaginary and supposedly real scenarios stopped me in my tracks every time I thought about finding ways to put myself back on the market.

But Annika is finally (FINALLY!) almost weaned. Need I say more?

Online Reincarnation; Is Facebook the Portal to the Afterlife?

I have two Facebook friends who are dead.

Every time I think about it, I stop and pause. It’s just so strange to me that there are dead people who still have an online presence. And then I go about my day.

But I have to wonder, I mean, what will happen to those profiles? Will they eventually die? Does that mean those people died twice?

With so much technology and online presence, it’s almost like we have two lives.

Most genuine people, who are acting honestly online, still have an online persona.

We portray ourselves in certain ways online because of a variety of characteristics, perhaps our writing skills are better than some; perhaps we are really good photographers; perhaps we are super savvy and know all the latest technology; or perhaps we enjoy the lack of intimacy, allowing us to simply be, without the eye contact and body language that gets in the way of our words (that’s me).

So, do we have two lives now? Will Facebook and Twitter (and Google+) take over once we are dead? Maybe it sounds crazy. But even 10 years ago, hell, five years ago, I couldn’t even imagine asking this kind of question.

I remember when I didn’t have an email account. Now, I have four.

I also have a Facebook profile and two fan pages. I have two (or more) Twitter accounts; Google+; Pinterest; Diaspora; perhaps some other crap I’ve signed up for and I can’t remember at the moment.

So where does it end? What happens to these accounts after we’re dead?

Will they eventually lead to a portal in the afterlife? Are my dead Facebook friends checking in to see if anyone has left them a message or still writing on their walls?

This might sound crazy, but for months after both of these people died, people still wrote on their walls, talked to them. Missed them.

I realize that using commonly held beliefs, it’s easy to say that these people were simply mourning their losses and using Facebook as a way to empty their grief. Sure.

But I still have to wonder.

Computers are a bizarre invention. I was recently looking at some code on the back end of my website and mostly it looks like gobbledygook to me. I am not a programmer by any stretch of the imagination. But I can edit a bit here and there.

Looking at this stuff, I was fascinated and truly amazed when I really thought about what I was doing.

“I’m changing a picture with words and symbols,” I thought. “It’s truly brilliant.” We manipulate everything online with words. Words. Letters of the alphabet. Every single thing online, on the web, everything we look at and play with and watch is there because someone used language. It’s fucking trippy.

So, sure, Facebook is probably not the portal to heaven. But it’s something. That’s for sure.

P.S. I am not drunk. :)

Negative New Year’s Resolution

Since I generally make resolutions and then I don’t keep them, I decided that this year I’d use a little reverse psychology on my self.

Here’s my New Year’s resolutions list for 2012:

  • Watch more TV
  • Eat more junk food
  • Drink more
  • Gain weight
  • Exercise less
  • Spend less time playing with Annika
  • Read less
  • Don’t write a novel
  • Blog less
  • Make every effort to not learn a foreign language
  • Take up smoking again

Happy New Year!

The Season of Indulgence

Christmas night, after I spent an entire day indulging myself and my daughter, as I drove home from my parents’ this thought crossed my mind, “I’ve lived a life of uninhibited indulgence.”

I’m not saying that I have lived a life filled with debauchery and excess. I haven’t. Not in the context of American life, anyway. In fact, it’s been the opposite. I’m un-American in many ways, in that I don’t spend a lot of money on clothes, food, or cars.

But in comparison to most of the world, my life has been filled with always having enough. I’ve never lacked for anything, not really.

I’ve always had a home, with food on the table, clothes to warm my back, and transportation to take me wherever I need to go.

When it comes down to it, I’ve always done exactly what I wanted and gotten exactly what I wished for.

The latter part is subjective. There are many things I’ve wished for that I’ve never gotten. But in all honesty, they are things that are either impractical, illogical, or completely unnecessary to my being. Day-to-day, I cannot say that I have lacked for anything.

If I want new clothes, I buy them. If I want food, I get it. As an American, if I want. I get. It’s just that easy. While yes, there are poor people and homeless in this country, overwhelmingly, we are a country filled with more haves, in comparison to the have-nots.

Yesterday as Annika opened her gifts, she went from gift to gift, finding all things she had asked for at one point and a few things she had not.

Then we went to my parents’ where she got more gifts that she had wished for perhaps once.

Yesterday morning, the day after, we were driving in the car and I asked her, “Did you have a good Christmas?”

Her response was, “Well, Mommy, I did get the things I asked for, the dolly, and the wagon, and the jump rope. But I got a lot more things that I didn’t ask for.”

She wasn’t being ungrateful. I don’t think it’s logical to expect a 3-year-old to be that knowingly selfish. She was being honest.

It was too much.

Oh, from the mouths of babes.

And this conversation got me to wondering, “Can one suffer from having too much?”

This question in itself might seem selfish. But the reason I wonder is because I know that while I have always had plenty, I have not always been happy. And I look around me, at this world and our country, and I see many depressed and angry people, wanting something different.

We spend our lives wishing for more, or something else. And this season just has me wondering, maybe, it’s that we just have too much and that we got a lot of things that we never asked for.

Still No Black Babies on Local Shelves

$30 doll. Bought on Amazon.

It’s time for my yearly bitch about how I can’t find black/biracial/dark-skinned-in-general dolls in general stores.

My biggest complaint is with stores like HEB, Walgreens, CVS, (Wal-mart if I shopped there often enough) and Target. I”m mainly focusing on these stores because I hate to shop, I don’t go to malls, and I’m not going to pick on small, locally owned stores.

So, here goes.

Why the fuck can’t I find a doll for my daughter in a store that I shop at regularly? Is that too much to ask in this day and age?

We have a black (biracial) president. Dark-skinned populations are growing at vastly enormous rates in this country. (Don’t read the census, it’s skewed based on how they define “white,” etc.)

Here in Texas, it’s one of four states that has a “minority majority” population. Which means that white folks are the minority. Yep, that’s right y’all. We got more brown skins than white ones here. (Don’t even get me started on politics. Really.)

And yet, and yet, I still can’t find a damn brown-skinned baby doll at my local five and dime. Not even the ones on the brown side of town.

$10 doll. Found at the local HEB. (That's a grocery store.)

I paid three fucking times more on Amazon than I would have paid if the local grocery stores would stock a few on their pristine little shelves. Luckily she was eligible for super saver shipping, or I would been really bent out of shape.

I know that I posted last year about my joy at finding that Big Lots stocked some brown babies, which I bought.

But this year, Annika specifically wanted a life-sized dolly. She has been drooling over these girls everywhere we go.

When we first saw them in a Walgreens last summer, I started watching for them everywhere. They were on shelves in just about every store we went into for a while. Surely, the HEB on the east side of town will stock some dark-skinned dolls I thought stupidly. They did not.

Really? I mean, for real? I go into stores on those sides of town without Annika and people stare at me. (Okay, not really, but my skin color is, without a doubt, in the minority.) It amazes me that they only stock white dolls there.

The stress over this issue runs deeper still. Annika has started to show interest in doll houses and smaller dolls. Gah. I have been searching for about two years various ways I could put together a biracial family for her dollhouse. The only solution I’ve come up with is to split two families with another biracial family. Or buy them all separately.

I realize that this is not the worse thing in the world. My daughter isn’t being ousted for being racially different. Her life isn’t going to be dramatically affected by this doll obsession of mine. What this all boils down to is the fact that I hate to shop I just want my daughter to be able to find her place in the world at every step of the way and I can’t believe that stores are so fucking far behind the times socially.

Okay. End of very un-holiday-like rant.

Happy Holidays! Hope all your shopping is done. :)

The Thieving, Cannibalistic Fairies Who Live in My House

One night not too long ago, Annika and I were lying in bed. I was waiting for her to drift off when I noticed that the metal chain on the  ceiling fan was catching a tiny bit of light from the outside every few seconds as it twirled.

I immediately had a GREAT idea.

(You should probably keep in mind here that I had, at this point, Annika had not been introduced to fairies in any stories.)

“Annika look,” I whispered conspiratorially.

Surprised, she opened her eyes.

“What mama?” she whispered, sounding a bit worried.

“It’s a fairy,” I murmured.

Swish. Swish. Swish. Around and around the tiny dot of light glanced at us every few seconds. I thought it seemed magical.

And at first, it seemed, so did she. She squeaked in delight as we watched out little dot of magic hovering over our bed.

The next day we set up a fairy house on the floor in the bottom of the closet.

We made twig and leaf soup for the fairies, gathering items from our “garden” near the front door.

We set up some doll furniture and Annika made the fairies a bed out of two of her baby blankets.

When she wasn’t looking, I’d remove some of the “soup” and wait for her to notice that the fairies had eaten it.

The fun lasted for a few weeks.

Then one night, the light showed up again.

“Mama, I’m scared,” she whispered upon noticing that our fairy was back again.

“Why?” I asked. “Fairies are magical. They will keep us safe.”

“I’m afraid the fairies will bite me while I’m sleeping.”

Ah, fuck, I thought. There’s no coming back from this. I mean, fairies are magic. They can do whatever the hell they want to. I can’t stop them from turning on us in our sleep.

It got worse when I tried to make a comeback.

“The fairies are good. They sprinkle fairy dust on us to help us become sleepy.”

This was during high allergy season.

“Mama, I’m ALLERGIC to fairy dust!” In between sneezes.

Damn, my timing was off on that one.

The fears of being bitten went on for a while. One night, I was annoyed by the continued insistence that she would be bitten in her sleep.

“Annika, I’m going to level with you. Fairies aren’t real.”

“Yes they are mama. I can SEE them on the ceiling.”

She had me there.

“Okay, I’m going to tell them to leave. ‘Fairies, we don’t want you here anymore,’” I proclaimed.

The next day.

“Mama, they’re still here! The fairy house door is opened!”

Part of me was starting to think she was just screwing with me.

To be honest, I still haven’t come up with a solution. The fairy house is still in the closet, but the real estate is getting squeezed out by some stored items. Annika still mentions the fairies occasionally, but she’s no longer worried they will bite her in her sleep. Now, she just blames missing items on the fairies. When can’t find something her solution is, “Maybe the fairies stole it!”

The Big Santa Question

To my surprise, Annika popped the big question to me the other day.

“Mommy, is Santa Claus real?”

I stammered for moment, wondering what to say. It had never occurred to me that she would ask at such a young age.

I guess my critical nature is rubbing off on her.

Let me just say, I was not prepared.

After stammering for a few seconds, I said, “Well, some people think he’s real.”

LAME ANSWER! My brain screamed. But at least I didn’t tell her a blatant lie.

Apparently it sufficed for the moment, because she began babbling and I vaguely remember something about Mrs. Claus and Rudolph before the conversation changed to more important topics like what kind of dog to be and the next thing I said was, “Stop licking my face!”

However, it wasn’t enough for the long term; the conversation didn’t end there.

A few days later, right in the middle of several days of learning Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, I referenced Rudolph in conversation as if he was real.

“Mama, Rudolph isn’t real!”

“He’s not?” I questioned.

“No Mama. Rudolph isn’t real. But Santa is real, and he’s fat because he eats too much sugar.”

I smiled. I guess our conversations about food are sinking in.

She’s mentioned Santa again several times since then. And to be honest, my answers still haven’t become less lame because I honestly don’t know what to say to her.

Psst, Santa is really me.

What I Thought Before She Was Born

Before Annika was born, and even when she was still a tiny infant, I always thought that I wouldn’t do Santa.

I would never lie to my child, I swore on it. It had been so long since I had looked at the holidays through the eyes of a child, I had forgotten the fun of Santa.

But then she started to grow. And we had our first Christmas, and our second.

I began talking up Santa without even realizing that I had soften my stance on the issue. It just came naturally.

I realized that I wanted her to experience the magic of Santa Claus. The letter writing, the excitement on Christmas Eve, lying awake, hoping to catch a slight tinkle or clip clop of reindeer feet on the roof. The wonder when she awakes on Christmas morning to find gifts and candies.

I don’t know why it’s so important, but there seems to be something so special about believing in magic as a child. And Santa is just part of it.

I recently made the mistake of introducing fairies in a poor manner and now she’s afraid of them and tells me she’s allergic to fairy dust.

I really don’t want to screw Santa up.

Then and Now

So when she asked me last week if he was real. And then brought it up again. And again, I began to wonder, what is the right effing thing to do?

Do I play it off? Do I outright lie? Do I distract? Do I encourage? How will she look back on this as an adult and will she wish I had done it differently? Will she be pissed that I lied to her? If I told her the blunt truth, would be happy about it? Or would she be angry that I didn’t give her the magic of Christmas for a few years?

She’s so young. She could easily believe in Santa for several more years.

Part of me says that I’m obsessing over it way to much. “Just answer her GD question,” my pragmatic brain says. Any other question, and my parenting philosophy declares that I should give her an honest, age-appropriate answer.

But the other part of my brain says, “But she doesn’t know what she’s asking you to do. She doesn’t know that if she finds out the truth at age 3, she will lose several years of magic and make believe. She doesn’t know that she will have to be in on an adult secret while her friends still believe that the North Pole is home to elves who make toys and believe in a man who can fly around the world in one night.”

So for now, I’ll be lame. Because I can’t honestly say to her, “Yes, Annika Santa is real.” But I’ll be damned if I’m going to tell her that he’s not. Not yet.

On Single Motherhood

I’ve recently discussed being single with a couple of married moms, one thinking about getting divorced, and the other, getting divorced because her husband wants it, but she doesn’t.

It got me to thinking about how I looked at things so differently when we were still living with Toyin. And now, being single, there have been times, I admittedly, have inwardly rolled my eyes when listening to married moms talk about their main complaints. Not having enough “me” time. Trouble keeping the house clean. Not enough money to spend on luxuries like expensive shoes. Wishing they could take fancy trips.

My biggest wish right now is a house with a backyard.

But on those occasions, I lectured myself about how life and hardships are all subjective. It all depends on perspective.

When I had a house with a yard and my biggest worry was which playgroup to attend and when I was going to grocery shop, I still had things to complain about.

Oh, if only I could just be happy with what I have, right at this moment!

I know that on the outside, my life probably looks really great to some people.

There was that one time a hooker in my apartment complex told me she thought my apartment was the model because she could see all my furniture through the window when she trolling walking by.

Yes, I admit, it was a proud moment. I mean hey, ya gotta take your props when they’re given, right?

Honestly, she must have been smoking crack.

Other moms I know have talked up the idea of being single, as if it would make their lives easier. One mom told me that she’s thought about leaving her husband because she was tired of the disagreements over child rearing.

“I could just make all the decisions myself,” she dreamed.

Not really, I thought. While I do make plenty of decisions on my own, I still have to consult Toyin on lots of issues. And on top that, he makes plenty of decisions on his own too. I bet that one would make plenty of married moms dreams of single-hood come screeching to a halt. What? He can’t make decisions about the child without consulting me!

Don’t get your panties in a wad ladies, you know you’re thinking it.

Some sahms bemoan the fact that I get more “time off” than they do (a fact I don’t disagree with).

But when I’m without child, I am usually doing all the things I can’t get done when she’s around, like working. And on top of it, I miss her like crazy. The house just doesn’t feel the same when she’s gone.

One mom said she thought it would be better for her child because her kid would spend more time one-on-one with the dad, who apparently did nothing much with his child except spend a few moments hanging out before bed.

To this notion, I’d say, sure, that’s one aspect of single motherhood that might be beneficial all around. Child gets more quality/quantity time with dad. Dad gets to be more of a parent than he might if he was married.

I can easily say that I trust Toyin implicitly with day-to-day routines like bathing, tooth brushing, bedtime, dinner, and even clothes-buying, than many married moms entrust to their husbands.

But this argument assumes that you have an ex who wishes to be a good dad. I’ve known divorced moms who complained that their exes used the divorce as a reason to be a crappy dad, or blamed the mom for their lack of intimacy with their children.

Best case scenario, having a dad who does it all and steps up to ensure he is spending quality time with his kid, it doesn’t compare to having two parents at home. And it doesn’t wash out the scenario of a young child being frustrated about not wanting to be shuttled back and forth between two homes; two sleeping arrangements; two lifestyles.

We’re in that right now, where Annika doesn’t want to spend the night at Toyin’s. She’s used varying reasons, but I honestly believe that it’s the inconsistency in routines and that she simply wants to be at one home every day.

No matter what a great dad Toyin is, it still doesn’t take away the guilt I feel when I leave her crying and begging me not to leave because she wants to go home with me.

On the flip side, there are plenty of things that totally rock about being single.

Motherhood is never easy. Cheers!

I don’t have to justify my expenses to another person.

I don’t have to make time for anyone but myself and Annika.

I can let her stay up late without involving any discussion except for the voices in my head that scream, “Are you fucking nuts?!” To render these voices silent, I just turn up Annika’s cartoon louder and pour a glass of wine.

And that is something I don’t have to justify to anyone else either.