Entries Tagged 'humour' ↓

Hi! I see you're new here. That's cool. You may want to sign up to my RSS feed - it's free! Thanks for visiting!

Every parent thinks their baby is bright, their child is special. But mine are. Truly! And parenting a child who is intelligent is, in my opinion, a much more daunting prospect.

When my first was born, I was determined that, unlike my mother, I was not going to say ‘because I said so’. I was very careful, whenever he asked me why, to explain all the reasons in as full a manner as I thought he could understand. So what did he do? As soon as he was old enough to figure all this out, he started arguing all the reasons I should do what he wanted instead of what I felt was best. I, foolishly, went along with this for a while, arguing my reasoning back with him, to which he’d counter argue and so on. Eventually, exhausted by the process, I found myself saying to him, “Look, I am the parent, and it’s my job to make these decisions. I have to make the best choice I can in the situation, and hey, it may even be the wrong one, but I can only do my best. And you must abide by my decisions because you are my child.” And then it hit me, that was a very fancy way of saying “Because I said so.” Terrific.

When my second child came along (also bright, of course) I found myself saying more often, “I’m sorry but that’s the way it is. I have to make the decisions and this is the one I’m making.” Still an elongated “Because I said so” but better in my opinion. And if they ask me to explain why, I will. However, I’ve had to be very clear with my oldest child, now a pre-teen, that ‘the why’ is not an avenue to negotiation; He can disagree all he likes, but the decision will stand.

Having said that, I do allow my children a chance to explain if they think I’m wrong. NOT to wear me down — No means no! — but to show me their side if they think either I didn’t ‘get it’ or else that my reasoning is faulty. Sometimes they’re right, and I change my mind.

For example, my oldest child wanted a later bedtime. He is 12 now, and he felt his bedtime should be later. I didn’t want this because I felt he his bedtime was age-appropriate. He said he really felt that he could handle it and wanted me to think about it again. So I let him explain, and he pointed out that he doesn’t seem to need as much sleep as some other kids his age, and he really wanted some uninterrupted time after his brother had gone to bed, so ‘me time’ for him without his younger siblings buzzing around, and only a half hour separated their bedtimes at that point. I thought that was a reasonable argument, so I did change my mind, and gave him a trial run on it. So far he’s been right, and the later bedtime stands.

These kids are definitely smart, and if I’m not careful, they can get the better of me. Not only do I have to make the best decisions possible, I have to out-think him the best I can as well!

The out-smarting thing is definitely important in my relationship with my middle son. He is slightly under-motivated in certain areas, like reading. Let me just say here, in my family we are Readers. (Capital letter intentional!) My husband reads a lot (both books and copiously on the Internet), I read every spare moment, and my eldest child is a prolific reader as well, although he came into it a bit late. Back to the middle child, so NOT a reader. He can read, and do it well. He just doesn’t seem to enjoy it. (I still have hope though — his brother was 10 before he started to read for enjoyment.) So, being good parents of a bright child who needs a bit of scholastic pushing, we got him a library card, took him to said library and watched while he checked out books. We instituted reading time, where we all read at the same time, and then we would quiz him afterwards about what he’d read to be sure he was taking it in. He answered the questions, but we noticed that, over time, the amount he was getting through in the allotted time was growing astronomically! Hhhmmmm… Yep you probably guessed it, the stinker was skimming chapter titles, learning the main character’s names, and then reading the last chapter so he could tell us how it ended! Sneaky!

And now we come to the third child, this one a girl. She’s not yet three, so you’d think I was off the hook with the smart thing, right? You couldn’t be more wrong. Not yet three and she knows all her alphabet, colours (even down to obscure ones like ‘beige’), numbers to 12 and she can talk rings around all of us, using very sophisticated vocabulary to do it! It doesn’t hurt that my mother-in-law quit her job as a teaching assistant to keep our daughter from the age of 6 months, but trust me, the kid is bright. And, oh joy, we are to the ‘Why?’ stage of nearly-three. I have explained why about everything from the need to wear socks under shoes, to the justification for her going to Nanny’s house while the boys and I go elsewhere everyday, (Even though she loves going to Nanny’s and wouldn’t really want to go anywhere else!) to the reason that people have belly buttons. Believe me, I have explained just about everything there is to explain! And still she asks ‘Why’!!!

As an aside, I once asked her why she asks ‘Why’ all the time. Her answer? “I don’t know, I just have to.” Profound that.

In my experience, parenting intelligent children is an exhausting and introspective process. I’m continuously having to think about how I talk to them, how to explain things from their perspective (You try explaining the British legal system to an inquisitive six year-old!) and then review how I’ve dealt with them. I’m also trying to think ahead to how the systems I put in place today may turn on me tomorrow! It’s definitely never easy.

But worth it? Oh yeah. Just talking to these wonderful small people who have fresh and amazing insights on the world, who never run out of things to tell me and who regale me with yet a 14th chorus of ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’ (that’s the little one, mind, who knows all the words and doesn’t seem to understand when a song is over) is a wonderfully enjoyable experience. I just have to remember that during the times when the constant chattering and singing drives me crazy.

I hate to cry.

My mother, bless her, is a cry-er. She cries when she’s angry, she cries when she’s sad, she cries when she’s moved, she cries when she’s happy. Do not misunderstand me — I love my mother, very, very much. I also know this thing about her, and I’m honest about it.

I have never been and never wanted to be a cry-er. I look awful when I cry (red face, runny nose, swollen eyes — NOT pretty) and I feel pretty awful while doing it. I feel better afterwards, but I’m still not good at it.

Now it is a woman thing. We honestly can’t help crying sometimes. ESPECIALLY if a woman has ever had a child. That hormone thing is real and it’s weird. And we can’t help it!

So why is it, when nearly every 2nd person on the planet has to do the crying thing sometimes, that men are so flummoxed by it?!

My husband hates it when I cry. Now he’s known me, been with me, lived with me, for more than a decade now. And yet every time I cry, it’s like this totally baffling (and irritating) experience for him. Do they not cover this at men school?

If you’re a guy, let me give you a small piece of advice. (And trust me, this will take you far, with the ladies I mean.) When a woman cries, this is what she wants: 1) Have a sympathetic look on your face, 2) put your arms around her and hold tight and 3) this one is your choice — either rock slightly with her in your arms, or make soothing noises (words like “It’s okay”, or “I know” or other similar phrases are great), or heck, BOTH at the same time. You can even rub or pat if you feel so moved (BONUS POINTS), but these aren’t totally requisite. The first three, non-negotiable. Must be done.

The sympathetic look doesn’t have to be real. You can fake it. Trust me, we don’t care. We just want to see it. We want to believe you get it. That you understand. You don’t. You probably can’t. You are a different species, after all. On some level, we know that, but when we’re crying we want to believe you get it. Don’t make any other kind of face, even if you’re feeling it inside. Feed the fantasy.

The hugging thing scores major points. Don’t walk away, (or worse, run) although we know, again at some deep level, that you want to. Don’t pretend you don’t hear us sniffling or sobbing. Don’t suddenly get absorbed in a fascinating article on the Internet. Approach and hug. Believe me, it will have payoffs for you. This is worth doing.

As for the sounds/rocking, we don’t know why we need it, we just do. It just helps. Don’t tsk. Do not, under any circumstances, roll your eyes. Do not sigh. Rock or make soothing noises, or do both. (Depends on a) how believable you can be with the noises and b) how much credit you want for this!) That’s it. Don’t improvise and don’t let us know you don’t really want to do this. It will go much better for you if follow these rules, believe me.

Now there may be a woman out there somewhere who doesn’t like this. But chances are, even if it’s not how she wants her crying to be handled, she’ll still appreciate the attempt.

So do us, and yourself, a favour. Ignore your natural instincts. Follow the three rules as laid out.

And then our crying will be over sooner, and you will benefit from being seen as such a “wonderful, understanding man”. See? Everybody wins!!!

I’ve decided relationships are not about what people say. They’re not even about what people do. They’re about what people want.

My husband and I have been together a long time now — 13 years in August! And yet, I just realised, TODAY even, that I don’t really understand what he wants.

I thought I did. I thought I knew what it meant to please him, make him happy, be supportive. I don’t. And in return, he doesn’t seem to know what I want either.

The reality is, we each do what we think the other person wants, and that translates into doing what we each want individually from the other person. In other words, I’m doing what I want him to do for me and vice versa. Not exactly a recipe for success that, is it.

Bummer.

What do I want? I want him to talk and I want him to talk in a way that shows he cares about me. I want him to ask about my day and really want to hear the answer. I want him to chat with me on car journeys. (I am a driver married to a non-driver. That means I drive everywhere, and somewhere along the way the thrill of driving ceased to be a thrill. TALK TO ME! Driving is boring now — talking is not.) I want him to tell me I’m important to him.

I also want him to do things I want done. I want him to put pots away when he’s cleaning up in the kitchen. (Everybody has their ‘thing’. Pots left out on the stove is mine. I hate that.) When he’s washing up, I want him to wash the backs of the dishes, not just the fronts/insides. (Why do men not do this? I don’t think I’ll ever understand that.) I want him to change the sheets on the bed instead of waiting for me to do it — I want to come home one day and there are clean sheets on the bed. Surprise! (Yay!!)

So what do I do?

I ask him, every day, how his day went. (Or in this case, night – he’s been working nights for nearly a year now. We both hate it.) I try to chat with him on car journeys. I try to tell him in words, phone texts, emails, that he is important to me. I am trying to make him happy by saying what I want him to say to me.

I get it a bit more right with the doing — I know a lot of his ‘dos and don’ts’. I try to be tidy because I know he hates it when I’m not and when the house is not. I try to wear clothes I know he likes on me when we go out, because I know he thinks his taste is good and mine sucks. I try (VERY HARD) not to ask questions with obvious, or given, answers because I know he hates that.

And I also put the pots away on the stove, wash dishes inside and out, and change the bed sheets unexpectedly. Trying to please him by doing things that would please me.

And you know what? I could be wrong, but I honestly think he does the same thing in reverse. I know I hear him say, “I thought that’s what you wanted” often enough, and yet the ‘wanted’ thing is usually, very surprisingly to me, far outside my scope of even thinking about.

How can we get it so wrong? And how, after all this time, can we still think the other person wants what we ourselves want? And can we ever get it right?

I suspect getting it right would involve those taboos of “asking for what you need“, where ‘mind-reading’ is SO much more romantic, and “communicating honestly and openly” about what works and doesn’t work for you in a relationship, where guessing and basing your reactions on your own wishes is SO much more natural.

No wonder people say relationships are hard work. It seems to me it’s not the other person who’s hard work — it’s dealing with ourselves: our own preconceptions, misconceptions, interpretations, explanations. I have always believed, and still do, that the benefits are so worth it, but I gotta tell you, the work (which mostly seems to involve working on myself) is sometimes very hard.