Social Gracious

If I Was a Man

If I was a man, I wouldn't be compelled to justify my reasons for accepting a really good job offer for twice the amount of money I was making, that also happened to require travel.  If I was a man, I'd be a breadwinner, not a homewrecker.  I hear loads of comments, "I could never do that" "Wow your husband is really great, is he OK with being Mr. Mom?"

Well guess what, I wouldn't have married an incompetent asshole in the first place, not that having a partner who travels is for every family.  My husband is the bomb, and even when I was a stay at home mom, he avoided calling me when I went out to ask me stupid questions.   Because we are a TEAM, we are equal parents, he's not a moron who I have to step in and save because he doesn't know how to parent.  He's a really smart guy, and guess what, that means that my daughter's hair might not be perfect, but he knows how to operate a barrette even if the art of the ponytail escapes him.  Guess what else, when I go out, my husband isn't babysitting, because you can't babysit your own kids, a babysitter is someone you pay to take care of your kids, parents don't babysit their own kids.

If I was a man, I could go to the Middle East for 6 months and you would say it's patriotic, not abandonment.  I could work for a pharmaceutical company and pull down 6 figures times 2 and you'd say, "how nice that your husband does so well." But because I'm a woman you pity me and wonder how I could possibly leave my kids for sometimes 3 days at a time.  I do it because it's for my whole family, it's because if I sacrifice for this one year, my family can have some financial peace for as long as we can plan, I do it because my husband has been doing it since we met and it's my turn.  Also, I'm secure that my husband is a good parent, just as good as me, as long as the clothes are laid out, I do bath and hair blow outs before I leave. This is the right choice for our family right now.

I don't say anything when people (sometimes my family or friends, and often women) make comments about my choices.  I know they mean well but it hurts.  I know they would never make the same comments if my husband had a similar opportunity.  Somehow because I'm a woman I am held to a different standard and I know it, but it still hurts me.  I love my kids with all my heart but this is a year I am giving for their future and really it's not that hard.  In return I got an extra day a week at home with them, I was finally able to take off at the holidays for the first time in two years.  I plan to take off an extended period of time during the summer.  No, I don't see them about three nights per week in the flesh when I'm travelling, but when I'm home, I'm home, no work, I can take them to school, pick them up, hang out, whatever I want.  I am not scared to stop and brush Diva's hair or chat with their teacher, lest I be at work at 8:05 instead of 8:00, I'm my own boss as long as I honor my appointments and commitments.

How do you judge other moms?  Do you judge men by the same parenting standards as women?  Do you hold the genders to different standards? Why?

A Visit to a Florida Cattle Farm

 
Cracker the Cow

We received an amazing invitation a few weeks ago, to Disney World you ask?  All expense paid trip to Costa Rica sans children?  No, sillies, to a friend's family cattle farm just a couple hours away in rural Mount Dora, Florida.

Three families met up early on Saturday morning at a nearby shopping center to caffeinate, pick up supplies at Publix, and caravan to Mount Dora.  Although it's only a couple hours drive, it might as well be a world away.  We turned down a long, sandy dirt lane, hoping the minivan wouldn't bottom out and require us to be towed.  Thankfully, we made it to the farm at the end of the lane.  

Children and adults struggled from the confines of minivans and SUVs and headed straight for shade trees, lounge chairs and picnic tables.  The kids were happy to be running around in the grass and dirt without the constant supervision required in suburbia.  There was even a little one room building with a bed and table inside that the kids called a play house, although it was really a full size guest room separate from the main house.  They got to feed two resident horses a carrot which didn't seem to compare to being able to run around free and relatively unsupervised.

At lunchtime, we shared a picnic feast, and got ready for the main attraction, the cows.  My friend 1.0's mother in law occasionally raises calves by hand, bottle feeding them if they have problems eating from their mother.  The result is a whole lot of cows who grow up really happy to see her.  She has an entire baby picture album of cows she has raised.  The photos show cows lazing about on front steps, eating from bottles and just generally seeming like domestic pets.  They even know her vehicle, a Jeep Cherokee, which we got to take a tour in.  

The "Cow Tour" consisted of 4 adults and 4 kids piling into the Cherokee, old school style.  Kids were sitting on laps, standing and wedged in every which way.  Mind you, we were never actually on a road but driving around the farm, very slowly looking at cows.  The kiddos looked at me wild eyed in amazement, having never been in a moving vehicle without a seatbelt or carseat.  As we drove around the farm, cows approached the Cherokee.   The favorite cows, typically those who had been raised as pets, came running toward us at a pretty quick pace.  We had a bucket of cow treats with us to sweeten the pot; we dared all of the kids to taste one, but none would.  

Once the cows approached the Cherokee and saw we had treats, it was all over.  I personally loved feeding them; I put my hand out and a cow would stretch her big head toward me, sandpapery tongue out, and lick up a pellet.  The only downer was the slobber, cows really slobber a lot.  Thankfully 1.0 was prepared with lots of paper towels; you could tell she's done this a few times before.  Most of the kids tried at least once to feed a cow, and one or two got a little overwhelmed by the giant heads stuck in the window, deciding they would just watch.

The day went by really quickly and before we knew it, it was 4 in the afternoon.  Time to pack it in and head back home to suburban life.  Two cranky, whiny, "are we there yet?" hours later we arrived.  I have to say I miss the shady trees, the fresh air and especially the cows.  I am also extra grateful for the good people in my life who make everyday wonders, like feeding a cow from the window of a Jeep Cherokee, possible.

Thoughts on Motherhood This Mother's Day

For several years all I could think about was becoming a mother.  UberGeek and I got married almost ten years ago and were married for over five years before we had children.  We had a great life together, traveling, working on projects around the house and enjoying each other's company.  In addition to that, we were madly in love with each other.  Still, I knew I wanted to be a parent and I understood that UberGeek would be a great dad. 

Our struggle to have children seemed like a long one to me.  At the time, I was working as a therapist for children with severe emotional disturbances and their families in a school system.  It seemed every time I turned around someone's adolescent client was getting pregnant, occasionally it was my client.  It appeared that fertility was inversely related to your ability to love and care for a child.  At the time I was not even thirty, but I felt positively ancient next to the fifteen and sixteen year old girls heavy with child everywhere I looked.

Finally, I did get pregnant, and nine complicated and miserable months later I gave birth to two healthy babies.  I remember looking at them, and feeling not a sense of overwhelming love, but rather, a sense of overwhelming relief that the pregnancy was over.  Then they wheeled us into our hospital room alone with two babies who we had absolutely no idea how to take care of.  We had no family in town, no support system and no clue. I was pretty sick physically, having been on bed rest for three months before they were born, and then in labor for sixteen hours to give birth to them.

Two days later it was time for us to leave, I was crying, every piece of clothing we brought with us for the babies was soiled with throw up or poop.  We had already paid the hospital an extra day of room and board because we were terrified to leave. I had nothing that fit to wear home and ended up in a nightgown and slippers. I was thinking, "Please God, how can they be letting us go home with these impossibly tiny babies, we will surely kill them; we don't know what we are doing."  Thankfully my mother purchased a plane ticket and was at the house not long after our brand new minivan pulled into the drive way. 

Several weeks later the sleep deprivation really set in, neither of us ever got more than three or four hours of sleep at any one time.  I had thoughts like, "Why couldn't we have just remained childless, we were having fun." "We are going to get a divorce." "We will never survive this."  "We'll never have fun again."  I talked to other parents of young multiples who assured me all this was normal and that they too had similar thoughts.  They also told us to hang on, assuring us that at 12 weeks our twins would sleep through the night with the exception of one middle of the night feeding.  That was the only thing that kept me slogging on through that seemingly endless series of days and nights.

Finally, our children made it to 12 weeks, and everyone was right, by that time they were sleeping 6PM-6AM and waking between 12P-1A for one feeding.  It was a miracle, but not really, since four of my friends twins and triplets of similar age were doing the same.  UberGeek and I went back to date nights, but they were in our house.  We put our kids down to bed right at 6, had nice dinners together, watched a movie and got lots of rest. 

Fast forward five years and there have been more tough times, the time between the age of two and three and a half I'd say.  Truthfully though, right now is a pretty sweet spot.  The kids are much more independent, they can entertain themselves for up to half an hour sometimes.  It goes without saying that being done with potty training rules.  Watching them read and write is incredible.  At this stage I am thinking there are a lot of really good times to come.  I'm pretty proud of UberGeek and I, so far we've done a good job.  I know that's dangerous to say, Diva could still be looking back at me from some scary man's Harley at a too young age.  Eddie Haskell could lock himself in his room with multi colored hair and freaky music.  Right now though, we're riding high.

Being a parent is amazing, there are so many times I am thankful I was given the opportunity.  Still, it is nothing like what I expected; it's absolutely the hardest thing I have ever done.  No one ever tells you how hard it is when you are trying to get pregnant.  It is the most constant job you will ever do and there is no break.  I guess it's kind of like the Peace Corps, the toughest job you'll ever love.

The Tiny Dancer's Mama's Meltdown

 

I got to work this morning early, as is usual on Thursdays, so that I could leave at 430 to make it to Diva's dance class.  Today wasn't any regular day though, it was dance recital picture day.  Even better, I was missing an element of the costume, pink tap shoes, which were sold out all over town.  The solution to this problem is a special can of dance shoe spray paint, which you can purchase for $6.95 to spray paint your otherwise perfectly nice shiny tap shoes, until they drip and are chipped and tacky looking. 

I realized too late, that in my rush to leave in the morning, I had forgotten to grab the makeup bag with blush, lipstick and mascara for Diva.  I know this sounds weird for a five year old, but if you have taken dance pictures you know the drill.  They like for the kids to have a little blush, lipstick and mascara for pictures and recital, otherwise they tend to look washed out with the bright lights and costumes.  I left a message for UberGeek and asked him to dump every last piece of my makeup and brushes into a Ziploc when he ran by home before picking up the kids.  Then I would meet him at the dance studio.

Around lunchtime I drove over to the dance supply store to purchase the paint; while I was there the salesperson also sold me a device guaranteed to make Diva's hair into a perfect bun for $6.95.  This is probably a lesser cost than the five cards of bobby pins and eight cans of hairspray it took last year to make the perfect bun so I bought it.  Then I headed back to the office, found an old pizza box and spray painted the shoes in the hallway on top of the box.  They didn't look great, but passable.  Then the afternoon was a blur of meetings and a last minute user issue before I extricated myself ten minutes behind schedule. 

By the time I met up with UberGeek and the kids in the parking lot of the dance studio, we were behind the eight ball and my anxiety level was rising.  Children were everywhere, perfectly shellacked, groomed and made up, and my child did not even have her costume on.  We put her dress on in the minivan and then I got out the perfect bun device.  Fifteen minutes later and not only was there no bun, but I absolutely could not figure out from the diagram on the card that came with the device, how to replicate what the sales person showed me in the store.  I grabbed Diva by the hand, dragged her toward the dance supply store (conveniently located next to the studio for your spending pleasure, don't you know) and begged them for help.  By then I was near tears, blathering on as to how I couldn't figure it out, the salesperson at the other store promised a perfect bun, why do they have these classes at 5:30, don't they understand that some parents work and how are we supposed to get our kids ready and to a picture session in hair and makeup at 5:30.  Diva remained calm and quiet, thankfully I can't remember her expression because most of the time she was facing away from me while I wrenched and grasped at her hair in vain.

To their credit, both women in the store were helpful and sympathetic, taking Diva and I to a woman who immediately fixed her hair up with the biggest can of Aqua Net I have ever seen and an even bigger smile.  Her hair was perfect and we headed back to the dance studio.  All of the other little girls had on sweet pink blush and a touch of lipstick, some had light color eyeshadow as well.  I didn't have time for eye shadow and UberGeek had somehow missed both the powder and creme blush.  I settled on some lipstick I quickly dug out from the bottom of the Ziploc and a quick coat of mascara.

I chatted with my other mom friends and watched their daughters have pictures taken and all I could think of was that I should have been able to have my daughter ready in time.  My daughter should have had makeup just as beautiful as theirs.  Diva certainly will never know the internal anguish I suffered today; she was oblivious. 

It's not that I don't enjoy having a career, I do.  When my children were infants I worked as a contractor or adjunct faculty at least part time as soon as they were a couple months old. Then I eased back into a salaried part time position and then a salaried full time position.   I've always really enjoyed and received satisfaction from having a rewarding career.  I just wish there was some way to make it easier to juggle having a family and a career at the same time. 

How do you juggle family and career commitments?  What do you think about the new government initiatives encouraging Workplace Flexibility?  Do you ever, or how often do you feel guilty about juggling your family and your career?

How to Explain Hypothesis to Five Year Olds

Tonight Eddie Haskell walked past Ubergeek who was standing by the bar in the kitchen checking his fantasy football scores and casually asked, "Daddy, what's a hypothesis?" "What did you say Eddie?" UberGeek replied, making Eddie repeat himself, thinking he had heard something wrong. Eddie Haskell asked about the hypothesis again. UberGeek peered at me, and I looked open mouthed at Eddie. Then I told Eddie it was an idea you thought you had the answer for already but needed to prove. Eddie looked back at me as if to say, "Yeah, I thought you people were not too bright, but this proves it; that makes no sense at all."  I told him that I would find a better way to explain it then I went straight to Google.

Thankfully, PBS and their helpful website, anticipates 3-6 year olds asking this question, apparently their viewers spawn a lot of future Mensa members. I really want to know what happened to five year olds asking whether they can eat the kind of paste that comes out of a jar, is applied with a stick and smells good enough to eat?? Isn't that the kind of question we should be supplying answers to at this age? I like my kids being smart but sometimes I anticipate that they will be laughing at their poor dim witted mother by the time they enter high school.  I don't think I was asking what a hypothesis was at the age of 5; I am going to call my mom tomorrow and ask, seriously. I could read but that was because I was raised by two bookworms and it really was self preservation.

 PBS suggested that we explain the concept by letting the kids mix two different types of food coloring, guessing the outcome and then writing it down.  Thus explaining their guess as the hypothesis and the mixed color as the result. We are always up for a learning challenge and it would kill 15 minutes after bath time so we got out the food color and some clear glasses. We tried a better explanation, that a hypothesis was a guess you could test and that we were going to test some. 

I never would have imagined that two five year olds would so easily grasp hypotheses but they did.  We proved and disproved several and they enjoyed figuring out which mixtures turned into the colors they predicted/hypothesized.  Still, I was glad that after we finished they were back to kicking a blow up beach ball around the house, a decidedly less intellectual pursuit.

Skinny Kids

 
 

This weekend dear friends (dear since they took both of ours plus two of theirs for several hours and still said no to drugs) took our kids to a great city event.  They volunteered for this to help out UberGeek and I, since we would be getting ready for the kiddos fifth birthday party.   Several hours later all the kids returned home exhausted, spent and with a bounty of free loot that included a little paper from one of the local medical centers.  The paper had their current height and weight written on it.  I thanked my friend profusely, tucked the kids in for a nap and put the papers in the drawer for a later date.  Then UberGeek and I frantically continued our birthday party preparations.

Later, after the party was over, all was cleaned up and a sigh of relief was breathed, I dragged out the little papers.  I was curious as to how tall the kiddos were and those growth percentile calculators are readily available online. 

Diva used to be a cute chubby baby, well, not so much chubby as fat.  UberGeek and I fought over who had to carry her, "No, I'm not carrying Jaba, you carry her, I'm taking the skinny one in the carrier." Even her feet were fat, I couldn't fit them in any normal shoes, I had to purchase extra wide baby shoes for the fat pads that crept over the top.  She was a soft, squishy, huggy, happy baby. Then she started walking and it was all over, it became obvious that UberGeek's metabolism genetics had blessedly been passed down to her.  Within six months or so my child became thin.  Now, at five, she is a little taller than average, just over the 79th percentile but only in the 2nd percentile for weight.  So 98 percent of kids her age are heavier than she is.  Thank goodness Osh Kosh and Children's Place make slim pants with adjustable waists. 

Eddie Haskell has always been skinny.  At birth he was just under six pounds, stark white and bruised after having been kicked by his twin sister mercilessly in utero.  He was long and lean, already tall as a baby.  With most babies people comment on how beautiful they are, my mom took one look at him and said "Poor little thing, he just looks like a turtle out of his shell."  It was true, wrinkled and wise, with a furrowed brow he looked up at us as if to say, "Really, could you put me back in for just a couple more weeks? It was my sister who was ready to be born."  He has been around the fifth percentile for weight since birth. 

Once he scaled the heights of the 25th percentile before he started walking, and when I began supplementing breast milk with formula.  As soon as he was mobile it was back to the fifth percentile.  He is warm to the touch most of the time, a little metabolic oven in action, all sharp knees and elbows akimbo.  Eddie looks just like childhood photos of UberGeek, so much so that it tugs on my heart, I wonder if it touches his mother as much as it does me to see how alike they are.  Probably it is more so, since she has all those little boy memories; I only have pictures. I checked his percentiles and he is predictably in the 7th percentile for weight and the 97th for height. 

I used to worry about my kids, afraid that I would take them in for one of those regular check ups and the pediatrician would give me the evil eye.  Instead she asks me if they eat (they do), then she asks me what kinds of foods they eat (all kinds unless in a picky phase) and general questions about their diet and habits. Then she looks at their history and pronounces them sound and healthy.  UberGeek never worries, he just gives me a look, "All those growth charts are skewed now by all the obese kids.  Our kids are fine. We just have skinny kids, at least they don't eat candy."  Subject closed.

Could Jon & Kate's breakup mean a Corvette for UberGeek?

Another video surfaced of Kate Gosselin and her woes dealing with her wayward husband. Because we have multiples, UberGeek and I have watched the Gosselin family for many seasons now.  UberGeek was over it sometime ago, his reasoning is sound, as soon as they were "mo-ovin' on up" with the gourmet kitchen, high gates, extra help etc. they were no longer fun to watch.  When they lived in a normal house, had assorted piles of laundry, couldn't find time to get out to get a haircut and struggled to make ends meet they reminded us of ourselves, only with more stress and strain.  We would look at each other and say, hah, at least we didn't have six kids at once!  Then suddenly, they weren't struggling anymore, instead they were wearing nice clothes, traveling to exotic locales and generally living it up.  It was like a super toddler proofed version of Cribs. Even their arguing wasn't amusing anymore. 

When the story broke that Jon had cheated on Kate I immediately went to UberGeek, "See, I said, that's why I've gotta keep things up to date, running, getting the hair done, plucking the errant whisker. If not, you could end up pulling  a Jon with some college aged dummy. Multiple relationships are under stress."  UberGeek chuckled, "That lady was crazy from the beginning, I'm surprised they weren't divorced long ago.  People should think before they get married, you're the only one for me." I suppose he's right but I still don't let the whisker grow. 

UberGeek and I joke about infidelity occasionally, we are the two least jealous people on the planet, that among other things makes us a good fit.  I wonder if Kate ever suspected that Jon would cheat?  Marriage is tough, marriage with kids is tougher, marriage with eight kids is hard to comprehend.  Still, pull it together and be mature for the kids, get a divorce gracefully. I feel so bad for their children with all this hub bub in the media.  The dad acting like a college frat boy instead of a middle aged father of eight and all the back and forth antics about money.  Couldn't Jon have just bought a red sports car or something?  One day he will wake up and figure out that the new cow he exchanged for the old one is now just as grouchy and pushy as the first one and cost him a lot more for the milk.

I told UberGeek he can have a sports car in a few years when we get rid of the car seats and the minivan is paid off.

 

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Rock Obama

Recently I was washing Eddie Haskell's hair in the shower, scrubbing away while he chatted about this and that.  He looked down at himself, turned his palms up, then down as if inspecting his skin for a bug bite.  Then he said, "Mama, there is someone in my class with brown skin and brown hair."  I said "Yes, just like Mama's friend Miss Y and her family, remember them?" One of my best friends who lived just down the street had two sets of twins but sadly for me, and the kids since they had nearby playmates, they moved two years ago to another state.  "Also, our President, Barack Obama has brown skin too" I said.  "Rock Obama!" he replied. Eddie was quiet for a minute, soaping himself, then he piped up with, "And just like Diva has brown hair and I have blond hair."  "Yes" I said, "just like that, people have all different colors of hair and skin."  Then he was done and onto his next topic. 

I wish it was just like that, for his whole life.  Now, in preschool, my children are unaware of prejudice and racism, kids are kids to them.  Another mom and I were talking about the way our kids describe other people.  They never, ever identify them by race, but rather a clear description of their hair color, eye color, skin color, activities and other factors.  It's such a beautiful time of innocence and it is sad to me that at some point they will begin using the common words we use to categorize different ethnicities rather than their much more accurate current descriptions.

UberGeek and I grew up in Northern Virginia, near Washington, DC,  for much of our lives. There is such a richness of different cultures, ethnicities and religions and diversity is easy to come by.  Now, transplanted to another locale, I often miss how easy it was to find and make friends with people from other cultures,  in our Virginia home they were my co-workers, neighbors and members of social groups I belonged to. During a recent trip home to Northern Virginia I was driving to the grocery store when a man in a canary yellow turban drove by me.  I immediately called my friend, who is also from the DC area, but now lives in Ponte Vedra Beach.  "I just saw a man drive by in a bright yellow turban" I said "I've really missed being at home." She laughed and said, "I know what you mean."

There is diversity in my community here, but I find I have to seek it out.  I love to learn about other people's cultures, try out their foods and ask their opinions on different things. Sometimes the best mirror of yourself and your society is a reflection in eyes that see things not as you do.

Just Another Day

Last Thursday was a typical day for me, but it just goes to show you how crazy life can be with a career, two kids, hubby and a hobby. 

6:00 Shower, dress, get kids started on cereal, set out their clothes, put on makeup, dry hair. UberGeek applies sunscreen to the kids, supervises them getting dressed and groomed.

7:10 I was out the door, UberGeek takes the kiddos to school since the school is on the way to his company and his schedule is flexible. 

7:25 Pull into the parking lot and Eureka, a spot in the gated lot!

7:30 I arrive in cubeville to start my day.  I hold off on a first coffee until 9 when my coffee break pal has settled in and finished her preliminary duties.  The we slink off to the break room to whip up a coffee and breakfast.  Then it's back to the desk until lunchtime.  I had a meeting scheduled for 3:00 with some really energizing colleagues, it was both productive and fun, score! It also ran over. 

4:35 I was grabbing my bags and sprinting in heels to the boonies lot since I lost my gated spot at lunch.  Usually I like parking farther away since it increases my weekly steps taken but I wasn't liking it that day. 

I had to make it to the kiddos swimming lessons. Getting the kids on Miss Page's schedule is like getting an appointment with a gastro doc at Mayo, it ain't easy, there's a wait and you better not miss! The reason is pretty much the same, Miss Page is top of her game.  Anyhow, before leaving the parking lot I texted UberGeek that I was on the way, he had already picked up the kiddos and headed towards the beach to the lesson.  I arrived and UberGeek had gotten there a few minutes early, the kids were already finished with lessons. 

5:15 leave swimming lessons and drive Diva to ballet while UberGeek takes Eddie Haskell to get some dinner, just the boys.  While Diva is in ballet a group of ballet moms and I head over to Crabcake Factory to split some hummus and wait for our ballerinas.  

6:30 Diva exits ballet, we head home and play for a few minutes before getting the kids ready for bed. 

7:30 Kiddo bedtime.

8:00 Superfuzz arrives and we head off to run a few miles, we only get in three but it feels good to blow off steam. 

8:45 I make us all strawberry shortcakes and UberGeek, Superfuzz and I sit around chat, and talk fantasy football until she heads home.

9:30 Shower

10:00 Lie in bed, try to read a few pages of my book, fall asleep.

6:00 AM Repeat

The Good Twin Maker

In general I would say UberGeek and I do a good job with discipline. We watch Supernanny after all, have a sticker chart we faithfully review with the kids each night and do our best to encourage positive behaviors. I've gotta tell you though, there are some nights that I tell my kids they are going to make me change my mind about corporal punishment. Usually this occurs at the dinner table.

I get home around 5:45 or so, dinner needs to be on the table around 6. Typically UberGeek has already moved the thawed dish into the oven to cook by the time I get home and all that is left to do is prepare a salad. I get a chance to say hello to the kiddos, ask them about school and then command them to wash up, set the table and get ready for dinner. Then a transformation occurs. My normally well behaved children become infected with the sillies. The sillies as anyone with a preschooler knows, are extremely annoying to the human adult. They are even worse when two preschoolers are within eyeshot of each other.

Getting my kids both at the table for some reason means the sillies are in full effect. Diva is called upon to say grace. She prefers to sing it and suddenly she screws up her face into "silly Diva face", her voice changes and she gets a devilish grin. "God our Father, God our Father" begins but with a giggle in the throat and a silly look on the face. UberGeek, although mild mannered really likes civilization at the table. He gets "the look" when the grace becomes silly that says he is near to raising his voice. I wait in anticipation for him to totally lose it. I raise my voice all the time but when UberGeek does it, things are serious.

"Grace is nothing to be silly about, you will not be disrespectful to God at the table." Ah dinnertime with two preschoolers, so relaxing. Probably 25% of the time someone gets sent to time out and we can still hear them being silly, sitting on the naughty spot, calling like a siren to the child still sitting at the table who grins and giggles, lured into silliness by the "evil twin".

UberGeek reminds me that our nephew was the kind of silly that drives parents to drink the large bottles of cheap Chardonnay and he turned out great. Now he is fifteen and a great kid, helpful, smart, an honor student. He has a close relationship with his grandparents and is always helping out when he visits them. All things that should indicate that we will survive this stage and that our children will probably turn out OK too.

Still, some nights I long to abandon our sensible discipline plan for the more primal "good twin maker." The wooden spoon brand of discipline doesn't require thought about effectiveness, changing behaviors or any of those things, only a satisfying whack when there is an offense. I often tell my kids "y'all are going to make me change my mind about corporal punishment." I'm sure they don't know what I'm talking about but it helps me to imagine I still have the option. UberGeek just grins and we do our best to get through another night, trying to enjoy the times when the kids are pleasant and anticipating bedtime when they're not. I know they'll outgrow the sillies, I just hope we survive them.