Bringing Up the Boy

This week has been brutal. Winter storm Toby dropped 8" of snow on Wednesday, resulting in a day off for all of us. Normally, that would mean snow ball fights and hot chocolate but all it meant this week was that Blue was underfoot for 8 hours, trying to salvage everything I was trying to get rid of. Packers will be here in 31 days and we are losing 1600 square feet and a basement. Some stuff has to go. I lost count of how many times I said, No, you don't need 17 leis from your first birthday party. We will get rid of 16, you can keep ONE. This was followed by a lot of foot stomping, yelling about what a terrible mother I am and general huffing and puffing. Replay that scenario about 39 more times and you have a pretty good idea of how my Wednesday went.

But life with Blue has been rough lately. Neal and I were ready to blame it on 5-year old testosterone, but one of our neighbors mentioned yesterday that her kids just need to get outside and play. It's been so cold and snowy for so long (really since November) and this area of PA only has a few indoor places where cooped up kids can run it off. Even a jump and bounce place is a sorry substitute for God's playground. But Blue hates the cold and hates to layer. We can't get to CA fast enough. I'm hoping by the time we move back to PA, he'll be a fan of winter.

So, there have been a lot of time-outs, a lot of screaming and slamming of doors and yesterday at the farmer's market, Blue kicked me in the shin while I was chatting with the family who runs the produce stand. He's angry, aggressive and making terrible choices. I've hugged him, disciplined him, got down on his level to talk, put him in time-out, taken away toys and TV tickets and tried to love him through it. But I can only take so much. When Mom's patience tank dings empty, it's probably best for everyone if they just step away slowly. Neal brought home a liter of Cabernet last night. That works, too.

And perhaps it really is just a fierce case of cabin fever. But what if it's not? As a first-time mom of a boy (a mom, I remind you, who really wasn't around kids - much less boys - until I had one), I'm constantly second-guessing the situation. It feels like every phase is going to last forever. I worry that my parenting is going to come back to bite me when he's in middle or high school. We don't have cable but we do have AirTV so we've been watching some ME TV at night and on the weekends. That means he's now familiar with Andy Griffith and Beaver, but he also knows about Bonanza. There's a lot of "shoot em up" in Westerns, but my general belief is that my husband grew up watching it and he turned out just fine. But we had to have a long talk with Blue about how he can't act out scenes from Bonanza at school. I was hoping Marcia Brady and Opie Taylor would offset the adventures at Ponderosa Ranch. That may have been wishful thinking.

All we were doing was trying to find entertaining TV to watch during an especially blustery winter but what we've got now is a shit storm of pent-up energy and aggressive behavior that he's picked up from the likes of John Wayne and the Cartwright family.

Parenting is hard. I probably deserved that kick in the shin.

I did not deserve that kick in the shin and he was swiftly disciplined which resulted in him making a scene of epic proportions on the floor of the farmer's market, but they're all Mennonites so at least I know the floor is clean.

As luck would have it, this is all fortuitously timed with Blue's first intruder drill at school and the March for Life happening this weekend. All week I've swung wildly from heartbreak about how our child is growing up in a world where intruder and active shooter drills are routine to wondering how someone who is barely over 4' tall can slam a door so hard it rattles on the hinges. (I would take the door off the hinges but then we just have to put in on again in 30 days. And by "we" I mean "Neal".)

This morning I happened to see a video posted on Facebook that featured a young woman who had the courage to stand up in front of her classmates and speak during a school walk-out. She acknowledged that many of her classmates were only walking out to get out of class. So, she took a breath, threw all of her f*&cks to the wind and said what needed to be said. She called out the bullies for creating a situation where kids finally strike back, but with bullets. And she pleaded for her classmates to simply accept one another for who they are, to just be nice. It was an impassioned plea that may have reached a few, may have fallen on a few deaf ears. Regardless, during a time of life when kids are the most cruel to one another, it was an incredibly courageous act. And it occurred to me in that moment...I want Blue to be kind...and brave.

We have ten years (or less) to shape Blue into someone who will stand on the steps and plead for his classmates to be kind to one another. When we held our hours-old baby in our arms, it felt like a lifetime. Now it feels like the blink of an eye. The active shooter drills have already started. He can barely spell gun but now he must know how to run from one. And this is how he will grow up. Our parents feared Russia's nuclear attack. We are buying bullet-proof backpacks. What did we fear growing up? I can only remember the earthquake drills.

I've been told that when Blue is out from under our watchful (and perhaps overly critical) eye, he is a helper and a friend. His teachers have told us that he's inclusive and kind. Maybe we are doing something right after all. Maybe he's building his brave and I'm taking the brunt of it. Kids should come with manuals.

As much as I want to march in DC, or even locally, tomorrow, all three of us have made commitments. Neal and Blue have the Boy Scouts awards banquet and I'm helping with his school carnival. These decisions were made months ago and while I 100% support everyone who is marching, I also don't want to set the example that prior commitments can take a backseat when something better comes along. These are the kinds of difficult decisions parents make everyday - what example am I setting? What will my child learn from this? A million tiny decisions will create a child that is brave or a bully, kind or self-centered. Yesterday, Blue proclaimed, "I'm so tired of you telling me what to do!" To which I replied, "Well, get used to it. Big Mama still tells me what to do." He thought about this for a minute and said, "When you're dead, you won't be able to tell me what to do." That's true, son. And hopefully by then, you won't need me anymore.

Also, UK lost to Kansas State last night so March has been a bit of a bust around here. I think we are all ready for April.

Enlightenment in the Dairy Aisle

One of my least favorite parts about moving all the time is having to constantly re-establish home base. I usually find the house and the school before we ever leave the last duty station (that has worked remarkably well every time save once) but finding new doctors, dentists, churches, playgrounds, libraries, grocery stores, car mechanics, hair stylists, gyms, and childcare, not to mention figuring out which restaurants are overpriced, which ones might give you E.coli and which ones are the hidden-gem-holes-in-the-wall that only the locals know about...it's exhausting and it feels like as soon as we find a comfortable groove, it's time to do it all over again. Sometimes I get it all right the first time. Our pediatricians have always been top-notch, we usually find a reliable farmers market within the first 2 months. Other searches have required more time. I rarely find a GP on the first try and it usually takes about 6 months to find a hair stylist that doesn't mention bangs at least once. I have found ways to expedite the process. Find the YMCA, an Aveda salon and a Firestone and work out from there. But grocery stores are tricky. Kroger isn't everywhere and even if it is, it may not be the best option. We don't always have access to a commissary, but even when we do, sometimes the produce is over ripe and they run completely out of chicken. Farmers markets are only open in the spring and summer. Some grocery stores are more expensive, some have a wider organic food selection, some have gas points, some have gas points but no actual gas stations to redeem them within 20 miles. I'm very picky about our groceries because we are what we eat and I go to great lengths to buy very little prepackaged foods. So, the whole foods I buy need to be of the best quality and I prefer them not to have made the trip from Chile, or even California, if I can help it.

When we moved to Dutch Amish Pennsylvania, one truth struck me immediately. This was no food desert. We don't live in a town surrounded by farms, we live on land within the farms (and every time they fertilize, we just have to remind ourselves...that's the smell of dinner on the table. Kind of like the sound of jets criss-crossing the sky over our house at Warner Robins was simply the sound of freedom). Our neighborhood backs up to a cornfield. The road my husband drives to work everyday passes the dairy plant and then, a few miles later, rolls past the dairy farms. And every time I drive to the YMCA, I pass a house with a cooler and a sign in the driveway: "EGGS FOR SALE". Take a dozen, leave your cash in the cooler. (In autumn, a house on the way to Hershey displays a surplus of squash and zucchini on a bench in the yard. Same sign, same neighborly honor system.) For months I rolled my judgmental eyes at the idea of buying perishables from someone's Coleman at the end of their driveway. And then I saw someone stop. And then someone else. And someone else. And I quit being judgmental and decided those might be the best damn eggs this side of Philly.

But our house runs on more than just eggs and when the roadside stands and weekend markets closed up shop in October, I needed a new way to meet our family's caloric needs. I have been buying our meat exclusively at a Mennonite-run market in the next town over since I discovered it on the way to Hershey one day last summer. It's fresh from the farm and if they don't have it, you don't need it. You want a leg of lamb? I'm sorry, you'll have to wait until spring. But here is the most delicious looking chicken thighs you've ever seen. And here's a recipe, in case you aren't quite sure what to do with them. And the cashiers just give the whole roll of stickers to Blue for his choosing. But again, the Miller Family cannot live on eggs and meat alone. So I was relegated to the local Weis for the weekly shopping trip. It was fine but it wasn't fun. Shopping was a chore and we slogged through every week, usually with Blue passing out from sheer boredom in the cart.

Seriously, it was so boring. I was tempted to climb right in there with him. Also, this is a cart full of prepackaged foods. But not all of this is for us. Hey Karen, here are the chips I still haven't mailed.

We continued on this way until a couple of months ago when we were entertaining Big Mama and Nana Anna for the weekend. After church, we trekked down the road to Oregon Dairy for lunch. It is a working dairy farm with a restaurant on site, but it is so. much. more. There is also a full-size grocery store, extensive playground and ice cream shop on the premises. There are hay rides available for groups to tour the farm and to celebrate Earth Day, they gave away free dehydrated cow manure to use in flower beds. In June they will celebrate Family Farm Days, which promises to be 3 days of good ole fashioned farm fun with milk tastings, ice cream samples, alpacas to pet, chicks hatching, tours of the barn and a barbeque chicken dinner (the BBQ chicken dinner is a big thing around here. Every firehouse, VFW and church within 40 miles has one at some point during the year). Grocery shopping here is not a chore, it is an event that includes checking on the pig (which is usually sleeping), saying hi to the goats, jumping on the inflatable bounce pad and slipping down the corkscrew slide at least three times. This is all topped off by one scoop of mint chocolate chip ice cream in a waffle cone. I'm going to be distraught when it's time to move.

This is not mint chocolate chip. And there may have been more than one scoop.

Our grocery day is Tuesday and for reasons unknown to me, Blue is usually a rollercoaster of emotion on Tuesdays. Maybe Monday was just too Monday. Maybe he's eagerly awaiting Wednesday. I don't have a clue but it seems like one scoop of ice cream is barely reward enough for surviving it. Often I wish they had a bar with boozy shakes. Last Tuesday was no different. We were in the dairy aisle and Blue had already been in the front of the cart, the back of the cart, the side of the cart and was now trying to steer it while holding a stuffed sloth and begging for Dannon yogurt drinks. Exasperated, I muttered something to the gentleman stocking the sour cream about needing an extra helper today. I would come back at 5 to get him. He can be paid in string cheese. The gentleman chuckled and said, "No thanks. We raised 5. I don't know how we did it. We must have been crazy." We stood there, commiserating about the joys and challenges of parenting when he said something that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. He mentioned that he, too, raised boys and said, "My mother told me something a few years ago that I'll never forget. She said boys take in the world with their hands and girls take in the world with their eyes."And that was it. My ah-ha moment in the dairy aisle of the dairy farm. Yes. This is why we can't go to art museums. This is why we can't have nice things. This is why I'm utterly changed simply by being a boy's mom. This makes so much sense. How many times have I said, "Do you have to touch EVERYTHING??"  and "Put that down!" and "Don't touch that!" So. Many. Times. And I thought back to being a wee Ally. I didn't touch everything. I didn't tinker with anything. I didn't press buttons or turn things over to see what was under them or touch something just for the sake of touching it. Was I a broken child? Nope. I'm a girl. So, thank you Oregon Dairy...for the bulk box of Wilbur buds and the bouncy pad and the ice cream, but mostly for hiring people who will stop and share one nugget of wisdom that will change your perspective entirely. And thanks for not having sticky frozen apple juice concentrate. That's pretty huge, too.

Promises, Promises

New Year's Eve Eve. I never quite know what to do with this day as it still holds a shred of the promise of the current year but also begins whispering the commitments I've made for the coming year. I quit making resolutions several years before Blue but had I not stopped then, I would surely have done so by now. Kids have a way of making you want to be a better person but by way of challenging you every second of every minute of every day.

For example, Blue started saying "whatever" to us about 2 months ago. So, imagine a 3 year old, dressed in a John Deere henley and dinosaur pajama bottoms, rolling his eyes with great exaggeration and muttering "whatever" when asked to do anything besides watch Daniel Tiger or eat chocolate chip cookies. Kind of gets your hackles up, am I right? Or it should anyway...because if he's trying this on for size at 3, imagine what will roll off that tongue without a second thought at 13. So, Dear Old Dad and I brought it all to a screeching halt immediately. I quizzed him endlessly about where he had learned such a thing. I named all of his friends (although even in doing so I couldn't imagine any of them were capable of that kind of disrespect). He simply shook his head no with each one. Eventually we settled on a punishment: time-out for every time he said it. Three years old, three minutes. Three minutes alone in a chair in the back of the house, where we seldom turn on the space heaters because time-out shouldn't be tropical temperatures and a room full of toys. Nevertheless, he continued to push us and almost always as we were walking out the door. Putting on shoes and coats, on our way to the gym/church/a meeting/a party/pretty much anywhere with a defined start time. He would cast his eyes in my direction, bow his head slightly and say it. Whatever, Mommy. Dammit. Now we are going to be 3 minutes late. But that's parenting. Consistency or die. I started building in 3 extra minutes after the 3rd time of this little game. Now we are 3 minutes early everywhere. But as they say, early is on time and on time is late. So...silver linings and all that.

About a week after Blue's attitude adjustment, I was working feverishly to get him buckled in his car seat before all of my limbs froze and dropped right off at the joint. He wasn't doing much to help the process along, something he's been doing since, literally, day 2. In frozen frustration I pleaded, "I need you to help me! Put your arm through!" And he answered with, "But I don't know how." And incredulous at this sudden lack of ability, I snorted, "Whatever!"

Oh. My. Stars.

It was me.

I just stood there for a second and looked at him, already knowing that I had rolled my eyes and dropped the W word. It sounded so much worse coming out of his tiny toddler mouth. It sounded dirty and rude, like he was off to punch a grandma in the face right after he stole a bag of Doritos from the 7-11 and mooned the manager on the way out.

So now, Whatever is banned from our house.

May I be the first to tell you that a 30-year habit is hard to break. And Neal's got 10 years on me. He's been busted more times than I can count. Although my slip-ups are legitimate, eye-rolling, huffing events. Neal is generally saying something like, "Oh you're headed to the commissary? Will you grab some breakfast stuff...yogurt, bananas...whatever." Suddenly, from the frozen tundra of our back room we hear, "DADDY!! You said whatever! You need to say sorry!"

There was a time when I thought this child would never talk. As it turns out, my fears were completely unfounded.

My only resolution for 2016 is to remove whatevereyerollhuff (and any other Ally-ism that may sound like a hooligan headed out to prowl the mall when it comes out of my toddler's mouth) from my lexicon. At least my mom will thank me. Thirty years too late.

Sorry, Mom.