I AM the dummy!

"Does 'dummy' mean, uh, something else here too?"

Damon was assuming - and hoping - that it did.

"Or else everyone around here has taken to calling me an idiot."

Pause.

"And that's your domain."

Like the time in Geneva when an English mum asked me for a nappy and then looked at me like I was out of my mind when I went through my diaper bag - note the term! - pulling out wipes, tissues and towels while at the same time explaining that I didn't have any napkins, but I thought one of those would do just as well. 

Looking back on it now, I don't know why she looked so exasperated when she finally took matters into her own hands and grabbed a diaper.  As if she'd never watched American television.  And hey, I wasn't the one without a nappy!

For the record, they don't call them diaper-bags over here either.  (Carry bags, maybe?)   Or strollers.  (Prams, which somehow always reminds me of heavily-bundled nannies in 1920s London.)  I believe what they call singlets here are what I used to call onesies in the USA.  Neither of which will mean very much to you unless you have had a baby.  I just call them those little tiny shirts that you can button under their legs to avoid confusion.

Back to the dummy, though.

"If the term fits." I replied.  Before explaining that yes, dummy was the term for pacifier. 

Seems that dummies are out here.  (As in dummies are out of fashion not as in there are idiots all around us.)

Which is fine with me, having never considered using one.

The generation - and nationalities - that ask are the ones who used them to keep their babies quiet while they spent time doing other things, the ones who have been taught that children shouldn't be heard (perhaps not even seen in some cultures!) and shouldn't make demands and certainly not as newborns.

There is also the mistaken belief that you should make it as easy on yourself as possible, that the baby should be taught early on to be easy, that you have the right to have time for yourself when you want it and that you are somehow a failure at parenting if you spend too much time doing it.

Problem is, I really wanted this baby.  Really wanted him.

Not so that I can silence his demands on my time but so that I can raise him.

Sure, I'd like to be writing more, I'd like to get that children's book out and submit to more - okay, admit it, ANY magazines.

I'd like to do my yoga.  Or at least 5 -6  minutes of abs.

But sticking a dummy in Ian's mouth is like plopping my other four in front of the television.

It's a poor substitute for my attention.

Let's face it, the little guy is already 8 weeks old.

"The Cat's in the Cradle" and all that.

I deliver meals to the elderly with a friend of mine every so often.  I see the amount of time I will have on my hands later on.  Alone. 

Say what you like.  I'll be the 'dummy' for as long as I have the privilege.

Positive Reinforcement Gone Wrong

Thanks to Michael things are actually fairly mellow around here.

 http://twintensity.blogspot.com/2011/10/two-men-in-my-mirror-with-pictures-of.html

So mellow, in fact, that I am having some difficulties with the whole positive reinforcement thing.

Good enough for Santa? (Waiting for Santa's arrival at the Strathpine Shoppng Center.)

Positive reinforcement is also the cornerstone of the behavioural program at Lawnton State School.  So much so, that one begins to wonder when too much is too much.  The program is in place mostly for the children with behavioural issues and for those, often the same, who don't get the attention and positive reinforcement at home.  Ryan's teacher quoted some appalling statistic to me about children of university educated parents hearing positive things something like a hundred times a day while children of parents without a university education hear it only twenty.  By the time she got to children of parents with problems like drugs, alcohol and incarceration, the number went down to seven.

Don't quote me.  But you see where I'm going.

But when does the absence of positive reinforcement turn into a punishment in itself?

(Rest assured we never had these problems in the German school system!  There, Andrew's accomplishments were downplayed to make him more like everyone else and Ryan's accomplishments were never good enough to count at all.)

I strongly support the program at Lawnton.  How can I not love a program where the vice-principal comes onto the PA system before break to remind everyone to to be kind?!

But when I mimicked the program at home, I began to run into problems.  The first ten days were great.  We were dealing with minor issues; Matthew throwing a tantrum because Aidan had the chalkboard first, Aidan throwing his truck at Matthew, Ryan tickling Andrew on the back of the neck, Andrew punching Ryan in the face because of it.  All normal kid things really.

Not perfect, but trying.

When I implemented a reward system, counting the days they all behaved, and then celebrating with 'Spiders' after ten 'good' days, the days sped by quickly and we were sipping 'Spiders' almost immediately.  (Spiders are known as ice-cream sodas to the rest of the world.)

And now we can't get past two.

The problem doesn't lie in the kids' behaviour; again, we have some teasing, a bit of punching and throwing, some chatting with Jesus in a less-than-respectful manner. 

It lies in the expectations.

Sure, Aidan has called to Jesus twice in the past week.  But he immediately apologized and then told me that he really likes Jesus and meant no disrespect. 

There have been no other swears.  At all.  For ages and ages.

There IS hitting.  Aidan throws things quite a bit too. Quite a bit as in once every couple of days.  The hitting is almost daily, but it is one of the three boys throwing a quick punch.  Ryan pesters everyone almost constantly but we figure that is a girl thing.  (THANK GOD I HAVE FOUR BOYS!  I'll take a well-placed punch over constant pestering any day.)

Yes, good enough for Santa!  (I realize I have an extra in there; always room for one more, especially when it's Jade!)

Whatever it is, it happens once, is immediately addressed with a time-out, apologies are exchanged and the issue is over.

So that, really, ALL of our days are 'good' days.

And it seems that not labelling them as such under the current system is actually a form of punishment in itself.

I believe my expectations of perfect harmony at ALL TIMES isn't fair.  These are good kids.  They don't actually NEED a reward model as positive reinforcement for good behaviour.

The reward lies in a sense of family and in time spent together as family. 

Something a sticker on the forehead doesn't come close to.

Right and Wrong

What still really gets me is that there is right and there is wrong. And I just don't understand why people are so afraid to stand up for it. Are they just too damn lazy, or busy, to bother? Or worse, do they really not understand the difference?

It's not just about Ryan and her walk to school, but we can start there. The other two mothers honestly don't seem to understand what all the fuss is about. The mornings work out fine with all three girls. So why not just cut out the afternoons and have them fend for themselves. This is their solution.

Why can't they see that I need help in the afternoons? Why can't they see that Ryan deserves to be good enough to walk with mornings AND afternoons? Why can't either of them see that Jule ignoring Ryan when Julia isn't there to protect her isn't right? I'm more disappointed in Julia's mom. Julia IS sweet and thoughtful and DOES stick up for Ryan. So, why won't her mother stick up for what's right?

I just don't get it. Our two girls could walk to and from school together just fine without the one causing the problems. So why, after over three years, is she still expecting me to put up with it? Why are we letting this mother get away with treating everyone else like their needs are of less value than hers?

It happens all the time. We know people aren't doing their part. We talk about it amongst ourselves, but then we continue to leave things the way they are. To be honest, we don't even talk about it much. Kind of hint at a bit of a problem and then laugh it off. Maybe bring it up generally. But never hold anyone accountable. People get away with things that are wrong. Is this just in the name of getting along?

Let's face it, in my day to day life as mommy, it's small things. And so I've learned to keep my mouth shut and play along. But, it's still wrong and....yeah....I was slowly dying inside at just accepting this and smiling along with everyone else. I won't make a fuss now. I am learning to bow out. But, damn it, I wish I could just understand how everyone else seems to just sit there and take it with a smile on their face.

And it does matter. The school system here SUCKS. I can say it, because EVERYONE AGREES. Parents and teachers anyway. The poor kids don't know anything else. IT IS WRONG. EVERYONE AGREES THAT IT IS WRONG. We bitch and moan. AND THEN WE DO NOTHING ABOUT IT. How can you live like this? I am not judging (anymore); I really want to know. There are things we can fix, problems we can solve, wrongs that we can right, if only we worked together and stood up for it.

Is it only Germany? God, I'd certainly like to think so, if only because it means that there are people out there who WILL fight for what is right and who WILL fight together for a common good.

A few years ago I would have raised a far huger stink over this thing with Ryan's walk to school. A few years ago I still would have spoken up, and at least brought attention to, the things that everyone else was thinking. But I've learned I can't do anything alone. One voice shouting in the wind is one voice shouting in the wind.

I died inside.

I've got to move on. I've got to find the place where my voice is joined by others. I can do "nice" and I can do "getting along" but I've never been one to place much value on external appearances. If it's rotten underneath, I don't care how nice you've painted over it.

I'm not going to stop being friends with Claudia because she won't defend me and my daughter. She's a good person and a good friend. (I wanted to say true friend but I couldn't bring myself to do it.) She means well and she is protecting her own small world.

But I need people who will SCREAM AND SHOUT AND HOLLER AND FIGHT - or at least write and talk about - what is right. At least TALK ABOUT what they BELIEVE IN. Seems we don't even do that anymore. Does anybody still believe in anything?!

Some people are sure going to be disappointed that I've found myself again. (Most noticeably my father.) I was a lot quieter zonked out on the couch drugged out of my mind on medications that were supposed to make me be normal. I couldn't feel, I couldn't care. I just made it through the day.

If that's normal, if that's what everyone else is really about, then I prefer being insane.

Don't worry, I'll behave. I'll play the game and sit quietly, the same vapid smile on my face as everyone else. I'll make nice.

But underneath, I know who I am, and I know that I, at least, can make a difference

Oh Mother!

I am a mother.

I am not a piece of furniture, a place to rest your head, a source of refuge, a security blanket, a cup holder, a provider of food and beverage as well as various articles of clothing, a pack mule, a place holder, a trash can, a hand, face and nose wiper, holder of the kleenex.....

Oh, who am I kidding?

We all went to the International Motocross in nearby Holzgerlingen the other week. I don't get to watch the races much; see the list as to what I am invited along for.

For one brief moment, I was able to lay on my back on the grass, eyes closed, for what passes as solitude in my current existence; motors roaring, you take what you can get. There were no kids around for a second.

I opened my eyes to find a tall, lean, good-looking blonde man in his early thirties looking down at me. (True story. It was actually rather disconcerting.) "Hello." he smiled, eyes certainly twinkling at me behind his trendy sunglasses. "Do you mind watching my bag?"

I give up. There must be a sign tattoed on my breasts. "Mother," it says "the source of all things."

I like to think other women are taking care of my men when I allow them out alone.

It got me to thinking though. Honestly, if men were REALLY running the world, I mean REALLY running it, managing the grocery lists, the household chores, the kids' school schedules in addition to their "real" job, I think the world might actually be a better place. If more chaotic and messy.

Hear me out. I mean, even Obama, darling of the free world and one of the most powerful men on the planet, admits in his book that his wife still yells at him for not putting the butter away. This man is in charge of the largest armed forces in the world, and he can't remember to clean up the kitchen. That's not cute. That's insulting.

So, if it weren't for Michelle, and all of the Michelle's out there, getting food on the table, buying winter jackets, taking the car in for it's 30,000 mile checkup, keeping vaccinations up to date and all the rest, I'm thinking the world would fall apart. Peacefully. Daddies everywhere would be too busy trying to figure out how to coordinate the Tuesday soccer/ballet carpool to even bother trying to invade another country.

Then again the American military has been doing it without any real strategy for years now.

I tried my own strategy for world domination - or at least a little peace and quiet - the other day. Nobody was really thrilled with the lunch I had whipped up, admittedly rather hastily. (Am I the only mother on the planet whose kids don't like spaghetti?) When Andrew came into the kitchen half an hour later to ask for a granola bar, I gave in. However, when Aidan heard the wrapper and came in too, I also asked Andrew to get one for his little brother. By the time Andrew had opened one for Matthew as well, he just looked at me in exasperation, gave a deep sigh and said, "oh Mom, those two are just too much sometimes."

Welcome to my world son. Let's change it together!

Playing With Guns

As I've mentioned, potty training has become a lot easier now that I don't take it as seriously as I used to.

There are some other signs of my maturing motherhood.

I like to think it's not as much a matter of slipping morals or of giving up as it is of a light heart and a happy meign.

The most noticeable sign is the water guns. Yes, guns, the four letter word I kept hidden from my older two children as long as I was able. Poor Andrew had to go and get the Fisher Price ambulance and paramedics everytime he tried to start a gun fight between a couple of his play figures. He was fashioning weapons from Legos and sticks by the time he was three, something I had read was perfectly healthy and normal. But then he also had to hear the talk on war and hurting eachother and how it was sad that people couldn't get along without fighting. Go ahead and play, I'd say, just remember that in real life real people don't hurt other people.

So far he has shown no signs of damage.

And when he said he wanted to stop judo class - something I'd encouraged because the teacher is a fantastic guy who incorporates Japanese philosophy into his class and is great with kids - because he didn't want to fight with people, well who could argue with that? Certainly not the teacher, who was so cool about it that I wished he was teaching street dancing or something else instead.

Andrew walks away from an argument - something which really pisses opponents his age off to no end - but will fight back to defend himself, or as importantly, others. It's a tough recess here in Germany - apparently the teachers go for coffee and leave the kids to fend for themselves - but Andrew has had no problems.

Until two weeks ago when we visited our friends, the Raibles. And were greeted by three kids toting Super-Soakers. We returned the following week armed and ready, but our dolphin and seahorse mini-squirters were no match. I hit the dollar store this week for the twins' birthday and came up with two crocodile Super-Soakers and two versions of the real thing. We are ready for a rematch!

Kids do know right from wrong. The twins don't know what to do when an 18 month old girl takes their toy away from them, they cry and look confused and concerned, but they do know not to hit, especially someone smaller than themselves. (Which is not to say that they wouldn't throw in a good push if I didn't step in and intervene immediately!) And man can they punch the crap out of eachother if I leave them in the car alone - and that's the older two.

They're going to play soldier and they're going to play knights. (I admit it's a little funny that I don't like play pistols in the house, but swords and axes somehow seem less violent! Like why let them pretend to shoot at eachother when they could REALLY be hitting eachother over the head with the swords instead!) And now, they are going to aim water at eachother too.

I do take things less seriously than I used to. Not war. Or injustice. Or violence. But I am learning what to take seriously - like war and injustice and violence - and what not to. Like having a good time and playing and pretending. Being a kid. (God bless Harry Potter video games though for allowing Andrew and Ryan to play a cool action game using a wand instead of a gun as a weapon!)

So, the next time you come over to the Connor house, you may just find yourself stepping in something wet. Probably from the water fight. Or not. In either case, feel free to grab a paper towel. I'm busy maturing as a mother at the moment.