Flashback Friday - Sleepy Edition

I guess I've got sleep on the brain.   This is because I've been getting lots of it lately.  At the age of 9.5 months, Sarah has finally decided to sleep through the night.  (I can almost hear a chorus of angels singing "AHHHH!!!!" in the background.)  I don't think I'm jinxing it to say it out loud.  She's done it consistently for the past week or so.

Anyway, sleep is an interesting phenomenon in our household.  The kids never want to go to sleep, no matter how tired they are.  So every. single. night. we have the same "argument" (if you will) about bedtime.  Yes, you have to brush your teeth.  Yes, you have to put your pajamas on.  No, you may not have more water.  Yes, you have to go potty one more time.  Ben has gotten a lot better about laying down and closing his eyes.  He's asleep in minutes.  (It might be a man thing.)  Abby, on the other hand, needs some time to unwind.  We allow her that.  (Because I know that's a woman thing.)  After we read the book, kiss, hug, and turn the lights out, we'll often hear her playing in her room for a few minutes.  Eventually she lays down and goes to sleep without a fuss on her own.

Weekends excepted, mornings in our house are rough.  No one wants to wake up.  (Although, for some strange reason, they are up and at 'em on Saturday mornings...go figure!)  I used to pick them both up and carry them into my bedroom (pre-Sarah) and let them slowly wake up.  Well, things are a little more rushed now, and Ben is just too heavy.  Back when that was the case though, I must've snapped a dozen different pictures of exactly that - them sleeping in my bed after a violent wake-up call from the mean mom.

So here's a small sampling of them and all of their sleepy glory:

 

 

  

How apropos for a Friday afternoon...as I not-so-fervently fight off the urge to take a nap.

Wishing you all the most restful of weekends!

This is the dawning of the age of entitlement

I was sad when I realized that I missed the Generation X cutoff.   These were the kids born in the "baby bust", a period post-baby boomer ranging from 1961 to the latest 1981.  (Okay, so I BARELY missed it.)  While I wasn't sad because I didn't get lumped into this stereotype:

The media played its part in promoting the Generation X stereotype by portraying them as grunge-listening, Starbucks-drinking, flannel-donning slackers who were quietly revolting against their overachieving, conservative Baby Boomer parents or older siblings. While the term Generation X has been used by a more punk faction of the generation, it has also labeled a group of musicians and actors represented by Eddie Vedder of Pearl Jam and Janeane Garafolo of the movie Reality Bites. While Gen-Xers probably feel passionate about some things, in general they have been portrayed as apathetic, disaffected twentysomethings with no course in life. -From wisegeek.com

I was sad because Gen X-er just sounds so much cooler than Gen Y-er.  The Gen Y-er's are known by these things:

This particular group has been called rude, retributive, and prone to childhood obesity and drug and alcohol abuse.   They are the first group to come to age just as the Internet began to completely flower. They are thus familiar, usually from childhood, with not only Internet surfing, but also all the gadgets that have come along with it. Cellphones, electronic organizers, cable radio, hundreds of television stations, and many more things folks born before this period would consider novelties are just the basic staples of existence for a Generation Y kid or young adult. From wisegeek.com

It just keeps getting...better?  

I'm an observer.  I'm one of those weirdos who is absolutely content to sit on the boardwalk and watch people.  Who cares about the ocean?  It's just who I am.  I watch people (in as non-scary a way as possible, I hope).

Anyway, these generational labels get me thinking about what my kids' generation will be called.  Based on my observations, they're on the fast track to becoming Generation Entitlement or maybe Generation Gimme It NOW.  

It's something that has come up several times in conversation lately, with various unrelated people.  (Maybe it's because I'm the common denominator and I bring it up, but whatever.)  And I think most people, especially parents, will agree.  For some reason children these days seem to think they are entitled to everything from the very little to the grandiose. 

Here's a little example.  We have several tubs of sidewalk chalk in our garage for the kids and the neighborhood hooligans to play with.  They run through the stuff like it's going out of style.  Part of the reason is because they just use it that much, but part of it is because they'll let a piece roll into the grass and leave it there only for it to be run over by the mower.  Or they'll let it roll under the holly bush and leave it there for an eternity.  Or they'll throw it at each other when they get bored with actually using it as chalk and it will bust into smithereens when it hits the sidewalk.  I commented to one of the neighborhood hooligans one day as I watched a brand new stick of chalk roll off the driveway into the grass that he needed to go get it.  He retorted with a "why", and even though I don't owe him an explanation, I told him that it would get run over with the lawnmower and if it kept happening eventually we'd run out of chalk.  His reply, "Can't you just buy more?"  

That's when I wanted to pick him up by the sleeve and throw him off a cliff, but, alas, there are no cliffs available in our neighborhood.

The point is not about the chalk.  It's about the expectation.  That child has no appreciation for the fact that he comes over and uses the chalk.  He takes for granted that when that when the garage door opens, there will be tubs of chalk available.  If for some reason, some day, he found the tubs empty, I'd be willing to bet 100 pieces of brand new sidewalk chalk, he'd probably complain about it.

My kids do it too.  I don't know where we've gone wrong, or if it's just a product of being born in Generation Entitlement.  If Generation Y considers electronic luxuries to be daily staples, what does this mean for Generation E?  Yikes.  I think part of the problem is that we have made life instantaneous.  That's the "now" part of Generation Gimme It NOW.  The "Gimme It" part is our parents fault.  (Sorry to do that Mom and Dad, I am happy to exclude you from most of your peers, as I don't think you are guilty of what I'm about to describe.)

As children of the Boomers, our parents generation overcompensated with their kids for what they lacked in their childhoods.  They made their parenting lives about providing their kids (us) with opportunities they missed out on because their parents weren't able to or chose not to (because it was frivolity) provide them.  We don't know differently now.  We run from baseball practice to dance to school to church with our agendas in hand, hoping we get there on time.  Now, our children call us up on their very own cell phones to say they forgot their cleats or homework and expect us to drop what we're doing and bring the stuff to them.

Apparently the school of hard knocks closed its doors a long time ago.  

I read a quote one time that went something like this:

We make life harder for our children, by trying to make their lives easier. 

And now they believe they are entitled to unlimited sidewalk chalk, delivery of items *they* forgot, dinner at a restaurant instead of a homecooked meal, a six-figure job straight out of college, healthcare, whatever.  We did this.  Our parents helped.

Now for the $64,000 (series of) question(s) - How do we undo this?  How to we make them appreciate what they have, the opportunities that are practically in their lap?

My hope rests in you, my fellow parents.  Let's help our children to realize how great they have it, not to take it for granted, and to reach their potential which will remain untapped in the present culture unless we show them.  We can re-brand Generation Entitlement.  I have hope!

#79 Learn to use my french press....check!

I've got a serious coffee addiction.  It's bad news, fellas.  It's so bad that I drink my travel mug of coffee before I even get to work in the morning, prompting a stop at the trusty Dunkin' Donuts while I'm already running late.  Then I spend dollars I don't want to spend.  I still don't have enough coffee.  It's just an endless cycle of wanting more coffee.  I settle for decaf in the afternoons.  It's a little mindgame I play on myself.  So far I'm buying it.

Anyway, since I'm on a non-list-related quest to stop spending so many of those dollars at Dunkin' Donuts,  it only makes sense that I turn to #79 on my list to help make that happen.  I needed to learn how to use my french press.

My previous attempts to use the french press were thwarted.  Mostly because my boss was here and for some reason, it feels pretentious to use the press as opposed to the traditional drip pot we have in our "kitchen" here at the office.  The real reason I don't use the drip pot is that I want to be able to make small amounts on demand.  The reason I want this is so that I can use the water cooler water as opposed to the bathroom sink's water.  Ick.

I tried to use a single serving drip maker that I got for about $5 at one of the more-than-just-a-pharmacy places around here several Christmases ago.  It wasn't worth the $5 and is now collecting dust on my side table. 

Before this gets out of hand, let me just say, I made coffee in my original Bodum french press today, and it was delicious.  Why I didn't do this sooner, I'll never know.  Dummy.  Here's to saving dollars, thwarting caffeine headaches, and enjoying a cup o' joe on demand!

(Just for fun - Here's my coffee collection.  From left to right, the unsurpassed Dunkin' Donuts Large, the travel mug that kind of looks like a disposable Starbucks cup, the French Press (my new BFF), and the terrible, awful, no good, very bad $5 drip "pot".)

#79 ~ Learn to use my French Press....check! 

the stuff that moms are made of

Despite the sweet intentions of your three year old, you've had to reprimand her for sharing food with your infant.  The likelihood of her sharing increases as the choking hazard of the food increases.  Among the things you've dug out of your infant's mouth thanks to your generous three year old:  popcorn, raisins, hot dogs, and chewy sweettarts.

You have at least one child who would subsist entirely on chocolate milk if given the opportunity.

Your usually very intelligent and articulate six year old son thinks it is hilarious to make animal sounds, screeching noises, and small shrieks at the end of every spoken sentence or as a reaction to directions from you.  You've found out that neither ignoring them or acknowledging them makes them go away.  And mocking them only makes it worse.  Find the solution to *that* in some parenting book for me, pretty please.

You don't own a fancy cell phone, just a functional one, because you know that it will inevitably become your infant's favorite chew toy.  And don't dare try to give a baby an old cell phone to play with.  Even they know how lame a dead cell phone is.

You've experienced this exact situation more times than you can count:  Kids 1 & 2 are playing next to each other, but not together.  Kid 1 picks up one of Kid 2's toys and starts playing with it.  Kid 2 notices and tries to snatch it back.  Kid 1 tattles on Kid 2 for snatching.  Kid 2 whines because "It's MY toy!"  You tell Kid 2 they need to learn how to share, Kid 1 had it first.  Kid 2 replies with, "But I was just ABOUT to play with it!"  Eye rolling ensues.

You have discovered that making your kids run laps in the backyard has proven to be an excellent form of discipline.

You feel the need to explain each of the bruises on the forehead of your newly toddling baby to everyone you see, as if people don't know that barely-walking babies fall a lot.

Pink blankets, hair bows, and dresses are apparently not indicative of gender because you have answered the question "Is that a little girl or boy?" way too many times.  You've seen this bib and think it would be cute for your baby girl to wear, but you make a bet with yourself that you would still have to answer the question, even while she was wearing it.

Your son chooses the short ride to school as the time to ask the some of the world's deepest questions including topics such as kidnappers, bank robbers, the banking industry in general, heaven, and anatomy of invertebrates, at which time you feebly attempt to answer him completely and accurately in three minutes or less.

You regret buying the Disney princess underwear for your two year old girl because you had no idea how passionately she would feel about which princesses she will wear and when.

Our Marriage has Turned to Rags

Back in August of 2003, Sam and I moved from our first apartment into our first house.  My mom came down to help with the move, and also to help with the arrival of her first grandchild who would make his appearance less than one week after said move.  It was an exciting time.  No doubts about that.

(And just to throw this out there, despite what people think, moving at 9 months pregnant is a brilliant idea.  At that point, if you work yourself into labor, no big deal.  But also, you have the perfect excuse to act solely as supervisor and be all crazy and emotional.  No one thought twice about it.  Or if they did, they wisely kept it to themselves out of fear of the irrational pregnant woman.)

If you've ever moved, you know that part of the moving process is deep cleaning; a type of cleaning that involves some hardcore supplies, one of which is an abundance of rags.  My mom was helping with this task, and asked me where we keep our rags.  I guess I got that look I get sometimes (and have apparently passed on to Ben & Abby), because she replied, "Oh.  I guess you and Sam haven't been married long enough to have rags."  And you know...she was right. 

We were blessed with more wedding gifts than a couple should receive.  We got everything we ever needed and more than we could have ever wanted.  Our friends and family are amazing.  (I hope they know that I think that.)  But no one gave us any rags.  We had lots of new towels, of all different varieties; hand, bath, beach, fingertip, kitchen.  Who wants to use those on the baseboards and that furry hole where a refrigerator used to be? 

I don't remember what we ended up doing.  I guess we sacrificed a few of our not-brand-new towels.  What I do remember is that when my dad came down to pick my mom up, he brought a bag full of rags to us.  It was a great present.

Flash forward to now.  Seven years later.  I don't know what the life span of a bath towel is supposed to be.  I don't remember my mom ever buying new towels in my entire childhood, but it might have been one of those things that children just don't notice.  Or maybe they made things better back then.  The point is, seven years later, our towels are nearing their end of days.  Most of them have either a bleach stain, a hole, or have lost the strong seam around the edges and are starting to tatter.  Some suffer from all of those ailments.  The closet in our laundry room is quickly becoming less and less of a supply closet and more and more a rag closet.  What's amazing is that most every time I pick a rag out of there I can remember what it endured to be demoted to the rag closet.  It might have been part of the infamous bathroom project, cleaned up a gallon of tea and not gotten washed quickly enough afterward, been the only thing within an arms reach available to serve as a dipstick wiper, gotten snagged in a car door and yanked out not-so-carefully.  Memories.

I envision the entire laundry room filling up from floor to ceiling with towel remnants.  Pretty soon I won't be able to even reach the washing machine.  It's going to be awesome.

Who knew that a closet full of rags would be such a sweet testament to a life spent together?  Looks like we've made it to one of our unofficial milestones of marriage; the filthy rags at seven years.

Maybe at ten years I'll get all weepy about having to replace one of our appliances.   Stay tuned.