Leading Mama

Sunday Soapbox: SAHK? No, Sir

In the interest of peace and goodwill -- and with props to big bureaucracy and armchair anthropologists everywhere -- I offer a new acronym for your consideration: SAHK.

 

SAHK means "Stay-at-Home-Kid."

 

Apparently, Ian Burford, founder of the Facebook page "Airlines should have kid-free flights" wishes kids would forego the adventures of air travel and just stay home already. Unless the airlines create adults-only seating areas, which doesn't appear likely. In a front-page article in USA Today, Burford says:

 

"I'm 6-4, so seating is always an issue...But when you're uncomfortable anyway, and then you have some young child screaming or kicking the back of your chair, it just puts you in a bad position, because there's absolutely nothing you can do about it. It's not a case of not liking kids, it's a case of not wanting them sitting next to you or behind you when you travel."

 

Hmm. Where is that soapbox, anyway?

 

Let me say first that my children are relatively frequent travelers. They fly on 4 or more trips a year. Little Man has frequent flyer numbers on three major airlines and has flown to Mexico and to Europe and to many destinations in the continental US. Burford may have seen Little Man pulling his Thomas the Tank Engine rolling suitcase down the aisle ahead of me, his not-so-Stay-at-Home-Mom.

 

Little Mama, too, took to the skies early on. She's not yet a year old but has made two cross-country trips by air. She's ticketed for takeoff to the Caribbean next month.

 

Whether or not the airlines create family-friendly seating, Leading Mama and the fam will be flying. Why? Because the world is BIG. And it's hard to see it from my living room. Well, unless you count NatGeo. But parenting experts tell me the kids shouldn't be watching that for more than 2 hours a day.

 

So, in the interest of showing my kids the world, I take them places. We go to the local kids' museum and to the zoo, the park, and the library. We also go far, far from home. We travel to places with different cultural traditions and exotic food. Places like Fresno, where they can see their grandparents and great-grandparents. Places like Rome, where they can toss coins into the Trevi Fountain and eat real spaghetti 'til their bellies fairly burst with the deliciousness of it all.

 

 
 

Crowded seating, expensive airport food, and “other people” are unavoidable annoyances of air travel. And anyone who thinks they are a model traveler probably has a blind spot. We Americans, it seems, are an intolerant group of people.

 

We don’t want to sit next to children.

We don’t want to sit next to fat people.

We don’t want to sit next to the teen with the blaring iPod or the grandma who delays our exit because she isn’t limber enough to reach her carry-on baggage when it’s time to deplane.

We don’t want to sit next to the woman with the hacking cough.

We don’t want to sit next to the guy whose friend comes to “visit” from his seat 5 rows ahead and blocks the aisle for a solid hour so they can talk – too loudly – about nothing of importance.

We don’t want to sit next to a person who turns on the overhead light on the red-eye when we’re trying to sleep.  

 

My point is that air travel isn’t fun for anyone. Not even my kids.

 

Burford probably doesn’t know (or care), but airline seats are too deep for 2-year-olds, who can't bend their legs and sit against the seat back simultaneously. The tray table is too far away for them to use, especially if they're seat belted for safety and to preserve their mother's fragile and limited sanity. And the windows? The windows are UP TOO HIGH for kids to enjoy. 

 

While I'm up here on my soapbox, let me say that you, mister 6’4”, are not helping matters by reclining your seat into the lap of the mother flying with an infant. In case you couldn't tell, it was crowded back here already. Reclining your seat gives me and my baby five inches less space. If you're trying to punish me for flying with my kids, you succeeded. But you won't keep me from flying.

 

Children over the age of two pay the same fare as full-grown adults. They use less pressurized oxygen and contribute less to the total passenger weight. I dare say our party of three combined (Leading Mama, Little Man, and Little Mama) weighs less than 6’4” Mr. Burford. And we pay for two seats, not one.

 

If I had my way, the airlines *would* make a kid-friendly section on airplanes. They’d put in smaller seats with five-point safety harnesses. They’d staff the kids’ section with flight attendants who don’t mind putting lids on sippy cups or picking up goldfish crackers off the floor. Maybe the kids could do craft projects, too. I’d pay extra for my kids to sit in the kids’ club area while I sip an overpriced gin and tonic and read the in-flight magazine in business class.

 

Until that happens, they’ll be sitting with me. Right behind you, Mr. Burford.

 

What's your standpoint? Link up and share.

Sunday Standpoint: Language Lessons for Parents

If you’re a mom with a tendency to over-think everything – like me – it seems like you need a balanced scorecard to determine if you are “doing the best you can for your children.”

 

Are they eating healthfully?

 

    Translation: How many fruit snacks has he eaten today?

 

Sleeping enough?

 

    Translation: Please, please, please nap now so Mommy can write.

 

Meeting milestones?

 

Translation: Is he supposed to make up words like who-body and yestertime or should I be calling a therapist?

 

Developing character traits like honesty, kindness, and persistence?

 

Translation: How many lies does it take to cover up the first lie? And why is he hiding fruit snacks in his toy drawers anyway?!

 

Learning to write their letters?

 

Translation: Is it okay if he writes from the bottom up? Does it mean anything?

 

And – last but not least – has everyone pooped today? (no translation necessary)

 

 

It’s easy to feel like you can never do enough for your kids, like you can never be enough for them.  It’s my standpoint that you can and you are.

 

If you want to assess your parental bottom line, I heartily recommend Gary Chapman’s 5 Love Languages as a rubric. I came across this model when I was writing an article for the February issue of Military Spouse magazine on rekindling romance after deployment.  You can read that article here if you’re interested.

 

The framework applies to all kinds of love relationships and – in Leading Mama’s opinion – can be really helpful to parents.

 

The love languages are:

 

1.       Physical touch

 

Infants get lots of physical touch by design: it’s hard to feed a baby without holding, cuddling, and burping him. Older kids may cuddle up, too. My 4 year old loves to “nuggle” and – if he misses out on time with Mom – I can be sure he’ll turn up in my bed at 3 a.m. and burrow in for the duration. I try to remember that he needs that physical connection, even if I struggle with a skull to the scapula because of it. Someday when he’s too embarrassed for parental PDA I will miss his clinging monkey ways. Snuggle hugs will give way to pats on the back and fist bumps. (sigh)

 

 

2.       Words of affirmation

 

Words of affirmation are free, but they don’t come as easily as I wish. Noticing what my kids do right isn’t as automatic as noticing what they do wrong. For example, it is hard to ignore it when a kid colors the sofa with a black marker and easy to miss the progress he’s making with his cartwheels at gymnastics class. I try to notice the positive and to give atta-boys for effort. I want my kids to know I am proud of them.

 

3.       Quality Time

 

For me, the best way to get quality time with my kids is to include them in tasks I am doing, even if it means the task will go slowly and the results won’t be picture perfect. Little Man and I do a lot of cooking together. Little Mama unfolds the laundry while I fold it. She and I make it a game. We also love walks, bike rides, and gardening together. Turning off electronics helps, too. Don’t think I won’t flip the breaker if I have to.

 

4.        Receiving Gifts

 

Parents sometimes worry we’ll spoil kids if we give them too much (and you know where I stand on buying big ticket items “Because I Can.”). Chapman’s rubric reminds me that receiving gifts *is* important, and I try to give small gifts frequently. Little Man lights up when I give him a flower from the yard or a picture I printed out from the internet. His taste isn’t expensive. That bears remembering.

 

5.        Acts of Service

 

I sometimes resent all the work parenting requires, especially when Leading Man is so busy at work that he’s no help at home. Cooking breakfast, washing laundry, cleaning the floor, and shopping for groceries are not just housework, they are acts of love. When I need a reminder, I make heart-shaped pancakes. “We cannot all do great things, but we can all do little things with great love.” (Mother Teresa) Attitude is key.

 

I hope you’ll find Chapman’s theory useful for evaluating what matters most and for building a parenting “to do” list. Bottom line: show love in a variety of ways and to stay tuned in to your kids’ love languages. If you listen, they’ll tell you how they want to be loved.

 

What languages do your kids speak? Link up and share.

 

 

Image credit: © Mariaam | Dreamstime.com

Sunday Standpoint: Know Thyself

Leaders complain that they don't get feedback. Moms, not so much.

 

Before kids get the gift of gab, other mothers tell us how to do our job better. “If you don’t breastfeed, you’re flushing his health down the toilet.” “She’s probably overdue for a diaper change. I can't believe you're using disposables.” Shell  at Things I Can't Say calls these judging others motherbitches. They're mean girls turned meaner mommies.   

 

Family members and perfect strangers chime in. “She’s over-tired.” “You should have his speech evaluated.” “My kids never threw fits like that in public.”

 

Kids give their own feedback, too. I cried when my then three-year-old called me a bad mommy. I know he was responding to the boundaries I'd set, but it didn't matter. Criticism cuts me deeply.

 

I sometimes ignore feedback. But more often, I overreact.

 

I lose all sense of proportion.

 

Leading Man can make some innocuous comment and I act like I’ve been attacked by my worst enemy. I snap angrily. Or I dissolve into tears and adjourn to a self-hosted pity-party.

 

I don’t respond well to criticism. At all.

 

But I can sure dish it out.

 

A high-school boyfriend once quipped that I probably corrected his love letters with a big fat red pen. I didn’t. At least not literally.

 

Metaphorically? Probably so.

 

Critical thinking is my strong suit. My brain spots errors with lightning speed and extraordinary accuracy.  I automatically see what is wrong, even if it's a tiny flaw in an otherwise perfect specimen. 

 

I have to work very, very hard to see what’s right.

 

I used to answer that favorite question of job-interviewers everywhere – “What’s your biggest weakness?” – by saying "I tend to say 'yes' too much and get over-committed." This is totally true. And it *is* a weakness.

 

But this week I came to the conclusion that my biggest weakness is that I can dish out criticism but I can’t take it.

 

They say confession is good for the soul, but admitting that doesn’t feel good. It isn’t liberating or cathartic.

 

I want to build people up, not tear people down. Especially my husband and kids.

 

My critical nature means I'll have to work extra hard to make sure I tell them what they do right. I have to be conscious about searching for strengths. Otherwise, I'll give them unfairly negative feedback.

 

Knowing this makes me sad, but it also gives me hope,  because I know where I need to improve. Self-knowledge helps good leaders get better. 

 

What do you know about yourself? Link up below to join the conversation and share some comment love. We could all use some supportive feedback, right?

Sunday Standpoint: Every Mom is a Working Mom

When I was a teenager, my Aunt Kathy had a t-shirt that read “Every Mother is a Working Mother.” I didn’t think much about its meaning back then, but lately I think about it a lot.

 

Here's what I think it means.

1)      ECONOMICALLY, every mother is a working mother means mothers' work has economic value.

 

How much economic value? I don’t know.

 

In 2008, Salary.com calculated moms’ worth and arrived at 117K per year.

 

Another website I found lets me calculate my mom paycheck by entering the number of kids I have and how many hours I spend on common mom tasks (laundry, carpool, cooking, nursing, psychologist, household management). Let’s just say my paycheck was a lot less impressive than salary.com suggested. 

Economists can argue. My kids think mom work is priceless. That's why they cling to my leg and won't let their dad strap them in to their carseats.

 

2)      SOCIALLY, every mother is a working mother means “can’t we all just get along?” Pretty please?

 

 The so-called mommy wars aren’t good for anyone. Not working moms. Not stay-at-home moms. Not work-from-home moms.

 

Not long after Little Man was born, my mom brought me a newspaper query written by the friend of a new mom. She asked what moms DO all day. Carolyn Hax of the Washington Post wrote a fantastic reply.   

 

All moms – whether they work for wages or not – give constant attention, vigilance, teaching, and compassion. We put our kids’ needs first. We commit to motherhood 24/7.

 

Moms who work outside the home can't put kids out of mind all day. That’s impossible.

 

Moms who stay home seldom get a break to think grown-up thoughts. That's reality.

 

There's no need to argue about who has it worse. However you do it, motherhood is hard work. Gratifying, yes. But difficult. Martha B says it's the toughest job we’ll ever love (no disrespect to the Peace Corps).  

 

Bottom line: Moms should support each other. Our kids will ensure our egos don’t get too big.

 

3)      PSYCHOLOGICALLY, every mother is a working mother means moms who leave the workforce to raise kids should not feel diminished. We do not become less when we give up the keys to the corner office.

 

When we equate titles with status, we trap ourselves. The transition to stay-at-home motherhood feels like a loss. A loss we cannot share.

 

We tell everyone we’re lucky to be able to stay home with our kids.

 

AND WE ARE.

 

We don’t mention the fact that we feel isolated and unproductive, that we miss feeling smart and sophisticated.

 

We wake up one day and can’t remember who we were before we had kids. It doesn't help that our pre-baby jeans don't fit quite the same.

 

We find great joy but lose ourselves.

 

When we’re up to our eyeballs in laundry, we can’t see how “mom work” is meaningful. How it expands us. How it makes us more of who we are, and I'm not referring to residual baby weight.

  

Every mother is a working mother. Sometimes we need to be reminded of our own worth. That’s my standpoint.

 

What’s yours? Share your thoughts and link up below.

 

 

Sunday Standpoint: Honesty is the Best Policy

 

Little Man lies. Constantly.

 

In fact, this week he told Leading Man that a secret is "when you don't want Mommy to know something."

Nice, huh?

 

He hides candy in the drawers of his playroom. When I find it, he explains dodges "I was saving it for you, Mom."

 

When he waited a bit too long to run to the bathroom and -- as a result -- made a pee puddle on the tile, he didn't clean up. He didn't fess up. He closed the door and acted like nothing happened.

 

I found the "surprise" some time later and called him to the scene. He denied that he had an accident. He told me "a ghost did it."

 

In this family, I'm the cook, maid, cheauffeur, and personal shopper.  

I'm the reader of bedtime stories and brusher of teeth.

 

I'm also the bad cop.

 

I put limits on TV time and sugar consumption.

 

I've yet to utter my own mother's refrain "The whiter the bread, the sooner you're dead." But it won't be long. Little Man gets white bread at school and recently told me he doesn't like brown bread so much. Great.

 

Leading Man would plop the kids in front of a screen with a bag of chips and a bowl of candy if it wasn't for me. He wants them to be happy. Always.

 

He's a "yes" man.

 

I am the voice of "No."

 

"You can't watch another episode of Dinosaur Train."

"You can't eat candy for breakfast."

"You need to clean up the puzzle before building a train track."

 

And I tell the unflinching truth. I say "We're not going to McDonald's for dinner because Mom and Dad want a nice dinner."

 

Leading Man -- a.k.a. coward of the county -- says "McDonald's is closed on Saturdays." When we drive by McDonald's, he says "Look, what's that out your window?" so Little Man won't see the golden arches.  Dodge and weave. Deny and distract.

 

My Sunday Standpoint: Honesty is the best policy. Even if it gets you in trouble. Even if it means the kids will whine and moan and grumble all the way to the nice dinner Mommy wants.

 

What do you think? Is honesty always the best policy? Take a stand and link up below.