New Year’s Resolutions OR “Love & Logic” is an Oxymoron

So here we are in the new year – decorations for Thanksgiving, Chanukah, and Christmas are boxed and ready to go back to the attic. Right after we took down the Christmas tree, we put up the Mardi Gras tree. When finished I asked hubby Shelby if there were any holidays we didn’t celebrate. His replied “Maybe – but I’m thinkin’ no.” With our wide experiences and backgrounds, we celebrate quite a few things, but they all revolve around one thing: food. Yes, I am proud to admit that if it involves food, we probably celebrate it.

While Shelby had a much more conservative, single-strand upbringing, my family was all over the place. My grandmother made oyster stew every Christmas Eve for some reason and absolutely no one mentioned the word “reveillon”. There was never a New Year’s without black-eyed peas, greens, and cornbread and the Easter Bunny brought colorful eggs that reappeared a time or two with a bowl of saltwater and, later, as egg salad. We’re talking the New York Marathon of eggs here! I honestly think one of the main reasons Shelby married me was because he found out about the culinary backgrounds of my grandmothers, particularly my maternal grandmother from Louisiana. I really think the closing deal was the one he made with her for her recipes for biscuits, gumbo, and coconut cake. Anyway, I digress…

Another tradition that our families taught us, like many others, was the “New Year’s resolution”. This is one that hits across the time-space-religious continuum. Aside from all the regular resolutions of losing weight, reduce spending, clean out the closets, sell the kids, etc.; Shelby and I decided to regain control of the household from our offsprings. Let me just say that Custard had better odds at his last stand. I was recently loaned a great book from my good friend Nancy called, “The Blessings of B-“ – yes, this is the sequel to “The Blessings of A Skinned Knee”. This book picks up where the other left off and addresses the adolescent period. Ms. Mogul still uses her “logical consequences” to get the behaviour we desire in our offsprings. It is here that I must concede that both my psychiatrist and Ms. Mogul are in co-hoots with the devil. There is absolutely no way that the words “logical” and “consequences” can be used in the same context.

Let me just say, I totally agree with their ideas. The teachers of two of my darlings have requested conferences with me during the past week. Did I mention that Alex’s teachers thought he was just adorable when he and fellow classmates decided to paint each other at the art station – can you figure out the children in question yet? Here is the difference: the one that is the smartest, could care less about school while the one that has the most problems academically, is a perfectionist to the point of driving himself over the edge. I think Alanis Morrisette said it best – isn’t it ironic?

While complaining for the umpteenth million time about the status of the household, my shrink keep wondering why I was getting upset. The boys like those little beef sausages for breakfast and, apparently, one morning little Alex climbed up on our bed to look out our window, like he is known to do, and left a sausage there – for a week and a half. I left it there on purpose to see if anyone but me would notice. After bringing it to Shelby’s attention he looked at me with the wonderment of a child seeing a deer for the first time. Another example I brought to Dr. G. was the entire household’s inability to take a dish/cup/wrapper to the kitchen. While I seem to think this is not rocket science, she informs me that while it might not be, it seems that no one else in my house has my brain and knows what I want. To which I immediately asked if there was an option to have it replicated and installed in each of my beloveds. Another mark in the debate column that G-d is NOT a woman. Anyway, it seems I have “pseudo-agreements” with the people in my household (and most likely everywhere else). Since I have never formally made known my expectations, how can anyone be held accountable? Fine. So I have become the list queen. I should have bought stock in 3-M before I started this endeavor. There are sticky notes covering my entire house. One in the kitchen notating the afterschool homework & chores session. One on the bathroom mirror reminding the older children the order of business for getting ready for bed. One on the television for reminding everyone the steps needed for getting dressed in the morning. I’m thinking of putting one on everyone’s shirt reminding them to breathe, however, they would probably lose it. The goal here is to reduce my amount of nagging a.k.a. screeching like a banshee and increase the level of responsibility in my children. It provides them with “logical consequences”. If I wasn’t personally going through this ridiculous charade, I might actually find this amusing in a dark and sadistic manner - especially since I haven’t tried this new plan of action on the hubby! Oy vey – that’s another whole episode!

I now know why children don’t come with instruction manuals. Seriously, I’ve been known to skip ahead a few chapters in a book to see where it’s going. Can you imagine what would have happen if I had found out about this in the hospital after giving birth? I would have would up in the psych ward repeating the mantra “What have I done?” rocking back and forth while sucking my thumb. And friends of mine with adult children don’t help. “Oh, honey, just wait!” they say. Thanks. Who needs friends…

While they don’t practice what I preach at home, I am often told that they are polite and helpful when in the presence of other adults. They are kind to younger children. I also have the opportunity to see other children in action. I can’t count how often I’ve been in line at the store, watching the family in front of me and heard the adolescent’s call to arms, “But mom, I NEED it!” complete with the accompanying eye roll and foot stomp. As I catch the other mom’s eye, we exchange the secret “handshake” of the motherhood club by rolling our eyes, shaking our heads, and chuckling. It’s even better when we’re with close friends because we moms might actually have the advantage for once. See, children are free game. Regardless of who birthed the child, the nearest adult gets the honor of calling out the cheeky little monkey. Hey, it takes a village to raise a child and we know that most of the Y-chromosomed members of the tribe are not in tune to this skill set.

Sorry folks, I have no closing bit of wisdom to share here although I do endorse the martini method of getting through the rough spots. I saw this mother’s day card one time that had a picture of 1950 style kitchen with a mother in an apron pouring herself a glass of wine. Her child was standing in the doorway and she called out to him that mommy was just getting a glass of special mommy juice to finish playing the 100th round of the “Itsy Bitsy Spider.” This is a rough time for me as a parent but I have to remember it is a rough time for my oldest as well. He is trying to find out who he is and where he is going. I was walking down the hall the other night and he called out from his “new” room (one without a bunk bed and a sibling). I went in and he asked me if Santa was real. Of course I asked why and he said that one of his teachers posted a writing assignment with the prompt, “Would you rather live knowing that Santa is your parents or would you rather live believing a lie?” I crawled in to bed with him and we had a good discussion. We actually talked, dialogued, a give-and-take of ideas and thoughts. There in the dark I found that my sweet, vulnerable child was still there inside of that sometimes rough exterior. He still needed me for more than a chauffeur or Sherpa. He needed me to help him figure out the big scary things and hold his hand. Instead of being smelly and sweaty, at that moment he smelled fresh and clean like he did so long ago when I used to hold him in the dark of the wee hours of the morning. I had, for a brief moment, reclaimed the past when my only new year’s resolution was not to drop him and know that I would love and protect him forever. Now this is what I signed up for.