Melissa Anne Cohen

You can’t.

There.  I’ve said it.  Parenting is sometimes the ultimate manifestation of “You get what you get, and you don’t get upset.”  I love my kids – and that means I love all of them, even the parts of them that I sort of sometimes wish might be a little different.

I love to read.  And perhaps, I love to read more than anyone I know.  Maybe my standards for loving to read are rather high.  I’m never not in the middle of a book.  Or four.  I’m at the library at least twice a week, and I literally start to stress out when I’m running low on new books.

I just assumed that my kids would also love to read.  I read all the tips on how to get your child to love to read, and diligently followed all of the rules.  Our house is FILLED with books.  Overflowing with them.  I always have one with me, my husband reads (perhaps not as voraciously, but he’s still a reader).  I read to my kids every night, filled their little lives with literature.  It’s too early to tell with the little two, how much they’ll enjoy reading on their own.  They like to be read to, but as far as I can tell, every kid loves to be read to.   My oldest adores being read to as well, but as far as picking up a book and reading it independently?  She’s not that interested….

My nine year old will read, but only after much coaxing.  Once she gets into a book, she’ll read it happily enough, but it’s never her go to activity.   It was so frustrating to me – why doesn’t she love to read?  Why?  I did everything right.  And still – somehow she insists on forming her own opinion :-).  Because in the end, you get what you get.  Some people love to read, some don’t.

I think reading is like any other talent.  Like playing piano, or playing football.  You can do the classes, expose them to it, but in the end, I think reading, really loving to read and doing it well, is an innate talent.  Some kids are going to be concert pianists and exceptional atheletes.  Some kids aren’t going to do much more than practice when you make them, and forget it as soon as they can.  You either are a reader, or you aren’t.  I started reading, and it was like coming home for me.  It was, and is, my default activity.  I’d rather read than watch television, rather read than clean.  I’d rather read than just about any other leisure activity.  My daughter can read, knows that there are wonderful stories out there, but it’s not her thing.  She can read, she will read, she doesn’t live to read.  Not the way that I do.  And that’s hard for me sometimes. 

I felt, for a long time, like somehow I had done something wrong (I generally like to blame myself for any sort of parenting issue).  Hadn’t I done everything right?  Why wasn’t she picking up the books and reading?   Eventually, I can to the realization that it’s perfectly okay that she doesn’t love to read.  She loves a good story, loves to learn, has a serious need for drama and pathos in her life, but she doesn’t love to read.  And you know what – I wouldn’t change it.  Because truly – as a parent – you get what you get, and you don’t get upset.  In this aspect, she’s not what I expected, I thought of course, my child will adore reading – but she doesn’t.  And I find that, once I got past that initial dismay, I don’t mind at all.  She’s simply who she is – and I can’t begin to express how fabulous and fantastic that is. 

Like most people, I had a tangled up kind of childhood.  Wonderful in many ways, but kind of yucky sometimes too.  I had a wonderful mother, fabulous extended family that adored me, but a father who opted out fairly early on, and some major financial struggles.  I didn’t have the fairy tale family.  I wouldn’t change my childhood, because it brought me here, and I really like it here. 

But it wasn’t what I wanted for my kids.  And I wanted kids desperately.  I didn’t know that I wanted marriage.  I didn’t know if that was in the cards for me.  I hoped, I dreamed, but in reality – I was more than prepared to have kids on my own.  I was raised by a single mom, it was how I knew how to parent.   We had an extremely unplanned pregnancy very early into our relationship.  Tragically, that pregnancy resulted in a miscarriage of twins, and my whole world fell apart.  It’s tough to put into words what that experience was like.  After losing my babies, I knew simply and absolutely that the only thing that was going to make it okay was to get pregnant again, and while I was far from certain that Marc and I would be together forever, I did know that he would be there forever for my child.  He and I had lost our babies together, he alone mourned for that pregnancy the way that I did.  I knew he was and would be the father of my children.  I just didn’t exactly know for certain that he and I would be together forever. 

Somehow, without me ever actually realizing it, he just sort of made all of my dreams come true.  I’m an unbelievably happy woman today, with a love that still surprises me.  I didn’t go into this assuming that it would be happily ever after.  But it is.  I knew that Marc would be a wonderful father, that no matter what happened between us, he would never, ever desert his children.   I didn’t know that he’d be my partner in all things, my best friend, my first call and my better half.

I had learned early on that relationships between adults were fragile, and tenuous.  Sometimes they worked, and sometimes they didn’t.  And that in the end, you had to be able to stand on your own when your world fell apart.  What Marc has shown me, over and over again, is that our relationship isn’t tenuous.  Our relationship isn’t fragile.  It can withstand three kids, two step children, joblessness, multiple moves, sleepless nights, no money, and even less patience.  It can, and has, thrived in all of those circumstances.

It’s our ten year anniversary tomorrow – and I never thought we’d be here.  I’m happier than I ever dreamed of being, because I couldn’t even fathom this level of trust and committment.  This is my life, with this man, and I’m so incredibly grateful for it every day. 

Happy Valentine’s Day.  I hope yours is half as wonderful as I know mine will be.

We do a LOT of birthday parties in this family. Partly because both my husband and I have large families, partly because we’ve got a lot of friends with kids, and partly because we’ve always got limited space. So this year, my daughter is getting a birthday party every weekend for three weeks. Today is her “school friend party”, next weekend will be a “Daddy’s family party” and the end of the month will be the combo party with my family and all of our friends, and it’s a joint party for her and her best friend.

So today, we had seven little girls, a five year old little brother, and a toddler running around like lunatics to celebrate the birth of my oldest child. We had a cupcake decorating party, and set each kid up with a couple of cupcakes, littered the table with sprinkles, glitter frosting and tubes of icing and let them go nuts. Then my husband pulled out the number nine candle – and I had a minute, just a minute, when I wanted to cry because how was it possible that my tiny little angel baby was suddenly a big nine year old girl?

Wasn’t it yesterday that buying the number one candle was an event?

Every child is special and amazing and my oldest isn’t any more amazing than my middle child, or my baby. But the difference is that she is my introduction to motherhood. She’s the one that changed my name from Melissa to Mama. It’s not that her milestones are any more momentous than the others, but they are my first as well – so there’s that moment of ohmygoodness, my baby is not a baby anymore and it panics me just a little bit.

Because I remember so vividly the day she was born, and the baby she was. I remember the way she’d lay her little head on my shoulder and stop crying when I whispered “Shhhh” and I was convinced she was a genius. I remember the way she’d warble the Barney theme song and dance across the bed. I remember the way she was terrified of pumas (thanks Go Diego Go!) and my husband would have to search the bedroom before she’d lay down for sleep. I remember the way she used to cry for me to shut off the sun when we drove home on 290 and it was in her eyes and how she never quite believed me when I said I couldn’t. I remember her first day of preschool, and her first day of kindergarten and the day she decided to potty train herself. I remember all of it, and it’s blowing my mind that she’s NINE. And next is ten, and then she’s a teenager, and suddenly, she’ll be an adult – and I still can’t quite wrap my head around it.

I’m a little wistful tonight, because my baby is growing up, and I’m already a tiny bit missing the baby she was. I’m loving the grown up girl she’s becoming, and I can’t wait to see the woman she’ll be someday – but I wonder if I’ll always picture her as I do now, this tiny little angel wonder girl who changed my entire world nine years ago.

I’m not a strict mother, by most standards.  I’m haphazard about mealtimes, lackadaisical about clean faces all the time.  I’m easy going about outfits – Sam buttoned his own shirt for services at the synagogue last week, and did an abysmal job.  But he was delighted with it, and so proud, I couldn’t bring myself to rain on his parade, so I told him he looked great and off we went.   I like to think I’m a “pick your battles” sort of mom, and unless it’s going to harm them, I’m willing to let my kids make the choice.  Whatever that choice might be.

But I’m hard core about school.  My pretty little Jessica celebrated her ninth birthday yesterday in what had to be the single longest expedition to the mall I’ve ever taken.   Marc and I are not shoppers, either one of us.  Plus we’re on a pretty tight budget, and discretionary trips to the mall aren’t really factored in.  But it was her birthday, and our tradition is that the birthday girl (or boy) gets to pick their favorite restaurant for dinner.  And she chose the food court at the Solomon Pond Mall.  Since I knew that asking her to go to the mall and then just eat and leave would be way too hard, I actually took all three of my kids down after school got out, and Marc met us there after work with Lilli and Sarah.

We had a delightful time, really.  The kids were great, everyone loved it, and we didn’t get home until nine o’clock.  Sam fell asleep in the car, and stayed asleep, so he was fine.  Julianna fell asleep, woke back up and didn’t go back down until close to eleven.  But what with her being a toddler and the ability to take a three hour nap the next day, I wasn’t too concerned.  But, oh, my Jessie.  She was vibrating with energy, laughing so hard she couldn’t stop.  She was so hyper and happy and just thrilled to betsy, she didn’t fall asleep until midnight. 

As you can imagine – this morning was nothing I’d want to repeat.  She was exhausted, and epically miserable.  But you don’t get to stay up all night and then blow off school the next day.  Sorry.  You go to school.  Follow thru and committment.  If you’re supposed to be in school, you go to school.  Being tired is not an excuse, and next time you’ll know that staying up that late means that you’ll have a very hard time the next morning. 

So she went to school.  And she was furious and sobbing and exhausted, and I was resolute and unyielding.  Natural consequences.  I tried to get her to settle down, tried to convince her of the wisdom of laying down and relaxing – but she didn’t want to.  But I think that it did register this morning.  I told her on the way in that I didn’t want her to be exhausted and miserable, but she was too old for me to force her to sleep now.  I can force Julie to sleep, just by laying her down and not letting her up, but Jessie is nine.  She’s old enough to make that decision, and live with the consequences.   And I’d rather she learn the lesson now than when she’s in her twenties and stayed out too late partying and then blows off work the next day and gets fired. 

She had calmed down by the time we got to school, and kissed me goodbye cheerfully enough.  But even though I did the right thing, and I know that – I’ve still spent all day feeling awful and second guessing myself. 

It’s the eve of my ninth anniversary of parenthood (also known as the day before my oldest daughter’s birthday), and it strikes me that I have a very different perspective on parenting than I did nine years ago.  I thought it would be easy, I was great with kids, and motherhood would be a cinch.  And in a lot of ways, it is easy for me.  I’m aware of how well suited I am for this job – I truly enjoy being a stay at home mom, and have the luxury to do so.  I have a lot of patience, and a lot of experience with children.  I was the oldest of four (or six, depending on if you count the stepsiblings) with dozens of cousins that I used to babysit for. 

But this is still the hardest thing I’ve ever done – and while the demands of parenting a nine year old are vastly different from the demands of parenting a nine week old, I can say officially and for the record, that it doesn’t get easier.  It just gets different.  I’m also fortunate in that I have many children.   My stepdaughters are almost thirteen and ten.  I’m able to experience life with adolescence from a safe distance, and I have to assume that it’ll make it easier when my own kids reach that age.  With three to four years separating my three, my kids are all at very different stages.

Some of what I wish I had known nine years ago today – before I had my first child, before I was a mother…

 –  It really doesn’t matter when they hit their milestones, as long as they do.  Nobody really cares, other than you, if your child is potty trained at two, or three.  If they give up the pacifier at six months or four years.  If they sleep thru the night.  And you won’t care six months after they’ve done it either. 

 – It’s totally worth the cost of a co-pay to hear that it’s NOT an ear infection.

 – Everyone has brought their child into the doctor in at least once for what turned out to be a temper tantrum.  (Or was that just me??)

 – If you don’t want advice, don’t look for it.  People LOVE to tell you how they would raise your child, but if you are calm and confident, they’re much less likely to think that you need their help. 

 – The best thing you can do for your child is to NOT entertain them every minute.  Encourage them to play, to make up games on their own.  Give them opportunities to think of their own fun, and make sure they know that your job is not to play with them.

 – Sometimes, it’s really fun to just play with your kids.  Enjoy the stage they’re at, because it won’t last long. 

 – Bribery works.  Call it positive incentive if it makes you feel better, but don’t discount it as a parenting tool.

 – Make sure you know what the rules are.  In our house, whining is okay.  I don’t love it, but don’t mind it too much either.  What I really hate is disrespect.  My kids aren’t allowed to speak sarcastically or disrepectfully to either of us.  Other parents may have different rules, but for us, that’s a line in the sand.  if you decide ahead of time what matters to you and stick to it, you’re in a much better position to enforce them.

For the most part, my kids are great thru the night.  Granted, I nurse well into toddler hood and co-sleep, and as a result, even if they were waking up, it wasn’t an issue because I’d sleep mostly thru it.  Last night was the exception. 

Marc had gone to the gym, so he wasn’t home until after ten.  Jessie has been having trouble falling asleep, so I told her that she could sleep at the foot of our bed.  Sam only falls asleep with snuggles, so he was in there too.  And Julianna was on the other side of me.  Normally, we move at least one or two out of bed, but last night, when Marc came home, I was already asleep, so he just shut the door and tiptoed out to sleep in Sam’s room. 

Julianna is cutting some molars, I think, because she woke up at three o’clock.  Now, if she’d woken up and said “Mama, my teeth hurt.”  I know I would have been sympathetic.  I’m a good mom.  But she’s a toddler, and instead, she woke up, sat up, and hollered happily “PAT PAT!”  Which is code for “Hey, lets watch Little Einsteins!”  At three o’clock, I’m not really into insipid Disney cartoons.  I’m just not.  And by the time I clued into the fact that she was actually rubbing her mouth and crying (due to the fact that I wasn’t putting on the television), Sam was awake too.  So I got up.

I brought them both into the kitchen, gave Sam some motrin because he claimed his nose hurt, and changed Julianna and gave her a tylenol suppository (she vomits the oral meds).  We watched an hour of television, then went back into bed, Sam finally drifted off close to four thirty, and Julianna fell asleep about twenty minutes later.  Which would have been great, I could have gotten at least another two hours of sleep – but Marc’s alarm clock went off at five. 

I got up, because I missed him.  And I’m so glad I did, because (despite the fact that I’m now so exhausted I could cry but don’t have the energy) we got this lovely little interlude when it was just us, and we could talk and discuss and debate and hang out.  I love him so much, and it’s easy to sometimes lose sight of that connection.  Not lose it, exactly, but have it fall to the bottom of the list, between homework and dance lessons and teaching Sam his letters and getting Jessie to do her chores and wrestle Julie into the tub – spending quality time with my husband is an incredible luxury.  So today I’m grateful for the sleepless night.  And also grateful for a midday nap 🙂

Sometimes, all is not delightful.  Sometimes, it’s just crappy.  Not awful, not tragic, just craptastic.  We were all sick for the past week and a half, one at a time, culminating in Jessie getting strep throat.  Julianna was the only healthy one, and I fear that I may be wrong in saying that she escaped unscathed.  Because she was up at four o’clock, running a fever, with a drippy nose.  She was pretty miserable yesterday too.  Actually, Sam was kind of wretched yesterday.  All in all, we’re all kind of in crappy moods and unhappy.  Which is why I probably shouldn’t be blogging, because really, who wants to read about my  misery?

In other news – we all seem to be kind of getting better, and I feel like spring is coming.  Granted, it’s because we’re having the oddest sort of winter, with one good storm at the end of October, and nothing since then.   I’m embarking on a new food program, I’m introducing one new meal a week to the kids, and taking over grocery shopping.  Of course, Marc just went out and bought a bunch of craptastic food, so I can’t start it for a week or so (see, this is why I shouldn’t blog bitchy). 

I’m obviously a big fan of breastfeeding your children, for as long as they need it.  Another bonus to nursing your toddler is that they really do tend to stay healthier than children who are not nursing.  Anecdotal evidence, sure, but it’s been the case, time and time again, when my older two will be sick, sick, sick, and Julianna will breeze thru with just a bit of a runny nose.  It was the same thing when Sam was younger, he was never actually sick until he stopped nursing.

Last weekend, I started with a cold.  I was pretty miserable Friday and Saturday, but by Sunday, was definitely on the mend.  Just in time for my poor Samilicious Boy to come down with a stomach bug.  Fortunately, he never threw up, but was down with a fever and body aches Sunday and Monday and a good part of Tuesday.  He got better, cue Marc coming down with it.  Marc started puking Thursday night and was home all day on Wednesday.  Got better just in time for Jess to spike a high fever and start complaining of a sore throat.  It’s Friday morning and the kid hasn’t gotten out of bed or eaten anything since Wednesday night, so we’ve got an appointment this afternoon with the doctor.  And thru the whole thing, Julianna has been her cheerful, healthy self, a bit of a runny nose, but overall, she’s the healthiest one of all. 

Last Friday wasn’t a snow day, exactly.  At least not as far as the Worcester Public Schools were concerned.  But I didn’t grow up in Worcester, and after almost nine years of living in this city of a thousand hills, I’ve reached the point where if it’s icy out, I’m not driving.  Marc had another early meeting, so he couldn’t drive them to school, and my road wasn’t even plowed yet.  I did attempt it, at one point.  I went halfway down the hill to where we had parked the minivan (because of the parking ban, we couldn’t park right in front of the house, and Marc’s car was in the driveway) and I got the van all cleared off, and even turned it around to go back up the hill.  But I couldn’t get any farther up the hill than that, so I just reversed back to the curb and decided that I’d have a snow day.

It was delightful.  Both Jessie and Sam were so tickled pink about missing school.  Not that either of them are candidates for perfect attendance awards, but if they miss school, I at least make them pretend to be sick.  They have to stay in bed and anytime they start to have fun, I warn them that I could still bring them in.  If you’re well enough to play, you’re well enough to go to school.  But on Friday – they were perfectly healthy – and still able to stay home, and their joy was boundless. 

It turned out to be a perfect kind of day.  They got along well, Jessica worked all day on her book report that’s due at the end of the month and Sam spent a good part of the day coloring.  I seriously considered homeschooling – actually, I seriously consider it a lot, because my kids don’t like goin to school – and Friday was one of those days when it seemed as though they might actually learn more, academically, at home, than they do at school.  Sam did colors and letters and Jessie really worked her little butt off on that report.  And they were both so cheerful about it. 

While Julianna was napping (God bless the toddler nap), we played chess.  My grandfather died about a year and a half ago, and I inherited his chessboard.  The one that he taught me to play on, and it’s especially poignant to play with my children on it.  We had snacks and cocoa, and I taught them to play on Friday – and it’s going to be one of the memories that I play back in my head when I’m very old.

I’m still adjusting to a new schedule.  For a little over a year, my husband was out of work, and we adjusted very nicely to being home together during the day.  For my littlest one, it was ideal.  For most of the first year and a half of her life, she had two stay at home parents.  For me, it was better than ideal – I had my best friend home with me, and an extra pair of hands  to help out with all the parenting/house details.  It was lovely… but now he’s back work and I’m missing him something awful.

Not just because my husband is awesome, I also miss having a buddy.  Someone to watch the baby while I ran errands, or someone to do the cooking while I helped our daughter with homework.  Now he’s got a great new job and is out of the house all the time.  We’re down to seeing him for a bit in the morning and for an hour or so before the kids go to bed, and even that little amount of time is in short supply, as this week contained a lot of morning meetings and after work networking seminars. 

So it’s just me, these days, at home.  Getting all three kids up and dressed, figuring out the breakfast dilemma.  My son loves breakfast, and follows a strict (self imposed) schedule.  He gets up and crawls into my lap for a bit, then eats a bagel or bowl of cereal.  Then goes to get ready.   My oldest daughter is baffled by breakfast and will frequently break down in tears when pressed to decide what she’d like, so now I just give her hot instant breakfast in the mornings (I’m this close to thinking that the kid could use a cup of coffee to get her going  in the morning, but thus far, I’ve been able to hold back from starting her on a coffee addiction before she’s  ten).  She  just sips her “cocoa” and reluctantly gets dressed.  I change the baby, and load all of them into the car, usually making it to the school with minutes to spare.  I make lunch boxes the night before and hope that I remembered to pack them in the school bags. 

After we get home, the baby and I have a bagel, and I have yet another cup of coffee.  Usually, she putters around playing with her toy kitchen, baby dolls and crayons while I do laundry, make beds, etc.  She goes down for a lovely nap around eleven, and I have  to wake her to go do the pick ups.   I get the kids from school, and depending on the day, either come home or drop my oldest at whatever activity she’s got going.  Then we launch into homework time, followed quickly by dinner/bath/bedtime. 

It’s not a schedule that varies much, I do pretty much the same thing every day.  Sometimes I’ll toss in a playdate for the baby, or a trip to go visit my mother or aunt.  Sometimes I  run errands, or volunteer at the school – I think Julianna is well on her way to being declared the Flagg Street Mascot at this point.  But I love  it.  I love little bits of it, I love the way Sam staggers directly to me when he wakes up, the way Jessie agonizes over her hair.  The way Julianna will ask for her nap, and sing in the car on the way to go pick up the kids.  I love the way they play together, the way Jessie’s mind works when she’s writing spelling sentences or setting up a game for the baby.  I love their little faces while they sleep, how peaceful and content they look.  And I love, love, love that moment when my husband comes home, and all the kids run to him. 

It’s  not changing the world, I’m not doing great things on a global scale here.  But I am making a family and home, and I’m so grateful for it every day.