All of these factors came crashing together last night when Cody flung the door to my office open, on the verge of tears, clutching the book I had tucked him in with nearly an hour beforehand. The book was this:

Cody has become so fascinated with history, particularly ancient Egypt, I purchased this book for his birthday in August. It’s a really cool book, with tons of fast facts and illustrations about different ancient civilizations, designed for kids ages 8-12, though I spent a happy while flipping through it. (Incidentally, right now, Amazon also has it at a bargain price of $8.)

Back to the story, Cody silently brought the book to my desk, laid it in carefully in front of me, and pointed to the five sentences and the small picture that had given his night such a bad turn.

The section was titled, “Human Sacrifice,” and it described how the Incas sacrificed people to their gods. The picture was of the remains of a sacrificed girl found in 1999.

I scanned the paragraph, not completely realizing how shaken he was. “Yep, that stuff happened,” I confirmed, trying to figure out how old the girl might have been. She seemed young.

I heard a choked sound and looked up to see tears forming in Cody’s eyes. “How could people do that?” he said, and burst into sobs.

I comforted him the best I could, hugging him tightly and assuring him that he was safe. It wasn’t fear that gripped him though; it was anguish over the capability of human beings to engage in such a horrific act.

“How can I forget about this?” he pleaded with me. “How will I be able to not be creeped out by it ever again?”

I knew just what he meant.

As I held him close, I remembered the moment I really understood what people could do to each other. It was probably quite a bit less dramatic, but equally powerful and disturbing. It was the very late 70s or very early 80s (yes, I’m dating myself) and I was fairly young. My mom was watching something on TV and I happened to come in the room just as on the screen a jilted wife walked into the room where her husband and his lover were in bed and shot them both point blank.

It haunted me for days. I think it was mostly the fact that it was a woman that fired the gun that really got to me. I found the scene horrifying and reprehensible, maybe because at that young age I perceived all women as nurturing and caring. It was shocking and horrible to me that anyone, much less a woman, could shoot someone else in cold blood like that.

I remember the feeling of losing my blind faith in humanity well. It was like tiny pinpricks all over my skin, yet complete and utter silence and stillness inside, allowing for only a very slow thump of my heart, making my breath catch and hold every time I thought of the scene I had witnessed. The scene that represented the loss of my innocence.

How can I unlearn this? I remember feeling, and that’s just what Cody was asking me. How do I cope with this knowledge that humans can be so evil?

I sighed. “You can’t forget,” I told him. “But it’ll get better. It will fade in time and it’ll become less and less upsetting.”

I comforted him a while longer, until his tears had subsided and he had a different, much more upbeat, book in hand.

“I just never knew people could do that,” he said, his voice full of sorrow and resignation.

“I know,” I said softly. ”I’m sorry.” I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. I’m sorry you found out. I’m sorry I don’t have anything more comforting to say. I’m so sorry for your loss.

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Is there a particular event in your and/or your child’s life that marks the time when you (or your child) understood what people could be capable of?

Roughly an hour and a half later (yeah, I know, I’m not the most speedy shopper), as we dragged our tired selves over to the shoe section to find skids for the four of them for activity period, the boys had asked me a thousand times if we were done yet.

“Not yet,” I answered mechanically, also for the thousandth time, wishing I could somehow magically transport us all back home without having to actually drive the 40-minute trip. “We still have to get shoes.”

A tedious task at the best of times, finding shoes that each child would like when they were already cranky didn’t seem like a fun prospect at all. Our small town is notorious for having fairly small selections in terms of style, and even smaller selections for size. Unless a person doesn’t mind stopping at every store in town with four tired kids in tow, one must reconcile herself with the choices put in front of her.

The girls’ shoe hunt went fine. They were flexible with their selections and their size, finally the same as mine, was easy to find.

Phew.

So we traipsed over to the boys’ section and located the Spider-Man shoes. (If I haven’t mentioned it before, Cody is absolutely obsessed with Spider-Man and has been since he was about 3. Needless to say, Logan shares the fondness, though not nearly to the same extent as Cody.) I found a pair for Logan.

Perfect.

But there were no Spider-Man shoes available in Cody’s size.

“Shoot, Cody, I guess you’re going to have to pick something else,” I told him.

Before Cody could protest, Logan piped up in his helium-infused, 2-year-old-sounding voice:

“Cody, that’s OK. I won’t get Spider-Man shoes either since you can’t, because that wouldn’t be faaaaaaiiiiiiirrrrrrrr,” he said, drawing out the last word like he does when he’s intent on making a point.

And he didn’t. They each picked out Iron-Man shoes instead.

When I related this story to the kids’ uncle the next day, echoing my thoughts, he said, “You just can’t teach that, can you? They either have it, or they don’t.”

I’m so proud that Logan has it.

How have your kids impressed you with their innate personality traits? What do you admire the most about your child/ren?

“Only BORING people are bored,” my dad would remind me, whenever I made the mistake of expressing said feeling.

I took my dad’s words to heart, primarily because there is not much more disagreeable to me than being viewed as a boring person.

I mean, really. Is there any excuse, in this world of numerous activities and choices, for anyone to claim boredom? I don’t think I’ve ever actually been bored in my life. There is just too much to do. Restless, yes. Overwhelmed, sometimes. Overloaded, definitely. But never, ever bored. I don’t even have enough time in the day to do all the things I want to do, much less claim to have excess time to be bored.

Unfortunately, several of my children do not share my desire to be seen as a creative, interesting person. At the very least, they don’t care what I think.

The first time I ever used the line, “Only BORING people are bored,” thinking these magic words would put an end to the complaint for good, Andie waved them off. “Don’t you care if you’re a boring person?” I asked, aghast.

“Not really,” she said.

Evidently this line doesn’t work on every child, but for the kids that it does motivate, it’s a good one.

I have, however, found one motivational phrase that works like a charm for all my kids when they say they’re bored.

“If you’re bored, I can find some work for you to do.”

They clear out so fast, you can see the dust flying in their wake.

The kids were out shopping with their dad around Thanksgiving time and Logan saw something that caught his attention and held it for months. He came home all excited to tell me about the Bigfoot toy he saw at the store.

“It costs $100!” he said. “I wish I had $100 so I could buy it.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to happen,” I said. (And, incidentally, what could be so amazing about a toy that it costs THAT much? Good grief.)

He brought the Bigfoot toy up many times, as well as his dearest wish that he would get it for Christmas. Again, I told him we weren’t going to spend $100 on a toy. In other conversations throughout the following weeks, he mentioned repeatedly that if he had the money, he would buy the Bigfoot toy.

So with this story in mind, you can imagine my surprise when the following paper came home from school:

I think the picture explains it all, but for the first graders’ celebration of the 100th day of school, they were given this paper with a copy of the $100 bill on it and asked to write what they would buy with their $100. In case you can’t read it, here’s the translation:

“If I had $100, I would give it Haiti and I would buy a toy. I would give it to my cousins.”

Logan has always been a generous little guy. He has been wonderful at sharing since he was a toddler, an innate trait he has that most kids have to learn. Still, I was impressed by his decision to spend his imaginary $100 on the people of Haiti and his cousins, rather than on the Bigfoot toy he has been wanting for so long.

I love the subtle, occasional peeks I get into the depths of my kids’ personalities. These two little sentences gave me greater insight into who Logan is and what is truly important to him.

I couldn’t be more proud.

What glimpses of your child’s best personality traits have you had? Share here!

]]> http://www.parentingbytrialanderror.com/2011/03/18/when-our-kids-inadvertently-impress-us/feed/ 0 http://www.parentingbytrialanderror.com/2009/09/22/briefly-noted-3-other-blogs-in-the-leapfrog-tag-reading-system-giveaway/ http://www.parentingbytrialanderror.com/2009/09/22/briefly-noted-3-other-blogs-in-the-leapfrog-tag-reading-system-giveaway/#comments Wed, 23 Sep 2009 04:10:33 +0000 Sarah E. Ludwig http://parentingbytrialanderror.com/?p=2012 Just in case you haven’t increased your chances of winning the LeapFrog Tag Reading System bundle that I and 9 other bloggers are giving away by visiting their blogs, here’s a brief rundown of why I think these blogs are great, beginning today with the three whose contests are ending the soonest.

Confessions of a Mean Mommy — The name alone makes you want to read it, doesn’t it? Denise Schipani, Mean Mommy extraordinaire, blogs about everything from baby lust to why she didn’t childproof. On her “Why ‘Mean Mommy?’” page, Denise explains, “I didn’t set out to be ‘mean,’ but as the years have passed in this adventure we call motherhood, I realized that my relentlessly practical nature, combined with my inborn stubborn streak, make me ill-suited to the loosey-goosey parenting style currently in vogue. I’m just doing my bit to nudge the pendulum back to somewhere between 60s commune (too far in one direction!) and kids should be seen and not heard (too far in the other!).”

Click here to sign up for Denise’s Tag Reading System giveaway. Hurry — it ends Wednesday, September 23.

3 Carnations — Some of her posts are thoughtful, such as this one about a man she has never met who died in the terrorist attack on September 11, 2001, and all of them are totally relate-able (poo on a stick, anyone?). 3C is also a favorite of mine because she comments on  my posts once in awhile. Thanks, 3C!

Click here to sign up for 3C’s Tag Reading System giveaway, which ends Thursday, September 24.

ReadyMom — Kristen is a fellow writer and mom who is working hard on her recently-birthed blog. Her latest post asks which book got your kid into reading and another recent one gives a great tip on how to help kids be better readers. I’m totally inspired!

Click here to sign up for Kristen’s giveaway, which also ends Thursday, September 24.

What are you waiting for? Go sign up before it’s too late! And while you’re at it, if you haven’t signed up for my LeapFrog Tag Reading System giveaway, click here.

No Sharing!

My mother is the queen of sharing. When dining together, if your meal does not appear as appetizing as hers, she will not only offer you tastes, but will trade entrees on request, unless you happened to order fish. She doesn’t eat fish.

There must have been some sort of genetic glitch since I am not a big fan of sharing food. My hoarding teeters on that of a beaver who is anticipating a long winter.

Since there are such rare moments when I can sit and enjoy a salad or plate of nachos that I have thrown together for myself, my greediness accelerates when the little kids saunter over and begin to stare at my delicacies. The bigger children give an, “Oooh, that looks good. Can I have some?” and pretty soon I’m up on my feet, with half of my meal pecked at by vultures, concocting nachos for four. I’m often surprised at their willingness to eat again after they consumed lunch twenty minutes prior to my sitting down. Oh, for the metabolism of youth!

I’m even worse about sharing dessert. After the children are kissed, hugged, prayed over, and covered, lights turned off, nightlights turned on, fans arranged and powered up, blankies located, “I love you’s” exchanged, backs tickled, and drinks of water administered (insert a sigh, whew, and deep breath, here), I love to scoop out extreme amounts of chocolate chip ice cream into a bowl, slather the top with whipped cream, and then plop my body on the couch for some down time.

Although my husband is well aware of my stinginess, on occasion, in the middle of my ice cream intake, he will ask for a bite of my dessert. Begrudgingly I serve him. Good thing we typically have opposite tastes in dessert. While he is a Popsicle, I am a frosted brownie covered with heaps of ice cream and whipped cream. Popsicles are a beverage, not a dessert.

After coming clean with my selfish disease, I have mustered up the strength to share every now and again with less bitterness. However, I now know better than to make nachos or a bowl of ice cream for myself when the children are present. At those moments I stick with something they will avoid—a feta cheese and spinach omelet.

Linda Vujnov is a writer and speaker and the mother of four kids, a girl and three boys. She blogs at Spilt Milk.

Leave a comment for a chance to win one of 3 (three) copies of Linda’s book, Spilt Milk. Contest ends Friday, July 10, 2009. Get a bonus chance by signing up to receive my blog either by RSS or email, then leave me a comment letting me know.

Truth be told, I was jealous of their relationship. I didn’t understand how Mom could be so cuddly and sweet with Trina while doling out my chore list. It seemed grossly unfair that she favored Trina just because she was the youngest.

But, as is true with most parenting-related matters, I now understand what was going on there. It wasn’t that she favored Trina, at least I don’t think she did, it’s just that moms have a special connection with the baby of the family, particularly when they know he/she is definitely the last child. Mom knew Trina was her last.

I knew Logan was my last as well and I’m the same way with him. I cuddle and hold him far more than the others. It’s almost embarrassing to admit, but even though he’s 5, I still carry him up and down the stairs if he wants me to. I help him get dressed and brush his teeth as well. It’s not that he needs help, and I don’t always do it, but I know it won’t be long before he won’t want me to do any of these things and I’ll miss those days. I plan to enjoy them as long as I can.

It doesn’t mean I favor him. I love all my kids equally, but (full disclosure here) I like certain ones more on some days than others. I just feel a strong bond with Logan that’s different from what I feel with the other kids. It’s not more powerful or better, my bond with each child is unique in its own way.

Sometimes when I’m holding Logan I catch a glimpse of the two of us in the mirror and I’m shocked to see that his legs are hanging past my knees, but he’s still my baby. I’m betting that even when he’s taller than me and getting married and having children of his own I will still feel the same way.

It’s cliché, but they just grow up too fast, don’t they?

Do you have a special bond with your “baby?”

Thank goodness I did because shortly after the other kids left, he threw up all over the hallway on his way to the bathroom. I gave him a bath and tucked him in on the couch with a bowl of dry Cheerios, a water bottle and a movie to watch and told him I was going to go clean up the mess. He said, “I’m really sorry I threw up in the hallway, Mom.” I told him it was OK, just an accident. I asked him if he felt like he was going to throw up again. He said, “No, I’m going to keep the throw-up away by exercising.”

Fast forward a bit. I come to check on Logan.

Me: Did you pour your water into the Cheerios?

Logan: No.

Me: Then why are they all wet?

Logan: Because I threw up in them.

Never mind that there was a bucket specifically for this purpose a foot away from his head, the Cheerios bowl was closer, so that’s what he aimed for. Poor little guy. He tried to make less of a mess this time, bless his heart.

Though some of what Logan said made me chuckle, I hate the powerless feeling that comes when you see your children going through some sort of pain that you can’t help them with. I watch them struggle with sickness or emotional pain and I would do just about anything to have that pain be mine instead. There is no doubt in my mind that I would die for these kids if need be.

Now that’s a kind of love that can’t be bought or forced by will or even thought about very hard, it just IS. Love at its most gritty and heart-wrenching, both freeing and enslaving, at times creating giddiness and others, despair. An innate, all-encompassing, neverending, precious part of our beings that slumbers until our children make us parents.

Who knew that vomit could make a person become so philosophical?

Enter the era of my sons, who have had a multitude of channels from which to pick since they can remember. Hello advertisement-ridden Nickelodeon and Disney. Goodbye PBS. Gone are the refreshing commercial-free days of old; now, my children are inundated with ads for anything a kid could ever possibly dream about.

When we go shopping, the boys beg me for Dora macaroni and cheese, Diego toothbrushes and anything adorned with Spiderman. The character stuff always costs a lot more too. I say no to the mac and cheese because not only is it more expensive, with much less in the box than the regular kind to boot, I just don’t buy it on principle.

One day we were at the store and we went past the toilet paper. “Look, Mom,” said then-5-year-old Cody. “That’s Charmin Ultra Strong and that’s Charmin Ultra Soft.” I stared at him, speechless. He was right. I asked him how he knew which was which and he said, “Because I saw it on TV.” Great.

Though I would undoubtedly have a mini-riot on my hands, I’ve been considering pulling the plug on the variety of TV stations we have and going back to the bunny ears. The world is already full of items everywhere that advertisers convince us we need without being bombarded with more advertisements in our own homes. Much of it is so ridiculous and pointless too, and watching my kids coveting a toy dog that “swims”  or a doll that wets itself almost makes me ill when I think of all the children in the world who don’t even have a roof over their heads or enough food.

We have so much in our country. So much, we take what we do have for granted every single day. Pointing this out to small children is pretty much fruitless though; all they know is the world around them, and, both fortunately and unfortunately, that knowledge just doesn’t expand to kids who are dying of starvation or disease. Kids who would be thrilled to have the bread crusts my youngest just threw in the trash, let alone a toy dinosaur on which they could ride.

Maybe it’s just time for some giving. I want my kids to grow up to be compassionate, caring, generous adults with a heart for those less fortunate. To help instill those qualities, I think this year I’ll have them use their allowances to put together a Christmas gift for a child who otherwise would not get one. I really want to get them out of this “gotta-have” mindset, as popular and prominent as it is in our society.

How do you help your kids with their toy-lust? Does your family do charity work such as volunteering at a soup kitchen or helping sort clothes and collect food for the needy? What are some ways during this holiday season that your family could focus on others?

We were at the store and Logan had $1 to spend. He found a purple plastic recorder for 88¢.

I encouraged him to get it because he’s always using his sisters’ recorders, which makes them very angry. They don’t want his germy little mouth anywhere near their stuff. (Sound familiar?)

“Then I can have my OWN flute!” he said.

“Let’s get it, then,” I agreed.

All was well and good.

Until this morning.

At what I consider the unnecessarily early hour of 6:30, I awoke to the “flute” being played right by my head. A rather unpleasant wake-up call for the entire household.

Dumb, Sarah, dumb.

After four kids, shouldn’t I know better than that? What did I expect?

Now, too late, I remember why the girls’ recorders mysteriously disappeared for a time shortly after their receipt. Rachel and Andie were much younger then and since the novelty of the sound hadn’t worn off for what seemed like far too long, the offending instruments made a semi-permanent home on top of our very tall bookshelf.

This little purple gem may go missing soon as well. If Logan continues to get up before everyone else in his excitement to help us greet the morning with his version of music, it just might find housing on the same bookshelf top.

Now if only the overly large, and therefore unable to be hidden, baritone Rachel has just started learning to play came with a mute button . . .

What are some of your kids’ most annoying toys and why? Do you ever resort to hiding them?