Tips from the Trenches: A Guide to Practical Parenting

In honor of my favorite bloggess, I wanted to bid a fond farewell to the one that got me started (Stories From Korea), by hooking you up with three of my favorite SFK posts.

• Rasputin
• My Life in Cats
• True
• A bonus post: Tap (this one is mostly my favorite because of the picture)

In the future, check out Anna's new blog, The Woman with a Dead Cat in Her Purse. I'm sure it will shake the blogging world to its cat loving core.

Just for you Anna. Hope this doesn't offend your aging eyes too much. Don't say I never gave you anything.

As TftT passes it's landmark first year in operation, I decided to post a blog for one of my most ardent athletic supporters...Anna. She is my inspiration and a fellow parent (which is probably the only thing that really makes this post relevant for TftT). This may also be the last post since, in one solitary year, we seemed to have solved all the key parenting issues (and some of the non-key ones, too, dog-gone-it!)

Anyway, when I asked Anna for inspiration to lubricate a recent dry spell, she offered up some fodder that has taken shape below....


On the way to school the other day the kids were shooting each other (and occasionally me) with the Nerf guns that my son got for his recent birthday. I was late for my PTA board meeting and still had to make sure that I was properly turned out for such an occasion. It was then that it stuck me (with about the same force as those pesky Nerf gun bullets) that being a woman is really a man's job.

Not only was I recovering from my recent encounter with the Swine Flu, spelling tests (this week it's "an" words. Yippie!), vomiting 3-year old, counting to 100 projects, facilitating an activity filled morning with 20 first graders, and preparing an absolutely gripping PTA newsletter, but I also had to think about writing responsible advice and general information for parents for my new job, research whether my Nerf gun toting children qualify for NRA membership, and get a balanced, healthy meal on the table (or floor) up to 3 times per day. All that before I can even really think about showering (and drying), cleaning up unicorn poop, and, of course, all the unicorn's toys.

After taking a quick look at my watch (which I couldn't read due to the thin layer of some dried out substance that may have been yogurt), I decided that I just needed to man up and realize that the only person who could really do my job well is a man. After all, the only way to really approach this day is to eliminate things methodically and linearly from from my cerebral list without asking for any directions.

Today as my kids were peacefully playing with my friend's, similarly aged, but slightly younger kids, it occurred to me that the peace we were enjoying (relative to play date peace, of course) was the result of an arranged marriage, of sorts. At least, an arranged friendship. And it is a beautiful thing.

When my son, Jack, who at nearly 6 is the oldest of the 4 kids, and my friend's oldest, whom I will call Wesley, (4 1/2 years old) first started playing together I wouldn't exactly say it was love at first sight.

My son is crazy in an "in your face" kind of way. (No idea where he gets it. Such a puzzle.) Wesley, more retiring. In fact, Jack spent a substantial amount of time unintentionally (most of the time, anyway) intimidating Wesley to tears. It would take about 20 minutes for them to warm up to each other. They would play for another 20 minutes and then the following conversation would typically occur:

J: Hey, W. Let's play Transformers.
W: But I don't like Transformers.
J: Come on, W. I want to.
W: But I don't like Transformers.
J: Why?
W: I just don't. Let's play kitty.
J: Yeah, let's play exploding kitty.
W: But I don't like that game.

And so it goes.

The problem was that my friend, Amy (assumed name), and I really hit it off. We wanted to hang out even if it killed us (or the kids). So we commiserated over the yelling and blood shed. Challenging, but worth it. (I think.)

But after a while, the pecking order was established though a variety of hazing incidents. Jack realized that Wesley is really a creative, imaginative soul like himself. And, Wesley seems to understand, most of the time, that Jack doesn't mean (much) harm and sometimes he has some really "good" ideas. (Such as riding the elevator alone and writing their names on the wall in marker.) Not only that, but they both have younger, "annoying" siblings upon whom they can "gang up" at their cooperative leisure.

So after months of playing, with mixed results, Jack and Wesley seem to have established a warm, loving friendship born of minimal respect, joint dislikes, and maximum irritation. Just like any budding marriage.

Now the conversations are much more like this:

W: Let's play kitty;
J: OK. But let's play exploding kitty.
W: All right, but you can be the kitty.

I don't even need to blog today. Just read this (courtesy of Anna).

I blogged on similar concerns last year, if you are interested.