Teach your children…

There's this idea that children do as they are taught.

So wrong!

Parents teach bigotry, and children choose love. Parents teach Catholicism, and children choose premarital sex and contraception. Parents teach alcoholism, and children choose a sober life. Parents teach hoarding, and children choose a clean and organized life.

Here's the deal: children make their own decisions. They can be nice or nasty, and it's their choice.

I hope we keep showing our kids how to be nice and highlighting the good feelings that come from being nice. We can show our kids the effects nice people have had in our lives. We can teach nice, but kids make their own choices.

The adult bullies I have run into have kids. I pray those kids learn nice and make the choice to be nice.

My oldest doesn't even understand nice. When I make a pan of brownies for a neighbor or friend, she's upset that I'm giving our stuff away. We have no shortage of food, but she's very upset when I give things away. I make a loaf of bread to give away, and she doesn't understand that I'm taking time to make a thing to give away.

We can teach all we want, all we can, but kids do what they do.

Mommy Guilt Times Four

I am constantly reminded about what I could or should be doing. Facebook walls with great at home play/therapy ideas, tweets about taking kids to social skills class, blogs about families living gluten-casein-soy free, neighbors taking kids to story time at the library, instagram pics of girls in dance class, texts from well meaning friends and family with something they just read or heard about for treating autistic kids; they all highlight the things I'm not doing, can't afford to do, can't manage to fit it into our life. I'm just one mom and can only do what I can do. Trying every new thing would take incredible amounts of money and take me away from the rest of the family that needs me too.
However much I'd like to do everything to help Calliope, everything to help Cooper, everything to help Clio, everything to help Claire, I'm a mere mortal.

Calliope at her IEP meeting

I had invited Calliope to the IEP because she wants to be in control and thinks these meetings are people talking bad about her. I explain that the grown up are trying to figure out what she needs and how we can help her learn. Her idea of school success is very different than mine. Calliope needed to tell the IEP team what she was thinking.
One suggestion was a different class at the far end of the same campus, Opportunity School. Calliope was concerned about missing art and the social times like lunch on the main campus.
She craves social interaction but doesn't have the skills to understand people and build a friendship. I can't be sure there is a way to teach culture to her.
Free and appropriate education is a tall order for Miss Calliope Joy.

Anxiety over a new baby

I'm just a few days away from the March 1st due date with our fourth child, and it's so hard to enjoy the thought of a baby in the house.
Everything else going on revolves around Calliope and her needs, then there are the 3.5 year old, and 1.5 year old that are also demanding.
Baby will be staying in our room. The little kids, Cooper and Clio, share a bedroom. Calliope has the larger bedroom, and it just isn't safe for a kid sister to share it with her.
We'll be in close quarters for some time until we are financially able to move into a larger home.
I'm not thinking clearly enough to write it seems.
Mostly I think I'm just wondering how much one mom can do.
I've got Calliope that could take up all my time.
I've got Cooper that could take up all my time.
I've got little Clio that could take up all my time.
Soon, I'll have a newborn that could take up all my time.
Somehow, I've got to take these four full-time jobs and do them all as one person.
I have my doubts.

Our plan is to labor and birth at home, and I just don't know. We got lucky last time with Calliope in school when the birth happened. I hope we get lucky again because I can't deal with her crap while I'm in labor. I won't have the patience or the ability to hold my tongue when she starts her bitching. When I'm not in labor, it's hard.