We were at the library the other day and Silvia was sitting at the little kids computer they have set up there. I was next to her, squished up at the kids table in a tiny chair and flipping through my book. Then my tiny, darling girl looked at me and said sternly, “Get out of my office, Mama. This is my desk, GET OUT.”

Oh, my.

I admit that I am possessive of my desk area. I have to share the playroom with the girls and there is a standing rule they are not allowed to come around and crowd into my “office”. What usually happens, though, is that while they play, I sit at my desk and work. Of course, they view this as an immediate challenge to see if they can get my attention. I end up saying, “Get out of my office” quite a lot.

Hearing it from my 2-year-old’s mouth, though, is an unsettling reminder of how distracted and dismissive I tend to be while I am at my computer. And, coming clean, when we’re all up there there “playing”, I am almost always at my computer. Worse, while I do get work done at those times, it’s pretty hard to concentrate with all the noise and interruptions, so for the most part I’m actually checking Facebook or writing emails or surfing the net. Is that really worth a tartly delivered, “Get out of my office”?

This line of thought, otherwise known as this parental boot the head, has also given me some insight into the girls SO ANNOYING behavior lately. Acting out does not cover it. Defiance, unapologetic rudeness, disobedience and publicly OBNOXIOUS fits are on the rise. I’m not new to toddlers and chalk more than a little of this up to 2-year-old temper and sibling rivalry, but I have to admit that at least some of it is a blistering display of MOMMY PLEASE STOP IGNORING ME AND COME PLAY PRINCESS. It’s time for MY time out.

I hate board games and crafts and can only read two or three stories in a row before yawns overtake words, but I am a mom of preschoolers. This may not be the most important thing I do in my life (SHOCK! OUTRAGE! HOW DARE SHE SAY THAT! WHAT A TERRIBLE MOTHER!), but it’s certainly in the top three. I’d like to note here that I’m not saying I never play with the kids or read to them or make bizarre paper sculptures with glue and Popsicle sticks. I do.

That small blue-eyed and blond little parrot has reminded me, though, a little more time doing THAT instead of computing aimlessly can do more harm than good. I’m instituting Turn-Off Time– playtime with no computer or TV. It’ll vary day to day with school, naps and activities, but I’m determined to make it as much a priority as any deadline (or, too my shame, Facebook update).

Maybe next time we’re at the library Silvia will absolve my guilt and say to her Dolly, “Come here and read a story with me, just like mommy”. And, hey, if she can do it while lots of other people are around who can say, “Awww, how cute, what a great mom she must have!”, all the better!

We have put off cleaning our carpets for 5 years.  They’re spotted, worn and generally gray rather than the original cream color.  Now, I’m not ashamed to say my house is pretty nice upon general inspection.  I (and my twice monthly visiting angel cleaning lady) keep it fairly clean and neat. As a family, we do not lean towards clutter, in fact I’d say it’s more exactly the opposite. 

But the carpets are a disaster, one that nags at us though we struggle daily to ignore it.  Why all the denial? Because I still have a potty-training toddler. 

And in most cases, the potty plays a rather minor role as receptacle when it comes to the “training” part. Last week, Silvia stood up and declared that she MUST wear her big girl panties, making the decision I had been putting off.  I agreed, but with trepidation.  It’s not that I don’t want her to be potty-trained, quite the opposite.  But the actual process is just misery. I’ve successfully managed to block out nearly the entire procedure with Anna, leaving me only with a vague memory of her crying and spending weeks on my knees scrubbing out the carpet, couches, beds and floors. 

I know it’s cowardly, but diapers are just EASIER. With diapers I can leave the house on a moment’s notice and stay out for more than two hours without trouble. Silvia can sit on the couch unattended and play in the next room without my constant hovering.  As it is now, she doesn’t even want to wear pull-ups half the time.  I got those cloth trainers, but they still don’t contain the majority of the flood,which leaves me in a state of near-constant awareness to catch her before she forgets to catch herself.

It’s not like she’s having no success.  She’s got a definite awareness of what’s going on– it just seems to come more often AFTER the deed is done.  Actually, she does better in pull-ups, but those panties are so much cuter and happier and more wonderful and JUST LIKE ANNA’S, her most important criteria.  Another month or two, she’ll be on her way, there’ll be less accidents, I’ll be able to go out more often. 

For the moment, though, I’ve just resigned myself to a questionable carpet and dropping everything to run to the bathroom 37 million times a day.  If nothing else, I’m getting my exercise, right? I could only wish that it was a little less…damp.

I understand, in theory, that whoever invented those grocery carts with little cars on the front had good intentions at heart. I’m sure he thought what could be more fun, more distracting, for two little kids than to sit in a cab and be pushed through the store, totally occupied while mom peacefully shops?

Except that inventor, I have a strong suspicion, did not HAVE any children. The car-cart is my nemesis. It’s bulky and difficult to maneuver and the actual basket is too small to hold groceries for the average family.  Most of all, though, is its debilitating effect on my kids. 

“Car-cart!  Car-cart!” would erupt the second we got to the store. They were at one time infamous for collapsing into complete hysterics if, God forbid, someone else was using it and they had to settle for its poor cousin. Then, after all this drama, the entire trip through the store would be marked by screams, pushing, hitting and my not-so-whispered threats to dump them in the diaper aisle for someone else to buy and take home if they didn’t stopthatrightnoworIwillgiveyousomethingtocryABOUT (yes, it’s finally happened– the threats of my childhood are now mainstays of my own vocabulary).

The worst, worse even than their deafening battles to control the wheel, is when they would wait until I was as far from the front of the store as possible, with a basket at least half-full, and then jump out of the cab. So there I would be, pushing a monstrosity through narrow aisles with two children running in opposite directions from me and the barge. This was an awful lot like threading the proverbial needle with a camel, only with a heard of jackals circling you at the same time.

The car-cart is now forbidden in my family. The last time we used one, I ended up abandoning it in the dairy section while I pulled two squalling whirlwinds by their shirt collars out of the store, dangerously close to using them both as bowling balls across the parking lot.  The upside to that day, (which I salvaged with a VERY large glass of wine), is that they both now associate the car-cart, like Pavlov’s well-trained dogs, with a healthy dose of respectful terror.

Because what would be the point of having children without them being at least a little bit afraid of you?

Children need to experience life, the good and the bad.  Trying to protect them from every bump and bruise will, in the long run, actually end up hurting them.  They’ll never learn the skills they need to survive (and thrive) in the real world, where not everyone is nice, most people don’t share their toys and your boss doesn’t understand that you want to be able to take a deep breath, think about a better solution and then get a do-over when you lose an important account. 

I know this, logically, I totally do.  And, on the whole, I wouldn’t call myself a helicopter mama, hovering protectively over my children’s every move.  In fact, as time goes by I think, more and more, I am inclined to let them fight their own battles and find their own solutions. Certainly between the two of them, I stay out of the sibling battles as much as possible.  The rule in our house is that you work it out or walk away.  I also have a standing edict that tattling (unless someone is REALLY hurt or REALLY being dangerous) results in two time-outs: one for the offender and one for the tattler. This rule is fabulous since it makes them BOTH consider whether it’s worth it to run to mommy or if they should fall back on rule #1 and handle it on their own. 

But, in the midst of all this logic, the mama bear in me still roars from time to time.  I know I cannot protect them from every mean kid, unfair situation and hurtful scenario.  And, let’s face it, what hurts a preschooler can seem like a great big nothing to an adult.  All the same, when I hear that hurt cry and see someone treat them badly, I ache to defend and protect (not to mention punt the offender across the arena of play). 

Yesterday Anna said to me, “That person wasn’t nice, mama.  He hurt my feelings and I cried and he just wasn’t nice.”

Oh, how I wanted to shelter her! “I know, sweetie.  Sometimes people just aren’t nice.  It’s not fair but that’s just how things are sometimes. I’m sorry.”

Then, with the infinitely simple sincerity of the very young, she said, “Everyone should be nice to other people, then no one would have to cry.” 

Screw logic and popular parenting mandates.

They are still little girls, my babies.  Anna is 4 and Silvia is only 2.  Yes, they are growing up and yes, they need to learn independence.  But they’re still little, too, and you know what?  I have no problem letting them know I’ve got their backs when the world is not fair.  Everyone knows you shouldn’t touch a bear cub in the wild or its mama will take you DOWN. 

Well, sometimes this civilized world of ours is just as wild as any natural habitat. And my instincts?  They’re the same as any mother bear.

Upon seeing her sister for the first time in the morning, Anna burst forth with:

“Silvia, aren’t you adorable to my astonishment!”