Sunday Confessions: TV is the devil (food cake) of my home

I've had all kinds of ideas for my contribution to Diana's Sunday Confessions. Surprisingly [not at all, actually], most of them aren't really for the world wide web of readers who see me on a pretty regular basis. 

I mean, I could tell you about the time I shaved off one eyebrow because I wanted to see if my razor was dull.  Or that time I tucked my skirt into my underwear on a dare at this formal dinner thing, and got caught by the keynote speaker.  Or the time I thought I really didn't have to get my license plate renewed when I moved out of state. . .'cause like, who even checks that stuff?

The cops do, by the way.  They actually care about that stuff, a lot. 

But I think Sunday Confessions could be a chance for me to let something off my chest that's been bothering me for awhile, and you, my trusty readers could comment and tell me it's okay.  And that I'm normal.  And that you're not going to judge me and never come back to my blog again. . .

So here goes. . .deep breath. . .

My kids watch way too much TV.  I know, I know.  Who's don't, right?  Everyone's children watches more than the recommended 3.2 minutes of screen time each week for children under the age of 50.

But mine? Are serious boob-tube fantatics. And I'm totally to blame.

I'll justify it in my mind a hundred different ways.  I live in New England.  It's never nice outside.  We usually can't go out and play.  We only watch PBS.  That's educational, right?  Who's child has turned into a monster because of too much Curious George?  You find me someone that can play with two toddlers all day and not turn on the TV . . .at least once?  How am I going to make dinner? I mean, really. . .is a little TV worse than them starving?

At least that's how it started. . .

Now, it's morphed into two children, standing inches from a gigantic television, deeply engrossed in Toy Story.  Or whatever's playing on the thing.  I'm ashamed.

I know it's not good for them.  I'm an educated woman.  I read. I know what they say about children who watch too much TV.  And I don't want that.  But my confession truly is that I don't know how to get out of this downward TV spiral.

What's funny is that Bill and I used to be so strict with Cole about the amount of time we'd let him watch.  Only 30 minutes. . .that was it.  I try to think back about what we used to do all day.  Seriously.  It's tough. . .

And now? Oh my gosh.  On rainy days it's the worst.  I'll shut the TV off to sing songs or read books and Cole will give me that look. . .you know, that look.  That look that you give your mom when she's just acting crazy.  Maaa, you're crazy. 

I usually give that look to my mom when she's dusting the inside of the silverware drawer and standing on the kitchen floor she hasn't mopped in weeks.  It's that look.

When I notice Cole (or even Tills!) repeat something that I know they've seen on TV, that's when it hits me.  I have two little sponges in my care, who are capable of soaking up all of the wonderful things I make time to teach them.  And when I let life get the best of me, I'm cheating them of that. . .and they only have the TV to teach them.

Unacceptable.

So as you are my witnesses. . .the constant TV on the background of our life stops today.  Okay, okay. . .we'll start tomorrow.  They're in bed right now and I have dvr'd episodes of the Young & the Restless to watch.  And I'm going to really make a serious effort to remember how important it is that Bill and I be their first teachers. . .and take it seriously.

Because really?  This half-eye-slit-zombie-face thing they've been doing lately. . .

. . .must be their way of telling me they've seen enough.  Or more likely, I've got that double flash setting on my camera and they just know when to close thier eyes.  But it could be all that TV.  It could.

I think the best way for me to get a true handle on the situation is to think of TV as food (because we all know i respond to food!).  If TV were cheezy-puffs, I'd put a stop to that.  If TV were spoonfulls of sugar, that wouldn't fly, either.  So it's really high-time this kind of behavior stops as well.  It's a bad habit like anything else.

Phew.  That felt better.  Now off to watch my soaps.

In which I give you the horribly overdue update

Chapter one: the children

The children are doing well.

The Tills is walking now.  Swiftly.  Daringly.  Drunkenly.  We're deep in the phase of the permanent egg-on-head.  She's constantly falling down, getting back up, and falling again.  It's kind of cute.  Until someone asks what happened to her forehead.  She greets everyone by saying "Hi Tilley." We'll get around to explaining to her that not everyone is named Tilley, but for now it's just too cute to criticize.  Yesterday was the first day I've dropped her off at daycare and she didn't flip out. . .she's eating entirely solid food now and eating more than Cole most days.

Cole has recently made me question every maternal bone in my body.  Maybe all of that baby-craving was just gas.  When people talk about the "terrible twos", it's only because they don't have the stomach to discuss the threes.  The only thing I can figure is that folks must block out that entire year of their child's life like a giant case of Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome.  I'm trying to find health insurance that covers the PTSS therapy necessary to raise a three year old. 

Our daily cycle is consumed with tantrums; the likes of which can instantly send you into a frenzy yourself.  And in public? Forget it.  That kid has me wrapped around his finger.  I'll do anything to stop the looks of the people around me without kids (and some with!).  Words can't describe the first time (or second, or fifteenth) someone gives you that looks that says "I'm disgusted by your child, you, and myself for choosing this checkout line."  It's just awful.

Yes, please! Have the candy bar.  Have two.  Have my checkbook.  Whatever will make you stop.  Of course I'll fill the grocery cart with nothing but french fries.  You're the boss.  You hold every thread of my free will between your fingers.  I was silly to ever think I was the parent. 

So things are pleasant in that respect.

On the other hand, I equally have no words for the way I've seen him grow, almost daily, since I've been working and since he's been at daycare.  His language has gotten so much clearer.  He's told me he loves his teacher. "Mum.  I lub Mizz Jenn." (We will have to have some follow up discussions about Miss Jenn. . .) He's developed an amazing imagination that I'm truly blessed to watch unfold at the end of everyday while he plays by himself.

I found this today while he was napping.  His horses were pulling Cheez-Its.  So cute.  And explains the ant problem. . .

Chapter two: the husband

The husband is doing well, also.  He's gone back to work a few days a week now that the kids are in daycare.  I think this is good for his psyche.  Don't get me wrong. . .Bill is an amazing stay at home dad, but stress is high when you're home in the dead of winter with two (sometimes straight from the devil) children while in your in-laws' home.  And let's remember who his in-laws are.  They're tougher than most.

He keeps busy.  Constantly cleaning.  Making dinner.  Changing diapers.  In his downtime, after he's put the kids to bed, he does stuff like this:

Sometimes I think he does it because I can't. . .but really, it's just because he's gone nearly bat sh*& crazy. 

Chapter three: the thaw

The winter has been tough for us.  The house has mostly looked like this:

. . .and that makes it tough to get outside.  In fact, it's April 1st and we just got another 8 inches of snow today.  8 inches! Hopefully it'll be gone by the weekend, but New England in the spring is also a yucky place to be.  We've been seriously daydreaming about other places we might live and other things we might do.  And you know what they say about dreamers. . .

No. . .I'm not really sure what they say, either.  But maybe that stuff might just happen someday.

Chapter four: new ventures

You all know that I've been seriously committed to local organic farming and more recently, the health of food production (wow. . .does it sound like I work at a university or what!?!). . .and I've finally joined a CSA! My sister-in-law and I decided to split a large, family share of a local farm and I really couldn't be happier about the decision. 

I'm both excited and nervous to have made the commitment to use, cook, and eat only what's in season and provided to me by the farm.  But, I'm very fortunate to have children and a husband who love veggies, so it'll be fun for us all. 

I've also made an attempt (another one!) at growing my own vegetables.  I've started zucchini, tomatoes, spinach and herbs from seed.  So far, so good. . .but my thumbs are black even when my will is great. 

Here's what my efforts look like so far:

We'll see if I can keep it going.  I'm certainly making the effort.

And, for the past two months or so, I've made all of our bread from scratch.  Not too shabby when you consider we go through about two loaves a week.  I just couldn't feed Cole and Tills the junk that is in most commercial breads.  Especially since the three year old is only interested in jam sandwiches for most meals.

Note to self: I should really learn to make jam.

I have good stories that I've yet to tell you.  Like the time Bill smashed the car (okay, it wasn't his fault. . .per se). . .and our most recent trip to the doctor's office.  But all for another day.  Good to see you're still around.

We'd love to hear from you.  How's your spring so far?

A guest over at Hormonal Imbalances today!

Go check out my guest spot at Hormonal Imbalances today! And stay awhile...Diana's great and you're sure to love her blog!

I'm sort of busy, mom. Could we move this party along?

I think birthdays are more for moms than kids.

Or at least for this mom. . .

Cole's 3rd birthday was yesterday.  I was ready.  Complete with a small side of separation-anxiety-new-baby-stress-sorry-we-moved-in-with-your-grandparents guilt.  It all adds to the necessary celebration to mark the end of this year and the commitment to move on to a better one.

Bill took Cole out for breakfast.  I decorated while they were gone.  I hung balloons.  I hung big pictures of Thomas and his buddies.  I hung personalized "happy birthday to Cole" signs all over the house.

I wrapped presents.

I wrapped foam blocks that would look like beautiful castles when his father put them together.  I wrapped more (how on EARTH have I found more that we don't already have?) Cars cars.  I wrapped arts and crafts supplies for rainy days.  I wrapped another Thomas train.  Because really?  That's my addiction, not Cole's. 

And I got a cake.  A beautiful cake with Lightening McQueen and Mater. . . his two faves.  And a big "3" candle.  And ice cream. 

And I put the presents on display and I put the cake out and I waited for Bill and Cole to get  home.

Because this was a party.  And I was the hostess.

And I get this phone call from Bill:  "Yeah, uh. . .are you done getting things ready because breakfast didn't go so well and we're heading home."

"Oh man.  What happened?"
"He wouldn't even eat ice cream at 9:00 a.m.  He screamed and yelled.  It was so embarrassing.  I'm coming home."

Right.   He's 3, right?  But as soon as he comes in and sees this. . .everything will change.

Uh,  yeah.  How long is this going to last? 
 I've got another tantrum scheduled at 2:00.

This is the perfect face caught on camera.  This was sort of how our big day went.  There.  I said it.  Our big day. 

I'll admit, it wasn't that climatic.  Our original plan was a big party at Chuck E. Cheese (kill me now) but I cancelled due to weather.  So it was tiny.  Just us.  And a TON of presents.  So really, kid.  Get with it.





At least he stayed a minute to blow out the candles.

Finally, we decided to take him to Chuck E. Cheese by ourselves. Because it had to be more fun than this. And it was. Cole would not stop riding a mechanical horse. (side note: it's hysterical when you leave Chuck E. Cheese by yourself without a child. They say things like. . ."ahhh, is your child inside with another guardian?". . .nervously.)

And by the time we got home, he was feeling much more silly and in the party mood.

And we were visited by some aunts and uncles and a cousin that brought more wonderful presents and smiles.


Oh, and the Tills? Could this kid be any better?

Happy Birthday, Cole. Now let's just put our head down, keep the tantrums to a minimum, and plow through to 4!