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Toddler Bullying

~ theantelopediaries

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I went to my friend’s home today. I met her through meetup. She lives a block and a half away and her son is 4 months older than Polina. We get along, and our children do too, for the most part. The biggest challenge right now is sharing toys, which is a work in progress.

What makes me most happy going there is when Polina is playing with other children her age. She doesn’t have any complexes in relation to other people. In contrast, I sense my own awkwardness. I remember embarrassing moments as a child where I didn’t fit in because I was different. I came from another country; spoke a different language; had a different culture; had, for most people, an unpronounceable last name (in an era where it wasn’t fashionable to be different); and, since I went to six schools in eight years, few long-term friends. I was painfully shy. I avoided others. At a time when my peers were discovering people of the opposite sex, I loathed attention, yet yearned to be liked.

I decided early on that I wanted to be proactive in making sure that my daughter has consistency and that I do my part in attending or creating environments where she can form friendships. It also doesn’t hurt that I also have a good time while my daughter socializes. Turns out, my friend and I had the same midwife and her husband and I are both Russian. We both buy organic, and when she talks about cultural issues with her Russian in-laws, I understand the context.

Today, however, marked another chapter in our friendship. I didn’t see what happened, but Polina suddenly started crying while we were talking. My friend thought her son hit her with a toy phone because he was holding it in his hand. (I wouldn’t be surprised if Polina reached for his phone. She likes what you have in your hand, and she doesn’t understand the concept of “mine,” yet.)

I held her as she wailed. She quieted down rather quickly, but as I looked at my friend’s son, he had an unapologetic look on his face. He is only 19 months, but he looked unkindly toward her. Polina, at 15 months, is shy, but also giving. She hands other children things and wonders why they don’t give them back to her. Sometimes they walk away with the things she gives them. She can be naïve in relation to other toddlers. It is painful for me to watch, but it’s a socialization process she has to go through so that she can have a better grasp of human nature and make wise choices.

In subsequent visits, I did see my friend’s child hit Polina, and this changed things for me. As Polina’s mother, I have to look out for her, but as I now realize, I didn’t in the right way. It was shocking to me that I repeated the ways of my mother, who often didn’t look out for me.

My friend would say the right things and hug her son to make him stop, but her son’s behavior didn’t change. The hitting continued until one day, Polina hit back. It was then that I realized the number of times that boy hit her and how stupid I was to think that by hugging her son my friend would change things.

What I learned in a toddler parenting class is that giving a hitting child attention is exactly what he/she wants. Not giving that child attention, and giving attention to the child that has been hurt, is the strategy the nurse recommended. However, in American culture, parents don’t like other parents giving them parenting advice (very strange, from my perspective), and it’s not my place to do so in her home. So, I didn’t come back. I found healthier avenues for Polina to develop her social skills, and she hasn’t hit anyone since.

We have this angelic picture of young children, but they can be mean. Polina has scratched my face a couple times and thought it was funny. I told her “no” and she started laughing. Thankfully, she has never done that to anyone else. (I guess the old adage that you hurt the ones you’re closest to is true here.)

I knew bullying would be an issue, but not this early! I love my daughter and want to do my best. Figuring out what to do with the bully in the sandbox, or hostile behavior in general, is my next biggest challenge.

Originally written November 25, 2013.

Memories- November 14, 2013

~ theantelopediaries

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Time flies when you’re having fun. There is a picture of me with Polina when she was 5 months old that I use as wallpaper on my laptop computer. I am kissing her from behind, and she has a focused look on something, apparently uninterested in my affection. She, of course, is smaller in that picture than she is now, at a newly minted 15 months (i.e., her first week being 15 months.) Her hair is shorter in the picture, her face more scrunched up. I have 15 months of memories so far with her and I don’t want to lose any of them, so I decided to write them down, lest I do. I don’t want to forget:

1. How carefully you look at things, and turn things over to examine the back, like the sprout fruit puree container. You like to look at the back, where the label is, before you decide to drink it. It looks like you’re reading the label. You do the same thing with your toys, and pens, and anything else you’re trying to figure out.

2. How you fall asleep with my booby in your mouth. You don’t fall asleep any other way. I have to gently extricate it. Your naptime is my time for myself. I cherish it. It has gotten a lot easier to get up out of bed from being next to you. You used to wake up when I made a move. Thank you, dear, for giving me some time during the day to type, eat, read, relax. THANK YOU!

3. How giving you are. You like giving things to people. You gave something for the first time to your father the Friday before your first birthday. You like hearing “thank you” and “spasibo.” You take things back and give it to me again just so you can hear “thank you” and “spasibo.” Unfortunately, it doesn’t translate to other kids. I’ve seen you give things to kids and they just took it without saying anything, or just walked away without taking what you offered. I’ve seen you walk to other children, pointing to what you want, and they hold it tighter. Polina, I love you so much and want to protect you from harm. This is a nasty side of life. People want their things. Not everyone wants to share. I hope my love makes up for some of these failings.

4. I don’t want to forget how you sat on my head and started bouncing on it last week when I was still waking up in the morning.

5. How you started saying the vowel “o” for the first time two days ago. This is your second vowel after “ahhh.”

6. The way you look after you wake up from a nap- hair disheveled, eyes wide, and expression of waiting for something.

7. The way you nudge your head next to me to indicate you want to breastfeed.

8. How gently you play with Fisher Price L’il People. You like the people and the playground. (I choose good toys, don’t I?)

9. How you got on a Rody horse for the first time by yourself today, a mere 5-6 attempts after I helped you. Now getting off, that’s the hardest part.

10. The look of bliss on your face when I bounce you on my knee.

11. How intently you look at things. You are an observer. Good for you. Observe first, speak second.

12. How good, and naïve you seem when you approach other kids. One girl shared with you in the library and you played well. She was the kindest child we met so far.

13. How emotionally and personally you take things. When you don’t get what you want, you cry like there’s no tomorrow. It’s a visceral reaction: your eyes narrow, cheeks point upward, and your mouth wails in pain. Sometimes you hit your head intentionally by thrusting yourself backward against a kitchen cabinet. Sometimes you fall to the floor and howl. I pick you up and comfort you. Things will get better. You won’t cry about these things as you get older.

14. The way you help out in the morning by pushing down on the futon after your father and I lift it back on the frame. You have a big grin on your face when you help us.

15. When you smile, my world lights up. When you cry, it brings out the worst feelings in me.

16. The way you say Mmm mmm mm mmm to tell me what you want. I know what you want because I’m around you all day. I think it may discourage you from talking because I can understand you most of the time. That will change, as your world will become more complex, simply because you’ll understand more things and need to communicate more.

I’m sure this list will grow. Some of these memories will be replaced by other memories, because there will be more of them. This is my love letter to you now.

 

Finding the Letter “I”- October 26, 2013

~ theantelopediaries

 

When Polina was born, my husband’s sister gave her a wooden board with cut out letters that spell her name. It is a neat present, as the letters fit perfectly into the board and Polina for a while had a love affair with the letter “n,” then the letter “a.” Every night before she goes to bed, I put all her toys back where they belong, and reassemble anything disassembled to make sure nothing is missing. The Little People go back to their playground, the cars next to their track, the balls in their wooden cut outs, the alphabet cards back in alphabetical order. My husband calls it OCD, but I call it being thorough. On a certain level, though, he is right. If something is missing, I start to feel anxious until everything is in its right place, where it belongs. I’m not debilitated by this, though, just affected. In fact, I can be pretty disorganized, and I compensate by organizing.

A couple weeks ago, as I was putting back the wooden letters of my daughter’s name that she scattered across the living room floor, I noticed that the letter “i” was missing. I looked all around for it, but didn’t find it. As it was late and tomorrow was another day, I let it go. The next day, however, I didn’t find it either. This created some anxiety as not long before that, I noticed two out of four magnetic blocks I bought for her also missing. (These things are pretty cool as well. You can make a Microsoft-like logo with them, or pull them back and forth vertically. Polina and I both enjoyed playing with them.) I began thinking that she was stashing these somewhere and if I didn’t find her stash, more toys would go “missing.” I looked behind the VCR and DVD players, even looked inside the VCR, under the futon, in all of her toy boxes, behind the jumper and doll bed and activity table, and didn’t find it. I looked in the kitchen, got on my hands and knees to look along the edges of the cabinets, put on my household gloves to dig through the trash, pulled trash into a different trash bag, and found nothing. I checked under the bed, under the blankets beside the bed, in our table drawers, and still nothing. Even Pete took to searching for it. Every night when I put her toys away, there it was staring at me, P-o-l—na. Polna, which ironically in Russian means “full,” or if you separate “pol” and “na” into two words means “half” and “here.” How ironic that it did feel like her name was only “half here.” I never missed the letter “i” before as much as I did now. I really took it for granted. The letter “P” and the letters “n” and “a” were more popular. “I,” I took for granted.

By the end of a week without the letter “i,” I was feeling pretty anxious and down. My hopes were somewhat raised by the suggestion that Pete may be able to make another letter “i.” He builds half million dollar equipment, after all. Still, I didn’t remember what color the letter was, and without matching the pastels correctly, it would, I thought, always look different. There was some consolation in that I found the two missing magnetic blocks that looked like a Microsoft logo (they were in the bedroom, on the floor near a laptop, concealed but in plain view). Then this week, Pete asked if I wanted to watch some old films of his family (like, from the 60’s). He got out the old VHS tape (it was converted to VHS, in case you were wondering) and as I was lying comfortably on the futon, he calmly said he found the letter “i.” “What?!” I exclaimed. He took it out of the VCR. Happiness swept over me. Real, pure, happiness. (Sometimes it’s the little things in life that make a difference.) I had looked in there, but it was apparently farther back than I had thought. I put the “i” back where it belonged and her name never looked so complete before. It was like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. We settled back to a nice evening together, more relaxing now that everything was back where it belonged.

 

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All the letters back where they belong.

 

 

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The magnetic blocks back together.

 

 

 

Getting Better at Being a Mom

~ theantelopediaries

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In the last couple weeks, I feel like things are really coming together for me as a mom. Growing up as a Gen X-er, I looked down upon women who stayed home to raise their children. How much skill could that possibly involve, I thought at the time, compared to studying international politics and economics and working in an office doing something… important.

Well, as I found out, I was totally wrong about that. Being a stay-at-home mom involves flexing a different muscle, muscles, or skills, I didn’t have. My biggest challenge- how to juggle housework with a crying baby.

My baby wants attention. I’m supposed to do the dishes. Or worse, I’m very hungry and need to cook a meal. “Whaaaaaagh….”

Ignoring her tore at my foundation. Holding her, while it stopped her crying, made me feel resentful because, damn it, I’m hungry.

What I realized at this time is that yes, it does take a village to raise a child. Or at least extended family. Unfortunately, there are no aunts or siblings or cousins or grandmoms that could help. It rested in the arms of one woman while her husband was away, and this baby was winning the challenge.

If you ever wondered what it means to be a mother, try imagining nursing a baby when you’re hungry. I had to do that several times. While tough, I thought at the time that it was a fire I had to go through. Those days have waned and I haven’t had that happen in a long time, but it challenged my emotional reserve at the time.

In the last couple weeks, since I arrived home from my mother-in-law’s, I’ve felt a certain calmness that I never experienced before. It may be due partly to Polina maturing. She is no longer a baby, but acts and looks like a toddler now. She is less needy, able to occupy herself with her toys while I do dishes, even if it does involve sitting at my feet, and since she started solids, I am able to feed her while also feeding myself.

I also think something has rubbed off from my mother-in-law.

I greatly admire my mother-in-law, who raised five children (five) while her husband wasn’t half as helpful as Pete. She sewed clothing for her girls, made breakfast, lunch and dinner for seven people on a daily basis for years (Whaaaaat?) and dealt with a husband that wasn’t always emotionally supportive.

She was so busy with chores and children that she didn’t have friendships with other mothers until her oldest started school. I joined meetup because I needed to interact with other adults and for my child to play with other children so that I could have a mini “break.”   How she handled raising children without other adults to talk to, I can only imagine.

My mother-in-law said she put the children in a playpen while she worked, even if they cried. I was not able to do that with my daughter. I feel compelled to stop what I’m doing and hold her. She eventually stops and after a while, is ready for me to let her go and for me to return to what I was doing.

Despite this difference, I can appreciate my mother-in-law more now having one child than I ever understood her before I had any. I can appreciate other mothers for what they go through, even with smiles on their faces, than I ever did before I had Polina.

Originally written October 26, 2013.

Goodbye to Our Crib

~ theantelopediaries

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Yesterday I sold our crib on craigslist. We purchased it from craigslist and craigslist enabled us to return the favor.

Polina hardly slept in it. She would sleep in it when I transferred her after she fell asleep (which could take several tries), but it didn’t last long. More times than not, I ended up putting her on the futon on the floor and sleeping next to her. Eventually, it was easier to put her next to me from the start than have her cry in her crib just as I was dosing off. 

We purchased the crib used from craigslist for $60. I had a hard time lowering Polina into the crib because of my back. The railing pressed upon my abdomen, and my back hurt from the strain. My husband converted it to a drop-down crib.

The materials cost about $10. The actual work involved the entire weekend. I posted the crib on craigslist for $70. I was happy when the young couple purchased the crib and “we got our money back.”

Pete was more pragmatic. “We didn’t get our money back. We lost money.”

I didn’t fully take into account his labor. I just figured Pete did it for free, but it did take up his weekend. How much is that worth?

I was glad for the young couple that bought our crib. At least it could be put to good use.   The guy had tattoos on his arm. His wife said she was 35 weeks pregnant with their son. They said they too have a small apartment. They sounded educated (which raises the question of what is so special about this city that even educated people can’t afford ample living quarters, but that’s another story.)

Pete explained the changes he had made, and after looking at the crib briefly (and I mean, briefly– she just jiggled one side. Me, I’d be poring over every tooth mark.) they forked over $70, and in that moment I was very happy to have sold it for $10 more than I paid for it initially. That was before Pete told me that we had actually lost money.

So I began contemplating what, if anything, I would have done differently, and this led me to the heart of sales.

Wealthy people, it seems to me, are somehow involved in sales. Is there any other way? And being wealthy from sales means you have to take more from the people that are buying. We’re not talking about at cost. We’re talking about way above cost, right?

And so I thought, do I have the heart to take a lot from people? And the short answer to that question is no. I’m happy with meeting my costs. This, it seems to me, is very Russian, which I am.

I remember when I was living in Moscow in the mid-90s and buying a jar of jam from a person informally assembled with other grocers on a busy street near Kievskiy Station.  These “grocers” were mostly people from the countryside or people that grew things on their dachas.   I purchased these delicious jams for what seemed like a pittance, not more than the cost of the jar they came in.

I asked the seller why they were so inexpensive. He replied that it didn’t cost much to make the jam. I realized that they didn’t value their time picking berries and making the jam. They viewed the berries, which they got from the forest, and their time making the jam as “free.” They only marked it up slightly from the cost of the jar, just enough to get some spending money for themselves.

And they were happy about it.

How cynical Americans are in comparison. In America, revenue growth is a sign of good leadership. Wealth (the legal way, of course) is positively correlated with admiration, respect, and, in some cases, virtual sainthood (i.e. Steve Jobs, Bill Gates, etc.)

So it all made me wonder if I could really, looking eye to eye with someone, sell my product (or any product for that matter) for more than its cost. It doesn’t come naturally to me. My natural inclination is to work hard and be rewarded. By whom? By the patrons of sales.

Damn. I’ve got to work on that one.

Originally written October 6, 2013.