Transparent Tuesdays

Issue 194

You guys,

“I don’t know how you do it,” my mom kept repeating during our visit to New Jersey.

It was later in the evening, after the kids and Sam had gone to bed. I sat on the couch between my twin sisters. We had just finished watching a Christmas movie called The Family Switch that was not a Christmas movie and was actually just Freaky Friday set in December with everyone in the family switching places, even the family dog and baby which was not funny for even one moment, but Mom still cried at the end when it snowed on Christmas Day, which then reminded us all that, oh yes, this is a Christmas movie. 

Mom sat in the old pink upholstered chair facing us, her martini glass empty except for a vodka-soaked lemon twist in its bottom. She leaned forward and looked at me. “He is so smart.” 

When anyone in my family calls anyone smart, whether it be a toddler or a teacher, they say it as if they’ve just told you a secret. As if smart is special and the best thing you can be. In this case, she was talking about my 3-year-old, George. 

But this was only the first part of what Mom wanted to say. 

She went on, “He’s manipulative.” 

This coming from the person who, on the day we arrived, was watching my 2-year-old niece who refused to nap so my mom told her, “If you don’t take a nap your cousins aren’t going to come over,” and then my niece went right to sleep. 

I finally pieced together what Mom meant when she said, “I don’t know how you do it.” Sam and I are—as much as we can, which is certainly not always—patient with George’s wants and needs. That means when he refuses to change his diaper we don’t hold him down against his will and force him unless poop is leaking through or we have to leave the house right that second. We explain why it’s important to change his diaper. We ask what he needs. We negotiate. The three of us talk and talk and talk until he becomes a willing participant. We’ve come to realize that 90% of the time there is a way to get through to George without physical restraint. 

Mom didn’t know how we did it because she was never that patient with her own children. She cared for five kids under the age of six while her husband worked late nights, then as soon as her kids were old enough to be in school, started working full-time to become the moneymaker of the household. When she got home from work she did all the cleaning and most of the cooking. Mom did it all. She didn’t have time for patience. 

And because Sam and I do, it means we’re letting him walk over us, therefore, manipulate us. 

I used to feel the way my mom felt. I didn’t like when George refused to do something I told him to do. I didn’t like when my authority was challenged. I wanted to be in control and in my rightful position of power. I wanted to say to George, the way my parents always said to me, “Because I said so!” and that be the end of it. 

But it didn’t work and it didn’t feel good or right. What we’re doing now is still not perfect but I feel more connected to my son. If it’s Saturday afternoon and he refuses to change out of his pajamas I say okay. If we plan to take a family bike ride and at the very last moment George screams that he doesn’t want to go, I take off my jacket and send Sam and Layla off without us. If he’s not in danger or endangering anyone else, can I give him what he wants even if it’s not what I want?

There are challenges every day, and nearly every weekday morning is difficult to get out the door on time for school because George wants to play or watch TV and doesn't want to put on his clothes or get in the car.

This morning, while Layla slept, George was screaming on our kitchen floor. He wanted his hands washed but refused to wash his hands. He wanted to watch TV but only if he sat on Sam’s lap. Finally he bit Sam, at which point Sam told him no TV, and then George’s screams turned a decibel louder. 

I bent down and asked him if he wanted to take a break. He nodded. I walked upstairs with him in my arms, his head rested on my shoulder. We sat in his bedroom chair for a few minutes. I asked him what he needed. He said he wanted to eat. I told him okay, “But if you yell at anyone again, we’re going to have to come back upstairs for a break.” He nodded.

We went back downstairs. He ate Cheerios with milk. Layla woke up and ate the same. They sat on Sam’s lap and read a book together, then got dressed. George ran to the door and said he was ready for school. We put on shoes and walked out to the car together. Sam put George in his car seat, I put Layla in hers. 

As I pulled out of the driveway George said, “Mama, I was helpful this morning.”

“You were so helpful this morning, buddy,” I said. “Thank you for being so helpful.” 

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Wrapped

You guys will not believe this. My podcast, Bleecker Bombs, was the No. 1 podcast this year for FIVE people in this big wide world. And that’s not including Sam!!!

And 27 people had it in their Top 5! And 42 had it in their Top 10!!! WHAT?!!!

When I got the email with these stats I couldn’t stop smiling. THANK YOU FOR LISTENING. I really feel the love and a lot of my focus in 2024 will be on the podcast. 

If you haven’t been listening, here’s a couple to get you started:

The most listened-to episode was #27: Alex Dobrenko. He’s so funny! And we weirdly have so much in common. We’re writers and parents who both decided recently that we NEED to play basketball but are so out of shape that there’s no feasible way to make our dreams come true. Listen to the episode here. 

The most-shared episode was #25: Casuals. The Casuals concept has really stirred up a lot of feelings in people (and it’s something I discuss in detail in the episode with Alex!). Listen to the episode here.

My favorite episode was #33: The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls. This book completely transformed my writing and I haven’t been able to shut up about it. Listen to the episode here.

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Until next week,

Charlie

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Shoutout to Emma Dorge

My One-Inch View

for her feedback on today’s piece. She helped me narrow my focus when I wanted to go on a huge tangent about the word “smart.” I have no interest in smart. Calling a person smart, of any age, is the most boring way to describe them. Isn’t your IQ level something you're born with? It would be like complimenting a person because they have brown eyes, which is fine but it doesn’t tell you anything about them. …anyway, an essay for another day.