Then Again....

One of the most aggravating habits I had to break the triplets of when we arrived in Atlanta was the sippy cup of milk in bed habit. Grandma was so over the top insistent that not a spare moment go by without having calories shoved down their throats that she refused my requests to not give them bottles or cups in their cribs. Sure she'd nod her head every time I mentioned it but then she'd wait until I left the house and give it to them anyway. My gripe about this habit was simple - it would ruin their teeth and lead to my putting to bed a trio of grade schoolers with a Harry Potter book and a bottle of Yoohoo. BLUE, by 14 months old, already had tartar (or whatever that hard yellow stuff is called) caking two of the grand total of four teeth he'd managed to squeeze out. Not pretty. I was determined that I would squash this habit cold turkey - hello new house, good-bye old habits.

Then again...wasn't a 500 mile move stressful enough on 20 month old toddlers? They'd have new people to get used to, they'd have to share a room for the first time and thus readjust their nap and sleep schedules, and no more Mama and Papa. Did I really have to snatch away their "ca" of "mu," too? I figured that change of habit could wait a week or two until they were well settled. We arrived here in the first week of November. They had their last sippy of milk at bedtime on New Year's Eve when I finally put my foot down.

Then again....I did let them have it for nap yesterday because it was Sunday. Sundays are so hard on the wee ones what with going to church with Auntie and Uncle and thus having nap shoved back by almost two hours. If I don't do *something* they won't sleep at all.

I'm a real stickler though for their eating habits. The month I spent in Atlanta this summer working on my next novel, I returned to Florida to find that Grandma had abandoned all pretense of teaching table manners or upholding even a minimum standard of dining etiquette with the triplets. Tossed into the garage and shoved into a corner of the dining room were the high chairs that were once lined up at one end of the kitchen. Instead, Grandma had resorted to chasing them around the house shoving spoonfuls of food into them in between turns at Ring-Around-the-Rosy, climbing into the dishwasher, beating each other senseless with dolls, and watching re-runs of Nancy Grace (dear God I hate that woman). Unacceptable. When we got to Atlanta all that would cease. The rules were clear and simple: you sit down in your chair to eat, you DONT throw your cup on the floor, you DONT throw your food on the floor. Break any of these rules and I stop feeding you. A few hungry hours now and again and a couple of nights sent to bed on an empty stomach will hammer the point home I'm sure.

Then again...they are already on the small side through no fault of their own and what am I really trying to accomplish here anyway? Isn't growing healthy bodies one of my top jobs as a mom? And really, who can expect not-even-two year olds to sit still for an entire meal? Even I distract myself through most of my own meals by reading a book or channel surfing and I don't have to wait for two other people to sniff and test-taste each spoonful before I get my next bite. What's the big deal anyway if they want to sit on the table instead of the chair? I don't think if I wait until say, age 3, to really enforce table manners they will end up 20 year olds who can't eat without a stuffed animal in their hand and a finger up their nose. At least I hope not. No, no...they won't. I don't think.

So goes most of my parenting decisions. Back and forth, second guessing myself all day and night long. I want to be a strong, no nonsense, mean-it-the-first-time decision making kind of mom but I am not. I am open to reconsidering my decisions so that I do the best that I can by my kids. I am not afraid of admitting to a mistake and rectifying it.

Then again...I fear that this flip-flopping can sometimes drive the munchkins batty. For a week I introduced time-out and dropped "spanking." Then it was back to pops on the hand for bad behavior when time-outs proved fruitless. Foolish consistency might be the hobgoblin of little minds but some consistency is supposed to be good for young minds, no? And yet it can feel to me like the only thing I am consistent at is changing up the rules. There must be some silver lining in this, something I can hang my mommy-sanity on until I get myself a bit more together on the do's and don'ts, the wills and wonts. I bet it makes my kids more flexible, less resistant to change and those certainly are good things to instill in them, right?

Then again....