The Littlest Butterfly

Raising boys; its enough to make my hairs turn gray. Sidney has always had an independent streak which is simultaneously wonderful and frustrating. Whether it is picking out his own colorful outfits or the games he plays on the playground, he marches to his own drum and doesn't openly care what others have to say about it. This makes him less susceptible to giving in to peer pressure (which is a good thing) but this same behavior is also increasingly drawing negative attention to himself (and this is a bad thing). So here is the issue I am pondering as of late: how do I encourage independence, creativity and non-conformity while not exposing my son to undue ridicule, potentially being picked on or generally setting him on a coarse for a harder path through childhood?

Sidney is small for his age (its honestly in his genes) which in itself is going to make for a long and sometimes turbulent course through childhood. But why is this? It is all so unfair that boys are expected to be bigger and stronger yet it is acceptable, if not desirable, for girls to be smaller and more fragile in stature. So much of this is dependent upon genetics so is it that as a society we look look down upon smaller people (especially males) who really have no control over their height? Even at the ripe old age of five I see the games that go on in school and the taunts that are made because of size. Until recently Sidney has never let his small size stop him; he's scrappy and fast and is the first to jump into the game and try something. But in recent months Sidney has been asking why he is so small and when he will grow bigger. I encourage healthy eating and tell him that he will grow but he wants to know when. As in a date and time when he will be the size of his peers. I just don't have an answer for this inquiry.

Through a series of recent unpleasant events I've learned that Sidney is being picked on by one of his  larger classmates and thus his desire to be bigger and taller. This simply breaks my heart. This same boy--a fellow American--taunts Sidney by calling him names, teasing him until he is on the brink of tears and on more than one occasion has even pushed, poked and choked him in class. Sidney feels that if he was bigger he wouldn't be the object of this boy's attacks. I'm not sure this is entirely the case since physical size is only part of it. Mindset and personality are the other. As rough and tough as he can be, he is also incredibly sensitive at times. And he is still a little boy. One who will play with girls as long as other boys aren't around ("because they will make fun of him"). Sidney is a little boy who doesn't like loud noises and is afraid of the dark. He wants to be liked and have friends and his feelings can sometimes be easily hurt. But somehow, for some reason, being small, sensitive and with a strong streak of individuality has made Sidney the object of this other boy's torment.

The physical assaults are horrifying but it is the words that are the most upsetting, and leave the longest lasting scars, of all. As far as I know, the physical assaults are no longer happening and things have calmed down in class but the words and taunts are continuing. (Of course I am only hearing one side of this story so I am a tiny bit skeptical). Words can be easier to hide and in the vast space that is the lunchroom and even worse, the playground, a large, loosely supervised area filled with children playing and proving themselves the way growing children do, words are often the weapon of choice. He's asked me what certain words mean. Words that I don't want to repeat let alone put in writing. Sidney has heard them someplace and he tells me that these are words that this other boy calls him. I in turn find myself at a loss for appropriate words. I can tell him that these are words we don't repeat, that they aren't nice. I can tell Sidney not to use them in reference to others because he knows how it feels to be called them. Teachers can't see and hear everything and kids will be kids. But how much is too much? And most importantly, how do I instill confidence in my son while protecting him and realistically, not making him the target of increased negative attention.

But most of all I am angry. Yes, I am angry at this boy, and by default his parents, since he has to be hearing and learning about these things someplace. But most of all, I am angry and disappointed in our culture that sets stereotypes and stifles individuality. And I hate the fact that I actually found myself suggesting to Sidney that he not say, do or wear things that might make him a further target of ridicule. Am I no better than our culture by suggesting that my son needs to conform to these pervasive stereotypes? As a mother I want to protect him from harm but I also want to encourage creativity and freedom of speech. But like I said, I want to protect him....

So for the past few weeks Sidney's class has been studying butterflies. They've talked about the phases of a butterfly's life and have even watched their own cocoons turn into butterflies. Sidney has been mesmerized by this lesson and has taken to running, flapping his arms and chanting that he is a butterfly. Yes, my little camouflage clad boy is proclaiming independence by identifying as a butterfly. He does this at home, on the playground and the soccer field. He's also the same boy who continues to spend hours playing soldier, racing matchbox cars and trains like there is no tomorrow and then goes to sleep sucking his thumb and clutching his favorite baby blanket. He is only five, but......

What is a mother to do? His teacher can serve as a buffer in the classroom and I can at home but neither protects him from the realities of the larger world. If it isn't this bully it will be the next one. Sidney is small yet tough, creative and caring, sensitive and stubborn. Part of the beauty of our society is that we all have differing views, opinions, and expectations. We don't all have to be friends but we really should respect each other. This is something I can teach my son. I can also help him put a Teflon coating on his butterfly wings then trust him to fly.

The End Of The Reign Of The Pasha

Pasha:  Originating from the Ottoman and Turkish Empires denoting a high rank traditionally given to governors, generals and other dignitaries.  The title could be hereditary or non-hereditary, was commonly associated with military commanders and was regularly bestowed upon those whose favor the court wanted to curry.  Some have compared the title to that of the British lord.  Because the title was solely a part of the male dominated hierarchy,  a pasha's wife was entitled to no special title or rank.

In Albanian, the word is often used to refer to male royalty, either real or perceived.  In a society that still views men of all ages as dominant, the use of the word is quite fitting.

Our nanny likes to refer to Sidney as a little pasha.  I kid you not.  A little pasha as in a boy who can do no wrong; whose every whim and desire must be catered to.  It doesn't matter whether or not he can do things for himself or in fact does them himself when he is alone with us; if she is with him she insists on doing it for him.  From getting him a snack to picking up his toys and dressing himself, she does nothing to encourage Sidney to be independent and instead does these simple tasks for him.  Toilet training proved to be a particular problem.  All it took was a simple refusal from Sidney and back into his diapers he went.  The moment that made me snap however, was an evening last month when I walked in the door to find Sidney reclining on the sofa, head and feet propped up on pillows, with his nanny sitting on the floor below him. She was feeding him bits of food from a fork.  When he saw me, Sidney proudly told me that they were "playing pasha" then proceeded to ignore me while holding his mouth open for another bite.  Speechless, I turned and walked out of the room.

I actually really like our nanny and in many respects she has been a godsend to us over the past two and half years.  She has been flexible beyond belief in her time, has taught Sidney to speak fluently in Albanian, and I can say without a doubt she loves Sidney as if he is her own grandchild.   However, it is her adoration and love for him that in many respects, has made our job of being responsible parents all the more difficult.  Parenting is both a generational and cultural issue not just here in Albania but around the world.  In our nanny's defense, she is a product of both a culture and a generation who really do believe boys (and men) can do no wrong.  I've seen it in the way she waits on and is in turn, treated by her own husband.  She raised two boys and the stories she tells me make me both cringe and wonder how they function as independent adults.  (Although as an adult, one is still single and lives at home with her so that in itself might answer my question....).  She knows that we have hard limits where Sidney is concerned; safety is first and foremost with helmets being worn on the bicycle and scooter, no riding in cars without being securely fastened, and after we came upon a neighborhood game of cops and robbers, no toy guns or anything that resembles them.  She gets this and I feel respects these expectations.  But these other culturally ingrained behaviors have been a battle we just haven't been able to win.

But all of this is rapidly coming to an end.  Had I walked into the "playing pasha" scene months ago, we would have seriously considered letting her go.  After all, this game is indicative of everything we don't believe in and behavior we don't want to model as parents.  I'll admit, being so close to our departure from Albania I chose the easy way out and am just biding my time.  But things will certainly be changing in household Brown.  We often spend weekends undoing the pasha like expectations that Sidney lived by during the week.  He will test us but after many tears and much testing, he understands that this behavior isn't condoned by his parents.  As painful as I know it will be for everyone involved, Sidney's new daily reality will involve no playing pasha, being treated by a pasha or being waited on hand and foot.

We've already introduced the idea of chores and the expectation that we all contribute to the running of the household once we settle into our new home.  Recently we developed a star rating system where each evening Sidney (with our assistance) rates his behavior on a five star scale and we jointly discuss the merits of each star he may or may not have earned.  Sidney is slowly making the connection between good behavior and more stars and has gone as far as telling me that he wants to have a five star day but sometimes it is just too hard.  To me, that is progress and makes me incredibly hopeful.  But I am under no delusion that all of this will be easy.  The fact that we will be in an environment that encourages independence and self sufficiency amongst even the youngest of citizens will hopefully make this process easier.  I know we will have some embarrassing scenes (how long can we blame his Albanian upbringing for the bad behavior?) but we will persevere.  The reign of the pasha is officially over but with it behind us this Mamma might enjoy playing queen for a day.

On A Mission For A Little Red Suitcase

Every parent of a young child has experienced this--the dreaded toilet training phase. For some lucky people it is a relatively painless process but for others, and I put us in that category, it is a long and painful period filled with power struggles, mutual frustrations, and battles of the wills.  And between years of diapers, toilet training educational materials, and incentives, it can be down right expensive.  Most people claim girls are easier to train than boys. And of course there are different schools of thought as to how one should go about potty training.  Do you begin at age two or three or somewhere in between?  Do you just go cold turkey by taking away the diapers or do you ease into it?  For some simply discussing it and modeling behavior is enough while for other children incentives are necessary. I've come to realize that there isn't any right or wrong way but rather you must do whatever works for you and your child.  And for our child it took all of the above and then some.

From the onset Glenn and I suspected that the toilet training process was going to be a long and arduous one with Sidney and we were right.  Like his parents, Sidney is incredibly stubborn and will only do things on his terms and only when he is ready.  We weren't sure when we should introduce the concept of using the toilet but when our nanny suggested doing it shortly after Sidney's second birthday, we were game.  After all she had raised two boys of her own and has been toilet training American boys for over a decade.  Her initial attempts were met with disinterest and our attempts were met with down right refusal.  My own mother kept telling me that he was too young so we backed off.  A few months later after witnessing the fact that so many of his peers were regularly using the toilet, we tried again.  Armed with an Elmo themed potty and Elmo's Potty Time DVD, we thought we were good to go. After all Sidney had been a quick study in everything else we had introduced so we were sure (?) hopeful (?) that he would be in this venue as well.

But the Elmo potty didn't work. Neither did the video. Sidney loved watching it but wasn't inspired to emulate Elmo.  As age two crept closer to age three we increased our efforts.  We started offering small incentives for each success; a tiny piece of chocolate was the initial bribe, the option to pick out underwear just like dad's, the pleasure of being a big boy soon followed.  And still it was a no go on his part.  My nighttime reading became self help manuals for toilet training boys.  According to the experts we were doing everything right but it still wasn't working. Despite my threats that it was the last one I would buy, case after case of Pampers continued to arrive via Amazon.com and I became increasingly frustrated.  Our "deadline" of being toilet trained before this summer got pushed back to before we move onto our next assignment.  At that point we will be enrolling Sidney in a school with a no diaper policy so I was beginning to feel desperate.  We upped the ante on the incentives.  Sidney loves Matchbox cars and asked for "20 new makinas (cars)" when he only uses the toilet.  At last I felt a glimmer of hope since he was identifying his own reward. Every once in a while I felt as though we were making progress.  He would occasionally request to use the toilet at home and dining out in restaurants was always a sure way to solicit a request.  This is a rather scary proposition in this part of the Balkans since many restaurant rest rooms are rudimentary at best.  The driving force behind the requests was usually the reward of getting to wash his hands but we were taking what we could get.   Increasingly Sidney would ask to go when we were bumping down some Albanian road.  Of course he would choose some inconvenient time but fortunately much of the country is rural so stopping by the side of the road really is an option. 

 

About one month ago while we were packing for our Corfu trip and I was filling my suitcase with a large sleeve of diapers, Sidney upped the ante.  He said he needed his own suitcase for trips.  He went on to tell me that it needed to be red and have wheels so he could pull it himself.  We leaped upon this request and told him that once he was only wearing underwear he could pick out his own suitcase.  He was excited, we were excited and I thought we had turned a corner.  But still no dice. During our recent road trip Sidney made a couple of requests to use the toilet but that was it.  He still talked in great detail about this red suitcase but didn't make any effort to use the toilet.  Glenn and I decided, and informed Sidney, that upon returning to Tirana he was not going to wear diapers any more.  He could wear underwear or be naked but as long as we were in the house diapers would not be touching his little tushie.  He agreed, but we had heard that one before.

 

The first morning home was a test and as I was getting Sidney dressed I asked him to pick out which underwear he wanted.  I expected a protest but instead he thoughtfully selected a bright blue pair.  He then asked me if daddy wore underwear. When I assured him that he did he proceeded to ask if I did.  A yes answer resulted in the question of whether most people wear them.  After hearing my positive response Sidney declared that only babies wear diapers and he was a big boy and would wear underwear too.  Long awaited success?  Actually yes.  The single accident that day and the one the next resulted in requests to put on new underwear.  (And a request to watch the well worn Elmo video again).  The next week passed without a single accident.  Yes, he still wears diapers at night but he is also increasingly getting up at night to use the toilet.  Sure this is interfering with a solid night's sleep for us, but we'll take it.  Upon her return to work after her extended vacation, we proudly informed Sidney's nanny that he was only wearing underwear.  I dare say that we've finally crossed the hurdle!

 

So this past weekend we went out and bought Sidney his promised little red suitcase.  He spent quite some time "test driving" the suitcases at the local Samsonite store before making his selection.  A few he dismissed as being "too big for Sidney" before selecting a small red carry on with four wheels.  After making his selection he thanked the sales clerk in Albanian and pulled the suitcase through the mall and out to the car.  At home he moved it into the garage and placed it next to the pile of our other luggage.  Then he went upstairs and said he needed to use the toilet.

Of course, prior to our vacation I recently purchased an extra large case of diapers and not one, but two cases of wipes.  So if anyone  is in need of size 5 Pampers or 1500 wipes, let me know.

Momma Guilt

We all have it (at least once in a while). Or at least I do.  The feeling that we could have changed what we did or made a different decision in terms of our children.  Call me an insecure parent but I struggle with this uncertainty in regards with many of the decisions I have made in regards to Sidney.  I've felt guilty about each sickness or sadness he has encountered feeling as though I could have done something to prevent or at least temper them.  Bedtimes, diets, even the choice of toys and clothing are opportunities that cause me to wonder if I have made or am making the right decisions.  I still feel guilty over the time Sidney developed strep throat while I was in Germany and he was in the very able care of his nanny back in Tirana.  After all, shouldn't a child have his Mamma around when he is sick?  Pre-school or nanny?  Bucking the trend of those around us we've opted for a full time nanny rather then sending Sidney to a local pre-school. It isn't a money saving measure; in fact it actually costs us more.  Sure Sidney may be missing out on some of the social aspects of attending school with his peers but he has no problem making friends at the local playgrounds, readily jumps in and welcomes new kids to the group, and can count to 100 and narrate his way through life in both English and Albanian.  This reaffirms the decision to have the nanny.  But then there are other, smaller decisions, that keep me up at night second guessing the decisions I have made.

We've been on vacation for the past two weeks road tripping our way through the Balkans.  It hasn't always been easy (this is the Balkans after all) but it has been an adventure.  As is the case whenever we travel, our normal routines were left back in Tirana.  We've all been staying up later than our normal appointed bedtimes, bath nights have been occasionally forgone for the littlest one, and regular meals have been skipped in lieu of ice cream for breakfast (although when the child opts for carrot sticks instead of McDonald's French fries from a Bulgarian drive through it is hard to complain).  Even for this die hard planner, being off schedule has been wonderful and relaxing.  Until it isn't and I find myself second guessing our vacation decisions.

Earlier this week while in Bucharest we joined Romanian friends for dinner.  They are friends from Tirana and were excited to show us around their home city.  As they gave us a guided tour of some of their favorite spots, Sidney enjoyed running along the broad pedestrian friendly sidewalks that line so many of Bucharest's streets.  When we came to a large park, complete with ponds, fountains, playgrounds, and trees he was beyond excited.  (You probably have to live in Tirana or a similar place to appreciate how nice it is to have clean and open green spaces free of stray dogs, pan handlers, and speeding motor scooters).  Sidney also loves leaves and picked up several large green leaves and their accompanying seed pods as we played on the playground.  After the playground we went onto dinner where I sanitized Sidney's grimy hands with my ever present wet wipes.   It was late when we returned to our hotels and as such, we skipped Sidney's evening bath.  At this point I didn't give his park experience another thought.  Until the next morning.......

Ginkgo- it looks so innocent

Sidney awoke the next morning with a few bumps on his cheek.  He wasn't scratching them and wasn't complaining about their presence but as I looked closer I realized that these bumps were multiplying in front of my eyes and were in fact covering both of his lower legs, his lower arms and his entire face.  I started to panic and had visions of needing to find a Romanian doctor (on a Sunday no less).  Sidney is fully vaccinated for all of the usual childhood bumpy pox like diseases but I wondered about what he could have  potentially been exposed to on the playground.  (Yes, my imagination was running wild but I worry about his exposure to preventable childhood diseases a lot since we live in a region where vaccines are not commonplace).  Glenn took one look at him and said that the rash looked like a poison ivy.  I wasn't so sure but Sidney's lack a fever and his showing zero interest in the bumps tempered my fears ever so slightly.  I mean, I know what poison ivy leaves look like and I was certain he hadn't been playing in any patches.  For better or worse I decided to research poison ivy on WebMD.  Yes, the rash did resemble poison ivy, but as I continued reading I discovered that Ginkgo Biloba, a large green tree with known medicinal powers, has seeds whose fleshy outer coating produces chemicals that can cause blister like rashes on people with skin sensitivities to these chemicals.  These rashes are virtually identical to poison ivy.  Perhaps I had an answer.

The previous evening we had stopped to stand in the shade of a large Ginkgo Biloba tree and Sidney had proceeded to pick up its leaves and seeds while we discussed the tree and its medicinal purposes.  The cause of the rash was all beginning to make sense.  I didn't know that Sidney had an allergic reaction to Ginkgo (after all, why would I?) but it did make sense given the fact that both Glenn and I have strong allergic reactions to poison ivy and other skin irritants.  Knowing that his rash was neither life threatening nor contagious we visited a pharmacy where the pharmacist took one look at Sidney and promptly supplied us with a  clear gel to put on his rash.  Problem averted.  But then the Mamma guilt set in.

I started kicking myself for allowing Sidney to scramble all over the ground collecting leaves and such the previous evening.  If I was better schooled on toxic plants I would have known about the not so nice side effects of Gingko.  I know he is a little boy and that is what boys want to do but I felt that if I had given him more attention instead of talking to our friends he wouldn't have had the opportunity to expose himself to so many allergens.  If I had only insisted on a bath the night before instead of agreeing to wait until the next day we could have washed those chemicals right off of his body and perhaps prevented, or at least halted their spread.  Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda.  If only; if only; if only.................

Oddly enough, aside from a random comment or two about the bumps and wanting his skin to be smooth, Sidney seems to be oblivious to this whole experience.  He isn't itching and to help prevent the rude stares he's been receiving from strangers, he's been happily wearing his favorite pants.  If people have been making comments they've been lost on me because of the language barrier which is a good thing because the looks induce enough guilt without my hearing the words.  (I've also realized just how much cross contamination can come from a child's hands; this rash is everywhere and in places I know he didn't directly put leaves).  And the rash is disappearing already.  Yesterday his skin looked better than the day before and this afternoon he looks better than he was just this morning. Perhaps the rash will have all but disappeared by the time we return to Tirana.  I can only imagine the scorn and scolding I would get from his nanny if she saw what I allowed to happen to her Sidney.  That, would induce a whole new level of guilt.

We're still on vacation and continuing to skip meals while eating lots of ice cream.  We have, however, re-instituted baths before bed each night.  I know they are unlikely to prevent the next childhood hiccup that comes our way but if Sidney is clean, that is one less thing for me to feel guilty about.  Because as a mother, I already have enough guilt.

The Antics of Boys

The face of innocence? 

As any parent knows, raising children is not for the faint of heart. When Sidney was born prematurely and spent eleven weeks in the NICU I had my share of scary moments.  In hindsight, I spent every day literally holding my breath and was only able to exhale as each hurdle was overcome.  When he was three days old and his brain scan showed no abnormalities, I felt a weight lifted off of my shoulders.  When Sidney was removed from oxygen and breathing on his own, my own breathing was suddenly freer.  From moving out of the ICU to the CCU and then receiving a medical clearance to be transferred to a hospital closer to home brought even more relief. Each time the doctors reported that he was exceeding anticipated milestones it became a little easier for me to breath.  All was not positive though and Sidney's setbacks were my setbacks and with each one I felt as though I aged a bit. Even after Sidney was finally discharged from the hospital and we brought him home I continued to worry.  Being too quiet during nap time made me fret that he wasn't breathing, refusing to cooperate during tummy time caused me to think his neck muscles wouldn't develop properly, and not performing on demand during a pediatric development appointment caused me to have fits of worry.  Gradually these worries subsided and I naively thought things would get easier.

Alas, each milestone, whether it be crawling, walking, or his ever emerging independence, has brought about new rounds of worry.  Would he fall and hurt himself?  Would his desire to explore introduce him to an unanticipated danger?  These were the things that kept me up at night but gradually, ever so gradually, my fears subsided. And then we would enter a new phase and I would start to worry all over again.  Just when I thought I was getting the hang of things we picked up and moved to Albania; probably the most child loving yet un-child proofed place on earth.  This land of concrete buildings, tiled floors, no green space, and exposed electrical wires is a child proofing nightmare.  We had been warned that Albania's pediatric care was not only not up to western standards but that there wasn't a single trauma center in the entire country.  These are just the facts a parent of an active toddler wants to hear.  Our first few months here found me paranoid about Sidney's falling and hitting his head, ingesting something toxic, or getting impaled by a sharp metal object.  (These were all realistic fears by the way).  These fears slowly subsided and surprisingly continued to diminish even after Sidney fell on our concrete stairs, chipped his front tooth, and survived relatively unscathed.  And then Sidney became a pre-schooler.

Last summer I had my first heart in my stomach, paralyzed by fear moment.  We were on a weekend trip to a mountain village with a group of colleagues from the Embassy.  Late in the evening, with Sidney safely (or so we thought) tucked away for the night in his pack and play in our third floor hotel room, a group of us were sitting outside on the patio enjoying a drink.  Because the hotel lacked air conditioning we had set up Sidney's bed under the open window in the hopes that the evening breezes would help keep him cool.  We had our baby monitor with us and we able to watch Sidney laying in his bed sucking his thumb and clutching his blanket.  At least that is what he was doing one moment.  In the next he disappeared from view in the monitor only to reappear in the third floor window.  As he peered out over the ledge and made moves to hoist himself up I was paralyzed by fear.  Glenn made a mad dash across the patio, into the hotel and up three flights of stairs as I stood there too petrified to move.  Half of our group moved to stand under the window and talk Sidney down as the others moved in to comfort me.  Too afraid to look I had to turn my back and in those short few minutes between the time Glenn leaped from his seat until he reached Sidney's side I felt as though I had aged years.  It was a horrifying feeling with a fortunate result that I never, ever wanted to feel again.

Fast forward to yesterday.  I should have realized that this moment six months ago was only an omen of things to come.  In the past months Sidney has grown both physically and intellectually and is now in the "Sidney can do it by himself "phase.  I have grown with him and have even gotten better about letting him test his limits (within a controlled environment of course).  As such, Sidney has taken to wanting to go from the second to third floors of our house to retrieve things all by himself and for the most part I've gone along with this. He knows to turn on the lights, hold onto the handrail, and be careful with each step.  We've also been teaching him to close the door behind him in an attempt to keep heat and cold in their respective places.  Yesterday, however, the game changed.



This looks like trouble........

Shortly after Sidney had asked to go upstairs to get "his birds"--- actually Glenn's Kindle with Angry Birds loaded on it, I heard a pitiful wail.  The nanny was in the process of leaving for the day but we both immediately stopped what we were doing and bolted up the stairs.  Now, we live in a traditional Albanian house with a center stairwell and doors at each and every doorway.  Each door is slightly different in size and door handle height but the one consistency is that every door is locked with a key from both the inside and outside but not both sides at the same time.  Each door is also configured with its own key meaning a "master" household key would be irrelevant.  When we moved into the house the issue of doors and keys was irrelevant since Sidney could neither reach the door handles nor was he able to manipulate a key in the lock.  Over the past 19 months he has grown and become exceptionally dexterous when it comes to turning things.  As such, we've removed the keys from the doors and have them hanging on hooks well beyond the span of his reach.  Or so I thought.  Since we have been working with Sidney to close doors behind him, he did exactly this when he reached the third floor.  He also took it upon himself to turn the key (something we have NOT been teaching him), that was somehow in the lock, into the closed position. The wails we heard were his scared cries when the door wouldn't open.



as does this.....

Realizing that I had no way of opening the door, I quickly called Glenn at work to have him send someone from the Embassy to come and take down (?) break down (?) open (?) the door.  I wasn't exactly sure what I needed because my mind was focused on Sidney's painful and scared cries of "Mamma help me." The nanny had already taken off her coat and had it wrapped around her hand in an attempt to punch out the glass on the door (the other thing about Albanian doors is that they all have glass panels).  In my broken Albanian I simultaneously plead with her not to do it since I feared the shattering glass would injure Sidney while trying to calm down my crying son through the door. I tried to envision any dangers that might be locked behind the door with him but it was his scared cries that really caused me to unravel.  As he kept up his cries of "Mamma" I asked him to turn the key to unlock the door.  My  pleas went unmet but the nanny's requests in Albanian finally netted results.  After what felt like hours but was in reality ten or so minutes, I heard the lock click and the door slowly open. Sidney was as pale and tear stained as was I.  Again, I felt as though I had aged years in the matter of minutes and the number of gray hairs on my head had multiplied exponentially.

I would like to think that I will never again feel this level of fear but I know better.  I am raising a mischievous, curious, and limit testing boy so I know my future is filled with moments like this and antics I don't even want to think about.  Scrapes, bumps, and heart stopping scares are what the future holds for me.  Glenn continually shares tales of his own childhood and I fear that Sidney will follow in his footsteps in all things mischievous.  Although I know millions of mothers around the world go through this every day, I don't know if my heart can take this excitement.  At least I have a good colorist who helps keep the grays in check, a husband whose nerves can't be ruffled, and a sweet boy who always gives me a hug when he realizes that he scared his Mamma.   

A Mother's Day Message to Sidney

Today is Mother's Day in the United States.  First recognized by Woodrow Wilson in 1914, it is a day set aside to honor mothers and the mother figures in all of our lives.  Its origins are so much more than the commercialized day it has become.

I am typing this from the airport in Vienna, Austria where I am waiting for my connecting flight back to Tirana.  I've been away for a week and I can't wait to get home and see my boys; both the big one and the little one who made me a mother.  As I wait for my flight I'm thinking about this day, motherhood, and the challenges of raising children in this ever changing, fast paced world.

As those of us who are moms can attest, being a mother is a challenge.  My own mother raised three children on her own.  Now adults, I think we all turned out alright.  In our own way, we are all fiercely independent, hard working, caring adults.  I owe this to my mother.

I worry about how my actions, or inactions, will affect Sidney now and in the future.  I worry about the amount of time he watches TV and I worry about what he eats (a bowlful of ketchup while watching an Elmo DVD is definitely not the ideal). As Sidney discovers the world around him I struggle to give him the independence he needs.  Already he pushes away and wants to do things for himself.  I don't want to smother him but I don't want him to get hurt.  I cringe as he barrels down the stairs without holding onto the railing or he scales the climbing wall at the playground.  As Glenn reminds me, he is a boy and boys will be boys.  As such, they will experience all of the scrapes and bruises that accompany boyhood.  I am continually scanning his little body to see his latest bruise or bump. (Yesterday during a Skype session I spotted one on his knee and he proudly informed me that he fell).  As much as I want to protect Sidney from this I know that these experiences are a part of childhood and will only make him stronger.  As much as I would like to at times, I do not want to be that overprotective mother who doesn't allow her child to grow.

My biggest desire is to raise Sidney to be a kind person.  Even as a blossoming 2 1/2 year old he is compassionate for those around him.  Whether a four legged animal or a human he is quick to recognize when others are hurt and express his desire to "kiss to make it better". His spontaneous hugs when I appear down warm my heart beyond belief.    I know the day will come when it will no longer be cool for Sidney to hug his mom but I hope his caring nature never disappears.

I want Sidney to continue to grow into a strong, independent, and compassionate adult. I want him to feel comfortable in his own shoes and have confidence in the decisions he makes.  I promise that when he introduces me to his intended spouse I will be supportive and trust that he is making the right decision.  After all, if I have confidence in the way I raise him, I will then have confidence in the decisions he makes.

Sidney I love you.  Be strong, be brave, and be caring.  Most of all be yourself.  Love, Mama