Dina L. Relles

So Long, iPad! (Sort of.)

Dina L. Relles

03/10/2014

If we’re being honest, my kids get too much screen time.

It started innocently enough. When my oldest was two, we were having a particularly hard time getting him dressed and out the door in the morning. Add to that a newborn and a demanding, full-time job, and I resorted to changing him in front of a short video clip on the iPad–an animated rendition of Itsy Bitsy Spider or anything on KidsTV123.

Around that time, a friend of mine found herself in the same predicament and reached out to me for advice. I shared my “secret.”

She was grateful. Actually, her exact response was: “I could marry you — our household is SO much happier now. Mornings go so smoothly, and [daughter] is so much happier without feeling like she has to throw tantrums every AM. Yay!”

But like many things that begin harmlessly, our clever fix eventually led us down that good old slippery slope. And lately, we had slid too far. Somewhere in there we had a third kid, until very recently, I was still working many hours, my husband works many more, and I often found myself muddling through on my own with three little boys–and our friend the iPad, who made more appearances than I care to admit.

What began as a brief daily video vignette turned into longer and longer stretches. Often it would bleed into breakfast. Sometimes it became videos before dinner, or (gasp!) during dinner, or just before bed. It became a crutch. A habit. The quality of the programming steadily deteriorated–along with my standards.

I got lazy, or maybe I was just cutting myself some slack.

Whatever it was, I hated that this was how we started our day. The familiar din of Fireman Sam or Thomas videos started to sound like the hum of my failure as a parent.

Then I read a blog post “blaming” TV for all sorts of things, including negative behaviors in today’s kids. It really resonated with me. I’d noticed my oldest had gotten far more aggressive and impatient in recent weeks and in turn, so had I. Too often, I didn’t recognize the words coming out of my mouth or the tone in which I was speaking them. I was not parenting the way I used or intended to. I wasn’t taking time to acknowledge his feelings, yet stay calm, but firm in enforcing my reasonable demands. It had all gone to shit.

It was time for a change.

This morning would be different.

When my oldest woke up and found me in the kitchen, I was ready. After a quick snuggle, I offered crayons and paper, books, breakfast…no, no, no. He “needed” videos. Things were devolving fast. He was heading to where we keep the iPad, fully defiant.

With my resolve nearly gone, he finally said something reasonable.

Mom, can I just watch *one* video?

Okay, one video. Like any addict, he needed to ease off, not quit cold turkey. I get it.

Immediately after the video ended, he turned off the iPad with little more than a gentle reminder. He joined me at the breakfast table. Soon after, his younger brothers woke and joined us too. The whole morning was joyful. We laughed more. The older boys resolved their conflicts creatively and on their own. The squeals were happy ones, not resistant whines.

Mid-meal, the older two cooperated to form a “bench” out of three of our kitchen chairs, leaving a spot for me in the middle. After doling out waffles and changing the baby’s diaper, I climbed in between them. As the 3yo rest his head on my shoulder, my oldest told us a story. It was the story of this morning. I smiled and said I thought we were having such a good time because we weren’t watching videos and instead, we were spending time with each other. “We should do this every day!” came my son’s earnest response. We high-fived on it.

Throughout the morning, I was able to think more clearly about how and when to react without the constant buzz of Peppa Pig in the background. Instead of fighting over whose turn it was, my oldest prepared the iPad with my middle’s favorite video as his “one” for the morning. He didn’t protest once when I helped him get dressed, even saying “thank you, Mom” as I pulled the pant leg over his foot !

It’s easy to find excuses, scapegoats for negative behavior–a more aggressive new kid in his class, the fact that we’re moving in a few months and he feels the stress and sadness of that…

But I also had to look within. Face some tough conclusions. Make a change.

We’re not getting rid of the iPad for good. Please, I’m no purist. Nor am I a perfect parent. Nor do I think perfect parenting means no screens. And I recognize the value, in moderation, of some harmless programs, like Daniel Tiger or Sid the Science Kid, or “educational” games like Snail Bob or Build a Train, especially during the times I *really* need that extra pair of hands–even if they do come attached to a silly pig with a delightful British accent.

Then again, it’s only Day 1. Hold me to this, people!!

This Is Community

Dina L. Relles

1 comment

02/24/2014

I am fortunate to have friends I would do anything for. Anything? Yep. Anything.

So when two of them announced they were having a baby naming for their newborn daughter at 7:45 a.m. on a Monday morning–a morning (much like every other morning) when I have all three kids on my own and at 7:45, I’m usually still pajama-clad, trying to pour myself coffee without missing the cup while simultaneously tossing waffles at my kids and filling their requests for water and just wishing, wishing, wishing I could clone myself…or at least my right arm…

7:45 on a Monday morning? I’ll be there.

The naming was held in a small room at a local city synagogue. I walked in alone. As I entered the doorway, my eyes adjusting to the indoor light, I spotted a friend and plopped down next to her. And then I had a moment to survey the cozy crowd. Dotting the pews were familiar faces of friends I’ve known since I was an awkward bangs, glasses, and braces-clad tween, clueless and curious, a work-in-progress for sure. They loved me then. And I love them for it now.

The friend next to me? Danced at my wedding two weeks before giving birth to her first child. Her husband sitting on her other side? Gave me the confidence to swim across the lake at our overnight camp in the summer of 1992–the prerequisite for participating in the cherished canoe trip. In fact, he (a counselor then) swam it right along with me, encouraging me the entire way. Behind us sits my friend’s older sister with her four beautiful children. Somewhere, I still have a note she wrote me over 20 years ago. Two rows away sit my former bunkmates. We used to dance around singing Come Sail Away at the top of our lungs as we cleaned our cabin after breakfast, and fell asleep listening to Enya every night, after whispering our deepest secrets into the darkness.

Over the years, when life put distance between us, we spent long hours talking on the phone, and then long hours on AOL Instant Messenger, and then wrote each other long e-mails during college. We shared spring breaks and sleeping bags, clothing and confidences, kisses and cries.

We’ve loved and lost and lived together.

One among our group of friends grew up in a modest apartment building in Brooklyn. When I would visit him there during high school, I always thought, this is how I want to raise my kids. In a building where children, food, and friends flow freely among the apartments, where the neighbors all know one another and look after each other’s kids as if they were their own. I wanted to raise my children in a community of loving friends.

This morning, as I held my dear friend’s newborn baby girl, I thought–this is our apartment building. These are our children. We’ve done it. Sure, things may look a little different–we may text each other to make plans to meet at the playground instead of shouting down the hall; we may buy our own butter; we may hire babysitters instead of dropping the kids off at each other’s homes.

But we’re there for each other in the same way. In the way we’ve always been. And in the way I know we always will be.

7:45 on a Monday morning?

Anytime, anywhere?

I’ll be there.

Finding Loveliness in the Endless Snow

Dina L. Relles

2 comments

02/19/2014

My inclination upon waking up to yet another snowfall yesterday was to shoot off some grouchy tweet about how much it sucks. (I even almost resorted to a snarky pun like “Snow way I’m doing this again.” I’m telling you–I was in a bad place.)

So trust me when I say I’m with you on this whole too-much-winter thing. The gloves, the hats (yeah, neither of those actually happen around here), the jacket-fights, the slippery walk to the snow-covered car…I’m over it. And I could’ve shouted, or at least tweeted, it to the masses.

But I resisted. Instead, I spent the day committed to finding the good in all this.

Like how my next-door neighbor routinely clears my front walk before I can even get to it–because he knows I’m stuck inside with three little ones and can’t fathom how to incorporate shoveling into our morning.

How the snowplow driver making his way down our street stops and dismounts to help me dislodge my minivan from the snow heap on which it’s now perched.

Watching the joy on my boys’ faces as they create “train tracks” in the freshly fallen snow.

How sweet my kids look in their boots.

How my three-year-old loves to hold my hand as we walk, so he doesn’t slip on the ice.

How chitchat with the store clerk over the weather becomes more than just small talk and mimics actual bonding.

How drivers are (often) more likely to wave a waiting pedestrian along, allowing them their (due) right of way.

How glorious our return to the local playgrounds will be! Like a warm reunion with a dear, old friend. I’m grateful my kids are learning, by contrast, to appreciate the beauty of a sun-filled afternoon. In the meantime, they cultivate patience, compromise, and creativity to carry them through these long winter months.

How everything inevitably s-l-o-w-s down–because you’re forced to suspend plans, embrace a snow day, or simply move through your hours more cautiously, more deliberately. The typical Tuesday rush slows to a crawl. We give our kids seconds at breakfast and pour another cup of coffee. We controlling, self-important, overly-busy humans are rendered powerless, submitting to the natural reality of our surroundings.

It’s hard to see the good. Really hard sometimes. But if you let it, cold weather can bring with it the reminder that we’re all in this together.

Perhaps the best part about the snow? It’s melting now.

Stay warm out there…

Valentine’s Day, Reimagined

Dina L. Relles

1 comment

02/12/2014

I admit it. I’m a Valentine’s Day Scrooge.

I’ve long considered it a manufactured “Hallmark holiday.”

As early as middle school, it was an opportunity to blatantly broadcast your puppy love when you’d open your locker only to find a gaudy trinket or (if you’re lucky) a mix tape replete with Billy Joel and Richard Marx ballads.

Even when I was in a relationship, I found it to be an affront to single people–and a patronizing invasion into how and when we couples chose to express our love.

Now, as with everything post-parent, I see things differently. I see it through the eyes of my sweet children.

And teaching them about love? Now there’s definitely something to that.

We’re not one of those families that says “I love you” at every parting. We probably don’t talk about love much at all—at least not explicitly. So when my preschooler presents me with a V-day card he made in school declaring his love for me, his father, and his brothers, I can’t help but turn to mush.

When guns and violence somehow seep into even Superbowl commercials, it’s a welcome change to have rom-coms flood the airwaves and hearts grace every storefront.

We need not fixate only on romantic love. This Valentine’s Day, I’m going to focus on mother-love, brother-love, on spreading love of mankind…of our fellow neighbor…of the everyday, common things that bring a smile to our face.

In that spirit, here are just a few of the things I love these days:

the way my four-year-old will snuggle with me when he first wakes up in the morning (but only then);

when my three-year-old brushes his shaggy hair out of his eyes with his little palm after I pull a shirt down over his head;

how my baby boy nestles into the curve of my neck;

curling up on a cold night under this one quilt Husband and I bought at a Cracker Barrel years ago on a pre-kid road trip down South;

the way Twitter is making the world smaller…one tweet at a time;

the song Some Nights by the indie rock band Fun. (Playing it on repeat these days, people. I’m hooked.);

my afternoon coffee, perfectly complemented by chocolate chip Dunkers cookies from Trader Joe’s;

the incredible community of mother-writers out there I’ve only just begun to appreciate;

scarves;

my four-year-old’s insightful (yet challenging) questions (like—How does your body grow? or Who was the first person who ever lived on this earth?);

“guys”—as in the way my three-year-old says “hey guys” to get our attention;

watching The Bachelor (though I’m not much of a JP fan), glass of sweet red wine in hand;

hearing my four-year-old confidently assure me that he won’t slip on the everywhere ice—because he’s Superman (and he really believes it);

the cozy feeling of being at home, my boys asleep, and the snow falling silently outside.

(I’ll tell you one thing, though—I’m still hating on the burdensome classmate V-day card exchange tradition. We’ve done the creative, hand-written, personalized cards for each student in the past. This year, I just don’t have it in me. And you know what? I don’t want the tens of cards from all my kids’ classmates to come cluttering up my house, either. Especially when I’m trying to purge.)

What are you loving this Valentine’s Day? Whatever it is…I hope you’re out there…spreading the love.

Plane Friends

Dina L. Relles

1 comment

02/03/2014

I’ve traveled a bit recently. I often make “plane friends” en route. You know—in-flight companions you bare your soul to and then never see again?

But maybe you don’t know. I’ve mentioned this phenomenon to more than a few people lately only to be met with blank stares.

Here’s how it tends to go down.

You settle in next to each other in your assigned seats. Steal a quick glance. Take in what they’re reading. Make a couple snap judgments.

You instinctively want to keep to yourself. Read your book in peace. Not engage. That tends to be our default, after all. How often do we really let people in? Take the time to make anything more than small talk? We’re usually so talked out from the rest of our lives on the ground that we view travel as a brief respite, a way to relax or escape, which usually involves…silence.

So you start off that way. Shortly after takeoff, you nap together. In a state of semi-consciousness, you try not to “head bob” into their personal space.

You come to in time for the complimentary beverage service, when the flight attendant inevitably knocks your knee as she passes. Something about your beverage choice incites a quick exchange with your neighbor. It’s the first time you get a good look at their face. You’re torn between wanting to bury your head back in your book and not seeming impolite.

What’s bringing you to Cincinnati?

You give yourself over to it. Soon you’re deep in conversation about your families, hometowns, professional goals, travel histories. You realize you have more in common than just your destination. Plane friends always do fascinating, glamorous things. Like design movie posters or perform at NBA halftime shows. You feel like you’re in the presence of greatness. It dawns on you that everyone has a story to tell.

You’re sitting much closer to each other than is customary. You’re stuck. But somehow you no longer mind. You share the stale airplane air–and each other’s confidences. Up here, conversation seems safer, freer–as if the rules that typically govern social interaction are suspended when above the clouds.

You touch down. You deplane, walking in tandem. No longer strangers, but not quite friends. You say you hope your paths will cross again sometime. You know they probably won’t.

Have you ever made a plane friend?