When a Stranger Criticizes Your Parenting

Well, it finally happened. It took three years, 10 months and 28 days, but it happened. I was publicly called out on my parenting techniques by a complete and total stranger. And it happened in church, of all places. So, if you're a frequent reader of this blog who's aware of my fiery passion, you can already imagine how this transpired.

First off, I hate taking my kids to church. As a man of little patience and a vigorous propensity towards frustration, having to keep the behaviors of two small children in check for a straight hour is no easy task. And while I think the idea of getting your kids used to routinely behaving in such a noise-restrictive environment is a noble one, it often feels like a complete waste of time and energy. This past Sunday put my wife and I to the test.

As usual, we arrived about eight minutes into the mass, just as the priest was beginning his homily. We ducked into the "Cry Room"- area of the church behind glass that's supposed to be used exclusively by families with small children. I say "supposed to be" because at least half of the chairs in the room are taken by either adults with bearded teenage children or adults with no children at all. Despite my rising anger over this fact, we begrudgingly squeezed past those very rule-breakers to get to the only three unused seats, with me holding a restless Nate on my lap.

 You can find anything on the Internet. Even a picture of a kid actually behaving in church.

It wasn't long before both boys lost interest in the priest's message, which filtered into our special room via wall-mounted speakers. In fact, it took about 90 seconds. Into Antonio's book-bag they went, pulling out a handful of books and a toy car for each of them. I couldn't blame them for being bored. I get bored half the time and I'm not three years old. So the boys both moved to an open area where they pushed their cars on the carpet like little boys tend to do. But since I refuse to be seen as irresponsible, I got up from my seat when I saw Nate start to wander near the other parishioners. Learning from the bad examples of others, when I can avoid it, I don't allow my kids to inconvenience or bother people. As a parent, I believe it is my duty. So, I stopped Nate in his tracks and pointed him away from any possible physical contact with an annoyable stranger. Then, suddenly, a man leaned over and whispered to me.

"You know this isn't a daycare center, right?" he asked sternly, pointing to the sign on the nearby wall.

I was so stunned I just stared at him for seven seconds. It might not sound like a long time, but ask someone to let you stare at them for that long and ask how it feels. It was excruciatingly awkward. Then he repeated himself, thinking I didn't hear him.

"Are you being serious right now?" was all I could get out at first. Being as temperamental as I am, I'm always so close to my boiling point that my brain practically short-circuited. "I'm doing the best I can. Have you ever tried keeping two toddlers entertained during an hour mass?" I continued, before pointing out the very first bullet on the very sign he pointed out to me. "And this is a room exclusively for the use of families with small children. So what are you doing here? Where are your children?" I asked in full voice. I could tell he didn't expect me to respond with such angst, as he put his hands up as if to say, "Oh boy, what have I started?"

Moments later, he got up and left. Still heated, I looked at my wife (who was trying to calm me down to prevent this from coming to blows) and said, "Good!" loud enough for everyone in the room to hear me. And like most of us do when we're arguing a point, I looked around desperately for supporters, but everyone was looking at me like I was wearing a ski mask, walking into a bank. I shouldn't have been surprised, though. Generally speaking, when there's an uncomfortable moment happening in public, people tend to avoid participating in it at all costs. Can't blame them. But I would've appreciated a high-five.

So, at the end of the day, I was still fuming about what had happened. But above all else, I felt like I'd taken a stand for all the children who get dragged to church on a weekly basis who are simply too young to understand the concept of religion and exist solely to be entertained. And I also believe that I stood up for tolerance...which is a principle of the Catholic church, right?

Have any of you gotten into an uncomfortable conversation because of the unsolicited opinions of a stranger, or even a family member? I'd like to hear about this and to keep this conversation going.

Thanks for reading, and feel free to share it with someone who'd like it.

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-Joe DeProspero
jdeprospero@gmail.com
Follow me on Twitter here.
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The Art of Deception: Teaching Our Kids to Lie Effectively

I know what you're thinking. The second you saw the title of this blog you said to yourself, "Pfft, that's ridiculous. I would NEVER teach my kids to lie." But you have. Or you will. Trust me on this. Today, we'll go over the little ways we teach our children that lying is acceptable...under the right circumstances.

Clearly, most of us don't have children with the intent of raising them to be deceitful cretins. But let's face it; despite our best efforts to keep them honest, we've all been guilty of at least one of the following deeds:

The Nap Illusion

This is really only applicable if you have multiple children. But if you do, then you're familiar with the nap illusion. Your younger child is still on a daily nap schedule, but your older one is past that phase. He's all like, "Sleeping? Ain't nobody got time for that!" However, your younger one won't go to sleep if he sees his older sibling awake and having fun. So what do you do? You create the nap illusion. I did this last weekend. I whispered to my son, Antonio, "Lay down and pretend you're going to sleep, too." He smiled menacingly and did just that. But not before doing his best to sell the illusion.


"Don't worry, Nate. I'm taking a nap and I'm definitely not going to stay up and play with those Legos that are on the floor over there." #subtle

Making Mom Happy

When we're hustling to get out the door for a party, getting the kids dressed, ready, fed, happy and not hitting you is no easy feat while we're trying to get ready ourselves.  So if you're a guy who's married to a woman, she will regularly ask you to "approve" her outfit. And if she doesn't believe you, she may get so desperate that she asks your child. So, I try to be ahead of this and coach my son to "tell Mommy that you think her color scheme is appropriate and seasonal. No matter what she's wearing, say exactly that." Naturally, he doesn't say that at all and we end up being late to the party and everyone is crying.

CYA

Picture this. You're driving two children to a farm to go apple-picking. It's October, so there's only so long you can avoid doing such a thing. Your wife is out of town so it's all on you to get the kids dressed and to assemble the perfect amount of snacks and drinks for your voyage. You arrive at the farm and go to take them out of their car seats. But you realize something odd. Your younger son appears to have already figured out how to unbuckle himself from his seat. You think, "Wow, my kid is so gifted and surprisingly strong.  I can't believe he..." And then you realize you never strapped him into his car seat to begin with! You look around for witnesses to this act of juvenile carelessness. Your older son is looking at you with a menacing grin. You beg him not to tell his mother. "What good would that do?" you even ask. You're desperate to maintain your otherwise average parental reputation. But I speak from personal experience (because this entire scenario happened to me) in saying that your kid won't care about your reputation and you'll end up looking like Casey Anthony.

Sure, I'll lie for you. For a price.

Ultimately, I guess I should be happy since 2/3 of the time, my child opts for the truth instead of honoring my wishes for a bold-faced lie. But I'm foolish enough to think that my children will make the distinction between what I say is okay to lie about and what their inner voice tells them is acceptable. And the real moral of this story is that your kids won't lie about the things you want them to lie about, so simply urge them to tell the truth, no matter what the consequence...which is likely what I should have been doing all along.

Thanks for reading, and feel free to share this with others.

Joe DeProspero
jdeprospero@gmail.com
Follow me on Twitter here.
Buy my first book in paperback here.

Candid Thoughts On My Sons Playing with "Girl Toys"

When I was little, and the neighborhood kids were being punished, or if it was raining out, or if it was after dark, I played with my older sister. And it didn't matter what it was. House, Nintendo, Barbies...okay, especially Barbies. I was on board. I can just see most of my male friends reading this and gasping, but rest assured I enjoyed taking off Barbie's clothes and being disappointed that there were no nipples on her plastic boobs. Regardless, I did plenty of "girly" things growing up. I did my share of "boy stuff" too, like collecting GI Joe figures, obsessing over WWF, and getting mild erections over the aforementioned naked Barbies. But ultimately, my childhood was peppered with more than a decent helping of femininity. It didn't make me gay. It didn't make me "confused" about my sexual identity. I believe what it did make me is balanced (and in case you're wondering, my Barbie affinity has subsided drastically over time).

I suppose I have my parents to thank for either being open-minded about gender roles or simply too caught up in life to notice how often I played with dolls. But I find that as an adult with boys of my own now, Mom and Dad's example has rubbed off on me. For starters, my sons have a kitchen. They "make me coffee" in it, bake cupcakes in the toy oven and we hold regular "shopping sprees" where my older son gathers groceries in a shopping cart and comes to me with funny money to pay for them. Not exactly the kind of activities that fit into the boy stereotype. I suppose traditional male norms would dictate that I should stop this activity. But I'd rather my kids were happy than confined to a predetermined gender barrier. My older son's favorite color is purple. He also loves Legos, soccer, and punching me in the groin. Of those interests, there's really only one I'm looking to change.

 "I know Dad will be mad, but this one comes with a hair dryer and brush!"

I'm  not hoping to pat myself on the back here for being more progressive than the next father (As a parent of two, I believe I'm still learning on the job). But if you're a parent to a young boy and you find yourself taking dolls out of his hand or insisting that "boys don't cry," ask yourself if you're doing this for his benefit or yours.If you're only doing it based on your own preconceived notions, I can't honestly say that you're being the best parent you can be. After all, my parents enabled my creative freedom and now I'm writing in a public forum about how much I appreciate it. Wouldn't you want the same?

I'm a 33-year-old man who can recite every episode of The Golden Girls or every starter for the New York Jets. I'm into twisted Quentin Tarantino films, but I don't mind the occasional Hugh Grant romantic comedy. In fact, I like to think I embrace more than I reject in life. It is with this open mind that I aim to approach parenthood. My parenthood, anyway. So next time you use the words "that's for girls," remember the proper way to say it is, "that's for girls....or Joe." I'd rather be known for encouraging happiness and exploration than as "the jerk who ruined my childhood."

-Joe DeProspero
You can reach me at jdeprospero@gmail.com.
Or follow me on Twitter here.
Or boy my first book on Kindle here.
Or read some classic Golden Girls quotes here.

Explaining Why Batman is Only Kid-Friendly Sometimes

I recently purchased "The Dark Knight Rises" on DVD. After watching half of it, I left the DVD cover on the coffee table. My three-year-old son, Antonio, innocently picked it up and asked if he could watch some of it.

"No, honey. This is too scary for you," I answered, with a chuckle.

"But..it's Batman," he said, pointing to the cover graphic, eyebrows frozen in disbelief. I looked down at his feet and noticed the Batman logo adorned on his sneakers. So then the question was....how do I explain to my son that certain characters or programs are watchable depending on circumstance?

What I ultimately did was explain that there was a "Kid Batman" and an "Adult Batman." But truthfully, I think he saw right through the bullshit. How could I explain it so he'd understand, though?

"Well, you see, the 'Adult Batman' has lots of melancholy and dying and 'Kid Batman' is basically just Batman and Robin doing donuts in the Batmobile." That's how I'd like to explain it, but realistically can't, or won't. That would be crazy. I mean, it would be crazy, right?

These are the kinds of things we are forced to say as parents. A Kid Batman and an Adult Batman. I'm not even sure if I should capitalize "kid" and "adult" here, but it feels like I should. But seriously, imagine if there were different versions of other characters. Like what if Big Bird starred in a movie opposite a murderous lunatic who cut the faces off its victims? How would we differentiate? And imagine the looks on their faces if we accidentally put the wrong one on during a playdate.

Realistically, there was only ever one Batman movie that was arguably suitable for children. Don't pretend you don't know which one I'm talking about. It was "Batman and Robin." Clooney was Batman, Schwarzenegger was Mr. Freeze and there were nipples in the bat suit. Since this is the most cartoonish of all the Batman films, I considered allowing my son to watch this one first, to "ease him" into the series. But I also don't want to ruin the franchise right off the bat (pardon the pun). I'd almost rather him watch one that will give him nightmares. At least he'll still have respect for the series.

California citizens saw this movie, and voted for him anyway

As parents, we're faced with difficult decisions every day. But I'm always surprised by the ones that seemingly come out of nowhere. I count this among them. So, fellow parents, how would you describe the difference between Adult Batman and Kid Batman?

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Deciding to Let Your Children Into Your Bed

You have no idea how many times I checked to make sure I included the word "Your" before "Children" in the title of this blog.

Every parent has an opinion on this, one way or the other. And practically every parent has been in this situation at least once. It's 2:34 AM. Your five-year-old daughter comes barging into your room unannounced. You can't see or hear her, as she's standing silently in the dark. Afraid it may be a ghost, you hold your breath and peer into the darkness for visual confirmation one way or the other. You can't see her, of course, until she's within arms length, frighteningly staring at you with a blank expression. At that point, a ghost would've scared you less.

The decision then becomes "Am I willing to sacrifice what could be a substantial chunk of crucial sleep time to train my daughter to only sleep in her own bed?" And for those reading this who aren't parents and have already decided that they'd put their foot down and wouldn't allow their kid into their bed, I urge you just once to set your alarm to go off at 2:30 AM. Then walk to the kitchen and pick up a carton of milk. Next, decide whether you want to take the carton of milk into bed with you or repeat incessantly (to the carton) for 90 minutes that milk belongs in the refrigerator, not in mommy and daddy's bed. I draw this comparison because trying to reason with a five-year-old is almost exactly like reasoning with a carton of milk.

If you haven't figured it out already, I opt for sleep over teaching an over-arching lesson to a three and one-year-old at ungodly hours of the night/morning. I mean, I've tried to resist. Sonia and I have told Antonio, "Only come to our bed if you're sick or had a bad dream." So, naturally, the very next time when he rolls in, I ask what happened, and he grumbles, "I had a nightmare and my belly hurts." Kid's no idiot. Within minutes, he's positioned himself horizontal, his feet in my face and his head on Sonia's stomach. At least one of us was comfortable.

Ultimately, we're trying to strike a balance with our sons. If we're both flat out exhausted, there's no struggle at all and Antonio's in between us before we even realize it.Then there are times when we stand our ground and usher him back to his own bed and are successful in thwarting his efforts. And hey, there are also times when I welcome the company! When Sonia was out of town, I heard creaks in the floor boards when the kids were both sleeping and I was sitting down. I practically begged Antonio to sleep with me! It reminded me a lot of my high school days. Except replace children with every girl I ever met.

Whatever you decide to do, though, I don't judge, and I suggest you don't either. If my sons are 16 and 14 and still cuddling up next to me at 3 AM, you are well within your right to look down your nose. But until then, I'm clinging to my sleep like Rose clung to the floating door in Titanic. For without it, I would die.

Thanks for reading, and share with fellow parents who'd enjoy.

-Joe DeProspero
jdeprospero@gmail.com
Follow me on Twitter here.

What Was I Thinking Taking Both Kids for Flu Shots?

If you were shopping in the fruit section of a grocery store, you'd use a bag to carry your apples around, right? And if there weren't any more bags left, you'd ask the store manager for one. And if somehow the manager didn't have any, you'd probably just go home without the apples, because no one in their right mind would carry more than their hands could handle, right? Well, apparently I don't subscribe to this philosophy, as I brought both my apples (kids) to the doctor at the same time to get flu shots.

When the pressure's on, I either shine or fail miserably. To make a sports analogy out of this, when I'm bowling and facing a 10th frame where I need to get two strikes to win, I will either get the two strikes or roll a gutter on my first ball, extinguishing all hope. No in between. And within the span of an hour with both boys, I display both types of behavior. When Sonia flew to Michigan for a funeral and left me in charge of our sons, there were moments of pure hell where I'm sure they questioned my parental abilities as much as I did (the dual bath, for instance). But then within an hour, I'd be reading them books, kissing them goodnight and successfully putting both to sleep simultaneously. And when those types of things happen, you feel like an unstoppable bad-ass.

So when my wife asked me to take both our boys to the pediatrician for their flu shots, I conjured up my inner bad-ass, took a deep breath and slung my anything-but-manly diaper bag over my shoulder and ventured forward. It's always slightly alarming to be the one person solely responsible for two children's well-being. You always expect the absolute worst. That way, you're prepared for as big a mess as possible. It's like bringing a portable toilet when you're watching a Lord of the Rings movie. Same concept.

In general, this whole flu shot visit was going quite well. Antonio and Nate were playing in the waiting room without fighting, and Antonio was still clinging to the praise bestowed upon him for not crying when he got his last shot. I'd even commissioned him to console Nate after he'd gotten his shot, instilling a trust in him that he was taking quite seriously. He was the rock here, and he knew it. Within ten minutes, the nurse called us into the smaller waiting room, and we were on our way. Everything up to this point was perfect.

 The "Before" Picture

Then, it happened. Things were going so well, I felt invincible. So I let my guard down. When it was time for the doctor to administer the shots, Nate was the one sitting closest to her. So I figured, "He's closest, do him first." As soon as the needle pierced his skin, the blood-curdling scream resonated in my sympathetic ears. I knew I'd done something stupid. No sooner was the Band-Aid stretched across Nate's thigh when Antonio frantically shook his head and darted in the opposite direction. Since he was already standing on the padded area with the butcher paper, he didn't have far to run. I then had the unenviable task of trying to prevent Antonio from escaping the room while consoling a traumatized Nate at the same time. I realized in that chaotic moment how idiotic that decision was. It was like having him watch Friday the 13th, then standing over his bed wearing a goalie mask. It also didn't help that the doctor giving the shot had the bedside manner of Ben Stein on downers, but I digress.

The next deed to overcome was somehow pulling Antonio's shirt off while he flailed his arms like E-Honda in Street Fighter. At this point, a backup nurse came in to hold a crying Nate while I held Antonio's arms AND legs down to get the shot in. I truly felt like an evil human being. Five minutes earlier, they were hugging and kissing me. Then suddenly I'm constricting their limbs and letting people stick needles in them. How could they not think I'm a jerk? I would.

There was this awkward in between period where I was trying to dress both boys at the same time, while both had tears streaming down their faces, with a look of fear mixed with unadulterated anger. The backup nurse was still reluctantly holding Nate as he wriggled away into my arms. Antonio, while fending off sobs, looked at me while sniffling and asked, "Now when do I get my sticker?" It was the cutest thing I'd ever seen in my life.

Before I knew it, both boys were smiling again. It truly is remarkable the effect a sticker (and the promise of ice cream) can have on kids.And for those wondering where the "after shot" was, I simply didn't have the heart (or the hand) to snap one.

Thanks for reading, and pass it along if you think others would enjoy.

-Joe DeProspero
jdeprospero@gmail.com
Follow me on Twitter here!

Reluctant Justice: Disciplining Other People's Kids

Disclaimer: Your first instinct will be to assume that I'm talking about your kids in this blog, especially if our children spend any significant amount of time together. So if you're sitting there, allowing paranoia to creep into your psyche with each passing sentence, click on the following link for verification (I apologize in advance for the poor lighting, as I did this in my car at night):     https://vimeo.com/57212337


We've all awkwardly been there. Your perfectly angelic child is innocently strumming a kid-sized guitar, minded his own business, when his "friend" jumps off the couch and dropkicks him in the face. Best case scenario is the kid's parent pounces on them like a hawk, dutifully running down a laundry list of reasons why dropkicking your friends in the face is a bad thing. Next best case scenario is the kid's parents aren't there and you're free to lecture them as you see fit. This is always tricky as you have the luxury of being without the watchful eye of the respective parent, yet you have to be careful not to punish too harshly and find yourself on an episode of Judge Judy. The absolute worst case scenario is the kid's parent is there and does nothing. And this is when you learn a harsh, yet inevitable lesson: Jerks raise jerks.

 "You can't point at me! You're not my Dad!" (I know, that's the problem.)

Let me be clear about one thing before I go any further. My kids are both more than capable of being jerks. They practice on each other all the time. In fact, it's human nature to respond with anger when someone takes something that was perceived as "yours and only yours," (pretty sure this is how rap was born) even if that something wasn't taken with malicious intent. The key is to teach our children to become comfortable with compromise, with sacrificing. You'll find more often than not that the parents who don't hold their children responsible for being jerks were never held accountable by their own parents growing up. It's a viscious, jerky cycle.

But what do we do? How do we handle it when someone else's kid does something either to your kid or around your kid that you find completely reprehensible? The answer, naturally, isn't so easily determined (or else I wouldn't be asking it). Here are some options I've found most successful.

Shout in the general direction of all the kids and ask, "What is going on here?!"

It's safe to say that every kid there had something to do with that China set smashing on the floor, so don't single anyone out. Odds are another authority figure will piggy-back on your anger and blame the entire thing on their own kid. The downside of this method is it also frequently results in the awkwardness of the respective parent half-heartedly disciplining their kid because they'll look like a tool if they say nothing.

Danny Tanner It

You remember the scene. Full House's MVP Dad would pull one of his daughter's aside (when he really felt brave, he'd reel in Kimmy Gibbler, too) for a heart-to-heart about how badly they screwed up. It was brilliant if you think about it. Instead of raising his voice (and his blood pressure), he sent them to their room, made them think about it, then calmly explained what terrible human beings they were. Naturally, if you're doing this with a child other than your own, you'll need to tread lightly. But as long as you say what you're saying with a soothing tone (and a string section accompaniment), you lessen the risk of a fist fight with the other supposed adult in the room.

Falsely blame everything on your own kid

It sounds counterproductive, but I assure you it works most of the time. Most of us are decent enough to try to avoid the uncomfortableness of yelling at other people's children, so we instinctively place the blame on our own, even if they aren't the main culprit. It happens to me all the time. Antonio wants to play with his friend's ride-on car, said friend doesn't want to give Antonio a turn. Antonio then sulks and insists he wants nothing to do with him. At that point, I step in and remind Antonio that the car isn't his and he has to respect friend's decision (even though deep down I agreed that it was time to share). Almost every time, the parent steps in and yanks the kid out of the car, giving Antonio what he wants as his friend wails in his rear view mirror. Half the time you're the one yanking your kid out of the car kicking and screaming. It's never pleasant and almost every time, you think your kid's being less of a jerk than the other one.

Naturally, we all live under the guise that our child is better behaved than others. After all, they're a reflection of us and our disciplinary actions. If they suck then that means we suck. And frankly, a lot of us suck. And the rest have to simply deal with it.The sad fact is that, as parents, we're almost certain to lose at least one friend over the way we choose (or don't choose) to manage our kids' behavior when they're socializing. Ultimately,you'll end up spending more time with the parents of children who have similar disciplinary mindsets as you do, distancing yourself from the Mom who lets her daughter pour White Out all over your leather couch. But if said Mom is part of your family, you're screwed. And if that's the case, you better have a strong lower lip, because you'll be biting it more than you'd like!

Thanks for reading and pass it along to others who might enjoy.

-Joe DeProspero
jdeprospero@gmail.com
Follow me on Twitter here!
#parenting