...When You Feel Like a Loser

Start by taking this single-question quiz:

Do you think I feel like a loser because...
A.) I can't keep up with the dishes?
B.) The constant toys on the floor prevent vacuuming?
C.) I gained 8 pounds in one month? 
D.) Other

Correct answer: D
Although, A, B, and C are all true*, option D, "Other" is the best choice for the following reason: My daughter is always the winner. 

Depending on how well you know me, some of you may describe me as "competitive."  Others may choose to disagree with or qualify this descriptor.  Personally, I wish I could quantify it by listing my LTWP (life-time winning percentage, in case you didn't pick up on the acronym).  However, I would grant myself the permission to omit records of all games played on my 30th birthday, since there has to be some advantage to climbing that hill.

For the past two months or so, I have been mulling over another single-question quiz: Is my daughter inherently ultra-competitive, or has she adopted modeled behavior from someone?  Nature vs. nurture.  I'm leaning toward nature on this one.

Example 1
[During mealtime.]
Miriam: Mommy!  Who's winning?
Me: We don't race when we eat, Miriam.  You need to chew.
Shovel, gulp.  Shovel, gulp.
Miriam: I win!  I am the winner!  Noah is the LOSER!
[Victorious arm waving and shouting.]

Example 2
[While in the car, regardless of destination.]
Miriam: Mommy!  Who's winning?  Which car is winning?
Me: I don't know, Miri.  There are lots of cars going very fast.
Miriam: No, I am the fastest!  I am winning! (As she "drives" with her personal paper plate steering wheel from her car seat.)
[Upon reaching destination.]
Miriam: I win!  I am the winner!

Example 3
[While playing Hungry, Hungry Hippos.]
Miriam: Mommy!  Who's winning?
Me: Anyone can win.  Sometimes different people win.
Miriam: Look, I win!  You are the LOSER!
[Points at me and makes a pouting face, as if she is either mocking me or expressing the emotion I ought to feel.]

February 2014
Miriam cheating while competing with Noah in Hungry, Hungry Hippos
(I was the "loser" yellow hippo, before my self-worth couldn't bear to play any longer)

I could go on and on, but I think you get the point.  No matter what we do, my daughter (not I) turns it into a competition.  If I insist that I won something, she proceeds to explain to me that although I did win, she also won, and, "Mommy, when two people win, that is called a tie."  In fact, I'm getting so tired of hearing her proclaim herself the "winner" all day long, that I taught her the word "champion."  So, the bottom line is, that for twelve hours a day, my two-year-old daughter makes me feel like a loser.  Oh, my sweet revenge will come when Noah is able to beat her and call her the loser.

Though I'm embarrassed by her behavior, I am awfully proud of her competitive nature.  Goodness knows I've never modeled such arrogant mannerisms... I just wish she wouldn't legitimately beat me at Hungry, Hungry Hippos time after time.





* I have provided some photo evidence below.

If you chose option "A," you are right on target.  This is what I am ignoring in the sink right now in order to write this blog.  And the picture doesn't even include what's on the counter.

 

If you chose option "B," you have the right idea.  This is just one small corner of one carpet in one room of the house.  So, if you want the complete image, multiply by at least ten.

 

Lastly, if you chose option "C," just ask my OB.  Or my husband.  It's true: I gained eight pounds in one month, but will kindly spare you the picture. 

...When You Remember High School Physics

I can still hear Mr. Abbott's monotonous voice: "For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction."  I was one of the very lucky students to have had Mr. Abbott for both Chemistry and Physics before he passed away in 2001.  May he rest with God.  He was the real-life Hollywood version of the classic lab-coat-monotone-thick-glasses teacher.  He was awesome.

His voice carried little to no intonation, but if you tuned in, you found yourself laughing at his dry humor.  Mr. Abbott was also great on the board.  His diagrams were drawn with such precision, and his equations were elegant.  You often hear that when you become a teacher, you adopt all the things you liked about your favorite teachers and (try to) leave all the qualities of your awful teachers behind.  When I became a teacher, I consciously adopted Mr. Abbott's philosophy of test-taking.  Mr. Abbott strongly believed that all students work at their own pace; some of the brightest students can be the slowest.  As a result, he offered "unlimited" time to finish an exam.  As a competitive student, I thought it was unfair until it worked to my advantage; as a teacher, I realized it was a sign of deep understanding and compassion.

For Every Action, There Is an Equal and Opposite Reaction
Yes, Mr. Abbott, you branded this into my memory in my junior year in Physics class.  So much so, that it haunts me in my parenting.  Yes, Sir Isaac Newton, your third law of motion most certainly does have a direct correlation to parenting.  Well, not parenting, per se... more like sibling interaction.

My husband and I have absolutely loved watching the relationship between our son and daughter develop.  When Noah was born, Miriam was only 15 months old.  And, though it brought me great pain, (and even pains me to type it now), Miriam hated Noah for at least nine months.  Being a mother of two for those first nine months was emotionally difficult.  Miriam would physically attack Noah any way she could whenever she could.  There was little to no sibling affection shown on her part.  I think we only have one picture of Big Sister holding Baby Brother... because it only happened once.  Don't even think about a picture of her hugging or kissing him.  It doesn't exist.


Miriam holding Noah, August 2012
(This was probably a "force hold," as you can see.)
 

About nine months and many prayers later, Miriam must have realized that Noah wasn't going to disappear.  Or maybe Noah just got more "fun."  Either way, they slowly began to interact positively.  The pushing/kicking/hitting/screaming/biting only occurred when Noah "got in her way."  Okay, this made sense.  A little brother totally gets in the way of a two-year-old's play.  Still, I felt like I was constantly reprimanding, disciplining, and time-out-ing. The vigilance was exhausting.  After the really long days, I would say to my husband, "I can't wait until Noah can hold his own ground and fight back!"

This is where you, Mr. Newton, come in.  Now, at the ages of one-and-a-half and two-and-a- half, for every ten minutes of play, the equal and opposite reaction is ten minutes of fighting.  In fact, it has become so predictable, I was able to sit back and take a picture just the other day:


January 2014
Noah and Miri fighting because Noah is the "Destroyer," as Miri has nicknamed him

My husband and I love it.  The playing, mostly, but in all honesty, we do find humor in the fighting.  Noah can hold his own now, so, with close observance, I often let them "duke it out."  I know many parents don't subscribe to this philosophy, but I feel that it is equally natural for siblings to both play and fight, so we ought to provide them with a safe environment in which they can resolve their conflict.  Now, don't get me wrong, they often can't resolve their conflict on their own, so we definitely step in to coach (or discipline) them... just not right away.

As we continue to watch their sibling dynamic develop, we get glimpses of their unique bond: they are teammates, competitors, adventurers, companions, explorers, and partners in crime.  "Yamo" has already predicted the mischief to come once Mommy is distracted with New Baby.

So, what's the opposite reaction of ten minutes of mischief?  Ten minutes of cleaning?...

Huntington Gardens, August 2012
(I just found this -- looks like genuine sibling affection.  Love it.)