Challenges

Pedal Bikes and Responsibility

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 2 Comments

Pedal Bikes and Responsibility. Moving from a balance bike to a pedal bike is a big jump. Was my four-year-old ready for it? (Photo: A kid riding down a sidewalk on a balance bike.)

“Where are you going?” I yelled at Sprout across the playground as he zipped around on his balance bike. “I told you not go back there!” My words echoed off of the wall of the building that my son just disappeared behind. My face dropped into a frown as I waited for him to emerge from the other side. When he came around, I walked up to him and said, “You are not using your bike for the rest of the day.” Of course, he broke down wailing.

Another day, Sprout wheeled his bike down the sidewalk near our house, feet flying. But this time, he dragged his sneakers along the pavement when I yelled, “Stop!” Coming to a halt, he waited for Little Bird and I to catch up, despite his fidgeting hands showing his desire to go, go, go! As soon as we reached him, he was off again, speeding ahead but listening for my call.

As I decided whether or not to buy a pedal bike for his fourth birthday, I thought about what side I should weigh more heavily. Was he responsible enough for this present or not?

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Guest Post at Her View from Home: Teaching My Kids Grit

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / Leave a comment

No one wants failure. Most of the time, it kind of sucks. But it is a fact of life. And one that kids need to deal with on a regular basis. They can – and will – learn about it on their own. But they can also learn about it from us as their parents.

I recently wrote about how I’m using my own failures to teach my kids how to deal with theirs at my first post for Her View from Home, Teaching My Kids Grit by Modeling How to Fail Well.

Here’s the first paragraph:

Riding to my first community bike ride of the season, I rejoiced. The blue skies and perfect temperature surely meant plenty of families would show up. But as I waited at the community center with my young son, my hopes faded. A biker riding up the parking lot piqued my attention before I realized it was one of the other volunteers. Not a single family showed up to my family bike ride. Instead, my kid, my two fellow volunteers and I pedaled over to the ice cream shop anyway.

Read the rest at Her View from Home! 

Turning Four: Looking Back on Parenting a Three-Year-Old

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Turning Four: Looking Back on Parenting a Three-Year-Old; From the emotional outbursts of threenagers to the joys of independence, three is a tough but awesome age for kids and parents alike. (Photo: Boy riding away on a balance bike on a sidewalk.)

A few Saturdays ago, Sprout accompanied me on my community bike ride, acting as an enthusiastic second and playing readily with other kids on the playground. The next day, he broke down screaming three separate times when we were celebrating an early Fathers’ Day brunch with my parents and in-laws. I actually picked him up and left the restaurant so he could calm down, something I almost never have to do. This past year with a three-year-old has been full of contradictions: happy/sad, stable/falling apart, independent/clingy. With him on the cusp between being a toddler and school-aged kid, we felt the full-brunt of the threenager phase. With his birthday just past, I’m looking back at the ups and downs of living with a three-year-old.

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My Little Explorer

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 1 Comment

My Little Explorer / We'll Eat You Up, We Love You So; photo of two boys climbing a playground rock wall

Sitting at the top of our concrete stairs, Little Bird smiles down at me. Even though he doesn’t talk yet, his big grin says, “Look at me, Mama! Isn’t this awesome?” Used to my daredevil of a baby, I shake my head, smile back and hustle up the stairs before he gets the idea to climb down on his own.

I suppose it’s appropriate that one of my kids is a risk-taker. After all, exploration and adventure are some of my big values, in whatever form they come. My family stories overflow with risk, from biking around the world to immigrating to America. And I myself was a kid who never hesitated to put anything in my mouth and embraced the wildness of the outdoors. But all of that doesn’t make it any easier on my mental health.

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Learning to Be Away from My Children

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Text: "Learning to Be Away from My Children / We'll Eat You Up, We Love You So" Photo: Airplane wing overlapping with a sunset.

Bing! The chime on my phone rings, indicating a new message. It’s a video from Chris, reaching across the country to me while I’m on a work trip in New Mexico. It starts focusing on Sprout, being a lump on the couch with his red velour blanket over his head. The camera then swerves to Little Bird, who is walking towards it. Walking! When the hell did that happen? At that moment, I realized just how long a week away is when you have young children.

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What I Told My Three Year Old About Death

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 2 Comments

What I Told My Three Year Old About Death (Photo: Gravestones in grass at sunset)

As I peered up between my legs at my ob-gyn, I learned that I couldn’t attend my grandmother’s funeral.

“You’re four centimeters dilated,” she told me.

“So I shouldn’t go to New Jersey on Monday then?” I asked.

“You probably shouldn’t travel out of state,” she responded.

She was right. My younger son was born that afternoon. Between not attending the funeral and the chaos of a new baby, I never told my older son about my grandmother’s death. He had only met her once, briefly, so it would have met little to him anyway.

But the whole thing made me realize how urgent it was to talk to him about death. That’s in part because my other grandmother is getting up in years. My older son (nicknamed Sprout) has met “Grammy” several times and knows her well enough. While her passing may be years away, there’s no way to know. Needless to say, I didn’t want finding out about her death to be his introduction to the topic.

But I had no idea where to start.

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Being Present in the Dark

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 2 Comments

being-present-in-the-dark

The room is dark and my eyelids flutter. My baby, who is in my arms, squirms and calls out, shrieking, then whimpering. I startle awake and gaze down at him, taking in his round cheeks and elfin nose. His eyes are closed, but out of exhaustion, not relaxation. Cries of pain and discomfort slip from his mouth, no matter how much I hug or rock him. His teeth are coming in and even medicine isn’t quite enough.

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My Three-Year-Old is Already Too Clever For Me

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 5 Comments

My Three Year Old is Already Too Clever For Me (Photo: Young white boy standing on a street holding a stuffed frog on his head)

“What’s that?” my son said, pointing into the bathroom. As I looked to see what he was talking about, he ran in the opposite direction. At that moment, I realized that my son, at the tender age of three, had pulled one of the oldest tricks in the book.

I’m not the type of parent to brag about my child being “gifted.” But I do suspect that with a mom who often thought she was smarter-than-thou as a child (yes, me) and a father who’s an unrepentant wiseass, my older son (nicknamed Sprout) is already more clever than I am. Here are just a few of the ways:

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Parenting Fail: When I Don’t Like My Kid Very Much

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 10 Comments
parenting-fail_-when-i-dont-like-my-kid-very-much

I am not the mom just standing behind the kid thinking, “Oh that’s rather mean. Lalalala.”

There are times I simply don’t like my three-year-old.

Fellow parents of three-year-olds may be gasping in mock surprise.

However, I really thought I could avoid this feeling. Child psychologists say that toddlers can tap into some of our deepest insecurities. Or as Chris jauntily sang to me the other day, “Toddlers are emotionally abusive.”

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The Biggest Challenge of Moving from One Kid to Two

/ Shannon Brescher Shea / 9 Comments

The Hardest Challenge of Moving from One Kid to Two (Photo: A white three-year-old boy leaning over a white baby lying on the floor.)

“Stop poking your brother in the head. He’s eating,” I said through gritted teeth. It was the third time in a row I had said it. Clearly, my three-year-old was trying to get my attention. But I simply didn’t have it to give. I was in the middle of nursing his younger brother. The most I could provide him was my ears to listen and voice to speak, not the mama lap or arms he so desired.

Needless to say, that wasn’t enough.

That was only one of many, many times I’ve felt terribly split between my children.

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