“Go The F**k to Sleep" is brilliantly funny, sad, and also a little boring

Anyone who hasn’t encountered the insanely funny, bestselling mock-children’s book “Go The F**k to Sleep” by Adam Mansbach must be hibernating. Movie rights have been sold, big-name audio versions released, and the buzz keeps on growing.

Because I write about kids' sleep issues, quite a few people have asked me what I think about the book. The answer? I’m on the fence.

On one hand, the book is pitch-perfect and side-splittingly funny. It hits the nail on the head. I find the illustrations by Ricardo Cortés particularly apt.

(Sidenote: I do find it interesting that in mid-2011, we’re still so shocked and titillated by the F-word. In a children’s book! Gracious, me! If you take away the F-word, the book is still clever, but it loses a great deal of its shock value. “Go the Fudge to Sleep” doesn’t have quite the same ring, does it?)

I’m not shocked by the book (not even by the F-word. Get this—I’ve heard it before!) I don’t think the book’s tone skims uncomfortably close to child abuse, like the author of this CNN op-ed. I get the joke. The book resonates with me, and with other parents, because the feelings it parodies are so universal.

When I read the book, I respond primarily to its humor. It’s meant to be funny, and it is.

But after my funny bone has been tickled, I’m left feeling…sad.

Sad, because the frustration that the book captures so well is something I recognize vividly in parents I’ve advised about their kids’ sleep problems. Although the book is funny, the situation it illustrates is not. Many, many parents are in that horrible place. The place where their kids just won’t sleep and they haven’t a clue what to do next.

These people have had their lives ruined by sleep deprivation. Their marriages and jobs suffer. They don’t enjoy parenting, and their kids know it. It’s an incredibly rotten situation that far too many good parents find themselves in.

It’s great to laugh at a crappy situation, but after you’re done laughing, the crappy situation is still there.

So there you have it. For me, the book is bizarrely funny and achingly sad. When I read “Go the F**k to Sleep,” I think of all of the good, conscientious, caring parents I know who want—need—their kids to sleep, who are slowly having the life sucked out of them, night by sleepless night. And that makes it hard for me to enjoy the book, however hilarious and insightful it may be.

While hearing the title repeated endlessly has given me the tiniest bit of F-word fatigue—who would have guessed that the F-word could actually get boring?—it's still darn funny. If you need a good laugh about the often-unfunny topic that is children's sleep, pick it up. I can near-guarantee that you’ll crack a smile, if you don’t crack up. And, when you’re ready to help your child sleep, please check out my new e-book on the topic: “Ready, Set, Sleep: 50 Ways to Help Your Child Sleep, So You Can Sleep Too.” You’ll be glad you did.

(P.S. Is anyone else super-curious about what Fox 2000 is going to do with the movie rights to the book? Should be interesting!)

Zen and the Art of Daddy Day Care

During the summer, I’m one lucky gal. My teacher hubby is at home most days, so we swap childcare duties and work time as needed. His parenting style is different from mine: he scolds less, plays more, and isn’t nearly as productive (and yes, that is a good thing!). I’m definitely learning a thing or two from him. Here are a few pieces of daddy parenting wisdom, courtesy of my husband.

Put Your Feet Up, Already

Chasing after a four-year-old and a one-year-old all day is no easy feat; sometimes it’s downright exhausting. Instead of complaining about how tiring it is (like I would do), he does something more practical: he takes a break when he needs one. He doesn’t neglect the kids, but he does zone out in front of ESPN for 10 minutes when he needs a breather. And get this: the kids survive. They usually take a cue from him and slow down too, snuggling up to him on the sofa or grabbing a book and reading. The result is a happier, less harried parent and kids who appreciate the importance of a well-deserved break.

The Joy of Single-Tasking

On my days with the kids, I’m a multi-tasking whiz. Often, I’ll start the laundry while they watch Sesame Street, fold clothes while they play, answer emails while their pasta boils, and wipe down the counters while they eat lunch. On my husband’s days with the kids, he specializes in single-tasking: he just spends time with them. At the day’s end, there may be unfolded laundry on the floor and dirty dishes in the sink, but the kids are happy and centered.

It’s OK to Stay Home

Like many stay at home moms, I’m rarely at home during the day. I go a little stir-crazy starting at my four walls, so I plan activities and playdates to get us out of the house. This also lets me squeeze in errands so I can feel marginally productive (see above re: multitasking). But Steve doesn’t share my affinity for the carpool lane. Under his watch, the kids have rediscovered the joy of their own backyard. He pulls weeds while Bianca catches butterflies and studies spiders and Mia digs happily in the sandbox. Everybody’s happy, and we save gas and hassle. Steve for the win!

Soon, summer will end and we'll be back to full-time mommy care, complete with multitasking and schlepping around town. I know I'll be a refreshed and ready to get back to our regular routine--and just maybe, a little less harried and a little more relaxed, thanks to my lessons from Dad's Daycare Academy.

Messy face, dirty shirt, laundry basket on the floor: hallmarks of daddy day care (but doesn't she look happy?).

Bianca's Vacation: A Short Interview

Sorry I've been MIA--we're shaking the sand out of our ears after a week and a half in Maui. It's our first trip to Hawaii with the kids (third trip there overall). It was everything Hawaii should be: relaxing, invigorating, and sweet-smelling. They say time slows down in Hawaii, but our time there went way too fast.

Since it's probably our first big family vacation that B will remember, I wanted to get her take on it. Easier said than done. (I'm a pretty experienced interviewer thanks to my article writing and corporate writing work, but she was a tough nut to crack. A very cute nut. But a tough one.)

So, here they are: Bianca's Vacation Memories (as told to her mom)

What was the best part of vacation?

The airplane.

The airplane? Really? Not the glass-bottom boat or the ocean center? Why the airplane?

Because we were up really high and we got lots of treats. I kind of felt scared, but I didn’t tell you. Because I felt shy.

Did you see lots of turtles in Hawaii?

Yes. We saw turtles every day.

What were their names?

They didn’t really have names. But they did have mommies, and their mommies had big, fat heads.

OK. Did you have fun at mommy and daddy’s wedding ceremony? (Actually, our 10-year vow-renewal, but that whole concept was a little complex for a 4-year-old.)

Yes. I wore a pretty dress, and so did you.

I’m glad you had fun. But why were you crying?

I was crying because I wanted you to hold me while you got married.

Oh. I didn’t know that. I’m sorry, honey.

That’s OK.

Do you want to go back to Hawaii when you’re bigger?

Yes. When Mia is a little bigger, too.

Did we eat lots of good food in Hawaii? What was your favorite? The pineapples, mangoes, or the coconut ice cream?

The spaghetti. (Note: this was a meal I made back at the condo, and something we have all the time at home. Go figure.)

Anything else you remember about our vacation?

Um. Mama, can you stop talking to me? I’m trying to watch Charlie and Lola.

And there you have it! She was a great traveler, and I can't wait to take the kids back in a few years. (Someone on the airplane back to Seattle was complaining about how difficult it was to travel and fly with a three-year-old and a six-year-old. From where I was sitting, holding my thrashing 19-month-old and trying to keep her from smearing cookie crumbs on the bald spot of the guy in front of me, those ages seemed pretty ideal. I cannot WAIT to travel with a three-year-old and a six-year-old!)

Here's a link to our vow renewal photos by Karma Hill (Chi Omega sorority sister and pro photographer extraordinaire).

Miss Independent

At 19 months, Mia has decided that she's old enough to handle her own grooming, thank you very much. And most other aspects of her care, too.

These are the tasks she's ready to take over. My interference in any of these areas will not be tolerated.

• Fingernail cutting and toenail cutting (as shown in this photo).
• Deciding when and if to use her highchair. And climbing into and out of it at will.
• Hairbrushing and the affixing of barrettes.
• Clothing selection and dressing (as evidenced by her dress-on-dress combo, here.)
• Face-wiping.
• Tooth-brushing.
• Dispensing of "bitees" (vitamins).
• Feeding the cats.
• Folding clothes.
• Freeing herself from the horrible confinement of her diaper.
• Reading bedtime stories.
• Turning lights on and off (even--especially--when this means perching precariously on top of something to reach the switch).
• Zipping and unzipping of jackets.
  

She would also like to handle all incoming and outgoing cell phone calls, faxing, putting stamps on letters, and writing with pens. Oh, and she doesn't need baths anymore. Those are for babies, mom. Sheesh.

Next, she'll be asking to drive and wear heels. Sigh. They grow up so fast.

The Fearsome Fours

I’ve heard new moms quip that “three is the new two”—and it’s true, three-year-olds can dish out tantrums and power struggles that make the twos look positively angelic by comparison. But really, from my standpoint, the threes have nothing on the fours. The whining, the back talk, the sulking! So I’d like to propose an amendment to the saying du jour: I think four is really the new two.

What makes four so tough, I think, is that they’re really like little teenagers. Some parts of their development haven’t caught up with others. Their little minds seem to go non-stop and they spit out questions with alarming speed. They have overwhelming feelings and opinions that they can’t always articulate. And they’re increasingly conscious of the big, unfair, sometimes scary world they live in.

At four-and-a-half, Bianca is acutely aware of HER own needs, wants, and feelings, but she hasn’t yet learned to appreciate the feelings of others. It’s exhausting—some days, it seems like all we do is discipline, guide, redirect, comfort, reason, explain, answer, and repeat. Over and over again.

On the upside, four-year-olds can be insanely endearing. B makes tents for her sister. She treats the cats like her babies. She can help make dinner and clear her plate from the table afterward. She’s 100 % responsible for dressing herself and she usually does an amazing, if colorful, job. (I’ve been told she’s a “fashion icon.” She doesn’t get it from me!) Her understanding of the physical world is impressive, but still naïve enough to be adorable. Case in point: the other day she said, “Mom, please unbutton my dress. But don’t unbutton my belly button.”

So we’re halfway through the fearsome fours. I’ve heard five is better—is that when empathy arrives? Anyone have tips for dealing with this super-adorable, super-trying age?

B's had a big case of birthday fever, so I made her a cake for her half birthday this week.

Mia: our four-year-old in training.

Gardening With a 4-year-old: Dream vs. Reality

When we started house shopping last spring, I wasn’t looking for a gigantic yard—a.k.a. a large black hole for time, energy, and extra dollars. Been there, done that. But somehow, a big yard found us. Slowly but surely, the raised beds and mature trees began to cast a spell on me. It WAS sort of idyllic. If you squinted, it was almost lush (courtesy of moss and dandelions, but still). Before long, gardening dreams started to blossom.

I was especially excited about sharing the experience with my preschooler. She’ll learn about science! The miracle of life! She’ll collect colorful, wholesome farm-to-fork memories and delight her future children with tales of picking homegrown beans in the backyard. Perhaps she might even be persuaded to eat a bean or two (since she watched them grow and all).

Fast forward to this spring, when our planting-day experience went something like this:

Me: “OK, here are the rows, now let’s put the seeds in one by one…wait, not the entire packet…wait, which packet was that? WHICH one? Honey, don’t tear the packet, we need to save it. PLEASE, don’t get it wet! Wait, maybe I can still get them out, hold on.”

Her: “Look, mommy, I’m raking them!”

Me: “Time to go inside.”

And that was it. Now, to show for my trouble, I have a bunch of brave little seedlings growing in a mangled clump. If they make it, I might get to find out what they are.

Plus, she likes to pluck any blooms that open “to make food for the plants.” Nice sentiment, but the result is a barren garden with dead, wilting flowers dotting the dirt.

I still have gardening dreams. They’re just on hold until she’s 6 or 7.

The seedlings. I think they're carrots, but honestly, who really knows. And why is my garden filled with rocks?

At least I have lilacs to make me happy!