Hard to imagine with all the talk of Rugrat Reprieve and the need for vacations, sex, and living a full life, kids notwithstanding, I would have fallen into such a boring old parenting trap, but I did.

My kids do not sleep well.

I’ve tried everything: regular night-time routines, punishment, exhortation, guilt-trips, yelling, begging, bedtime guardian, even melatonin… and nothing ever worked for long.

Fast forward a few years and now we find 6 1/2 year old twins who won’t go to sleep until 10pm or later and wake me up at night for bad dreams, water, and concerns about the international situation.. or whatever.

In short, life as a parent at night completely sucks. 24/7 suckage.

Sleep deprivation may be amusing as a 20-something who stays too late listening to a band play and mooning over the cute guitarist, but as a 40 year old anything less than 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep is simply untenable.

I was sharing my ongoing dilemma with my younger brother, and he gently suggested that I might want to start trying to have limits with them at night.

Huh?

“You know, rules they have to follow if they want to sleep with their door open,” he calmly explains.

Then, “If they don’t quiet down, then you tell them you’ll shut and lock their door. They’re old enough now, they know you love them, they are secure, and what they need is sleep.”

I pondered what he said, girded my loins, breathed deeply into my intestinal fortitude and sat down with the girls earlier this week and had a talk: I explained that they could no longer wake me up at night, that they need to sleep in their own beds, without playing, making noise, or complaining of the various imaginary concerns they usually sing to me about. I explained that I want them to sleep because I love them and I love myself and that if they want me to be a loving mother, I need sleep.

Rather than have fits, or argue, or otherwise disagree, I was floored when they simply nodded, asked me to repeat the consequences, and peacefully slipped into dreamland with the least amount of fuss we’ve had around these parts in years.

I was stunned.

Limits, it seems, were all that was missing over in this house of mine. Go figure.

I used to drink. A lot. Too much, really, for someone with my family history and proclivity for creating chaos and drama. So I stopped. About 8 months ago. And life has gotten much better…. but that’s a story for another time.

Like many imperfect parents, I’m more or less a very good parent on most days… but this requires a certain amount of concentrated effort and a whole lot of help. I used to get help in a bottle, and now I get help from a variety of sources.

But I still need and want a vice.. something that serves no other purpose than pleasure and rebellion. A way to cut loose and be onesself without getting mistaken for a “ma’am” or a “sir”… or someone who is, say, turning 40.

I like to joke about starting a respite center for mothers staffed with hot Italian boys (or girls, depending on your preferences).. and I’m only sort of joking. Seriously, it’s so very easy to take parenting too farging seriously these days.

But the thing is, I miss having a vice. I don’t want anything life or health or marriage threatening, just something to spice things up and remind me of the wild girl I used to be long long ago.

So when my friend told me of her new “thing” for nicotine-free cigarettes (doesn’t that sound like “no strings attached” sex?? nice idea but highly unlikely?), I thought I’d give them a try.

I’ll report back soon.. but until then.. any vices you’d recommend?

Recently, I’ve been first in line to criticize hip parenting, and the propensity for parentographers to take undue pride in swearing, drinking, cynicism, and ingratitude to the fertility gods. In her rant against parenting memoirs like Neal Pollack’s Alternadad, Lisa Carver captures the essence of the problem beautifully:

As a generation (X), what we know for sure is how to be sarcastic and irreverent. Parenthood is bigger than that. It inspires thankfulness, humility, rage,…wonder and a quiet sense of sacredness.

Parenthood is indeed bigger than the swearing, drinking, and the incipient hostility with which we approach all authority and institutions (how many divorces did we personally witness before age 20?). And nothing brings home the painful insufficiency of cynical disbelief more than having children, that series of moments requiring an absolutely strong infrastructure of hope, faith, and trust.

But after a little over a month writing for Babble’s Stoller Derby I now recognize that while hip/trendy/cynical parenting for its own sake is just silly, the posing and posturing has its own validity and purpose. I’m not talking about money and cool baby bags, I still think that stuff is gruelingly dull.

I mean those stands we take to protect ourselves from the hugely scary task of parenting. Sometimes the armor of analysis and trash talk is the only thing keeping me from shrinking from the absolutely terrifying weight of my love for my children. For some of us, having children is like learning about the day of one’s death. You know there is an end to this life (they leave home), yet you cannot let it stop you from digging in and feeling the horrible love and knowing that these people that you cherish will be the people who will eventually (slowly) break your heart. And so. You quietly whisper a prayer and and say “Amen.” So be it. So be it.

As a recent contributor to Nerve.com’s new parenting blog “Stroller Derby” I’ve been charged with reporting on recent events and developments with a hip and clever twist. I’m as keen on swearing as the next gal, and I find jokes about the number of drinks required to survive a snow day quite amusing.

But oh me oh my, even I am growing weary of my own cynicism. It is not Babble’s fault that I’m running out of steam. Twice daily blogging is exhausting, even if it is good for one’s Google ranking.

My initial intent, when I started writing CrankMama less than a year ago, was to give voice to what I felt was an underrepresented segment of the mothering world: the unpretty, non-knitting, domestically challenged working babes who were not always fascinated by the travails of the family bed or the joys of teaching their children Spanish before age two.

But I’m afraid I’ve merely swapped one dogma for another. Being hip and trendy is just as limited and defining as any religion, or quilting bee, or PTA meeting ever was. And maybe moreso because those of us circling around in this group are often laboring under the isolation and cynicism of our choices.

And missing the lovely beauty of our sweet elves as they grab at our legs and beg us away from our computers.

**WARNING: The following is intended as satire. I do not recommend sex education for toddlers or preschoolers, or really anyone under about 15 for that matter**

According to a recent study by Columbia University researchers, declines in teen pregnancy are linked to use of contraception, rather than abstinence among teenagers. While this obviously comes as a blow to the Bush Administration, I think it???‚¬?„?s a boon to those of us who believe that the more children know about sex, the earlier they know it, the better. While many would be reticent to admit it, most parents secretly believe sex and contraceptive education should begin as early as 6 weeks of age.

If you???‚¬?„?re anything like me, you frequently wrack your brains trying explain sex, reproduction and the importance of epidurals during childbirth to your young toddlers.

Luckily, there???‚¬?„?s now a resource for parents like us: Amamanta (olde englishe for ???‚¬?“look at my hoochie???‚¬??) sells educational dolls that are anatomically correct and ethnically diverse. At Amamanta the facts of life are presented with an unabashed under the microscope clarity and plainness that will leave your children stunned with the power of their new knowledge.
If your kids are anything like mine, they frequently pepper you with annoying sex related questions like, ???‚¬?“Mommy, what are orgasms????‚¬?? and ???‚¬?“Mommy, why are women so often unsatisfied sexually????‚¬??

It???‚¬?„?s exhausting.

With Amamanta, you can finally put your mind at ease. As an added bonus, these dolls can help get you around other knotty existential and philosophical questions, especially those asked during those precociously preoccupied with sex preschool years.

Q: ???‚¬?“Mommy, does it hurt when a baby is born????‚¬??

A: ???‚¬?“No darling, not really.???‚¬??

Q: ???‚¬?“Mommy, does size matter????‚¬??

A: ???‚¬?“In this case, dear, yes it does.???‚¬??

Q: ???‚¬?“Mommy, when grandma and grandpa get old and die, what will happen to them????‚¬??

A: ???‚¬?“That depends. That really depends.???‚¬??

And remember, ???‚¬?“These cuddly cloth dolls are great for playtime and can also be used as sex education props when explaining the human reproductive cycle to boys and girls ages 3 to 9???‚¬?? [emphasis added].