There has been an uproar over this article that appeared in the Wall Street Journal. Amy Chua, a Yale law professor and mother, declared that Chinese parenting produces more successful and thus happy children. I have read the article and watched several interviews of Mrs. Chua. Frankly, much of her methods are deplorable and abusive to me. The article was simply a pat on the back for what Mrs. Chua has created.
I don't fault Chua for her methods, for she is simply reenacting the same life in which she was reared. Right or wrong, unless you have been exposed to other methods, other theories of parenting, you will repeat history. I know there are tactics I use that were used on me - the good, the bad and the ugly. Her parenting is steeped deeply in the Chinese culture which believes success equals money which equals happiness.
I agree with Chua on a one point, however. Rewarding mediocrity. American society coughs up awards for every event in our children's lives. There are awards for being potty-trained (really, this should go to the parents), being nice, having the cleanest desk, always being on time, being neat, sharing, etc. These traits that every child should have, right? More importantly, are these attributes that are awarded when they are adults? No. They are expected.
On the soccer field, there are kids who play every game with skill and agility, while others languish around picking flowers and stare off in space. Yet, they are awarded the same medal at the end of the season. What does this teach a child? Did the medal propel the child who has no interest in soccer to become better the next season? No, because the award is the same whether he put in a lot of effort or not.
Ethan has been begging to have texting on his ipod. Jay and I feel this is a privilege that he needs to earn. We told him that he could get it if he made all As on his report card. Unfortunately, his first report card came home with one B that was one point away from an A. I had several parents tell me I should give it to him anyway because he was so close and tried his best. We did not cave. A deal was a deal and he did not hold up his end of the bargain. He did well, no doubt, but he could have studied a bit more, and been a little more careful on his work.
This weekend at a swim meet, Sadie was very inconsistent in the pool. She was not rewarded with new time achievements and appeared to be disappointed with her results. She said, "I tried my hardest," but I did not allow her to get away with this well-worn phrase. She didn't do her best. She was not focused and she did not swim the techniques she has been taught all year. She simply dove in the pool and tried to swim fast using whatever means necessary. I did not award her with comfort and accolades for swimming slower than she did at the previous meet. Unlike Chua, however, I did not punish my child for the results either. She has to live with her disappointment and channel that into bettering herself at the next meet.
This only scratches the surfaces regarding our culture's view on parenting. It is largely defined by well-meaning psychologists and helicopter-style parenting by those that continue insert themselves into their children's lives in order for them to never meet failure face to face. Not exactly preparing them for adulthood, now is it?
However, the purpose of this blog entry was to point to what really made my heart sink when reading this article and listening to subsequent interviews: the complete oblivion to God and his incredible doling out of grace.
The only way I have not had a complete collapse as a mother is knowing that God's grace is sufficient to cover my mistakes. It is also sufficient to cover my kids' mistakes as well. I have never held back the reality of my sin and failures to my kids. I apologize and ask their forgiveness when I have lashed out in anger or exhibited pride.
It has been a blessing to show my kids that life is full of struggles and suffering. God does not expect them to face these challenges alone. It is through these struggles that we learn and deepen our dependence on God. For example, I often tell Sadie that she cannot control her impulsivity all on her own. God sent the Holy Spirit to help her, to provide that strength. Seeing your kids confidence soar when they know that the God of the universe, who knows each star and each grain of sand and each hair on their head, is helping them achieve and be all He wants them to be, is unmatched.
I think I can sum up my Christian Mom's view as this: I want my kids to be the best God created them to be, always giving Him their best because of what gifts He has given them, and calling on Him in times of weakness and struggle.
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Tuesday, April 06, 2010
Video Enjoyment of Another Parent's Oops!
This is so hilarious to me, only because this is being a parent. An innocent little statement of fact can totally temporarily destroy your child. The attempts of the parents to try to "make it all better" followed by the Dad's last statement is just classic.
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
Sick Sadie
My family is healthy. We eat decently, everyone works out (except for me) and I am not a freakazoid about germs. While I think it is pertinent to wash hands, I don't spaz out about dirtiness in general, believing that it helps build the immune system, etc. For the past several years the only visits we would have to the doctor were for well-checks. The only exception would be one ear infection a year for Sadie.
However, since November, the entire picture above has slowly disintegrated. Not the good eating habits and working out, but the "my family is healthy" statement. To be very specific, Sadie continually says, "Mom, I don't feel well." This declaration is usually followed-up by one of the following, "My head hurts. My stomach hurts. My throat hurts. My ear hurts."
I do not have the gift of mercy. Unless my child is bleeding, vomiting or having a fever, I tell them I am sorry and deal with it. Therefore, much of the time I ignore her statements until I have had enough of them and finally take her to the doctor's more out of frustration than concern. We have been to the doctor's office monthly since November.
This last trip did not yield any diagnosis except that her body is just run down. Lots of different viruses have been floating around - some with fevers, some without. The slight chance of mono was mentioned by the doctor, but even I could deduce that was not likely. The child had just completed 9 swim events - all strokes in 50s and 100s, plus the 100 IM without a complete collapse which I would have expected had she been dealing with mono.
I have tracked when and under what circumstances she makes these statements. They do not seem to be related to school, eating, sleeping, swimming. Nothing. In fact, the more I sensed her health spiraling downward, the more I clamped down on unhealthy snacks and pushed for earlier bedtime. Didn't work.
On Sunday night Sadie, once again, began her thrice weekly mantra, "Mom, I don't feel well." I brushed it off, as she had a swim meet this past weekend. A tired body might interpreted as sickness in her mind. Monday morning, the same phrase was repeated and I heard it again Monday after school. I just kept moving her along her normal routine of the day. Basically, I ignored her.
We ended up at swim practice. She got right into the pool and appeared quite focused. I went to sit outside where I could see, but not really hear what was going on in practice. I noticed she really wasn't fully performing what was being asked of her. Her kicks were quite pathetic and she lagged behind the other swimmers. About a 45 minutes into practice, I saw her sitting on the side of the pool with her towel around her. She started to lay down. I could feel my ire rising. I am not paying for her to interchange putting forth effort and slacking whenever she just feels like it.
She collected her things and walked outside to where I was sitting. I took her to the side and asked her what was going on. Her usual reply, "Mom, I don't feel well." I sadly decided to parent ala Jim Pierce and said the following, "Sadie, I have had enough of this constant 'I don't feel well mess.' Do you want to be #1 this summer?" She said, "Yes." I said, "Then get back in that pool and work hard. You are at one level and Coach Rob is trying to take you to the next level. It might be hard, but it is time to get your heiny in that pool and work. Now go ... and I don't want to hear anything else out of you." With that she walked back to the pool and according to her coach, worked hard the remaining time.
On the way home, I felt pretty darn good about my parenting. I held my ground. I stated my case and it appeared to be well-received. I deserved a little pat on the back.
At 7:15 pm, I found Sadie asleep with the dog on the dog bed. At 10:00 pm, she called me, weakly from her room asking me to help her. I walked upstairs, took one look at her and knew...she was sick. Those fiery red lips, little pea eyes and a body that felt on fire.
Yup. Chalk another great mothering moment up for me. Nice one, God. I say that without a hint of sarcasm and with complete submission. Clearly, my perspective on my 8 year old daughter, her "swimming career," and my belief that I had some control over either had grown ridiculously out of whack.
As a follow-up, I did take her to the doctor today. Everything major has been ruled out, including mono. The doctor was in agreement that all this sickness has just about been enough. A course of major antibiotics and no swimming for at least a week was the order.
However, since November, the entire picture above has slowly disintegrated. Not the good eating habits and working out, but the "my family is healthy" statement. To be very specific, Sadie continually says, "Mom, I don't feel well." This declaration is usually followed-up by one of the following, "My head hurts. My stomach hurts. My throat hurts. My ear hurts."
I do not have the gift of mercy. Unless my child is bleeding, vomiting or having a fever, I tell them I am sorry and deal with it. Therefore, much of the time I ignore her statements until I have had enough of them and finally take her to the doctor's more out of frustration than concern. We have been to the doctor's office monthly since November.
This last trip did not yield any diagnosis except that her body is just run down. Lots of different viruses have been floating around - some with fevers, some without. The slight chance of mono was mentioned by the doctor, but even I could deduce that was not likely. The child had just completed 9 swim events - all strokes in 50s and 100s, plus the 100 IM without a complete collapse which I would have expected had she been dealing with mono.
I have tracked when and under what circumstances she makes these statements. They do not seem to be related to school, eating, sleeping, swimming. Nothing. In fact, the more I sensed her health spiraling downward, the more I clamped down on unhealthy snacks and pushed for earlier bedtime. Didn't work.
On Sunday night Sadie, once again, began her thrice weekly mantra, "Mom, I don't feel well." I brushed it off, as she had a swim meet this past weekend. A tired body might interpreted as sickness in her mind. Monday morning, the same phrase was repeated and I heard it again Monday after school. I just kept moving her along her normal routine of the day. Basically, I ignored her.
We ended up at swim practice. She got right into the pool and appeared quite focused. I went to sit outside where I could see, but not really hear what was going on in practice. I noticed she really wasn't fully performing what was being asked of her. Her kicks were quite pathetic and she lagged behind the other swimmers. About a 45 minutes into practice, I saw her sitting on the side of the pool with her towel around her. She started to lay down. I could feel my ire rising. I am not paying for her to interchange putting forth effort and slacking whenever she just feels like it.
She collected her things and walked outside to where I was sitting. I took her to the side and asked her what was going on. Her usual reply, "Mom, I don't feel well." I sadly decided to parent ala Jim Pierce and said the following, "Sadie, I have had enough of this constant 'I don't feel well mess.' Do you want to be #1 this summer?" She said, "Yes." I said, "Then get back in that pool and work hard. You are at one level and Coach Rob is trying to take you to the next level. It might be hard, but it is time to get your heiny in that pool and work. Now go ... and I don't want to hear anything else out of you." With that she walked back to the pool and according to her coach, worked hard the remaining time.
On the way home, I felt pretty darn good about my parenting. I held my ground. I stated my case and it appeared to be well-received. I deserved a little pat on the back.
At 7:15 pm, I found Sadie asleep with the dog on the dog bed. At 10:00 pm, she called me, weakly from her room asking me to help her. I walked upstairs, took one look at her and knew...she was sick. Those fiery red lips, little pea eyes and a body that felt on fire.
Yup. Chalk another great mothering moment up for me. Nice one, God. I say that without a hint of sarcasm and with complete submission. Clearly, my perspective on my 8 year old daughter, her "swimming career," and my belief that I had some control over either had grown ridiculously out of whack.
As a follow-up, I did take her to the doctor today. Everything major has been ruled out, including mono. The doctor was in agreement that all this sickness has just about been enough. A course of major antibiotics and no swimming for at least a week was the order.
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
Small Victories
I think parenting is all about living for the small victories. Let's face it, our kids are never going to behave the way we would prefer all the time. So, I believe God throws us these bones to keep us going in this predictably failing pursuit.
Small Victory #1: Yesterday, I wrote about my precious little girl's "shout out" to me at the door of our carpoolers. I had fully planned an "intense" discussion about this lovely sign of respect after she returned from school. Swim practice prevented that immediate discussion, which was a God designed delay. Upon returning home, kids were scattered in all directions putting up bags, taking showers, etc. However, Sadie found me,alone, putting away some laundry and said, "Hey Mom?" "You know when I shouted at you from the car this morning? Well, I am really sorry. That was really bad of me. Will you forgive me?" Sweet Jesus, thank you for the encouragement that my child does recognize the tone of Satan when it spews forth from her mouth.
Small Victory #2: After picking up kids from school today, my precious oldest one decided that I have failed him miserably by only allowing "healthy" snacks after school. He decided to repeatedly ask me for packaged chips that are 1) only allowed for school lunches and 2) not to be asked for as an after school snack. Oh, what a terrible mother am I, I heard. Why, oh why was he sent to THIS family. Woe. Woe. Woe is him. Topping off this endearing scenario was his attempt to parent my youngest on how she never closes doors. Instructing him to take a step back from this endeavor, he refused to zip it and began to belittle her. I sent him up to his room for an attitude adjustment. A mere 10 minutes later, I heard a little quiet voice asking to come out of his room. Yes, I responded. He came barreling into my room, his face scrunched up, tears in his eyes. Quite pathetic actually. I thought, "Oh no, here we go again...those blasted chips." Instead, this is what I got, "Mommy, I am so sorry for being mean to you. I just can't do that anymore. Will you forgive me?" With that, he started sobbing. I know I had to look like I won the lottery, stunned and thrilled all at the same time.
Small victories, people. Small victories will see us through.
Small Victory #1: Yesterday, I wrote about my precious little girl's "shout out" to me at the door of our carpoolers. I had fully planned an "intense" discussion about this lovely sign of respect after she returned from school. Swim practice prevented that immediate discussion, which was a God designed delay. Upon returning home, kids were scattered in all directions putting up bags, taking showers, etc. However, Sadie found me,alone, putting away some laundry and said, "Hey Mom?" "You know when I shouted at you from the car this morning? Well, I am really sorry. That was really bad of me. Will you forgive me?" Sweet Jesus, thank you for the encouragement that my child does recognize the tone of Satan when it spews forth from her mouth.
Small Victory #2: After picking up kids from school today, my precious oldest one decided that I have failed him miserably by only allowing "healthy" snacks after school. He decided to repeatedly ask me for packaged chips that are 1) only allowed for school lunches and 2) not to be asked for as an after school snack. Oh, what a terrible mother am I, I heard. Why, oh why was he sent to THIS family. Woe. Woe. Woe is him. Topping off this endearing scenario was his attempt to parent my youngest on how she never closes doors. Instructing him to take a step back from this endeavor, he refused to zip it and began to belittle her. I sent him up to his room for an attitude adjustment. A mere 10 minutes later, I heard a little quiet voice asking to come out of his room. Yes, I responded. He came barreling into my room, his face scrunched up, tears in his eyes. Quite pathetic actually. I thought, "Oh no, here we go again...those blasted chips." Instead, this is what I got, "Mommy, I am so sorry for being mean to you. I just can't do that anymore. Will you forgive me?" With that, he started sobbing. I know I had to look like I won the lottery, stunned and thrilled all at the same time.
Small victories, people. Small victories will see us through.
Monday, March 01, 2010
A battle of self-control
Sadie, you ripped off a tiny chunk of me this morning. It is Monday morning, the beginning of a new week and already I feel a little less of a mother.
A forgotten vocabulary test is what was the catalyst. Struggling to hastily review 16 words was frustrating to you - words like accessible, imperative, effigy. You vacillated between feeling confident of your knowledge and throwing the papers across the room. Our carpoolers arrived. You had a moment of freakout as study time was over. Tears prevented you from heading out the door as you would never allow a friend to see that you had cried. I urged you on. You slowly, in defiance, walked to the door.
I watched from the closet window to make sure your transition to their car was an easy one. I watched you stand at the open car door, much longer than you should. I saw the carpool mom talking to you, turned from the driver's seat. You were not getting into the car. Your mouth was moving, but not your body.
I walked to the front door, opened it and shouted to you, "Sadie, get in the car." You turned to me, and screamed, "I AM!!!!" hurling all of the frustrations of the morning back to me. It was the pinnacle of disrespect and lack of self-control. Had I not been in a thin pair of pajamas, no shoes and yesterday's mascara hanging out under my eyes, I would have run out the door and to quote my own parents, "Jerked a knot in you."
Lord, I pray that one day your impulsivity will not cause you to lose your best friend, get you fired from your job, or worse, land in jail. Or maybe, I should be praying that one day, your impulsivity will not cause me to lose my own self-control.
A forgotten vocabulary test is what was the catalyst. Struggling to hastily review 16 words was frustrating to you - words like accessible, imperative, effigy. You vacillated between feeling confident of your knowledge and throwing the papers across the room. Our carpoolers arrived. You had a moment of freakout as study time was over. Tears prevented you from heading out the door as you would never allow a friend to see that you had cried. I urged you on. You slowly, in defiance, walked to the door.
I watched from the closet window to make sure your transition to their car was an easy one. I watched you stand at the open car door, much longer than you should. I saw the carpool mom talking to you, turned from the driver's seat. You were not getting into the car. Your mouth was moving, but not your body.
I walked to the front door, opened it and shouted to you, "Sadie, get in the car." You turned to me, and screamed, "I AM!!!!" hurling all of the frustrations of the morning back to me. It was the pinnacle of disrespect and lack of self-control. Had I not been in a thin pair of pajamas, no shoes and yesterday's mascara hanging out under my eyes, I would have run out the door and to quote my own parents, "Jerked a knot in you."
Lord, I pray that one day your impulsivity will not cause you to lose your best friend, get you fired from your job, or worse, land in jail. Or maybe, I should be praying that one day, your impulsivity will not cause me to lose my own self-control.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Amazing Feats
Sadie, who had been tucked into bed for 15 minutes, came into my bedroom holding a piece of paper. The paper was from her notepad of blue paper with little gray and white kittens on the bottom.
"Mom," she said, "I made you my grocery list." My eyes got a little wider and I said, "Ok."
She bent over to me and shared her neat little list which was numbered. My guess is that she felt the need to "go over it" with me to ensure there were no mistakes.
The list was entitled, "Sadie's grocries" (that is not my typo, nor are any following this - it is how Sadie wrote it)
1. Get pulups,
2. orange juice,
3. seedless oranges,
4. Green apples,
5. strawberrys
6. blueberrys, and
7. fabreeze for bathroom
Type A? Undoubtedly. Clear, concise, detailed and numbered. She just amazes me sometimes. It is a list that exhibits healthy eating habits and concerns about personal hygiene. I am not quite sure about #7, but at least she wants things smelling good. The vast and ever-changing worlds in which this child vacillates...so unpredictable. Guess I am going to the store tomorrow!
------
Less than a year ago, we joined the YWCA in order to spend some family time together swimming during the cold-ish NC winter months. The kids weren't what I would call even "decent" swimmers. Neither Ethan nor Sadie could swim the length of the pool doing any legal stroke, their stroke a loosely defined doggy paddle. I think, Sadie, the first time, even used a swim belt (more out of our fear than probably her need). Nevertheless, the were not secure in the water at all.
Today, after 8 months of swim team/practice, Ethan had a chance to swim with the next level of swimmers at our practice site. He swam a total of 60 laps in the pool; that is the equivalent to 1500 yards, just 10 shy of a mile. He swam sets of butterfly, breast, free and back throughout the practice. Amazing what their bodies can learn and can achieve. It was a shining moment for him, I think. His coach was really proud of his focus and desire to work hard. We have come a long, long way in a year.
-------
There have been some hard and difficult issues that one of my children has had to face at school. Children, including one of my own, have been the target of name calling, inappropriate behavior and physical interactions that are quite below acceptable. My concern is for my child, but on equal footing, my heart is tender towards the child who is the perpetrator and his parents.
My own views of child rearing have drastically changed over the last 9 years. How funny to think I actually believed I could control and force the desired behavior of my children. I know that is why God gave me the three He did - so unique in their personalities, in talents, in love languages. My job is to guide, teach, correct and love them. It is their choice whether to obey or not. Guiding is my role, the rest is left them and God. It is not a reflection of me as a person, as a parent. It is a picture of their relationship with God.
We, as adults, live exactly the same way. God guides, teaches, corrects us, all the while never wavering in His love for us. However, we turn away from Him daily, even when we know better. If we can't always have it together, why in the world do I think my children can? Sometimes I feign disbelief over some of their unfathomable choices, but really, I shouldn't. It is just their natural tendency to wander from the One that love them most.
My prayers these days are not for perfectly listening, well-behaved, obedient little robots - although wouldn't that be nice? It is for them to have their hearts tuned into God. For them to develop into the perfectly unique and spirit controlled beings that long for Him. I can see the difference in their lives, little bit by little bit. The apologies are more readily offered, initiated from within their hearts. The voice is humble and sincere. The desire to change flows from their souls.
The fighting, the lack of respect, the sassy backtalk, the whining, the blatant disobedience will never completely go away. Lessen, hopefully, but sure to cycle round again. God has called me to be a mom and at those times I cry out to Him, "Who am I?" as Moses did in Exodus. In those hours of doubt, stress, confusion, disappointment and utter defeat, I will remember God's response: "I will be with you."
"Mom," she said, "I made you my grocery list." My eyes got a little wider and I said, "Ok."
She bent over to me and shared her neat little list which was numbered. My guess is that she felt the need to "go over it" with me to ensure there were no mistakes.
The list was entitled, "Sadie's grocries" (that is not my typo, nor are any following this - it is how Sadie wrote it)
1. Get pulups,
2. orange juice,
3. seedless oranges,
4. Green apples,
5. strawberrys
6. blueberrys, and
7. fabreeze for bathroom
Type A? Undoubtedly. Clear, concise, detailed and numbered. She just amazes me sometimes. It is a list that exhibits healthy eating habits and concerns about personal hygiene. I am not quite sure about #7, but at least she wants things smelling good. The vast and ever-changing worlds in which this child vacillates...so unpredictable. Guess I am going to the store tomorrow!
------
Less than a year ago, we joined the YWCA in order to spend some family time together swimming during the cold-ish NC winter months. The kids weren't what I would call even "decent" swimmers. Neither Ethan nor Sadie could swim the length of the pool doing any legal stroke, their stroke a loosely defined doggy paddle. I think, Sadie, the first time, even used a swim belt (more out of our fear than probably her need). Nevertheless, the were not secure in the water at all.
Today, after 8 months of swim team/practice, Ethan had a chance to swim with the next level of swimmers at our practice site. He swam a total of 60 laps in the pool; that is the equivalent to 1500 yards, just 10 shy of a mile. He swam sets of butterfly, breast, free and back throughout the practice. Amazing what their bodies can learn and can achieve. It was a shining moment for him, I think. His coach was really proud of his focus and desire to work hard. We have come a long, long way in a year.
-------
There have been some hard and difficult issues that one of my children has had to face at school. Children, including one of my own, have been the target of name calling, inappropriate behavior and physical interactions that are quite below acceptable. My concern is for my child, but on equal footing, my heart is tender towards the child who is the perpetrator and his parents.
My own views of child rearing have drastically changed over the last 9 years. How funny to think I actually believed I could control and force the desired behavior of my children. I know that is why God gave me the three He did - so unique in their personalities, in talents, in love languages. My job is to guide, teach, correct and love them. It is their choice whether to obey or not. Guiding is my role, the rest is left them and God. It is not a reflection of me as a person, as a parent. It is a picture of their relationship with God.
We, as adults, live exactly the same way. God guides, teaches, corrects us, all the while never wavering in His love for us. However, we turn away from Him daily, even when we know better. If we can't always have it together, why in the world do I think my children can? Sometimes I feign disbelief over some of their unfathomable choices, but really, I shouldn't. It is just their natural tendency to wander from the One that love them most.
My prayers these days are not for perfectly listening, well-behaved, obedient little robots - although wouldn't that be nice? It is for them to have their hearts tuned into God. For them to develop into the perfectly unique and spirit controlled beings that long for Him. I can see the difference in their lives, little bit by little bit. The apologies are more readily offered, initiated from within their hearts. The voice is humble and sincere. The desire to change flows from their souls.
The fighting, the lack of respect, the sassy backtalk, the whining, the blatant disobedience will never completely go away. Lessen, hopefully, but sure to cycle round again. God has called me to be a mom and at those times I cry out to Him, "Who am I?" as Moses did in Exodus. In those hours of doubt, stress, confusion, disappointment and utter defeat, I will remember God's response: "I will be with you."
Saturday, January 09, 2010
In Search of Justice
As a mother of girls, I take some effort into procuring clothing that is properly fitting, cute, yet age appropriate and made decently enough that it can withstand the rigours of the roughness and accident-proness of daughter #1 in order to be passed down to daughter #2. I care about my son, too, but you'll soon understand why he does not need to be included in this post.
We are at a transition period with daughter #1, age 8. I learned to pick my battles with her attire early on, giving her a day here and there to make her own choices. Otherwise, we have a few standard rules that she has to obey. Thankfully, she is at a school where the main pieces of clothing are dictated to her. Yes, uniforms. Yet, I recognized over the summer that I needed to at least hear her out when she said, "You just don't know fashion, Mom."
I asked several moms of her friends exactly where does one go when you start aging out of Gymboree-type clothing? Their response: Justice. (and a crowd of tween girls start going wild). They didn't warn me, but I will send up some cautionary flares for you.
On our first trip, my daughter walked in there and thought she had died and gone to heaven. She swooned and pined over the tick-tackiest, heaped on bling-iest, eye-gouging colored clothes in the store, of which there were plenty. Lest I forget to mention to you our discovery of racks and piles of toys, lip gloss, hair accessories stuffed into every corner and every rack of clothing. Of course, it was always "on sale" and further encouraged at the cashier station. Daughter #1 lit up like a Christmas tree at the glory of it all. The music? Of course blaring, sounding like a hyped-up Cyndi Lauper on crystal meth. Just another work-them-into-a-riot marking device.
And if I thought there might be a bargain here, I was quickly corrected. T-shirts: $25.00. A t-shirt that you can see your hand through - a simple t-shirt with a very basic silk-screened design on it.
I'll give the marketing and merchandising leaders credit where credit is due. They have created a den that works even the most shy and meek little girl into a frenzy. You walk into the store, believing that you are there for clothes and you walk about with 2 webkinz, a My Little Pet Shop gift set and some charm bracelet.
I was sorely prepared for this adventure. I was cajoled into purchasing two pieces of the "add-ons"- a lipgloss bracelet contraption and another tube of sparkly gloss. Seriously, I think at that point the neon coloring that adorned just about every item in the store had worked on my mental acuity. I caved. A week later, I found it melting under the back seat of the car, creating a strawberry scented cesspool. The other unfortunate chap stick was taken away by her "obsessed with no make-up on my child" dad within minutes of leaving the store.
Overpriced? Yes. Shopped and worn by every girl from grades 2 - 7? Yes. Much to my chagrin, we have a store credit burning a hole in Daughter #1's pocket. We plan on going this Saturday. Let the pep talks being now, because I will not walk out of that store with anything made of unnatural fibers, metal or plastic.
As my children age, I hear I can look forward to the next step in the "popular shopping chain" . A poorly-lit store that will require me to carry a flashlight to navigate my way to more overpriced, poorly made junk all the while listening to more ear blasting music. I hear I might need to stock up on my claritin because there will be no store "models" to come to my aid lest I have an allergy attack from inhaling the overwhelming aroma of cologne. I believe they are paid to ignore customers.
We are at a transition period with daughter #1, age 8. I learned to pick my battles with her attire early on, giving her a day here and there to make her own choices. Otherwise, we have a few standard rules that she has to obey. Thankfully, she is at a school where the main pieces of clothing are dictated to her. Yes, uniforms. Yet, I recognized over the summer that I needed to at least hear her out when she said, "You just don't know fashion, Mom."
I asked several moms of her friends exactly where does one go when you start aging out of Gymboree-type clothing? Their response: Justice. (and a crowd of tween girls start going wild). They didn't warn me, but I will send up some cautionary flares for you.
On our first trip, my daughter walked in there and thought she had died and gone to heaven. She swooned and pined over the tick-tackiest, heaped on bling-iest, eye-gouging colored clothes in the store, of which there were plenty. Lest I forget to mention to you our discovery of racks and piles of toys, lip gloss, hair accessories stuffed into every corner and every rack of clothing. Of course, it was always "on sale" and further encouraged at the cashier station. Daughter #1 lit up like a Christmas tree at the glory of it all. The music? Of course blaring, sounding like a hyped-up Cyndi Lauper on crystal meth. Just another work-them-into-a-riot marking device.
And if I thought there might be a bargain here, I was quickly corrected. T-shirts: $25.00. A t-shirt that you can see your hand through - a simple t-shirt with a very basic silk-screened design on it.
I'll give the marketing and merchandising leaders credit where credit is due. They have created a den that works even the most shy and meek little girl into a frenzy. You walk into the store, believing that you are there for clothes and you walk about with 2 webkinz, a My Little Pet Shop gift set and some charm bracelet.
I was sorely prepared for this adventure. I was cajoled into purchasing two pieces of the "add-ons"- a lipgloss bracelet contraption and another tube of sparkly gloss. Seriously, I think at that point the neon coloring that adorned just about every item in the store had worked on my mental acuity. I caved. A week later, I found it melting under the back seat of the car, creating a strawberry scented cesspool. The other unfortunate chap stick was taken away by her "obsessed with no make-up on my child" dad within minutes of leaving the store.
Overpriced? Yes. Shopped and worn by every girl from grades 2 - 7? Yes. Much to my chagrin, we have a store credit burning a hole in Daughter #1's pocket. We plan on going this Saturday. Let the pep talks being now, because I will not walk out of that store with anything made of unnatural fibers, metal or plastic.
As my children age, I hear I can look forward to the next step in the "popular shopping chain" . A poorly-lit store that will require me to carry a flashlight to navigate my way to more overpriced, poorly made junk all the while listening to more ear blasting music. I hear I might need to stock up on my claritin because there will be no store "models" to come to my aid lest I have an allergy attack from inhaling the overwhelming aroma of cologne. I believe they are paid to ignore customers.
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
Exposed
Well, I panicked yesterday. I thought I had exposed too much, yet again. It wasn't that I didn't want anyone to read my posts. It was that I didn't want it plastered all over facebook like I was announcing, "Look what I have done! Look what I can do! Everyone pat me on the back." For some reason this time, multiple stories I had written showed up on the news feed of my friends. Basically, it all boiled down to me messing around with technology that I really didn't understand how to use.
When I was alerted to this fact, I thought it was clogging up facebook, people's profiles, etc. I was also told that I should be concerned because it was like my personal diary and personal thoughts. I realized the person telling me this had not read my blog before because it is pretty obvious that my blog is all about the personal and private - from the triumphs to the failures and all in between. I don't really hold much back.
I link my blog to the outside world because I think others might find the subject matter relatable. If I am going through it, then someone else is, too. Sometimes I post because I need comforting or affirmation of my parenting. Writing is the cheapest form of therapy for me. Other times, my life is just so ridiculous, that I think that it needs sharing. I can laugh at it, so can others.
What came out of "my mistake" yesterday was really fantastic. I had three conversations with parents at my kids' school who had been dealing with the same issues in their house. Some had suggestions, some just provided comfort. One was considering an ENT referral, but was now thinking urological. One person provided much comfort about the tests Sadie will undergo, having been there with her daughter. And one offered to have her child, recently solved of the issue, to provide support to Sadie. I received some wonderful encouragement and enlightenment from other parents who also parent children like Sadie. Here are several comments:
"It was exactly what I needed to give me perspective for what has been going on between my daughter and me."
"Your words that Sadie often uses the word "embarrassing" hit home with me in a way that you will never know. My daughter tells me that all the time. It was a light bulb for me. Her idea that she is a tough girl makes it embarrassing that she needs me to help her. I constantly tell her that if she came on this earth knowing how to handle everything, then there would be no need for God to make parents. He would just plop us here and send us on our way."
The world is such a different place for our little girls. They are trying so hard to compete at such high levels finding their place in a world where people think of equality now, versus that of God's design. They want to be tough like boys, but don't know how to balance that with their natural feminine instincts. It can be particularly more difficult for little girls who have issues in their lives that they find embarrassing so perhaps they search for other means to prove that they are okay."
"I just thought you should know that with kids who carry things so close to their heart it can be challenging and I understand what you are feeling."
I also received much encouragement from friends to keep plugging along this mothering trail:
"Hearing your words just re-enforced what Tripp says in Shepherding a Child's Heart--it's not their behavior we focus on; it's what is going on in their hearts. We parents can help our kids experience cleansing and wholeness as they learn to delete these fears, wounds, and unrealistic expectations from their little hearts.Hopefully, you will have the joy of a mother watching her adult child who has THROWN OFF EVERY ENCUMBRANCE AND THE SINS WHICH SO EASILY BESET HER and is running her race of life!Blessings to you in your mothering."
She is one of my favorite kids....I love her spunk...she reminds me of my daughter in many ways...
"Aren't you thankful when the Holy Spirit allows us to see a little deeper and reveal a little more about one of the Lord's precious creations!"
Finally, I was overwhelmed at the response to me, as a "writer." I didn't know how many of you read this little corner of the world of mine. To clarify, I know the general numbers of who checks out my blog daily, but I do not have names. How enjoyable it was for me to hear many of you comment on facebook. Glad I can provide some free entertainment for you, although I know I am on the greater receiving end.
On a last note regarding transparency, a topic I refer to often, let me quote a comment I received on something I wrote I while ago.
"This post feels like a pep talk for anyone (such as myself) that follows Christ out on a limb and then needs to remind themselves of why they went out there. Saying something is too personal is just an excuse to remain comfortable...and I'm right there with you, sick of comfy and ready for real! Keep it up!"
Thank you for comforting me in my time of anxiety and panic. I love the dialogue and comments although I can't always respond. If the your comments and life experiences are encouraging to me, then they are to others as well. Keep them up!
For God did not destine us for wrath, but to gain salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ, who died for us, so that whether we are awake or asleep we may live together with him. Therefore, encourage one another and build one another up, as indeed you do.
Thessalonians 5:9-11
When I was alerted to this fact, I thought it was clogging up facebook, people's profiles, etc. I was also told that I should be concerned because it was like my personal diary and personal thoughts. I realized the person telling me this had not read my blog before because it is pretty obvious that my blog is all about the personal and private - from the triumphs to the failures and all in between. I don't really hold much back.
I link my blog to the outside world because I think others might find the subject matter relatable. If I am going through it, then someone else is, too. Sometimes I post because I need comforting or affirmation of my parenting. Writing is the cheapest form of therapy for me. Other times, my life is just so ridiculous, that I think that it needs sharing. I can laugh at it, so can others.
What came out of "my mistake" yesterday was really fantastic. I had three conversations with parents at my kids' school who had been dealing with the same issues in their house. Some had suggestions, some just provided comfort. One was considering an ENT referral, but was now thinking urological. One person provided much comfort about the tests Sadie will undergo, having been there with her daughter. And one offered to have her child, recently solved of the issue, to provide support to Sadie. I received some wonderful encouragement and enlightenment from other parents who also parent children like Sadie. Here are several comments:
"It was exactly what I needed to give me perspective for what has been going on between my daughter and me."
"Your words that Sadie often uses the word "embarrassing" hit home with me in a way that you will never know. My daughter tells me that all the time. It was a light bulb for me. Her idea that she is a tough girl makes it embarrassing that she needs me to help her. I constantly tell her that if she came on this earth knowing how to handle everything, then there would be no need for God to make parents. He would just plop us here and send us on our way."
The world is such a different place for our little girls. They are trying so hard to compete at such high levels finding their place in a world where people think of equality now, versus that of God's design. They want to be tough like boys, but don't know how to balance that with their natural feminine instincts. It can be particularly more difficult for little girls who have issues in their lives that they find embarrassing so perhaps they search for other means to prove that they are okay."
"I just thought you should know that with kids who carry things so close to their heart it can be challenging and I understand what you are feeling."
I also received much encouragement from friends to keep plugging along this mothering trail:
"Hearing your words just re-enforced what Tripp says in Shepherding a Child's Heart--it's not their behavior we focus on; it's what is going on in their hearts. We parents can help our kids experience cleansing and wholeness as they learn to delete these fears, wounds, and unrealistic expectations from their little hearts.Hopefully, you will have the joy of a mother watching her adult child who has THROWN OFF EVERY ENCUMBRANCE AND THE SINS WHICH SO EASILY BESET HER and is running her race of life!Blessings to you in your mothering."
She is one of my favorite kids....I love her spunk...she reminds me of my daughter in many ways...
"Aren't you thankful when the Holy Spirit allows us to see a little deeper and reveal a little more about one of the Lord's precious creations!"
Finally, I was overwhelmed at the response to me, as a "writer." I didn't know how many of you read this little corner of the world of mine. To clarify, I know the general numbers of who checks out my blog daily, but I do not have names. How enjoyable it was for me to hear many of you comment on facebook. Glad I can provide some free entertainment for you, although I know I am on the greater receiving end.
On a last note regarding transparency, a topic I refer to often, let me quote a comment I received on something I wrote I while ago.
"This post feels like a pep talk for anyone (such as myself) that follows Christ out on a limb and then needs to remind themselves of why they went out there. Saying something is too personal is just an excuse to remain comfortable...and I'm right there with you, sick of comfy and ready for real! Keep it up!"
Thank you for comforting me in my time of anxiety and panic. I love the dialogue and comments although I can't always respond. If the your comments and life experiences are encouraging to me, then they are to others as well. Keep them up!
For God did not destine us for wrath, but to gain salvation through our Lord Jesus Christ, who died for us, so that whether we are awake or asleep we may live together with him. Therefore, encourage one another and build one another up, as indeed you do.
Thessalonians 5:9-11
An Overlooked Heart
I think it is fair to say that as a general rule, anyone who has met my Sadie doesn't easily forget her. Sometimes it is positive, and sometimes it isn't. Either way, she is compelling and intriguing, I think. Smart, crazy, tough, athletic, artistic, creative, curious, motivated, impulsive. Did I say crazy? But, the one thing that often goes unnoticed is her sensitivity. Even I, as her mother, often believe she is tougher than the reality of what is churning in her little heart.
Two recent events have opened my eyes to something I often overlook in my second child.
The first happened on New Year's Eve. Actually the ball start rolling a day earlier at swim practice; the ball became a destructive force the day after. This is the time of year when her swim coach sits down with each of the kids to assess their progress and revise goals for the year. Sadie's great love is swimming. She discovered it this summer and hasn't stopped since. She begs for more and more and now practices three afternoons a week. Sadie is a good swimmer with the potential to be a great swimmer. Her coach believes that her body was made for swimming the butterfly and in time the possibilities are there. Right now, however, is another story. Is she at the top of her age division? Hardly. But, her perception is that she is a much faster swimmer than reality. Her coach, understandably, wants to start bridging the gap between what goes on at practice with what goes on at meets. He wants the kids to be more aware of their times in each event and concentrate on what their bodies are doing in the water to improve their times. Therefore, he encouraged Sadie to ask me to show her her times.
I was not receptive to this idea. She is 8. This should all be about fun, right? I tell the kids when they have dropped or gained time, but they are not given information on their standings in comparison to others or how close they are to their first standard, which is called a "B" time. I don't want them to have that pressure, yet. I never viewed it as a matter of incentive, really, and certainly never thought through her possible reaction to this full disclosure. Yet, I still questioned the coach about this, and he assured me she was ready. It would be a great motivator for Sadie, who is a very "tough kid."
Forward to New Year's Eve. Right after lunch Sadie came to me and asked me to show her her times. They are all on the computer so we sat down on the bed and I began. "Here is your time." I said. "And what is the B time?" Sadie responded. "Ummm, well, here." I said. Her eyes opened wide. "What about my other events?" I showed her each of the comparisons. Her face scrunched up, the tears welled up in her eyes and she shouted, "I am horrible at swimming. I am never going to swim again!" She flung herself on the bed. Whoa - I was not expecting this severe reaction at all. Where was my tough Sadie, the one who always let things roll off her back? I spent the next 4+ hours dealing with wailing, frustration, and as much depression as an 8 year old can muster. I was pretty ticked with her coach for pushing this issue. I used every bit of reasoning and information I had. Yet, nothing changed the utter devastation that showed on her face, mirroring what her heart was feeling.
Finally, in the car outside of the restaurant where we were to meet 20 other people for dinner, I said, "Sadie, why did you choose to swim?" Her response, "Because I love it and I love how I feel strong in the water." "Well, that hasn't changed because of your times. That is all I am going to say about it. You need to decide what you want to do and let me know." I answered. About halfway through dinner, Sadie came over to me and said, "Mom, I need to tell you something. I have decided I am still going to swim." I said, "Ok. Great." Relief.
As a side note, at the next practice, Sadie was more focused and determined. Maybe her coach knew something after all. Sorry, Coach Rob. Good thing I couldn't find your cell number on New Year's Eve.
The second incident happened yesterday. Sadie has never stayed dry at night. Ever. Every year at the pediatrician's office we ask about this. The answer is always, "We're not worried; she will grow out of it." We have always believed that her inability to stay dry is because Sadie is an incredibly deep sleeper. Sadie sleeps like the dead. You cannot wake her up. We have offered up every incentive for a dry night, including a much coveted American Girl doll. We have also doled out some verbal warnings and minor discipline. We have tried all types of devices to help her, including a special alarm that goes off when it detects wetness. The buzz is supposed to train your brain to recognize the signal it is receiving from your body. Unfortunately, Sadie just sleeps through the alarm. We tried having her sleep in our room so that I could get to her by the time the alarm buzzed. The result was that alarm went off, I walked a still sleeping Sadie to the bathroom, while she peed on the floor the entire way. She never woke up.
At her last check-up, I firmly stated that I didn't feel comfortable "waiting for her to grow out of it" anymore. At 8 years-old, she is embarrassed by this fact, going to great lengths to hide it. Sleepovers are becoming more frequent and she is terrified that someone will make fun of her. Therefore, the doctor made us an appointment with an urologist. We had this appointment yesterday.
It didn't take long for the doctor to strongly believe that Sadie has some "bladder malfunction." One reason is that even after urinating, she still had 4-5 oz of urine in her bladder. Our other answers to his questions continued to confirm that there are some physical problems, completely out of her control. In addition, the stress of not being able to control her bladder has probably created another set of problems. Our next step is a series of tests this coming Thursday. He went through some details of what this would mean to Sadie and said that it shouldn't hurt, despite his use of the word, "catheter". Sadie seemed to be taking it all in stride. In fact, she even announced that she was "happy" because she would be able to get rid of the pull-ups. We left the appointment and I dropped her off at school without another thought. What a tough girl, right?
When I arrived at school to pick up the kids, I immediately recognized that something was not right with Sadie. Anguish, fear and a bit of panic was on her face. Evidently, her mind had been fixated on these tests. Mentally, she had worked herself into a paranoid frenzy. She was starting to break down in tears so we quickly walked to the car. When we got home, she ran to my room, and began to cry. She refused to talk to me about it and after about 20 minutes fell asleep. I know that the emotional trauma of the "unknown test" had wiped her out physically. Even when she woke up, she continued to cry and refuse to talk to me about it, claiming she was too embarrassed. Her only real answer to me was that she was not going to have the tests done. With enough coaxing, a discussion of my own encounters with medical tests and then a girls' trip to Starbucks after dinner, she opened up about her fears which we addressed. She felt relief and more at peace with Thursday.
My tough Sadie, is really not that tough at all. I make that statement not using a haughty, bullying sort of tone. I make that statement with enlightenment and understanding. I have often dismissed her heart because she is so very tough physically and seemed to let the difficulties of life bounce around her exterior, not penetrating her skin. Instead, she internalizes her deepest emotions and fears, squashing them deep down to fester and worry her. When younger, Sadie could be outlandish in her communications. Always to the extreme ends of the spectrum - crazy exuberance to the most horrific tantrums and fits. In my desire to teach her moderation and appropriateness, I am sure I magnified to these innate inclinations in her.
I also learned that Sadie has a difficult time talking about matters of the heart. She often uses the word "embarrassing." It is natural to me that she should view me as the one person on this earth that she can talk to about anything without shame. Rather, it appears I might be the most difficult one. I spent a large amount of our time at Starbucks and in the car ride affirming my role as her confidant. Her response and new-found willingness melted my heart.
Although the swimming incident and this doctor visit were two very trying and emotional situations to handle, I thank God for allowing me this insight into my child. I can build the foundation for our communication now so hopefully, the teenage years will have something from which to work. I will no longer overlook her tough, yet sensitive little heart.
I love you, Sadie. With all of my heart, I love you.
Two recent events have opened my eyes to something I often overlook in my second child.
The first happened on New Year's Eve. Actually the ball start rolling a day earlier at swim practice; the ball became a destructive force the day after. This is the time of year when her swim coach sits down with each of the kids to assess their progress and revise goals for the year. Sadie's great love is swimming. She discovered it this summer and hasn't stopped since. She begs for more and more and now practices three afternoons a week. Sadie is a good swimmer with the potential to be a great swimmer. Her coach believes that her body was made for swimming the butterfly and in time the possibilities are there. Right now, however, is another story. Is she at the top of her age division? Hardly. But, her perception is that she is a much faster swimmer than reality. Her coach, understandably, wants to start bridging the gap between what goes on at practice with what goes on at meets. He wants the kids to be more aware of their times in each event and concentrate on what their bodies are doing in the water to improve their times. Therefore, he encouraged Sadie to ask me to show her her times.
I was not receptive to this idea. She is 8. This should all be about fun, right? I tell the kids when they have dropped or gained time, but they are not given information on their standings in comparison to others or how close they are to their first standard, which is called a "B" time. I don't want them to have that pressure, yet. I never viewed it as a matter of incentive, really, and certainly never thought through her possible reaction to this full disclosure. Yet, I still questioned the coach about this, and he assured me she was ready. It would be a great motivator for Sadie, who is a very "tough kid."
Forward to New Year's Eve. Right after lunch Sadie came to me and asked me to show her her times. They are all on the computer so we sat down on the bed and I began. "Here is your time." I said. "And what is the B time?" Sadie responded. "Ummm, well, here." I said. Her eyes opened wide. "What about my other events?" I showed her each of the comparisons. Her face scrunched up, the tears welled up in her eyes and she shouted, "I am horrible at swimming. I am never going to swim again!" She flung herself on the bed. Whoa - I was not expecting this severe reaction at all. Where was my tough Sadie, the one who always let things roll off her back? I spent the next 4+ hours dealing with wailing, frustration, and as much depression as an 8 year old can muster. I was pretty ticked with her coach for pushing this issue. I used every bit of reasoning and information I had. Yet, nothing changed the utter devastation that showed on her face, mirroring what her heart was feeling.
Finally, in the car outside of the restaurant where we were to meet 20 other people for dinner, I said, "Sadie, why did you choose to swim?" Her response, "Because I love it and I love how I feel strong in the water." "Well, that hasn't changed because of your times. That is all I am going to say about it. You need to decide what you want to do and let me know." I answered. About halfway through dinner, Sadie came over to me and said, "Mom, I need to tell you something. I have decided I am still going to swim." I said, "Ok. Great." Relief.
As a side note, at the next practice, Sadie was more focused and determined. Maybe her coach knew something after all. Sorry, Coach Rob. Good thing I couldn't find your cell number on New Year's Eve.
The second incident happened yesterday. Sadie has never stayed dry at night. Ever. Every year at the pediatrician's office we ask about this. The answer is always, "We're not worried; she will grow out of it." We have always believed that her inability to stay dry is because Sadie is an incredibly deep sleeper. Sadie sleeps like the dead. You cannot wake her up. We have offered up every incentive for a dry night, including a much coveted American Girl doll. We have also doled out some verbal warnings and minor discipline. We have tried all types of devices to help her, including a special alarm that goes off when it detects wetness. The buzz is supposed to train your brain to recognize the signal it is receiving from your body. Unfortunately, Sadie just sleeps through the alarm. We tried having her sleep in our room so that I could get to her by the time the alarm buzzed. The result was that alarm went off, I walked a still sleeping Sadie to the bathroom, while she peed on the floor the entire way. She never woke up.
At her last check-up, I firmly stated that I didn't feel comfortable "waiting for her to grow out of it" anymore. At 8 years-old, she is embarrassed by this fact, going to great lengths to hide it. Sleepovers are becoming more frequent and she is terrified that someone will make fun of her. Therefore, the doctor made us an appointment with an urologist. We had this appointment yesterday.
It didn't take long for the doctor to strongly believe that Sadie has some "bladder malfunction." One reason is that even after urinating, she still had 4-5 oz of urine in her bladder. Our other answers to his questions continued to confirm that there are some physical problems, completely out of her control. In addition, the stress of not being able to control her bladder has probably created another set of problems. Our next step is a series of tests this coming Thursday. He went through some details of what this would mean to Sadie and said that it shouldn't hurt, despite his use of the word, "catheter". Sadie seemed to be taking it all in stride. In fact, she even announced that she was "happy" because she would be able to get rid of the pull-ups. We left the appointment and I dropped her off at school without another thought. What a tough girl, right?
When I arrived at school to pick up the kids, I immediately recognized that something was not right with Sadie. Anguish, fear and a bit of panic was on her face. Evidently, her mind had been fixated on these tests. Mentally, she had worked herself into a paranoid frenzy. She was starting to break down in tears so we quickly walked to the car. When we got home, she ran to my room, and began to cry. She refused to talk to me about it and after about 20 minutes fell asleep. I know that the emotional trauma of the "unknown test" had wiped her out physically. Even when she woke up, she continued to cry and refuse to talk to me about it, claiming she was too embarrassed. Her only real answer to me was that she was not going to have the tests done. With enough coaxing, a discussion of my own encounters with medical tests and then a girls' trip to Starbucks after dinner, she opened up about her fears which we addressed. She felt relief and more at peace with Thursday.
My tough Sadie, is really not that tough at all. I make that statement not using a haughty, bullying sort of tone. I make that statement with enlightenment and understanding. I have often dismissed her heart because she is so very tough physically and seemed to let the difficulties of life bounce around her exterior, not penetrating her skin. Instead, she internalizes her deepest emotions and fears, squashing them deep down to fester and worry her. When younger, Sadie could be outlandish in her communications. Always to the extreme ends of the spectrum - crazy exuberance to the most horrific tantrums and fits. In my desire to teach her moderation and appropriateness, I am sure I magnified to these innate inclinations in her.
I also learned that Sadie has a difficult time talking about matters of the heart. She often uses the word "embarrassing." It is natural to me that she should view me as the one person on this earth that she can talk to about anything without shame. Rather, it appears I might be the most difficult one. I spent a large amount of our time at Starbucks and in the car ride affirming my role as her confidant. Her response and new-found willingness melted my heart.
Although the swimming incident and this doctor visit were two very trying and emotional situations to handle, I thank God for allowing me this insight into my child. I can build the foundation for our communication now so hopefully, the teenage years will have something from which to work. I will no longer overlook her tough, yet sensitive little heart.
I love you, Sadie. With all of my heart, I love you.
Sunday, January 03, 2010
My cupholders runneth over
I have had lots of "my-mini-van-could-be-condemned-because-of-its-filth" sagas including a mouse that lived in it for several weeks, many milk, juice, and tea spills, a multitude of bodily function explosions, filth, trash, etc. I have tried to keep the car clean, honestly. But being in constant use with three kids plus on a near daily basis, it is what it is. I remember Jay having a fit about the state of my car one day and then I took a look at his - four verses one. No contest.
Recently, however, I knew I reached a new level when my son started making apologies to his friends when they came into our car. I also knew it had reached epic proportions when another mom said that Sadie went on and on about how clean their car was when she rode in it. I think my two oldest finally understand why we want a clean car.
So, there was a stink in the car for a couple of weeks. A stinky, musty odoriferous gag-inducing ick. No child could discover the source despite repeated request by me to search every corner and crevice. Finally, after gagging one morning on the way to school, I decided to don gloves and a trash bag and investigate. Into the deep recesses of the car I traveled, to the place I lovingly refer to as "Satan's Lair."
It didn't take long, the discover of which added to my ire. A sports-type cup leaking what I could only surmise was chocolate milk, somewhat solidified, nearly a cottage cheese consistency. The cup had been shoved into the seat pocket in front of the third row of seats. As I started poking around, I noticed a couple more cups shoved the other pocket, along with various snack bags, hair bows, a crayon, several lego pieces, an overdue library book and headphones for the car audio system. Yes, all of them with at least a couple drops of the souring brown liquid. Some had complete saturation.
Upon further discovery I found in the other pocket more treasures and delights similar to above. And then...if it couldn't get any worse, I spied the cupholders. I say that plural because the Honda Odyssey has something like 26 cup holders in it - I am not lying. I happened to see two joining ones and I know I gasped out loud. A left over mushy, fermenting apple from some weeks earlier, possibly a month or so, soaking in some gooey orange syrup from a disintegrating McDonald's cup. It was trying to become one with some chintzy gold necklace and a melted tube of chapstick. I know the hair on my neck started to stand up and possibly some slivers of steam began curling out of my ears.
In my zen-like state, I created a plan and a subsequent consequence for not obeying my plan, otherwise known as "discipline." The new rule: children must consistently keep the van cleaned up. How ingenious of me, right? Everything is to be brought in from the car when we get home. I mean EVERYTHING. No clothing, backpacks, shoes or coats left behind. I know, why do I have shoes and clothing lying around our car? Because the children change into swim gear three times a week leaving school uniforms, socks, etc. strewn about. They are also to keep all trash out of the back and bring in toys/electronics, too. Nirvana, right? The punishment for not doing their job? Vacuuming the entire car and cleaning all cupholders. My cupholders will not longer runneth over!
Recently, however, I knew I reached a new level when my son started making apologies to his friends when they came into our car. I also knew it had reached epic proportions when another mom said that Sadie went on and on about how clean their car was when she rode in it. I think my two oldest finally understand why we want a clean car.
So, there was a stink in the car for a couple of weeks. A stinky, musty odoriferous gag-inducing ick. No child could discover the source despite repeated request by me to search every corner and crevice. Finally, after gagging one morning on the way to school, I decided to don gloves and a trash bag and investigate. Into the deep recesses of the car I traveled, to the place I lovingly refer to as "Satan's Lair."
It didn't take long, the discover of which added to my ire. A sports-type cup leaking what I could only surmise was chocolate milk, somewhat solidified, nearly a cottage cheese consistency. The cup had been shoved into the seat pocket in front of the third row of seats. As I started poking around, I noticed a couple more cups shoved the other pocket, along with various snack bags, hair bows, a crayon, several lego pieces, an overdue library book and headphones for the car audio system. Yes, all of them with at least a couple drops of the souring brown liquid. Some had complete saturation.
Upon further discovery I found in the other pocket more treasures and delights similar to above. And then...if it couldn't get any worse, I spied the cupholders. I say that plural because the Honda Odyssey has something like 26 cup holders in it - I am not lying. I happened to see two joining ones and I know I gasped out loud. A left over mushy, fermenting apple from some weeks earlier, possibly a month or so, soaking in some gooey orange syrup from a disintegrating McDonald's cup. It was trying to become one with some chintzy gold necklace and a melted tube of chapstick. I know the hair on my neck started to stand up and possibly some slivers of steam began curling out of my ears.
In my zen-like state, I created a plan and a subsequent consequence for not obeying my plan, otherwise known as "discipline." The new rule: children must consistently keep the van cleaned up. How ingenious of me, right? Everything is to be brought in from the car when we get home. I mean EVERYTHING. No clothing, backpacks, shoes or coats left behind. I know, why do I have shoes and clothing lying around our car? Because the children change into swim gear three times a week leaving school uniforms, socks, etc. strewn about. They are also to keep all trash out of the back and bring in toys/electronics, too. Nirvana, right? The punishment for not doing their job? Vacuuming the entire car and cleaning all cupholders. My cupholders will not longer runneth over!
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Slap Chop
"Don't have boring tuna, don't have a boring life."
I heard this off-beat statement today on an infommercial for the "Slap Chop." The announcer proudly exclaimed this lesser known wisdom when he added a bit of carrot and celery to some ordinary canned tuna. I don't own a Slap Chop, but that is ok, I don't eat tuna either. Does that mean I don't have a boring life?
It got me thinking about a statement a former boss said to me when I told him I was going to leave my corporate sales job to become a stay at home mom. This job involved me traveling about a week per month, taking me from my son and soon-to-arrive daughter.
His response: "That is great. Just, don't become boring. All the stay at home moms I know are boring. They don't have anything to talk about except their kids."
Let me put the statement into perspective for you, even though I am sure those that are reading this probably have enough perspective already. The man had never been married and had no children. He had never had to sacrifice himself for someone he loved.
When he said that to me, I responded by saying, "Ok." I walked out of this office. As days passed and my maternity leave approached, I began to get a tad incensed and irritated. How dare he? I stayed agitated at that man for several years. Who was he to make such a gross demeaning generalization of women of the home?
I ran into him about 5 years after leaving that job. During our conversation, I found myself thinking about every word that came out of my mouth. What did I have to show for 5 years of mothering except the birth of a 3rd child? How can I make changing diapers, fixing dinner every night and mopping spilled giblets of food off the floor sound exotic? I mumbled to him about shuttling my kids around, being busy with their activities, running our house ...and ...and...and...and... whoa! I had nothing else to say to him. I could see it written on his face. B-O-R-I-N-G.
I admit, I walked away with my head hung a bit low. Had I moved from slightly hip and worldly to slightly dowdy and simple? Had my life become boring canned tuna? I remember this time as a life marking one. It was when I realized that life is never boring, never dull, never dowdy, never plain, when you are doing the will of God. That former boss may have seen it as such, and I did, too, when I put on the world's glasses. Yet, when I removed those glasses, sat down and communed with Him, there was peace. I was right where I was supposed to be - at home with my children. I had a pure joy and peace despite the crazy chaos of 3 children under the age of 5. Who cares what my life looked like to others? Right? Give me boring canned tuna any day, if that is His will.
I heard this off-beat statement today on an infommercial for the "Slap Chop." The announcer proudly exclaimed this lesser known wisdom when he added a bit of carrot and celery to some ordinary canned tuna. I don't own a Slap Chop, but that is ok, I don't eat tuna either. Does that mean I don't have a boring life?
It got me thinking about a statement a former boss said to me when I told him I was going to leave my corporate sales job to become a stay at home mom. This job involved me traveling about a week per month, taking me from my son and soon-to-arrive daughter.
His response: "That is great. Just, don't become boring. All the stay at home moms I know are boring. They don't have anything to talk about except their kids."
Let me put the statement into perspective for you, even though I am sure those that are reading this probably have enough perspective already. The man had never been married and had no children. He had never had to sacrifice himself for someone he loved.
When he said that to me, I responded by saying, "Ok." I walked out of this office. As days passed and my maternity leave approached, I began to get a tad incensed and irritated. How dare he? I stayed agitated at that man for several years. Who was he to make such a gross demeaning generalization of women of the home?
I ran into him about 5 years after leaving that job. During our conversation, I found myself thinking about every word that came out of my mouth. What did I have to show for 5 years of mothering except the birth of a 3rd child? How can I make changing diapers, fixing dinner every night and mopping spilled giblets of food off the floor sound exotic? I mumbled to him about shuttling my kids around, being busy with their activities, running our house ...and ...and...and...and... whoa! I had nothing else to say to him. I could see it written on his face. B-O-R-I-N-G.
I admit, I walked away with my head hung a bit low. Had I moved from slightly hip and worldly to slightly dowdy and simple? Had my life become boring canned tuna? I remember this time as a life marking one. It was when I realized that life is never boring, never dull, never dowdy, never plain, when you are doing the will of God. That former boss may have seen it as such, and I did, too, when I put on the world's glasses. Yet, when I removed those glasses, sat down and communed with Him, there was peace. I was right where I was supposed to be - at home with my children. I had a pure joy and peace despite the crazy chaos of 3 children under the age of 5. Who cares what my life looked like to others? Right? Give me boring canned tuna any day, if that is His will.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Somebody's Knockin' at Our Front Door
This post is not an original idea of my own, rather a blog-lift or blogarism from another site I visit. However, the topic was so totally applicable to my own family, that I knew it must be written from the Dumoulin point of view.
The sound of our doorbell or a knock at our door is a signal to our kids to begin acting like they are wild, rabid animals who have been caged for the last 24 hours. I am not exaggerating. It is like they have lost all sense of decency, control, social graces, and/or common courtesy. Like the demon possessed, their eyes grow wide as inappropriate words and topics burst forth from their mouths.
It doesn't matter whether the person at the door is the mailman, our next door neighbor or even their own grandmother. It is as consistent as Pavlov's rat! Ding-dong! Let the insanity begin.
In general, this is what I can be assured will happen at some point during a "visit":
One of my children will appear with either a lack of clothing (no shirt or no pants, years ago even completely naked) OR will don some sort of costume that is either too small (read too revealing) or improperly worn.
One of my children will talk about the potty or a personal grooming habit. Poop, pee, toot, fart (though a banned word in our house), naked (see above), potty, nose, pick, stinky, privates - pick a word. It will be used.
One of my children will do something so outlandish that you will stand there stunned like a deer in headlights not knowing which way to run. For example, Sadie was four when she decided to open up a window and attempt to crawl out of it while a babysitter was present. Thankfully, it was open to a deck just a couple of feet below. But seriously? What?
One of my children will start chasing the dog giving the impression that we frequently host dog races at our house. Take your bets, people! Around and around they go; the dog begins to bark uncontrollably and quite loudly. No conversation can be had. Chaos ensues.
One of my children will decide to subject our visitor to a stand-up comedy routine filled with self-penned jokes. Most don't make any sense, but do send the "comedian" into fits of laughter. Occasionally, a "show" will be performed in the living room, admittance by ticket only. Usually, it is requested that the visitor purchase this ticket (a hastily cut piece of paper) with real money!
One of my children will insist on giving our visitor on a "home tour." Naturally, if the visitor is an unexpected guest, I have not prepared our domicile accordingly. Therefore, the visitor is subjected to viewing bathrooms with personal effects strewn about, the stench of a toilet left unflushed, heaps of laundry on the kitchen table and an occasional pull-up not properly disposed and left on the floor where it was discarded.
Specifically, Ethan will suddenly become "The Great Mumbler." When he is speaking to an adult, I must jump into my role as "translator" because no one can understand the nine-year old gibberish he speaks under his breath. I stand there like a parrot, repeating what he has just said so that our visitor can understand him. And, I think he believes that if he actually looks at an adult in the face while speaking, he will be instantly vaporized by their eyes.
Sadie can only be described as the "Tasmanian Devil." It is like a tornado spinning throughout the house, picking up object after object, destroying order, sliding down banisters, darting here and there.
Lily usually decides to become "The Great Clinger." She sees every visitor is an opportunity for Mommy to leave her, I think. She hides behind my legs, refusing to answer any question thrown at her. Never leaving my side.
After the children have sufficiently established our house as an insane asylum and my performance as a mother a complete and utter failure, it is time for the visitor to leave. The door closes and the children, sweetly and innocently, act as if nothing at all had just happened. The Twilight Zone left as quickly as it came and I am left completely dumbfounded.
The sound of our doorbell or a knock at our door is a signal to our kids to begin acting like they are wild, rabid animals who have been caged for the last 24 hours. I am not exaggerating. It is like they have lost all sense of decency, control, social graces, and/or common courtesy. Like the demon possessed, their eyes grow wide as inappropriate words and topics burst forth from their mouths.
It doesn't matter whether the person at the door is the mailman, our next door neighbor or even their own grandmother. It is as consistent as Pavlov's rat! Ding-dong! Let the insanity begin.
In general, this is what I can be assured will happen at some point during a "visit":
One of my children will appear with either a lack of clothing (no shirt or no pants, years ago even completely naked) OR will don some sort of costume that is either too small (read too revealing) or improperly worn.
One of my children will talk about the potty or a personal grooming habit. Poop, pee, toot, fart (though a banned word in our house), naked (see above), potty, nose, pick, stinky, privates - pick a word. It will be used.
One of my children will do something so outlandish that you will stand there stunned like a deer in headlights not knowing which way to run. For example, Sadie was four when she decided to open up a window and attempt to crawl out of it while a babysitter was present. Thankfully, it was open to a deck just a couple of feet below. But seriously? What?
One of my children will start chasing the dog giving the impression that we frequently host dog races at our house. Take your bets, people! Around and around they go; the dog begins to bark uncontrollably and quite loudly. No conversation can be had. Chaos ensues.
One of my children will decide to subject our visitor to a stand-up comedy routine filled with self-penned jokes. Most don't make any sense, but do send the "comedian" into fits of laughter. Occasionally, a "show" will be performed in the living room, admittance by ticket only. Usually, it is requested that the visitor purchase this ticket (a hastily cut piece of paper) with real money!
One of my children will insist on giving our visitor on a "home tour." Naturally, if the visitor is an unexpected guest, I have not prepared our domicile accordingly. Therefore, the visitor is subjected to viewing bathrooms with personal effects strewn about, the stench of a toilet left unflushed, heaps of laundry on the kitchen table and an occasional pull-up not properly disposed and left on the floor where it was discarded.
Specifically, Ethan will suddenly become "The Great Mumbler." When he is speaking to an adult, I must jump into my role as "translator" because no one can understand the nine-year old gibberish he speaks under his breath. I stand there like a parrot, repeating what he has just said so that our visitor can understand him. And, I think he believes that if he actually looks at an adult in the face while speaking, he will be instantly vaporized by their eyes.
Sadie can only be described as the "Tasmanian Devil." It is like a tornado spinning throughout the house, picking up object after object, destroying order, sliding down banisters, darting here and there.
Lily usually decides to become "The Great Clinger." She sees every visitor is an opportunity for Mommy to leave her, I think. She hides behind my legs, refusing to answer any question thrown at her. Never leaving my side.
After the children have sufficiently established our house as an insane asylum and my performance as a mother a complete and utter failure, it is time for the visitor to leave. The door closes and the children, sweetly and innocently, act as if nothing at all had just happened. The Twilight Zone left as quickly as it came and I am left completely dumbfounded.
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
Thoughts on a rather hectic day:
I went to Big Lots to find some ribbon. There was a lady collecting money for the Salvation Army. She was also entertaining everyone entering or exiting the store with her unusual way of singing. Confession time - I usually get irritated when people sing out loud, randomly, when the song is not playing in the background, even when they are good singers. It is just a personal quirk. This lady, despite doing her best to bring Christmas cheer, was belting out Christmas songs and sounding like a cross between a cat being strangled and a chicken being punched. As I stood in the check-out line, the doors to the store would open and close producing another titillating and screeching snippet of her talents for our listening pleasure. Pretty dreadful and way over sung. I wasn't quite sure if depositing some change in her bucket would be encouraging or quiet her down. Nevertheless, I offered up some coins and went on my way. It was met with a, "Now, YOU have a blessed day, Ma'am!" Amen!
I wonder why I think I can ever make a quick trip to WalMart at any time during the year, but it seems particularly ludicrous during the high-shopping Christmas season. I even tried my hand at rewriting my shopping list to coincide with the flow of the store (back to front) with the random soup ladle and deodorant listed to the side. I race through the aisles, trying to get a cart load of groceries and a prescription in just under and hour. Completely out of breath, I threw my bags in my car and raced to Chik-fil-a to pick-up food for my kids' lunch that morning. This entire situation would not have occurred had I been able to get my grocery shopping done the day prior. But, I didn't. Therefore, there was absolutely nothing with which to fix their lunches having exhausted all bread, soup, spaghettio's and beanie weanies.
I discovered, that in a panic, I can make a large crock pot of ham and corn chowder, a large tin pan of baked spaghetti and another of chicken fajitas in less than an hour. However, on most nights it takes me longer just to fix one simple meal.
My children, no matter how much I plan and instruct, still have a difficult time changing clothes, swimming and collecting their own discarded and used clothing. We found Ethan's winter coat in the lost and found where it had been left the practice prior. We have lost and reclaimed t-shirts, goggles, etc. We have come home with a towel, t-shirt, swim gear that isn't even ours. I have tried every trick - labeling clothing and gear, having a separate hamper bag for the car, smaller bags, bigger bags, etc. Now, I just pray.
I went to Big Lots to find some ribbon. There was a lady collecting money for the Salvation Army. She was also entertaining everyone entering or exiting the store with her unusual way of singing. Confession time - I usually get irritated when people sing out loud, randomly, when the song is not playing in the background, even when they are good singers. It is just a personal quirk. This lady, despite doing her best to bring Christmas cheer, was belting out Christmas songs and sounding like a cross between a cat being strangled and a chicken being punched. As I stood in the check-out line, the doors to the store would open and close producing another titillating and screeching snippet of her talents for our listening pleasure. Pretty dreadful and way over sung. I wasn't quite sure if depositing some change in her bucket would be encouraging or quiet her down. Nevertheless, I offered up some coins and went on my way. It was met with a, "Now, YOU have a blessed day, Ma'am!" Amen!
I wonder why I think I can ever make a quick trip to WalMart at any time during the year, but it seems particularly ludicrous during the high-shopping Christmas season. I even tried my hand at rewriting my shopping list to coincide with the flow of the store (back to front) with the random soup ladle and deodorant listed to the side. I race through the aisles, trying to get a cart load of groceries and a prescription in just under and hour. Completely out of breath, I threw my bags in my car and raced to Chik-fil-a to pick-up food for my kids' lunch that morning. This entire situation would not have occurred had I been able to get my grocery shopping done the day prior. But, I didn't. Therefore, there was absolutely nothing with which to fix their lunches having exhausted all bread, soup, spaghettio's and beanie weanies.
I discovered, that in a panic, I can make a large crock pot of ham and corn chowder, a large tin pan of baked spaghetti and another of chicken fajitas in less than an hour. However, on most nights it takes me longer just to fix one simple meal.
My children, no matter how much I plan and instruct, still have a difficult time changing clothes, swimming and collecting their own discarded and used clothing. We found Ethan's winter coat in the lost and found where it had been left the practice prior. We have lost and reclaimed t-shirts, goggles, etc. We have come home with a towel, t-shirt, swim gear that isn't even ours. I have tried every trick - labeling clothing and gear, having a separate hamper bag for the car, smaller bags, bigger bags, etc. Now, I just pray.
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
How Dare I?
I am such a mean, terrible mommy. I am positive I am the worst to have ever lived. For example:
How dare I pack my children's swim bags every Monday and Wednesday. What am I thinking putting a black bathing suit in a black swim bag causing my kids to search tireless for it in their bag.
How dare I not respond immediately and run upstairs when one of my children screams, "MOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMYYYYYY!" at their loudest volume.
How dare I make my children wear long-sleeves and pants when it is 40 degrees outside. I know t-shirts and shorts are more hip, possibly even more comfortable, but excuse me for worrying about frostbite.
How dare I have only one bottle of special swimmer's hair conditioner for my children to share. I know it must tax them greatly to have to walk the long distance between their bathrooms to exchange the one bottle. I am so sorry for this.
How dare I force my children to complete their school work by themselves, before the deadline while attempting to answer every single question on the page. The horror of horror must be when they are asked to remember to put their name on their paper. I mean, in life, I know that sometimes you don't have make an effort to fully complete your tasks, so it is probably a lesson they don't need to learn. It is just important to me.
How dare I not make every dollop of food and drink I give my kids perfectly even. I know I should carefully measure out each serving and I am sorry that I am so slack in this endeavor.
How dare I finish off the cookies last night that I made over the weekend. I know the kids did not offer to help make them while they were watching "Tom & Jerry" on the television in the kitchen. However, they should be entitled to all the cookies they want, including the last ones which should be measured and divided evenly for them.
How dare I forget to order lunch for them each month. I know that we could eat at a restaurant more cheaply than what it costs them to eat their catered school lunches, but it really shouldn't matter. I know it must be embarrassing for them to be the only ones taking their lunch every day.
How dare I make them complete household chores like putting clothes away, emptying the dishwasher and cleaning their rooms. It is the equivalent to slave labor because I don't pay them for their work, rather I view it as their contributions to helping run our household.
How dare I make a homecooked meal rather than pick-up something on the way home from swimming two days a week. I know my efforts to teach them about nutrition is probably outdated.
How dare I ask that my children brush their teeth not once, but twice a day. Good, healthy teeth are not in fashion right now. And, bad breath is a sure way to win friends. Why would I want them to know this, right?
How dare I send my children to school when they are tired or have a headache or just don't feel like going. I should probably just break the law and allow this truancy, but being compliant is just my nature.
Maybe they will forgive me one day... Sigh.
How dare I pack my children's swim bags every Monday and Wednesday. What am I thinking putting a black bathing suit in a black swim bag causing my kids to search tireless for it in their bag.
How dare I not respond immediately and run upstairs when one of my children screams, "MOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMYYYYYY!" at their loudest volume.
How dare I make my children wear long-sleeves and pants when it is 40 degrees outside. I know t-shirts and shorts are more hip, possibly even more comfortable, but excuse me for worrying about frostbite.
How dare I have only one bottle of special swimmer's hair conditioner for my children to share. I know it must tax them greatly to have to walk the long distance between their bathrooms to exchange the one bottle. I am so sorry for this.
How dare I force my children to complete their school work by themselves, before the deadline while attempting to answer every single question on the page. The horror of horror must be when they are asked to remember to put their name on their paper. I mean, in life, I know that sometimes you don't have make an effort to fully complete your tasks, so it is probably a lesson they don't need to learn. It is just important to me.
How dare I not make every dollop of food and drink I give my kids perfectly even. I know I should carefully measure out each serving and I am sorry that I am so slack in this endeavor.
How dare I finish off the cookies last night that I made over the weekend. I know the kids did not offer to help make them while they were watching "Tom & Jerry" on the television in the kitchen. However, they should be entitled to all the cookies they want, including the last ones which should be measured and divided evenly for them.
How dare I forget to order lunch for them each month. I know that we could eat at a restaurant more cheaply than what it costs them to eat their catered school lunches, but it really shouldn't matter. I know it must be embarrassing for them to be the only ones taking their lunch every day.
How dare I make them complete household chores like putting clothes away, emptying the dishwasher and cleaning their rooms. It is the equivalent to slave labor because I don't pay them for their work, rather I view it as their contributions to helping run our household.
How dare I make a homecooked meal rather than pick-up something on the way home from swimming two days a week. I know my efforts to teach them about nutrition is probably outdated.
How dare I ask that my children brush their teeth not once, but twice a day. Good, healthy teeth are not in fashion right now. And, bad breath is a sure way to win friends. Why would I want them to know this, right?
How dare I send my children to school when they are tired or have a headache or just don't feel like going. I should probably just break the law and allow this truancy, but being compliant is just my nature.
Maybe they will forgive me one day... Sigh.
Wednesday, September 02, 2009
Do You Need a Nanny?
I found these questions on another website: http://www.nannydeprived.com/
Take the Nanny Deprived Quiz :
1) Have you ever eaten a random cheerio, puff, or pretzel just because you had no where else to put it? My Answer: more times than I care to admit!
2) Have you ever vowed to never again wear white due to constant grime, bodily fluids, and dirt showing minutes after you've gotten dressed? I don't think I own anything white except for one t-shirt.
3) Have you ever used your garden hose to wash down a high chair, stroller or child? Yes to these three and throw in booster and car seats, too. I have hosed them down, only later to find the dog napping in it, leaving dog hair all over it, forcing you to repeat the wash down again.
4) Have you ever walked around with a half eaten cookie in your pocket? Yes, and other little tidbits around the house. These days it ends up being a lego piece or hair clips that I find and mean to deposit in their rightful place. They end up on my dresser at the end of the night when I empty my pockets.
5) Do you look forward to going to the doctor or dentist just so you can sit in the waiting room and read a magazine by yourself? I can remember this being the highlight of my mother of preschoolers day. Looking back, that is so sad. We should be helping each other out more in this area. However, I know that when I did have a break from the kids, I had to spend it wisely - doing the errands that were insanity-inducing with them, like Costco.
6) Have you ever used a public restroom while holding a child on your lap because there was no where else to put them? No, actually, I don't think so. I think it is because I always crammed the stroller into the stall with me.
7) Have you watched Yo Gabba Gabba? I'm so sorry if you have! Yes. I think this show is just bizarre. Some of the songs are catchy, but in general I just don't get it. I would add to this, What is the most annoying chidren's show on tv? I vote Yo Gabba Gabba.
8) Have you ever found marshmallows in your slippers? No. But, I have found legos. Ouch!
9) Have you ever counted down the hours until bedtime? Yes. Who hasn't???? Now that they can manage this on their own, I enjoy those few moments of "catch-up" time we have when I tuck them in. Who hasn't looked at the clock and said, "Oh, it is time for bed!" The clock said 6:45 pm, but it didn't really matter because the kids didn't know how to read the clock, yet!
10) Have you perfected the fine art of changing pee soaked sheets while still mostly asleep? Yes.
11) Have you been forced to discuss or explain the plot of a Disney movie while trying to merge onto an interstate in rush hour traffic? Yes. The focus tends to be on Star Wars or SpongeBob as my kids are a little older. However, with the school year in full swing, we are detoxing from tv. There really isn't much time for it. Our conversations about shows is decreasing. Imagine that.
12) Have you ever had to use preschool safety scissors to cut a major package because that was all you could find? I did this today.
13) Have you ever cleaned grilled cheese off of your sunglasses? This one is a little tough. I can't say grilled cheese, but I can say that I have cleaned off unknown food gunk that attached to my glasses while they were stuffed into the bottom of my pocketbook. Does that count?
14) Have you ever answered the door wearing "princess jewelry"? Yes.
15) Have you ever run out of batteries on PURPOSE? Run out of batteries? I have just taken them out!
16) Have you named your dust buster and consider it part of your family? Fred.
17) Can you tell what time it is based on what show is on Noggin or Nick Jr? Yes. During her preschool years, I knew that when Wow Wow Wubzie ended, it was time for Lily's nap.
Gratefully, many of these are no longer applicable since my children are of school age. How many did you get? Can you add some of your own?
Take the Nanny Deprived Quiz :
1) Have you ever eaten a random cheerio, puff, or pretzel just because you had no where else to put it? My Answer: more times than I care to admit!
2) Have you ever vowed to never again wear white due to constant grime, bodily fluids, and dirt showing minutes after you've gotten dressed? I don't think I own anything white except for one t-shirt.
3) Have you ever used your garden hose to wash down a high chair, stroller or child? Yes to these three and throw in booster and car seats, too. I have hosed them down, only later to find the dog napping in it, leaving dog hair all over it, forcing you to repeat the wash down again.
4) Have you ever walked around with a half eaten cookie in your pocket? Yes, and other little tidbits around the house. These days it ends up being a lego piece or hair clips that I find and mean to deposit in their rightful place. They end up on my dresser at the end of the night when I empty my pockets.
5) Do you look forward to going to the doctor or dentist just so you can sit in the waiting room and read a magazine by yourself? I can remember this being the highlight of my mother of preschoolers day. Looking back, that is so sad. We should be helping each other out more in this area. However, I know that when I did have a break from the kids, I had to spend it wisely - doing the errands that were insanity-inducing with them, like Costco.
6) Have you ever used a public restroom while holding a child on your lap because there was no where else to put them? No, actually, I don't think so. I think it is because I always crammed the stroller into the stall with me.
7) Have you watched Yo Gabba Gabba? I'm so sorry if you have! Yes. I think this show is just bizarre. Some of the songs are catchy, but in general I just don't get it. I would add to this, What is the most annoying chidren's show on tv? I vote Yo Gabba Gabba.
8) Have you ever found marshmallows in your slippers? No. But, I have found legos. Ouch!
9) Have you ever counted down the hours until bedtime? Yes. Who hasn't???? Now that they can manage this on their own, I enjoy those few moments of "catch-up" time we have when I tuck them in. Who hasn't looked at the clock and said, "Oh, it is time for bed!" The clock said 6:45 pm, but it didn't really matter because the kids didn't know how to read the clock, yet!
10) Have you perfected the fine art of changing pee soaked sheets while still mostly asleep? Yes.
11) Have you been forced to discuss or explain the plot of a Disney movie while trying to merge onto an interstate in rush hour traffic? Yes. The focus tends to be on Star Wars or SpongeBob as my kids are a little older. However, with the school year in full swing, we are detoxing from tv. There really isn't much time for it. Our conversations about shows is decreasing. Imagine that.
12) Have you ever had to use preschool safety scissors to cut a major package because that was all you could find? I did this today.
13) Have you ever cleaned grilled cheese off of your sunglasses? This one is a little tough. I can't say grilled cheese, but I can say that I have cleaned off unknown food gunk that attached to my glasses while they were stuffed into the bottom of my pocketbook. Does that count?
14) Have you ever answered the door wearing "princess jewelry"? Yes.
15) Have you ever run out of batteries on PURPOSE? Run out of batteries? I have just taken them out!
16) Have you named your dust buster and consider it part of your family? Fred.
17) Can you tell what time it is based on what show is on Noggin or Nick Jr? Yes. During her preschool years, I knew that when Wow Wow Wubzie ended, it was time for Lily's nap.
Gratefully, many of these are no longer applicable since my children are of school age. How many did you get? Can you add some of your own?
Tuesday, September 01, 2009
A low day in the life of mothering
Today was not a stellar day in the life of my children. Relationally, this impacts me, their mother. Oh, I am sure it will pale in comparison to what lies ahead as we enter the wildly hormonal teenage years. However, in the life of elementary students, well, this ranks pretty low on the success rung for me, the mom.
This morning, it was all Lily. Three years of preschool and only a handful of days did she ever cry at leaving me. Now, in kindergarten, she cries every morning, asking, rather begging to stay with me. One of the deciding factors to send her on to 'big school' this year was that she has always loved school and has never exhibited separation anxiety. In fact, none of my children have had any bouts of such for more than a couple of days. Not only does this delay us in getting ready in the mornings, it frustrates me because I have no real idea how to handle it. She is fine in the classroom which makes me believe this is a power thing?? See? I have no idea.
Fastforward to pick-up time at the school. My first hit was when my eyes landed on Sadie's teacher. She promptly walked towards me and as her eyes flitted everywhere but into mine, I could tell that bad news was eminent.
"Sadie, had a bad day today. She had several warnings and went on yellow. We had two specials today and both teachers mentioned Sadie's behavior, too. She had a very hard time controlling herself today. I have moved the children around and I have partnered Sadie with a very quiet girl, so we will see if that helps."
As she finished talking, another teacher brought Sadie outside. I was a bit confused, because Sadie was supposed to be in the holding area and evidently this other teacher thought she wasn't supposed to be there. This other teacher announced quite loudly, "I found Sadie hanging out in the holding room." It made for a quite a confusing and slightly embarrassing moment as all other parental eyes seemed drawn toward my direction.
As I found out, Sadie had also taken it upon herself to help another student, who had a cast on his foot, down the elevator. Elevators are not allowed to be used by students unless instructed by the teacher. Sadie had not been instructed to do so. Yay to Sadie for being helpful, right? But, I know she only did it to ride the elevator.
Then, Lily came outside only to announce to me that she had had, "a very bad day, Mommy." Sigh. I tracked down her teacher only to be told that she had some trouble listening and focusing today. She acted very tired throughout the day.
Next comes Ethan. I barely glanced at his teacher, afraid of what might come next. I did get a nugget of encouragement in that the teacher said there was a, "bit of hope." This comment comes after last week's statement from the teacher, "I could stand for Ethan to be a bit more 'present' in the classroom." I thought that was a diplomatic way to state what really translates to: he needs to get his act together. As we walk away, one of Ethan's friends comes running after him carrying something in his hand. He shouts to my always forgetful son, "Ethan, you forgot your lunchbox!"
We traipse off to the car, all pretty dejected and low. As we left school to head to Ethan's guitar lessons, I tried to be positive. "Did you all get my notes in your lunch today?" Coincidently, they all said, "(Child's Name), you are the best! I love you! Mom,". No one clearly answered me, adding to my feelings of resignation.
While continuing on to our afternoon activities, Ethan decided to change into swim gear in the car before his guitar lesson. I emphasized to him to make sure he got everything back into his swim bag. Ethan responded with, "Oh, Mah-um." He scampered out the car door. Soon after, I picked him up from guitar and deposited him and Sadie at the pool for swim team.
Imagine my shock when I arrived to pick them up from swim team, Ethan announced to me, quite audibly I might add, that I forgot to pack his swim suit and he had to swim in his exercise shorts. Apologizing, I scurried to the car, only to check the back seat and find, viola! his swim shorts.
I announced that we were meeting my own father for dinner. Sadie collapsed in a heap because there was no brush to help her pool head. Ethan started to cry, yes cry, because he did not have dry underwear to put on. The thought of going commando sent him into a tailspin. But wait...he could don his still dry swim suit. Solution! And, my step mom might have a brush. Life could move on.
During dinner, Sadie fell asleep and Lily burped twice so loudly that patrons of the restaurant turned their heads in dismay. Lily could also not sit still which meant constantly kicking her nearest neighbor, me, with her feet. Upon arriving home, the car stayed parked halfway down the driveway as we have had our driveway resurfaced. Therefore it took three, long trips from the car to carry in all that accumulated in that day alone. Lily stumbled up the driveway, wearing only one shoe, carrying the other one as dejectedly as I felt.
As I walked to the car on the last trip, I picked up Ethan's underwear and a pair of his socks that had fallen out of his bag which laid quite pathetically on the wet driveway... oblivious to him, of course. In the laundry room, while unpacking swim bags, I pulled out a t-shirt from Ethan's swim bag. I held it up and showed it to him. I already knew the answer before I asked.
"I think that is Coach Rob's t-shirt. How did that get in my bag?" Seriously, Ethan? Seriously?
Tonight, I ask myself, "Can I hold this all together for an entire school year?" I really should get paid more for this job on days like today. I think this will definitely be the year of repetition -repetition in what comes out of my mouth. "Focus, Self-control, You are OK, FOCUS!" There has to be an easier way, right?
This morning, it was all Lily. Three years of preschool and only a handful of days did she ever cry at leaving me. Now, in kindergarten, she cries every morning, asking, rather begging to stay with me. One of the deciding factors to send her on to 'big school' this year was that she has always loved school and has never exhibited separation anxiety. In fact, none of my children have had any bouts of such for more than a couple of days. Not only does this delay us in getting ready in the mornings, it frustrates me because I have no real idea how to handle it. She is fine in the classroom which makes me believe this is a power thing?? See? I have no idea.
Fastforward to pick-up time at the school. My first hit was when my eyes landed on Sadie's teacher. She promptly walked towards me and as her eyes flitted everywhere but into mine, I could tell that bad news was eminent.
"Sadie, had a bad day today. She had several warnings and went on yellow. We had two specials today and both teachers mentioned Sadie's behavior, too. She had a very hard time controlling herself today. I have moved the children around and I have partnered Sadie with a very quiet girl, so we will see if that helps."
As she finished talking, another teacher brought Sadie outside. I was a bit confused, because Sadie was supposed to be in the holding area and evidently this other teacher thought she wasn't supposed to be there. This other teacher announced quite loudly, "I found Sadie hanging out in the holding room." It made for a quite a confusing and slightly embarrassing moment as all other parental eyes seemed drawn toward my direction.
As I found out, Sadie had also taken it upon herself to help another student, who had a cast on his foot, down the elevator. Elevators are not allowed to be used by students unless instructed by the teacher. Sadie had not been instructed to do so. Yay to Sadie for being helpful, right? But, I know she only did it to ride the elevator.
Then, Lily came outside only to announce to me that she had had, "a very bad day, Mommy." Sigh. I tracked down her teacher only to be told that she had some trouble listening and focusing today. She acted very tired throughout the day.
Next comes Ethan. I barely glanced at his teacher, afraid of what might come next. I did get a nugget of encouragement in that the teacher said there was a, "bit of hope." This comment comes after last week's statement from the teacher, "I could stand for Ethan to be a bit more 'present' in the classroom." I thought that was a diplomatic way to state what really translates to: he needs to get his act together. As we walk away, one of Ethan's friends comes running after him carrying something in his hand. He shouts to my always forgetful son, "Ethan, you forgot your lunchbox!"
We traipse off to the car, all pretty dejected and low. As we left school to head to Ethan's guitar lessons, I tried to be positive. "Did you all get my notes in your lunch today?" Coincidently, they all said, "(Child's Name), you are the best! I love you! Mom,". No one clearly answered me, adding to my feelings of resignation.
While continuing on to our afternoon activities, Ethan decided to change into swim gear in the car before his guitar lesson. I emphasized to him to make sure he got everything back into his swim bag. Ethan responded with, "Oh, Mah-um." He scampered out the car door. Soon after, I picked him up from guitar and deposited him and Sadie at the pool for swim team.
Imagine my shock when I arrived to pick them up from swim team, Ethan announced to me, quite audibly I might add, that I forgot to pack his swim suit and he had to swim in his exercise shorts. Apologizing, I scurried to the car, only to check the back seat and find, viola! his swim shorts.
I announced that we were meeting my own father for dinner. Sadie collapsed in a heap because there was no brush to help her pool head. Ethan started to cry, yes cry, because he did not have dry underwear to put on. The thought of going commando sent him into a tailspin. But wait...he could don his still dry swim suit. Solution! And, my step mom might have a brush. Life could move on.
During dinner, Sadie fell asleep and Lily burped twice so loudly that patrons of the restaurant turned their heads in dismay. Lily could also not sit still which meant constantly kicking her nearest neighbor, me, with her feet. Upon arriving home, the car stayed parked halfway down the driveway as we have had our driveway resurfaced. Therefore it took three, long trips from the car to carry in all that accumulated in that day alone. Lily stumbled up the driveway, wearing only one shoe, carrying the other one as dejectedly as I felt.
As I walked to the car on the last trip, I picked up Ethan's underwear and a pair of his socks that had fallen out of his bag which laid quite pathetically on the wet driveway... oblivious to him, of course. In the laundry room, while unpacking swim bags, I pulled out a t-shirt from Ethan's swim bag. I held it up and showed it to him. I already knew the answer before I asked.
"I think that is Coach Rob's t-shirt. How did that get in my bag?" Seriously, Ethan? Seriously?
Tonight, I ask myself, "Can I hold this all together for an entire school year?" I really should get paid more for this job on days like today. I think this will definitely be the year of repetition -repetition in what comes out of my mouth. "Focus, Self-control, You are OK, FOCUS!" There has to be an easier way, right?
Thursday, March 26, 2009
It's a Heart Matter
The biggest challenge for me, as a parent, is to teach my children that it is simply not enough to respond to my commands in a robotic fashion. You know, "do it, because I said so." Additionally, I don't want them to perform because "God says to do it," either. Rather, I want them to develop a heart, a desire, for choosing to do the right thing.
I grew up in a house where I was to be the "seen, not heard" child. Good behavior was not optional. A response of any sort to a verbal command was dealt with severely. Performance was the only road to success. I can remember extreme frustration with never being able to voice an opinion, come to a compromise, or freely talk about my feelings. This is not a slap in the face of my parents, as the above things have situational merit. Additionally, they did a whole heap of things right that I have passed onto my own. With the exception of a rebellious college and young adult life, their parenting produced a relatively decent outcome.
No child struggles with this matter of the heart more than my dear Sadie. She is the pot stirrer, the envelope pusher, the strong-willed, yet, she is my creative genius, my leader and my most responsible. The dichotomy of her personality never fails to puzzle me.
Therefore, with her spirited personality, it was clear from the beginning that using the iron-fist to force her into obedience just wasn't going to work. Instead, I wanted to teach her how to use her words, calmly, maturely into telling me how she was feeling. I had hoped that given this opportunity to express herself, we might decrease fit throwing, flailing, crying, screaming and other non-desirable behaviors. She needed to know how to express herself. And this week, she did.
She told me that she didn't want to put her clothes away. It was too hard. She didn't want to do chores anymore. It makes her angry. And, the key to it all was this statement: I am tired of trying to have self-control. I applauded her efforts at verbalizing, calmly, what she was feeling. I affirmed them as understandable. She still had to finish her job, but her confession opened the door for some great dialogue.
Don't we all feel that way at times - tired of self-control? I'll admit it, I frequently feel constricted by my own vision of self-control. Self-control of my actions, my feelings, my emotions, my relationships, with food. The list goes on and on. We fight this battle independently, even though it isn't expected that we manage this all on our own. The pressure to be always under control, to perform, can be so intense and futile that at times we decide to throw in the towel. Usually that is where God finds us, at the point of no hope. I have totally rambled here. Back to topic...
There is a fine line between the performance mentality and acting from the heart. I think most of us vacillate frequently between the two. As I work through this with Sadie, I have to evaluate my own heart and motives. How much of what I do is performed, but without heart? Finding that pure balance is tough enough in my own life. Trying to teach it? That is a whole other heart matter.
I grew up in a house where I was to be the "seen, not heard" child. Good behavior was not optional. A response of any sort to a verbal command was dealt with severely. Performance was the only road to success. I can remember extreme frustration with never being able to voice an opinion, come to a compromise, or freely talk about my feelings. This is not a slap in the face of my parents, as the above things have situational merit. Additionally, they did a whole heap of things right that I have passed onto my own. With the exception of a rebellious college and young adult life, their parenting produced a relatively decent outcome.
No child struggles with this matter of the heart more than my dear Sadie. She is the pot stirrer, the envelope pusher, the strong-willed, yet, she is my creative genius, my leader and my most responsible. The dichotomy of her personality never fails to puzzle me.
Therefore, with her spirited personality, it was clear from the beginning that using the iron-fist to force her into obedience just wasn't going to work. Instead, I wanted to teach her how to use her words, calmly, maturely into telling me how she was feeling. I had hoped that given this opportunity to express herself, we might decrease fit throwing, flailing, crying, screaming and other non-desirable behaviors. She needed to know how to express herself. And this week, she did.
She told me that she didn't want to put her clothes away. It was too hard. She didn't want to do chores anymore. It makes her angry. And, the key to it all was this statement: I am tired of trying to have self-control. I applauded her efforts at verbalizing, calmly, what she was feeling. I affirmed them as understandable. She still had to finish her job, but her confession opened the door for some great dialogue.
Don't we all feel that way at times - tired of self-control? I'll admit it, I frequently feel constricted by my own vision of self-control. Self-control of my actions, my feelings, my emotions, my relationships, with food. The list goes on and on. We fight this battle independently, even though it isn't expected that we manage this all on our own. The pressure to be always under control, to perform, can be so intense and futile that at times we decide to throw in the towel. Usually that is where God finds us, at the point of no hope. I have totally rambled here. Back to topic...
There is a fine line between the performance mentality and acting from the heart. I think most of us vacillate frequently between the two. As I work through this with Sadie, I have to evaluate my own heart and motives. How much of what I do is performed, but without heart? Finding that pure balance is tough enough in my own life. Trying to teach it? That is a whole other heart matter.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Confessions of a Real Mom
You know what? I am fed up. I am tired. Ladies, we are all guilty of what I am about to write and it is time for it to stop.
What has gotten me all riled up, ruffled my feathers and helped me onto my soapbox? The comparing of ourselves to each other, the judgments we put forth onto each other...the super-erroneous belief that any one of us truly "has it all together."
I am laying it all on the line, here. I DO NOT have it all together and frankly I am ashamed for all previous attempts to appear as such. Any time I have behaved out of the fear of the rolling eyes of others, made choices because of how pious or holy I might be seen, hidden the dark secrets of the pursuit of self, well, I express my deepest apologies. I stand in defiance of the social pressure and the ridiculous codes that are unspoken but well-understood by wives and moms. We allow the grade of passing to be nothing but 100%, and why? I declare today, I will not do it any more.
So ladies, here's to the time I allowed my kids to watch the "Transformers Movie," ignorant of the fact that it was rated PG13. Not only did my two oldest watch it, so did 5 other little boys who were spending the night as guests of my oldest, most of whom have not been back to our house. As a direct result of this movie, I was asked by my children while riding in the car home from school what "Master-bathing" was. In my innocence, I thought they had seen a Re-Bath truck. You know the company, the one that can reglaze, reglamorize your bathroom? Oh, but no, after the third time of hearing the word, "Master-Bathing" it dawned on me. My voice went up about 3 octaves and I nearly lost control of the car. Imagine my delight upon hearing the answer to my panic-muttered question, "Where did you hear that word?" Sadie repeated, verbatum the four lines prior to and the four lines post the "word in question." Ethan blurted out...It was in Transformers, Mom, you know, the movie you let us watch at the sleepover? If you really want to know how bad this movie is, click here for the parental guide that I most definitely should have read. I am horrified.
While I am at it, here are some more confessions...Here's to unwanted facial hair and the battle it takes to have it removed. Here's to starving myself a day here or there to maintain a ridiculous weight that I didn't even have in high school. Here's to insane contemplations of getting cosmetic procedures at 37 that didn't exist 10 years ago.
Here's to the time I accidentally left my middle child at home ALONE for at least 30 minutes when she was only 3 years old. She survived. I survived. But it was terrible.
I buy clothes at Wal-Mart, wash my face with regular bath soap about 75% of the time and eat a hot dog, loaded, with fries and a Diet Cheerwine every Tuesday at the Dog House on Main Street. I use harsh chemicals to clean my house because I love the smell and haven't invested the time or money into shopping organic.
I try to recycle but every once in a while just chuck the bag at the main dumpster at the dump. And, I have used the dumpsters at High Point's largest church for my bags of refuse when I realized that the trash dump was closed and I had a car load of stink. Because of regular trash dump runs, I had a mouse living in my van, make that thriving in my van, for over a week. My van is filthy, littered with fast food nibbles and stained in varying shades of muck that I don't even want to know its origins.
I claim to be active on doctor's forms and insurance forms, but I never exercise. Even though my back surgeon gave me the green light to go skiing, I still use my back surgery for many excuses to get out of moving anything remotely heavy or for doing any yard work. Basically, I am lying.
I have been "working" on the same bible study for over a year now, despite the "glowing reviews" that I give to other people about it. It is good, I just haven't finished it. In fact, I have led numerous bible studies, counseled and mentored ladies, but have yet to read the entire bible. Sure, I strongly desire to read all of it, but haven't. I have about 5 scriptures memorized and repeatedly use them with as much authority as I can muster.
I don't volunteer at my kid's school very often and think that is just fine. And, frankly, I don't particularly like watching other people's kids, though the older they get, it is easier.
Pets and plants have a very low survival rate in our house. The stories coming from the house of horrors are disturbing, I'll admit it. Cats, dogs, hermit crabs, love birds...none are immune.
My kids have sat in front of the television ALL afternoon watching junk that should have never been produced under the umbrella of children's television. Additional abominations include their repeated references from infomercials, like "peel and press crown molding," the "snuggly," the mini hamburger "sliders" maker. They have a strange affection for Billy Mayes and complain that he yells through the tv. And, we have interesting conversations that center around the difference between Nationwide, State Farm and how you can save 15% on Geico Insurance. All courtesy of their television viewing.
When they were younger, I let my kids stay in diapers long after they should have been changed, let them eat stuff dropped on the floor, and lied to them about dates for birthday parties that they were not going to attend. My kids occasionally go to bed and to school without their teeth brushed or hair combed. Every morning I give thought to allowing the kids to skip school and for all of us to just sleep in. If not for the fact that we carpool, I might just do it, too. This school year, I struggled with serious, serious pride issues because my oldest got his first B this year, eliminating him from the much publicized all-A honor roll for the 2nd quarter. Pathetic.
I don't like doing crafts with my kids. There, I said it. The idea of created permanent works of collectible art is very utopian. But, in fact, the mess, the chaos and the end results are never worth the effort in my mind. I do it solely out of peer pressure.
I have regifted, parked illegally and not put my shopping cart back into the corral. I rarely separate my lights and darks while doing laundry and feign ignorance when my husband complains that all his undershirts are dingy. I have read only two complete novels in the last year.
I have yelled at, screamed at and berated my children. I have had days where I hated being a mother, hated my children and plotted my get away plan.
Projects? Do I have half-finished projects? There is a set of unfinished chairs in our basement that I have "promised" to polyurethane since before Jay and I even met. Our financial files are a mess despite the purchase of a new filing system in the last couple of months. I have three long years and growing of photos waiting to be archived. I have a room full of scrapbooking supplies which no human could ever possibly consume. Yet, I continue to pick-up a roll of ribbon on sale or a pack of the latest paper designs.
My second to the last spiritual gift, according to every assessment I have ever taken, is mercy. Therefore, if my child comes to me, multiple times with the same issue, chances are, I am tuning him/her out. I just don't have it to give. Most likely, I exhibit the same behavior to the adults in my life.
I sometimes listen to non-Christian music, drink a beer or two on the weekends and enjoy a night out on the town. We have "skipped" church a couple of times in the last several months and I don't think that changes my status with God. I am tired of running that performance race as well. God knows my heart. I talk to Him every day. He knows I love Him.
I ask, where is our confidence, ladies? Just what is the ruler by which we measure ourselves? There are going to be successful days and days of massive failure. But averaging it out, I think I am doing the best I can with what I know. I will strive to improve, gain a little more insight, but always with that knowledge that I will never achieve perfection. I will never again measure my success in my home by the yardstick from another home.
Whew! I feel a lot better. Here's your chance. Get it all out. Post it in the comments section, anonymously if you want. And never, never again feel the guilt of your actions because you didn't do what Miss So-and-so did.
What has gotten me all riled up, ruffled my feathers and helped me onto my soapbox? The comparing of ourselves to each other, the judgments we put forth onto each other...the super-erroneous belief that any one of us truly "has it all together."
I am laying it all on the line, here. I DO NOT have it all together and frankly I am ashamed for all previous attempts to appear as such. Any time I have behaved out of the fear of the rolling eyes of others, made choices because of how pious or holy I might be seen, hidden the dark secrets of the pursuit of self, well, I express my deepest apologies. I stand in defiance of the social pressure and the ridiculous codes that are unspoken but well-understood by wives and moms. We allow the grade of passing to be nothing but 100%, and why? I declare today, I will not do it any more.
So ladies, here's to the time I allowed my kids to watch the "Transformers Movie," ignorant of the fact that it was rated PG13. Not only did my two oldest watch it, so did 5 other little boys who were spending the night as guests of my oldest, most of whom have not been back to our house. As a direct result of this movie, I was asked by my children while riding in the car home from school what "Master-bathing" was. In my innocence, I thought they had seen a Re-Bath truck. You know the company, the one that can reglaze, reglamorize your bathroom? Oh, but no, after the third time of hearing the word, "Master-Bathing" it dawned on me. My voice went up about 3 octaves and I nearly lost control of the car. Imagine my delight upon hearing the answer to my panic-muttered question, "Where did you hear that word?" Sadie repeated, verbatum the four lines prior to and the four lines post the "word in question." Ethan blurted out...It was in Transformers, Mom, you know, the movie you let us watch at the sleepover? If you really want to know how bad this movie is, click here for the parental guide that I most definitely should have read. I am horrified.
While I am at it, here are some more confessions...Here's to unwanted facial hair and the battle it takes to have it removed. Here's to starving myself a day here or there to maintain a ridiculous weight that I didn't even have in high school. Here's to insane contemplations of getting cosmetic procedures at 37 that didn't exist 10 years ago.
Here's to the time I accidentally left my middle child at home ALONE for at least 30 minutes when she was only 3 years old. She survived. I survived. But it was terrible.
I buy clothes at Wal-Mart, wash my face with regular bath soap about 75% of the time and eat a hot dog, loaded, with fries and a Diet Cheerwine every Tuesday at the Dog House on Main Street. I use harsh chemicals to clean my house because I love the smell and haven't invested the time or money into shopping organic.
I try to recycle but every once in a while just chuck the bag at the main dumpster at the dump. And, I have used the dumpsters at High Point's largest church for my bags of refuse when I realized that the trash dump was closed and I had a car load of stink. Because of regular trash dump runs, I had a mouse living in my van, make that thriving in my van, for over a week. My van is filthy, littered with fast food nibbles and stained in varying shades of muck that I don't even want to know its origins.
I claim to be active on doctor's forms and insurance forms, but I never exercise. Even though my back surgeon gave me the green light to go skiing, I still use my back surgery for many excuses to get out of moving anything remotely heavy or for doing any yard work. Basically, I am lying.
I have been "working" on the same bible study for over a year now, despite the "glowing reviews" that I give to other people about it. It is good, I just haven't finished it. In fact, I have led numerous bible studies, counseled and mentored ladies, but have yet to read the entire bible. Sure, I strongly desire to read all of it, but haven't. I have about 5 scriptures memorized and repeatedly use them with as much authority as I can muster.
I don't volunteer at my kid's school very often and think that is just fine. And, frankly, I don't particularly like watching other people's kids, though the older they get, it is easier.
Pets and plants have a very low survival rate in our house. The stories coming from the house of horrors are disturbing, I'll admit it. Cats, dogs, hermit crabs, love birds...none are immune.
My kids have sat in front of the television ALL afternoon watching junk that should have never been produced under the umbrella of children's television. Additional abominations include their repeated references from infomercials, like "peel and press crown molding," the "snuggly," the mini hamburger "sliders" maker. They have a strange affection for Billy Mayes and complain that he yells through the tv. And, we have interesting conversations that center around the difference between Nationwide, State Farm and how you can save 15% on Geico Insurance. All courtesy of their television viewing.
When they were younger, I let my kids stay in diapers long after they should have been changed, let them eat stuff dropped on the floor, and lied to them about dates for birthday parties that they were not going to attend. My kids occasionally go to bed and to school without their teeth brushed or hair combed. Every morning I give thought to allowing the kids to skip school and for all of us to just sleep in. If not for the fact that we carpool, I might just do it, too. This school year, I struggled with serious, serious pride issues because my oldest got his first B this year, eliminating him from the much publicized all-A honor roll for the 2nd quarter. Pathetic.
I don't like doing crafts with my kids. There, I said it. The idea of created permanent works of collectible art is very utopian. But, in fact, the mess, the chaos and the end results are never worth the effort in my mind. I do it solely out of peer pressure.
I have regifted, parked illegally and not put my shopping cart back into the corral. I rarely separate my lights and darks while doing laundry and feign ignorance when my husband complains that all his undershirts are dingy. I have read only two complete novels in the last year.
I have yelled at, screamed at and berated my children. I have had days where I hated being a mother, hated my children and plotted my get away plan.
Projects? Do I have half-finished projects? There is a set of unfinished chairs in our basement that I have "promised" to polyurethane since before Jay and I even met. Our financial files are a mess despite the purchase of a new filing system in the last couple of months. I have three long years and growing of photos waiting to be archived. I have a room full of scrapbooking supplies which no human could ever possibly consume. Yet, I continue to pick-up a roll of ribbon on sale or a pack of the latest paper designs.
My second to the last spiritual gift, according to every assessment I have ever taken, is mercy. Therefore, if my child comes to me, multiple times with the same issue, chances are, I am tuning him/her out. I just don't have it to give. Most likely, I exhibit the same behavior to the adults in my life.
I sometimes listen to non-Christian music, drink a beer or two on the weekends and enjoy a night out on the town. We have "skipped" church a couple of times in the last several months and I don't think that changes my status with God. I am tired of running that performance race as well. God knows my heart. I talk to Him every day. He knows I love Him.
I ask, where is our confidence, ladies? Just what is the ruler by which we measure ourselves? There are going to be successful days and days of massive failure. But averaging it out, I think I am doing the best I can with what I know. I will strive to improve, gain a little more insight, but always with that knowledge that I will never achieve perfection. I will never again measure my success in my home by the yardstick from another home.
Whew! I feel a lot better. Here's your chance. Get it all out. Post it in the comments section, anonymously if you want. And never, never again feel the guilt of your actions because you didn't do what Miss So-and-so did.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Goodnight Sweetheart
The sweetest time for me with each of my children is the brief time I get to spend with them each night when it is time to tuck them in. It is usually just the two of us, alone, in their own beds. Our most precious conversations occur then. These are the chats that remind me that maybe I did something right that day, even if small. They are the exchanges that give me energy to keep going, the encouragement to stay on the parenting track.
Our night time ritual has varied very little since my first was born nearly 9 years ago. Nine, wow, that is a long time for a habit. Early on, I was the one doing all the preparation for bedtime, often in fits of fighting and tears. Getting children dressed, brushing teeth, and doing the last pick-up at that final hour was wearying. By the time we reached the actual reading and tuck-in part, I was done. All I wanted to do was get it over and get downstairs, signaling the hopeful end of my day as a mother. But over the last several months, my youngest child has now transitioned to complete independence in this area. This leaves me with only the most enjoyable parts - reading and the official tuck-in.
The official tuck-in. A time of reassurances, kisses, hugs, love, prayers, and conversation. A time of undivided attention (less the occasional scream of when-are-you-coming-into-my-room-mom from another one). A time of understanding my children and who they are growing to be. A time that they do not have to battle to be heard over the chaotic noise of our home. A time of snippets of spiritual instruction and exchange.
It is a time of deep introspection for Ethan. With the house quieting down, he is finally able to focus on his thoughts which usually lead to spiritual ponderings. Around the time of his aunt's death, these inquiries lingered on her life, her walk with God, and the whys behind it all. Tough questions when the day was winding down, children tired and emotions a bit heightened. He produces a lot of questions in general, but more so when the sun is setting.
My middle girl's heart and words burst forth in plans and goals of the coming days. We often review the day's behavior and her successful attempts at self-control. As a true spirited child, Sadie has been a challenging joy. These moments when all is calm, really bring out the best in her. She shines in explaining all the grandiose inventions she has devised and in verbalizing complex interpretations of the social dynamics of those around her. Even in our most difficult days together, this is the time when I receive her true remorse and heart-felt apologies for her day's transgressions.
Little Lovey's time with me is spent doing her favorite thing, snuggling and whispering words of affirmation and unconditional love. She desires to be as close to me as possible, seemingly crawling under my skin. Her lids blinking more slowly while the tight-fisted hand rubs her eyes fighting the sleep that is coming. Butterfly kisses, deathly tight hugs and the rubbing of her belly are her usual requests. Throughout it all is her need to hear the promise that God is with her, protecting her, keeping her safe through the night.
I used to think of our nighttime ritual a bit begrudgingly, the last chore of the day. During those long, lost days of mothering 3 children, ages 4 and under, I frequently wanted to just crawl back into my bed. The ready for bed routine signaled the end of the day. Relief was near. It was the transition to one of the most sacred and coveted times for me, sleep. Fighting all exhaustion, mentally and physically, I would lean in for that last kiss and my attitude would soften. Something exchanged between me and my children in that moment. The tension simply dissipated. Then, my children would adorn me with the most sincere love and admiration that had been absent, forgotten the previous hours. Their sweet, kind words tumbling forth into undeserved declarations like, "You are the greatest mom, ever." They didn't know the full impact of those words during those darker days. They don't know the impact of them even today. They make me love being a mom. They make me believe I can do it again, if for just one more day.
Goodnight, my sweethearts.
Our night time ritual has varied very little since my first was born nearly 9 years ago. Nine, wow, that is a long time for a habit. Early on, I was the one doing all the preparation for bedtime, often in fits of fighting and tears. Getting children dressed, brushing teeth, and doing the last pick-up at that final hour was wearying. By the time we reached the actual reading and tuck-in part, I was done. All I wanted to do was get it over and get downstairs, signaling the hopeful end of my day as a mother. But over the last several months, my youngest child has now transitioned to complete independence in this area. This leaves me with only the most enjoyable parts - reading and the official tuck-in.
The official tuck-in. A time of reassurances, kisses, hugs, love, prayers, and conversation. A time of undivided attention (less the occasional scream of when-are-you-coming-into-my-room-mom from another one). A time of understanding my children and who they are growing to be. A time that they do not have to battle to be heard over the chaotic noise of our home. A time of snippets of spiritual instruction and exchange.
It is a time of deep introspection for Ethan. With the house quieting down, he is finally able to focus on his thoughts which usually lead to spiritual ponderings. Around the time of his aunt's death, these inquiries lingered on her life, her walk with God, and the whys behind it all. Tough questions when the day was winding down, children tired and emotions a bit heightened. He produces a lot of questions in general, but more so when the sun is setting.
My middle girl's heart and words burst forth in plans and goals of the coming days. We often review the day's behavior and her successful attempts at self-control. As a true spirited child, Sadie has been a challenging joy. These moments when all is calm, really bring out the best in her. She shines in explaining all the grandiose inventions she has devised and in verbalizing complex interpretations of the social dynamics of those around her. Even in our most difficult days together, this is the time when I receive her true remorse and heart-felt apologies for her day's transgressions.
Little Lovey's time with me is spent doing her favorite thing, snuggling and whispering words of affirmation and unconditional love. She desires to be as close to me as possible, seemingly crawling under my skin. Her lids blinking more slowly while the tight-fisted hand rubs her eyes fighting the sleep that is coming. Butterfly kisses, deathly tight hugs and the rubbing of her belly are her usual requests. Throughout it all is her need to hear the promise that God is with her, protecting her, keeping her safe through the night.
I used to think of our nighttime ritual a bit begrudgingly, the last chore of the day. During those long, lost days of mothering 3 children, ages 4 and under, I frequently wanted to just crawl back into my bed. The ready for bed routine signaled the end of the day. Relief was near. It was the transition to one of the most sacred and coveted times for me, sleep. Fighting all exhaustion, mentally and physically, I would lean in for that last kiss and my attitude would soften. Something exchanged between me and my children in that moment. The tension simply dissipated. Then, my children would adorn me with the most sincere love and admiration that had been absent, forgotten the previous hours. Their sweet, kind words tumbling forth into undeserved declarations like, "You are the greatest mom, ever." They didn't know the full impact of those words during those darker days. They don't know the impact of them even today. They make me love being a mom. They make me believe I can do it again, if for just one more day.
Goodnight, my sweethearts.
Sunday, February 01, 2009
How I Roll - Take 2
Well, How funny. Before you read this post, you MUST go read the one right under it, "That's Just How I Roll." Ok, so do it. Yes, right now, or this post can not be fully appreciated. Did you read it? Ok, proceed.
The minute I hit "publish post" on my entry for today which, incidentally, ended up being at 9:30 tonight, Lily came into my room. As she approached the bed she said, "I am scared to go to bed." She proceeded to climb into my bed and snuggled up as close to me as possible. Ethan also scampered into the room and was requesting something ridiculous like to start playing Rock Band or to get a snack way past his bed time. As I turned to looked at him to find out just what planet he thought he live on, Lily began to cough.
You know the one. The one that you know is a little different than something originating from the lungs. And, before you can put your finger on exactly what is happening, the cough turns into a gag and subsequent pukefest.
It was the worst kind. It went on and on and on. The arm used to cradle her was now cradling the pool of stomach contents and bile. I could not, for the life of me, figure out how to get the two of us off the bed without the massive amount of "stuff" being strewn across our bed and sheets, penetrating deeper into our hair, further staining our clothing, littering the floor and ultimately being forced down the shower drain.
Ethan stood there in shock, not moving an inch. Sadie came running in and turned on this freakish little Nurse Nellie routine, shouting, "I'll got get the....," and she trailed away, not really knowing what to actually get for us. Jay, who had already fallen asleep beside me, continued to sleep through the entire ordeal. And, all I could think about was protecting my precious laptop from an encounter with yuck.
I roused Jay from his sleep with a loud, "SAVE THE LAPTOP!" Meanwhile, Ethan remained fixed, occasionally sticking his head out to examine what was covering us. He began to emit his own gagging noises and I banished him from the room. Sadie came running back into the room, throwing paper towels at us along with the family "puke pot." At that point, I figured I should just make a run for the shower holding Lily in my arms, sticking together with the putrid ejection.
Sadie helped Jay, who had finally gotten out of bed, collect the soiled clothes, the bed linens and towels and start the laundry. She even asked him if she needed to unload the dishwasher! Something about that makes me giggle. But, she wanted to do everything she could think of the help. She was ALL about action! Precious.
It reminded me of the time that Lily got into Jay's heart medication when we were trailer camping at the Oak Hollow Campground while we rented our nice, cozy house to market visitors and ended up staying 3 days at Brenner's Children's' Hospital (future potential post). During the initial discovery, Sadie transformed into the "emergency director." She really tapped into this high-level leadership mode. While I was in panic mode, trying to track down Jay, Sadie shouted orders to everyone to get their shoes on and handed me MY purse and said let's get in the car!
Back to my night...Ethan poked his head in every once in a while to check for more contents, discuss the nastiness of it all and crack a couple of jokes - what is it about an 8 year old and vomit? In the shower, Lily cried little tears and declared it was the hot dog that Daddy made her eat.
Once clean, laundry begun, sheets changed, Jay promptly went back to sleep, Lily too. I sit wedged with her and the "vomit bucket" as I type. Sadie and Ethan decided to sleep in the living room on the "new rug." Again, I am at a loss as to why anyone would want to sleep on the floor rather than a bed, but whatever. For some reason the new rug is a draw. I just tucked them and Dixie in and gave them a kiss. As I bent down to Ethan, he thought he would be cute and pretend-gag right in my face. Nice. Sadie wanted to read about dogs and Dixie nipped at my heel.
I sit here, still smelling some tiny bit of wretchedness lingering somewhere, missed. I think about what I wrote in "That's Just How I Roll". Had my plans for this evening remained unchanged, I could have missed out being the target of projectile regurgitation. And, I would have missed these little snippets into my children's personalities, a chance to comfort my littlest one and remember that my purpose is right here, rolling with them.
The minute I hit "publish post" on my entry for today which, incidentally, ended up being at 9:30 tonight, Lily came into my room. As she approached the bed she said, "I am scared to go to bed." She proceeded to climb into my bed and snuggled up as close to me as possible. Ethan also scampered into the room and was requesting something ridiculous like to start playing Rock Band or to get a snack way past his bed time. As I turned to looked at him to find out just what planet he thought he live on, Lily began to cough.
You know the one. The one that you know is a little different than something originating from the lungs. And, before you can put your finger on exactly what is happening, the cough turns into a gag and subsequent pukefest.
It was the worst kind. It went on and on and on. The arm used to cradle her was now cradling the pool of stomach contents and bile. I could not, for the life of me, figure out how to get the two of us off the bed without the massive amount of "stuff" being strewn across our bed and sheets, penetrating deeper into our hair, further staining our clothing, littering the floor and ultimately being forced down the shower drain.
Ethan stood there in shock, not moving an inch. Sadie came running in and turned on this freakish little Nurse Nellie routine, shouting, "I'll got get the....," and she trailed away, not really knowing what to actually get for us. Jay, who had already fallen asleep beside me, continued to sleep through the entire ordeal. And, all I could think about was protecting my precious laptop from an encounter with yuck.
I roused Jay from his sleep with a loud, "SAVE THE LAPTOP!" Meanwhile, Ethan remained fixed, occasionally sticking his head out to examine what was covering us. He began to emit his own gagging noises and I banished him from the room. Sadie came running back into the room, throwing paper towels at us along with the family "puke pot." At that point, I figured I should just make a run for the shower holding Lily in my arms, sticking together with the putrid ejection.
Sadie helped Jay, who had finally gotten out of bed, collect the soiled clothes, the bed linens and towels and start the laundry. She even asked him if she needed to unload the dishwasher! Something about that makes me giggle. But, she wanted to do everything she could think of the help. She was ALL about action! Precious.
It reminded me of the time that Lily got into Jay's heart medication when we were trailer camping at the Oak Hollow Campground while we rented our nice, cozy house to market visitors and ended up staying 3 days at Brenner's Children's' Hospital (future potential post). During the initial discovery, Sadie transformed into the "emergency director." She really tapped into this high-level leadership mode. While I was in panic mode, trying to track down Jay, Sadie shouted orders to everyone to get their shoes on and handed me MY purse and said let's get in the car!
Back to my night...Ethan poked his head in every once in a while to check for more contents, discuss the nastiness of it all and crack a couple of jokes - what is it about an 8 year old and vomit? In the shower, Lily cried little tears and declared it was the hot dog that Daddy made her eat.
Once clean, laundry begun, sheets changed, Jay promptly went back to sleep, Lily too. I sit wedged with her and the "vomit bucket" as I type. Sadie and Ethan decided to sleep in the living room on the "new rug." Again, I am at a loss as to why anyone would want to sleep on the floor rather than a bed, but whatever. For some reason the new rug is a draw. I just tucked them and Dixie in and gave them a kiss. As I bent down to Ethan, he thought he would be cute and pretend-gag right in my face. Nice. Sadie wanted to read about dogs and Dixie nipped at my heel.
I sit here, still smelling some tiny bit of wretchedness lingering somewhere, missed. I think about what I wrote in "That's Just How I Roll". Had my plans for this evening remained unchanged, I could have missed out being the target of projectile regurgitation. And, I would have missed these little snippets into my children's personalities, a chance to comfort my littlest one and remember that my purpose is right here, rolling with them.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
