Posts
Little Leo is 3!
It’s was a very roller coaster ride of a week. It began with the first anniversary of my mother’s death. It was actually worse than I thought it would be. I was just beginning to remember my mother in good health again; a beautiful soul that will live on forever, not a tired, failing body gasping for every conceivably last breath.
I went to bed the night before and prayed not to be awake to see the clock hit 5:56 a.m.. I never want to see that time again, but particularly on that day. I managed to dodge it that morning, but I was awake every hour of the night at some point, and each time I opened my eyes, I saw my mother suffering and struggling for that last breath to bring her some peace, and me a devastation unlike anything I foolishly thought I was prepared for. And I ached and grieved all over again, all day long, as if it had just happened. And just to add salt to the wound, my 92 year old grandfather had a heart attack on this day. It’s no coincidence. He wants to go be with his daughter, I know he does. But he is still here, and he is still mourning. It is a horrible day and I find it hard to believe that it will ever be anything but.
Four days after my mother’s death comes my mother’s birthday, right on time. It truly feels like a gift from God; his way of telling me to cheer up! Yes, her death was terrible, but her life was precious. And her 58 years of a well served life cannot be overshadowed by one year of a slow and painful death. And on her birthday, her life as my mother played like a lovely slideshow before my eyes. She was healthy and beautiful and never nagged me a bit (thank you again Lord, for the selective memory).
Two days after my mother’s birthday, comes my little Leo’s birthday. I am so excited to celebrate my childrens’ birthdays that I am always up before them, eager to spend the day meeting their every desire. Yes, I spend every day waiting on my children, but birthdays are about their wants, not their needs (it makes for a rude awakening the following day when the moment has passed and mean mommy has returned).
But this one is even more important, because as hard as I try, I cannot remember much about Leo’s second birthday last year, just 6 days after my mother died. It’s all a blur and it’s terrible and I am so wrought with guilt that it takes everything I have not to buy him the $2,000 John Deere tractor that he falls in love with at the tractor supply store on this birthday morning. Thankfully, he is equally delighted by the John Deere hat we got instead.
This year, however, I am so captivated by this excited little 3 year old who has no idea how amazing he is or how much joy he has brought me that I have almost recovered from the re-death of my mother just a few days earlier (until next year). And I am thankful for Leo’s Poppy when I see him sitting across the room at the birthday party because I know that he still brings Grandma with him everywhere he goes. She wouldn’t miss this.
And now, it has all passed. I am still trying to sort through all of the emotions. Even as I reflect on it here and now, I have cried and sobbed and smiled and giggled. Poppy made a DVD of what I am sure is a beautiful tribute to my beautiful mother, and gave it to those of us who cherished her most. It was a Christmas gift. I haven’t watched it yet for fear of losing myself in my tears and heartache. I had told Darren that we would watch in on her birthday (he’s ready whenever I am, to be my rock). I couldn’t do it. I’ll try again on Mother’s day, but that too is now a day full of ups and downs and inner conflicts.
Most importantly, little Leo is 3. We had a perfect day that I will never forget, and almost good enough to allow me to forgive myself for allowing his 2nd birthday to be overshadowed by my mother’s death. In the reassuring words of hope and healing offered by my favorite minister at my mother’s funeral, “the sun WILL rise”. My children are my sunshine.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
oh, now i get it; KIDS MAKE YOU CRAZY!
I was voted “most nonchalant” in my senior class. I have always prided myself on my patience. And before I had kids, I always said that the one thing I would surely do differently from my mother was to just not be so CRAZY.
I always thought that if she would have just asked nicely instead of nag or talked openly and calmly when I screwed up instead of scream like a lunatic, surely I would have been more willing cooperate or hear her side. But too often, I just wrote her off as crazy:
“She’s only this angry because she’s crazy. I mean, who cares if I threw a big party in her house while she was away. And who asked her to sit up all night waiting for me to come home just because she had no idea where I was. That’s her problem. She’s crazy. I’m glad I’m not crazy.”
A few months ago, I was outside my front door trying to hang a wreath. My 6 year old and two year old were playing in the living room, loudly, and my nearly two month old was sleeping, finally, upstairs. My m other-in-law, who lives next door had just dropped the kids off after taking them for just a moment so I could try and get the baby to sleep after a long day. I stood in the doorway and said, “please quiet down, the baby is sleeping upstairs.” “Ok” they respond, half-ass through the grandma induced sugar rush they are clearly burning off. Two seconds later (literally) , two sugar induced screams wake my finally sleeping baby. I turn around and yelling;
“Great! Thanks! Now you woke up your brother."
“You’re welcome” my daughter snarls in some sort of sick delight.
Now comes the screeching at the top of my lungs, the kind of screech that scratches your throat and gags you mid-rant;
“EXCUSE ME!!!!!!!!! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU’RE TALKING TO? AND WHAT EXACTLY DID YOU NOT UNDERSTAND ABOUT WHAT I JUST SAID!?”
The screeching has stopped both kids in their tracks for a moment. The gagging from the screeching adds a little extra crazy and actually makes them think mommy might be turning into some kind of monster right before their eyes. And in this moment, I turn to attempt to hang my wreath again when my mother-in-law rounds the corner with a step-stool in hand to help me. My throat is still scratchy as I thank her.
There is a good chance that she has heard me lose it like this before. After all she does live next door, but having to look her in the face while my face is still bright red from the blood curdling screaming makes it far more humiliating. She has, kindly, never mentioned it.
One time, when I was maybe 7, I got a brand new pack of crayons and begged my mom to let me take them down to my friends house just a few doors down. She reluctantly agreed. And when I returned with one missing crayon, she marched me down to that house where we found it under the deck which she then sent me crawling under to get it. “How silly…” I remember thinking, “it’s just a crayon.”
I was reminded of this crayon story the other day when I found my daughters brand new box of crayons laying recklessly in the garage, with crayons missing, and then found myself rambling on (to myself) for the next five minutes;
“That is it! I’m just gonna hide these crayons until she can be more responsible with them. But then she’s just gonna keep asking me if I know where her crayons are, just like everyone asks me where EVERYTHING is before they even bother looking for it! And when I finally cave and give them to her, she’s gonna ask me where the green crayon is! And when we can’t find that, she’s going to insist she needs a new box of crayons because this one is now incomplete!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Who knew crayons could be so infuriating.
I have gone crazy. But usually after a good self-induced guilt trip from the burned visions of my children’s terrified little faces in my mind, I can find my way back to calm again. I don’t enjoy it at all. It is always exhausting, sometimes embarrassing, and rarely effective in the long term. It is also a certain reminder of what a frustrating child, infuriating teenager and ignorant soon-to-be-mother I once was.
Rightfully so, my daughter is the mirror image of me, both in looks, and in exasperating little idiosyncrasies. I used to HATE having my hair brushed. The other day during our daily hair brushing battle, I wrapped my daughters hair tightly around my fist a few times and, through clenched teeth threatened;
“I DON’T THINK YOU UNDERSTAND! WHEN YOU WHINE AND MAKE ME CHASE YOU AND BEG YOU TO STAND STILL EVERY MORNING YOU MAKE ME WANT TO GRAB YOU BY THE HAIR LIKE THIS AND TAKE YOU DOWN!”
It happens all the time. I have a battle with my children that makes me crazy, and inevitably reminds me of myself and my poor mother. I hear her chuckling in amusement all the time at what seems to be her premeditated retaliation from the great beyond. Sometimes I even give her the long over due credit she deserves; good one, Mom.
I can only hope that she has forgiven me, or at least that my insanity stops being so amusing to her before my daughter becomes a teenager. I do not want to meet my 16year old self in ten years any more than my daughter wants to meet her crazy mother who has been sitting up all night waiting for her and thinking she was laying in a ditch somewhere.
I always thought that if she would have just asked nicely instead of nag or talked openly and calmly when I screwed up instead of scream like a lunatic, surely I would have been more willing cooperate or hear her side. But too often, I just wrote her off as crazy:
“She’s only this angry because she’s crazy. I mean, who cares if I threw a big party in her house while she was away. And who asked her to sit up all night waiting for me to come home just because she had no idea where I was. That’s her problem. She’s crazy. I’m glad I’m not crazy.”
A few months ago, I was outside my front door trying to hang a wreath. My 6 year old and two year old were playing in the living room, loudly, and my nearly two month old was sleeping, finally, upstairs. My m other-in-law, who lives next door had just dropped the kids off after taking them for just a moment so I could try and get the baby to sleep after a long day. I stood in the doorway and said, “please quiet down, the baby is sleeping upstairs.” “Ok” they respond, half-ass through the grandma induced sugar rush they are clearly burning off. Two seconds later (literally) , two sugar induced screams wake my finally sleeping baby. I turn around and yelling;
“Great! Thanks! Now you woke up your brother."
“You’re welcome” my daughter snarls in some sort of sick delight.
Now comes the screeching at the top of my lungs, the kind of screech that scratches your throat and gags you mid-rant;
“EXCUSE ME!!!!!!!!! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU’RE TALKING TO? AND WHAT EXACTLY DID YOU NOT UNDERSTAND ABOUT WHAT I JUST SAID!?”
The screeching has stopped both kids in their tracks for a moment. The gagging from the screeching adds a little extra crazy and actually makes them think mommy might be turning into some kind of monster right before their eyes. And in this moment, I turn to attempt to hang my wreath again when my mother-in-law rounds the corner with a step-stool in hand to help me. My throat is still scratchy as I thank her.
There is a good chance that she has heard me lose it like this before. After all she does live next door, but having to look her in the face while my face is still bright red from the blood curdling screaming makes it far more humiliating. She has, kindly, never mentioned it.
One time, when I was maybe 7, I got a brand new pack of crayons and begged my mom to let me take them down to my friends house just a few doors down. She reluctantly agreed. And when I returned with one missing crayon, she marched me down to that house where we found it under the deck which she then sent me crawling under to get it. “How silly…” I remember thinking, “it’s just a crayon.”
I was reminded of this crayon story the other day when I found my daughters brand new box of crayons laying recklessly in the garage, with crayons missing, and then found myself rambling on (to myself) for the next five minutes;
“That is it! I’m just gonna hide these crayons until she can be more responsible with them. But then she’s just gonna keep asking me if I know where her crayons are, just like everyone asks me where EVERYTHING is before they even bother looking for it! And when I finally cave and give them to her, she’s gonna ask me where the green crayon is! And when we can’t find that, she’s going to insist she needs a new box of crayons because this one is now incomplete!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Who knew crayons could be so infuriating.
I have gone crazy. But usually after a good self-induced guilt trip from the burned visions of my children’s terrified little faces in my mind, I can find my way back to calm again. I don’t enjoy it at all. It is always exhausting, sometimes embarrassing, and rarely effective in the long term. It is also a certain reminder of what a frustrating child, infuriating teenager and ignorant soon-to-be-mother I once was.
Rightfully so, my daughter is the mirror image of me, both in looks, and in exasperating little idiosyncrasies. I used to HATE having my hair brushed. The other day during our daily hair brushing battle, I wrapped my daughters hair tightly around my fist a few times and, through clenched teeth threatened;
“I DON’T THINK YOU UNDERSTAND! WHEN YOU WHINE AND MAKE ME CHASE YOU AND BEG YOU TO STAND STILL EVERY MORNING YOU MAKE ME WANT TO GRAB YOU BY THE HAIR LIKE THIS AND TAKE YOU DOWN!”
It happens all the time. I have a battle with my children that makes me crazy, and inevitably reminds me of myself and my poor mother. I hear her chuckling in amusement all the time at what seems to be her premeditated retaliation from the great beyond. Sometimes I even give her the long over due credit she deserves; good one, Mom.
I can only hope that she has forgiven me, or at least that my insanity stops being so amusing to her before my daughter becomes a teenager. I do not want to meet my 16year old self in ten years any more than my daughter wants to meet her crazy mother who has been sitting up all night waiting for her and thinking she was laying in a ditch somewhere.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
beating a dead horse (hope he has health insurance).
I enjoy a good debate. And this health insurance debate is up there with the best of them. While it has turned many a grown man or woman into a bitter, name calling fool, I have been fortunate to take part in a healthy tit for tat with a family member, thanks to our mutual respect, and would like to take the opportunity to share my latest tat.
This will be brief for the moment, I think, as I am exhausted from working until after midnight last night, was up a few times with baby and then up early to start my full time job, mommy, which doesn't pay much so thank God I am blessed with a good daddy (like yourself) to provide for us. If I were on my own i could NEVER work a full time day job, pay for childcare AND CERTAINLY NOT afford health insurancefor all of us as my job is not condsidered worthy of health insurance. See, i think in your paranoia about the lazy losers who take advantage of the system, you have forgotten about the people who work very hard and are still struggling. You are very fortunate in having the wealth that you do. But i can assure you that there are millions who work even harder than you do, and are barely scraping by. it's not about you paying for everyone else's health insurance, it's about fixing a painfully obviously broken system. With all due respect, I think your good fortune has turned you into one of those people who thinks that only those as fortunate as you deserve the "privilege" of health care, and that if people can't afford it they must not be working as hard as you. That is very (obviously) wrong. Yes, i think payihng 40% of your income to Uncle Sam is plenty (more than enough). My family does the same, and yet Darren still understands that our system is in need of an overhaul. Maybe our kids will be paying for this fix, but i would much rather our, and their, inevitable tax dollars go to something so obviously necessary rather than foolish wars and corporate bail outs and bonuses. We are in a pickle, and it's going to take some sacrifice to make this a better place for our children. Count your blessings that you are still so well off. Imagine the people who work harder than you, make less than you, still give their 40%, can't afford health care, and can't give their kids everything their little hearts desire. You are blessed, and should consider yourself lucky rather than cheated. Ok, this was longer than planned. i enjoy our tit for tats, despite finding you incredibly hard headed. i'm sure you could say the same. I will conclude with something friend wrote to me yesterday:
"I don't get it. I went a damn decade without health insurance WHILE working full time. I now have health insurance and sure don't mind spending a little extra money for somebody that needs it. Also, I am the same person now that I was 7 months ago when I was full time as a waitress. Why do I deserve it now and not 7 months ago? I have to ... believe that the majority are people like me...that work hard but can't afford the outrageous health insurance prices. Who can't agree with that? I just don't get it!"
This will be brief for the moment, I think, as I am exhausted from working until after midnight last night, was up a few times with baby and then up early to start my full time job, mommy, which doesn't pay much so thank God I am blessed with a good daddy (like yourself) to provide for us. If I were on my own i could NEVER work a full time day job, pay for childcare AND CERTAINLY NOT afford health insurancefor all of us as my job is not condsidered worthy of health insurance. See, i think in your paranoia about the lazy losers who take advantage of the system, you have forgotten about the people who work very hard and are still struggling. You are very fortunate in having the wealth that you do. But i can assure you that there are millions who work even harder than you do, and are barely scraping by. it's not about you paying for everyone else's health insurance, it's about fixing a painfully obviously broken system. With all due respect, I think your good fortune has turned you into one of those people who thinks that only those as fortunate as you deserve the "privilege" of health care, and that if people can't afford it they must not be working as hard as you. That is very (obviously) wrong. Yes, i think payihng 40% of your income to Uncle Sam is plenty (more than enough). My family does the same, and yet Darren still understands that our system is in need of an overhaul. Maybe our kids will be paying for this fix, but i would much rather our, and their, inevitable tax dollars go to something so obviously necessary rather than foolish wars and corporate bail outs and bonuses. We are in a pickle, and it's going to take some sacrifice to make this a better place for our children. Count your blessings that you are still so well off. Imagine the people who work harder than you, make less than you, still give their 40%, can't afford health care, and can't give their kids everything their little hearts desire. You are blessed, and should consider yourself lucky rather than cheated. Ok, this was longer than planned. i enjoy our tit for tats, despite finding you incredibly hard headed. i'm sure you could say the same. I will conclude with something friend wrote to me yesterday:
"I don't get it. I went a damn decade without health insurance WHILE working full time. I now have health insurance and sure don't mind spending a little extra money for somebody that needs it. Also, I am the same person now that I was 7 months ago when I was full time as a waitress. Why do I deserve it now and not 7 months ago? I have to ... believe that the majority are people like me...that work hard but can't afford the outrageous health insurance prices. Who can't agree with that? I just don't get it!"
Monday, March 8, 2010
confessions of an overprotective mom.
The other night, my little Leo set out for his very first sleepover. He was with his big sister, his aunt Amanda and her son, and boy was he excited! I was fishing for some signs that he was still my little baby boy and was not yet ready for this milestone:
“Are you really sure you want to go with them? You’ll be there all night. If you wake up in the middle of the night, I won’t be there.”
“Get my jammies and put them in my backpack” (like big sis).
He wore that backpack proudly as he stormed out the door on a mission. I couldn’t take my eyes off him until he was out of sight, and he never even looked back.
I decided to relax and enjoy a rare, quiet evening at home with my love. I sent out (what was meant to be) one last text to Amanda to see how things were going. She promptly responded that all the kids had been sound asleep for over an hour and everything was fine. She even followed with a very sweet picture of the three kids sitting side by side on the couch eating popcorn. Everything was fine (although popcorn always makes me nervous with its possible choking hazard).
As I lay on the couch with my head on Darren’s lap, I was indeed relaxed and even dozing off. And then, “crazy mom” woke me up. I could not stop thinking of things that could go wrong. And if I tried to close my eyes, I could actually see all of these things playing out.
“I better text Amanda and remind her to blow out the candles before she goes to bed” I say to Darren, waiting for him to second my paranoia, but nothing. Sure she’ll think I’m being a little crazy, especially since she had no candles burning. But she’s a mom, she’d understand.
“No candles burning” she quickly responds.
“I better remind her to lock the doors.” Still no back up from daddy.
“Doors are locked” she assures me, even before she got my text. (Isn’t she clever).
“Maybe I should…”
“Why don’t you just go get him!” Daddy finally chimes in.
“Do you think I should?” I ask, pretending the thought hadn’t already crossed my mind and that I hadn’t been fighting that very urge for the last hour.
“Well how many texts do you plan on sending?”
“I’ll just send one more…to tell her that I’m coming to get him.”
“Really?”
“He’s our little baby and it’s his first sleepover.”
“Yes…it was” he concludes.
“Why don’t we all go and we can stop for some hot fudge Sundays?” Darren suggests. I may be crazy for wanting to go wake up our sound asleep two year old to bring him home but now he’s suggesting we wake up our 4 month old and drag him out for a hot fudge Sunday.
I send the text and put my shoes on.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Wait, what about my hot fudge Sunday?” I hear as I race out the door before any of my visions come true.
On my way to rescue little Leo, Amanda calls to assure me that he is fine. I tell her that while I do feel a little crazy, I’m already on my way.
“Really???” she says confirming my craziness.
“I know, but it’s his first sleepover and he still wakes up during the night sometimes (or at least that one time last month) and what if he wakes up and doesn’t know where he is and what if………………………………..” I think I’ve made my point.
As I walk out with my sleeping child in tow, I thank her for indulging my paranoia, invite her for breakfast in the morning, and ask her not to mention this incident to anyone (despite already composing this blog in my head).
Leo wakes up in the car:
“I just missed you honey and I had to come get you, okay?”
“Okaaaaayyyyy”, he tiredly grumbles. I can tell he’s relieved, or at least not pissed at me for crashing his party.
The next morning, Amanda arrives with my daughter and her son, both of whom ask me why I took Leo last night.
“I was just worried about him. He’s a little guy.”
“Well, he was fine ya know.” I’m being ridiculed by two six year olds.
Leo will be three next month. He is transitioning from my little baby who I always felt so bad for because he couldn’t keep up with the big kids, to a strong willed and independent little guy who is more than willing to at least try. It’s a difficult line for a parent to walk. I want him to be brave and capable, and I want him to need his mommy. I want him to tough it out, I only wish I could tough it out. I want to enjoy time alone with my love, and I want to know my children are safe under our roof. I want to loosen my grip, but I will NEVER let go.
I ask Leo if he was happy that I brought him home:
“I was sleeping in the big bed like a big boy and I wanted a drink of water but I couldn’t get the door open so I went back to sleep in the big bed.”
Thank goodness I rescued him. Poor little thing was thirsty!
“Are you really sure you want to go with them? You’ll be there all night. If you wake up in the middle of the night, I won’t be there.”
“Get my jammies and put them in my backpack” (like big sis).
He wore that backpack proudly as he stormed out the door on a mission. I couldn’t take my eyes off him until he was out of sight, and he never even looked back.
I decided to relax and enjoy a rare, quiet evening at home with my love. I sent out (what was meant to be) one last text to Amanda to see how things were going. She promptly responded that all the kids had been sound asleep for over an hour and everything was fine. She even followed with a very sweet picture of the three kids sitting side by side on the couch eating popcorn. Everything was fine (although popcorn always makes me nervous with its possible choking hazard).
As I lay on the couch with my head on Darren’s lap, I was indeed relaxed and even dozing off. And then, “crazy mom” woke me up. I could not stop thinking of things that could go wrong. And if I tried to close my eyes, I could actually see all of these things playing out.
“I better text Amanda and remind her to blow out the candles before she goes to bed” I say to Darren, waiting for him to second my paranoia, but nothing. Sure she’ll think I’m being a little crazy, especially since she had no candles burning. But she’s a mom, she’d understand.
“No candles burning” she quickly responds.
“I better remind her to lock the doors.” Still no back up from daddy.
“Doors are locked” she assures me, even before she got my text. (Isn’t she clever).
“Maybe I should…”
“Why don’t you just go get him!” Daddy finally chimes in.
“Do you think I should?” I ask, pretending the thought hadn’t already crossed my mind and that I hadn’t been fighting that very urge for the last hour.
“Well how many texts do you plan on sending?”
“I’ll just send one more…to tell her that I’m coming to get him.”
“Really?”
“He’s our little baby and it’s his first sleepover.”
“Yes…it was” he concludes.
“Why don’t we all go and we can stop for some hot fudge Sundays?” Darren suggests. I may be crazy for wanting to go wake up our sound asleep two year old to bring him home but now he’s suggesting we wake up our 4 month old and drag him out for a hot fudge Sunday.
I send the text and put my shoes on.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Wait, what about my hot fudge Sunday?” I hear as I race out the door before any of my visions come true.
On my way to rescue little Leo, Amanda calls to assure me that he is fine. I tell her that while I do feel a little crazy, I’m already on my way.
“Really???” she says confirming my craziness.
“I know, but it’s his first sleepover and he still wakes up during the night sometimes (or at least that one time last month) and what if he wakes up and doesn’t know where he is and what if………………………………..” I think I’ve made my point.
As I walk out with my sleeping child in tow, I thank her for indulging my paranoia, invite her for breakfast in the morning, and ask her not to mention this incident to anyone (despite already composing this blog in my head).
Leo wakes up in the car:
“I just missed you honey and I had to come get you, okay?”
“Okaaaaayyyyy”, he tiredly grumbles. I can tell he’s relieved, or at least not pissed at me for crashing his party.
The next morning, Amanda arrives with my daughter and her son, both of whom ask me why I took Leo last night.
“I was just worried about him. He’s a little guy.”
“Well, he was fine ya know.” I’m being ridiculed by two six year olds.
Leo will be three next month. He is transitioning from my little baby who I always felt so bad for because he couldn’t keep up with the big kids, to a strong willed and independent little guy who is more than willing to at least try. It’s a difficult line for a parent to walk. I want him to be brave and capable, and I want him to need his mommy. I want him to tough it out, I only wish I could tough it out. I want to enjoy time alone with my love, and I want to know my children are safe under our roof. I want to loosen my grip, but I will NEVER let go.
I ask Leo if he was happy that I brought him home:
“I was sleeping in the big bed like a big boy and I wanted a drink of water but I couldn’t get the door open so I went back to sleep in the big bed.”
Thank goodness I rescued him. Poor little thing was thirsty!
Thursday, February 25, 2010
This is a lecture I have composed in my mind many times when I imagine myself sitting down with my children and attempting to simply reason with them rather than my usual rant. Ironically, it is similar to the lecture I imagine giving to the decision makers of our nation if I were the President (yes, I have actually imagined this). Some of it may sound a bit childish for the United States Senate, and some of it may sound like it would go right over the little heads of a 6 year old, 3 year old and 4 month old, but I think it could strike a chord with both. Call me naive…too:
Ok guys, I need your help here. I know that before I took on this responsibility I was naive to think that I had all the answers; that I knew what it would take to run a tight ship; that good intentions, a heart in the right place and asking politely would lead to progress. But I was not counting on having to rely so very heavily on your cooperation, that I would have to plead it out of you every step of the way, and that explaining myself incessantly and simply asking nicely and respectfully would not accomplish anything. And I certainly had no idea you would be so STUBBORN!
I realize that it’s not always easy to get along and work together. But it’s crucial. There are endless responsibilities in seeing that we are all taken care of. I am only one person and despite my very best intentions, I simply can’t do it alone. And it is my job to lead you, to make clear what is expected of you and to see that you meet these expectations.
I know it may be hard to believe, but it is NOT always about what YOU want, it’s about what is best for all of us. I know that you genuinely believe that YOU always know what that is, but again, you’re wrong. Your life, for instance, does not depend on getting that new toy and it is not, in fact, more important to buy that this week than to buy groceries for our family. And no, you do not absolutely NEED that book RIGHT NOW simply because your sister just picked it up while you were nowhere near it. You didn’t care about it before, don’t pretend you do now just because someone else has it.
I do not care who started it or who did it. What’s done is done. What matters now is how we end it or fix it.
We need to understand that we will all make mistakes, yes, even me, but that we need to learn from them and move on, never to repeat them again.
We need to respect each other, and to respectfully disagree.
We need to look out for each other, even when we are frustrated.
We need to love each other, even when we are angry.
We need to be thankful for what we have, and to be willing to make sacrifices for the greater good even when we think we deserve more.
We need to help each other, even when we…just don’t want to.
We are a family, we are in this together. If we can’t work together, we will never accomplish anything around here.
Please.
Thank you.
Ok guys, I need your help here. I know that before I took on this responsibility I was naive to think that I had all the answers; that I knew what it would take to run a tight ship; that good intentions, a heart in the right place and asking politely would lead to progress. But I was not counting on having to rely so very heavily on your cooperation, that I would have to plead it out of you every step of the way, and that explaining myself incessantly and simply asking nicely and respectfully would not accomplish anything. And I certainly had no idea you would be so STUBBORN!
I realize that it’s not always easy to get along and work together. But it’s crucial. There are endless responsibilities in seeing that we are all taken care of. I am only one person and despite my very best intentions, I simply can’t do it alone. And it is my job to lead you, to make clear what is expected of you and to see that you meet these expectations.
I know it may be hard to believe, but it is NOT always about what YOU want, it’s about what is best for all of us. I know that you genuinely believe that YOU always know what that is, but again, you’re wrong. Your life, for instance, does not depend on getting that new toy and it is not, in fact, more important to buy that this week than to buy groceries for our family. And no, you do not absolutely NEED that book RIGHT NOW simply because your sister just picked it up while you were nowhere near it. You didn’t care about it before, don’t pretend you do now just because someone else has it.
I do not care who started it or who did it. What’s done is done. What matters now is how we end it or fix it.
We need to understand that we will all make mistakes, yes, even me, but that we need to learn from them and move on, never to repeat them again.
We need to respect each other, and to respectfully disagree.
We need to look out for each other, even when we are frustrated.
We need to love each other, even when we are angry.
We need to be thankful for what we have, and to be willing to make sacrifices for the greater good even when we think we deserve more.
We need to help each other, even when we…just don’t want to.
We are a family, we are in this together. If we can’t work together, we will never accomplish anything around here.
Please.
Thank you.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
lost in translation
The other day one of my facebook friends responded to one of my posts. I don’t remember exactly what my post said but it’s usually something that my kids have done that was amusing, or that others may find amusing because it’s happening to me and not them. I usually find the humor eventually. I write it to vent frustration and then I read it for a laugh.
Her response was “awww, your posts always make me want another baby.” I was very surprised to think that my love for this motherhood thing was still somehow apparent through all of my venting/ranting; that my love for my children is not overshadowed by how crazy they make me at times.
Things are often getting lost in translation in my world. It’s inevitable when you’re communicating with children all day. Logic takes on a whole new meaning in their world. It still exists but on an entirely different level and one that is actually tricky to argue with sometimes.
I once told my mom that I had this “mom” thing all figured out (before I actually had kids, of course). My daughter is only six and I’m already stumped. The other night I attempted a very positive and upbeat lecture on how we both had responsibilities and one of my responsibilities is to teach her to be responsible, to be the best person she can be. It was my attempt to convince both of us (more so myself) that I am not a nag! I’m a mommy.
“You have to learn to do things for yourself so that you don’t always need your mommy to do EVERYTHING for you ALL the time. Wouldn’t it be funny if someone who was a grown up still had their mommy cooking for them and getting them dressed in the morning?”
“MOMMY! That means that you want me to die because you’re NEVER going to cook for me again and you want me to STARVE!”
How did we go from asking her to put her dirty clothes in her hamper to me wanting her to die? And how does one respond to this logic?
I find myself being equally as unreasonable sometimes;
“Madeline could you please pick up these books and put them back on the shelf.”
“No.”
“DON’T MISTAKE MY ASKING YOU TO DO SO AS A QUESTION! I’M NOT ASKING YOU, I’M TELLING YOU!”
I also vowed (pre-motherhood again, of course), that I would NEVER say “because I said so” to my kids. I always found it half-ass and infuriating when my mother “said so”. I have only said it once and Darren called me on it immediately (I forgot that I vowed it in front of him once). But it is ALWAYS on the tip of my tongue. And to be honest, I now understand its validity. Sometimes, it is a perfectly acceptable response to the 3 millionth “WHYYYYYY MOMMMY” of the day. I’m mean, by the end of the day of a stay at home mom, the mind and body just do not have the explanation and energy left to hold a conversation with anyone under the age of 30, never mind trying to reason with a two year old.
And it’s not like they don’t pull it on me;
“Leo, why do you NEED to put your jammies back on for nap time?”
“BECAUSE I DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
Yes, they are evil little geniuses whose mission it sometimes appears, is to test my patience, something I had always prided myself on (before I had kids, of course). And I love them dearly and with all my heart, obviously.
Her response was “awww, your posts always make me want another baby.” I was very surprised to think that my love for this motherhood thing was still somehow apparent through all of my venting/ranting; that my love for my children is not overshadowed by how crazy they make me at times.
Things are often getting lost in translation in my world. It’s inevitable when you’re communicating with children all day. Logic takes on a whole new meaning in their world. It still exists but on an entirely different level and one that is actually tricky to argue with sometimes.
I once told my mom that I had this “mom” thing all figured out (before I actually had kids, of course). My daughter is only six and I’m already stumped. The other night I attempted a very positive and upbeat lecture on how we both had responsibilities and one of my responsibilities is to teach her to be responsible, to be the best person she can be. It was my attempt to convince both of us (more so myself) that I am not a nag! I’m a mommy.
“You have to learn to do things for yourself so that you don’t always need your mommy to do EVERYTHING for you ALL the time. Wouldn’t it be funny if someone who was a grown up still had their mommy cooking for them and getting them dressed in the morning?”
“MOMMY! That means that you want me to die because you’re NEVER going to cook for me again and you want me to STARVE!”
How did we go from asking her to put her dirty clothes in her hamper to me wanting her to die? And how does one respond to this logic?
I find myself being equally as unreasonable sometimes;
“Madeline could you please pick up these books and put them back on the shelf.”
“No.”
“DON’T MISTAKE MY ASKING YOU TO DO SO AS A QUESTION! I’M NOT ASKING YOU, I’M TELLING YOU!”
I also vowed (pre-motherhood again, of course), that I would NEVER say “because I said so” to my kids. I always found it half-ass and infuriating when my mother “said so”. I have only said it once and Darren called me on it immediately (I forgot that I vowed it in front of him once). But it is ALWAYS on the tip of my tongue. And to be honest, I now understand its validity. Sometimes, it is a perfectly acceptable response to the 3 millionth “WHYYYYYY MOMMMY” of the day. I’m mean, by the end of the day of a stay at home mom, the mind and body just do not have the explanation and energy left to hold a conversation with anyone under the age of 30, never mind trying to reason with a two year old.
And it’s not like they don’t pull it on me;
“Leo, why do you NEED to put your jammies back on for nap time?”
“BECAUSE I DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
Yes, they are evil little geniuses whose mission it sometimes appears, is to test my patience, something I had always prided myself on (before I had kids, of course). And I love them dearly and with all my heart, obviously.
Friday, January 29, 2010
My Fairy Helpers
We have fairies living amongst us in our house. They play with Madeline. They leave her little notes and trinkets. They play hide and seek with a special magic stone that we have been finding in the oddest places over the last three years (we haven’t seen it in a while though because the fairies have a short term memory issue and cannot remember their last clever hiding spot). They protect her (with the help of the family dog) from ghosts, goblins and strangers at night when she is in bed, and on occasion, they bring little reminders of Grandma down from heaven.
And sometimes, they work for me. Like the “Tidy fairies” who pick up toys that sloppy little kids leave lying around.
“Don’t worry honey, I’m sure they will bring your DS back when they think you are ready to be more responsible with it.”
The other day, my brother took his kids and my two oldest to the store and told them they could each pick out one thing. Madeline picked a bag of those nasty little conversation hearts (lumps of sugar) that you give to your friends of Valentine’s Day. It was a big bag filled with twenty or so little individual bags. On the front of the big bag were the words “classroom size”. This, however was not enough to convince her that the bag is intended to be shared with her classmate for her Valentine’s day party. She genuinely intended toeat the whole bag all by herself;
“I DO NOT have to share these if I don’t want to! And when I get home I’m going to hide them in my ‘Madeline hides stuff’ spot.”
The next morning while I was doing laundry I found the “Madeline hides stuff spot” behind her hamper.
Very shortly after she got home from school she ran into her room to get her stash, and quickly came stomping back out;
“MOMMY! Where is my candy?”
“What candy?”
“The candy I hid in my “Madeline hides stuff spot”!
“Uh-oh. I bet I know what happened. I bet the “greedy fairies” came and snatched it because you said you wouldn’t share.”
CUE THE MELTDOWN
“I WANT MY CANDYYYYYYYYYYYYYY! I HATE FAIRIES! I DON’T EVER WANT TO PLAY WITH FAIRIES AGAIN AND I DON’T WANT THEM IN MY ROOM ANYMORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
I’m a little taken aback at her over-reaction. For a moment I reconsider as I really don’t want her to hate fairies. But there’s no going back;
“I’m sure they would bring them back if you could convince them that you have decided to share them with your friends, and maybe even your brother.”
“NEVEEEEEEEEER!”
A while later (a pretty long while as she really had to think long and hard about it), she came back and told me that she told the fairies she was ready to share and was now just waiting for them to bring back her candy, which they did.
You know what they say about raising kids, it takes a village…of fairies.
And sometimes, they work for me. Like the “Tidy fairies” who pick up toys that sloppy little kids leave lying around.
“Don’t worry honey, I’m sure they will bring your DS back when they think you are ready to be more responsible with it.”
The other day, my brother took his kids and my two oldest to the store and told them they could each pick out one thing. Madeline picked a bag of those nasty little conversation hearts (lumps of sugar) that you give to your friends of Valentine’s Day. It was a big bag filled with twenty or so little individual bags. On the front of the big bag were the words “classroom size”. This, however was not enough to convince her that the bag is intended to be shared with her classmate for her Valentine’s day party. She genuinely intended toeat the whole bag all by herself;
“I DO NOT have to share these if I don’t want to! And when I get home I’m going to hide them in my ‘Madeline hides stuff’ spot.”
The next morning while I was doing laundry I found the “Madeline hides stuff spot” behind her hamper.
Very shortly after she got home from school she ran into her room to get her stash, and quickly came stomping back out;
“MOMMY! Where is my candy?”
“What candy?”
“The candy I hid in my “Madeline hides stuff spot”!
“Uh-oh. I bet I know what happened. I bet the “greedy fairies” came and snatched it because you said you wouldn’t share.”
CUE THE MELTDOWN
“I WANT MY CANDYYYYYYYYYYYYYY! I HATE FAIRIES! I DON’T EVER WANT TO PLAY WITH FAIRIES AGAIN AND I DON’T WANT THEM IN MY ROOM ANYMORE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
I’m a little taken aback at her over-reaction. For a moment I reconsider as I really don’t want her to hate fairies. But there’s no going back;
“I’m sure they would bring them back if you could convince them that you have decided to share them with your friends, and maybe even your brother.”
“NEVEEEEEEEEER!”
A while later (a pretty long while as she really had to think long and hard about it), she came back and told me that she told the fairies she was ready to share and was now just waiting for them to bring back her candy, which they did.
You know what they say about raising kids, it takes a village…of fairies.
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