March 22, 2005 | Offspring: ecstasy and agony

The thing about reaching the end of the rope is that then you have to find something else to hold onto.

I had gotten into the habit of treating my daughter like she’s a problem. She’s a problem, so I treat her as such. I treat her that way, she stops trying, she shows up in the dictionary next to the definition of “self-fulfilling prophecy.” Not good.

So I decided to take a leap of faith. Sunday night we discussed the New Regime.

1) Later bedtime. We’re not having enough family time, now that I’m back to work. But mornings have been so atrocious, I’ve been putting the kids to bed earlier and earlier on the assumption that they need more sleep. The solution? Later bedtime = more time to spend together. BUT. Screaming mornings = back to the old bedtime. It’s up to them.

2) Even later bedtime after a week. Half an hour later, to start. They get another half an hour if they show me this works. Same deal on mornings determining how late they get to stay up.

3) Immediate snack when we get home, while I get a few minutes to myself. Our evenings were suffering from two main problems: the kids were hungry and therefore cranky when we got home–and I felt it was too late for a snack, but I have not yet mastered snapping my fingers to make dinner voila! appear on the table at a moment’s notice–and I needed just a few minutes to look at the mail, listen to phone messages, etc. No more “you’ll ruin your dinner.” So what. They get a snack, the crankies are assuaged, and I get a little decompression window in return.

4) Dinner like civilized humans. We’re not going to get into how often I succumbed to “Okay, we’re all tired, you can eat in front of the TV.” Dinner at the table. The “best/worst part of my day” game. When I finish eating before them (I always finish before them), I can do dishes and tidy the kitchen but I must stay in there with them and give them my attention.

God, I love it when I’m brilliant.
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March 21, 2005 | Growing

Someone dear to me recently told me that they’re an “instant gratification” kind of person, and that I am the polar opposite.

I think the Girl Scout cookies might disagree.

But it got me thinking (oh, no! not the thinking, again!) about why that is. I’m a planner. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush? Pfft. If you wait long enough, that bush will be swarming with birds, ya know. Just wait. Besides, I might lunge and miss altogether, and then I’ll have no bird in hand plus all the other birds will get spooked and then I won’t even be able to pretend to believe I might have them later.

(Please, someone take this metaphor away from me before I hurt myself. Yes, bird spooking, a regular part of my day! Um. I’m so sorry you had to see that.)

I’m waiting. You’re going, and doing, and enjoying. And most of the time? I’m just waiting. I mean, sure, yes, I’m busy, absolutely. Always busy. But forgetting to experience as I go along. Carefully laying the foundation for what comes later, maybe. And when it doesn’t come, I woulda-coulda-shoulda my choices for a while and then start planning for the next thing.
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March 20, 2005 | Friends

I think it’s important to celebrate milestones.

I think it’s particularly important to sit back and reflect on the past and be able to pat oneself on the back and say, “Wow, I made it a WHOLE YEAR without killing anyone, ending up in a padded room, or falling down dead, myself!” And if there is growth that happened in that time, yeah, so much the better.

Please go wish my dear friend Kira a very happy birthday, today. She complains a lot less than I do, even though no one would blame her one bit if she did. And she’s an awesome mom and an inspiring writer.

But most importantly: she’s a friend worth her weight in gold, and she made it through another year. Happy birthday, Kira! (I’m still totally up for ditching the menfolk and taking you as my soulmate, babe… just say the word.)

March 19, 2005 | Retail Therapy

After three (long) days, I appear to have shaken my migraine. This is A Very Good Thing. The Less Good Thing is that in its wake—no longer left trying to focus around searing pain and/or wavering vision—I’m left with this feeling of restlessness in my own skin. I should feel good and if nothing else, the twelve hours of sleep I got today should render me well-rested. Instead, I skulked around the house feeling uncomfortable and itchy and wishing I was anywhere but here. No; that’s not quite right. I was wishing I was anyone but me.

I think I’d rather have a migraine.

But hey, I’m tough. And I haven’t had a kid-free weekend at home in almost a month. So I slept and slept and then I got up, and then I went back to bed and slept some more, and I got up (again) and cranked up the music and started cleaning. Because it turns out that even when I hate everything, there is only so long I can tolerate the gritty *crunch, crunch* under my socks as I roam around the house. (I have heard it said that the seasons around here are Winter, Still Winter, Construction, and Almost Winter. I beg to differ. From a mom’s perspective, the seasons are more like Ice Puddles, Sand, Dirt, and Leaves. We’ll be in Sand for a couple more months.)

Naturally, after cleaning I wanted to reward myself with some Girl Scout cookies. But then I thought, Hey, why don’t I go really wild and go shopping! I need some pants, so it’d be a good thing to do! This is how you know that my brain is suffering extended damage from the migraine.
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March 17, 2005 | Growing

If you’ve ever taken Psych 101, you’ve seen this image. What do you see? An old woman, or a young girl?

Today–a “one step forward, three steps back” kind of day–I feel like I’m sizing up a picture like this. First I see the old hag; the things in my life that turn my hair grey, all of the sadness and frustration and dissatisfaction with various things. Then I blink, and it’s the maiden; all of the abundant blessings that have come to roost in my life, some hard-won and some simply grace in action. With each blink the picture shifts.

The part that forces me to look away entirely is when the two blur together and the whole falls out of focus and ceases to make any sense. Today too many of my blessings are covered in sharp edges and dilemmas and doubts. It makes me weary, but also gives me the feeling of being on the cusp of something important.

If only I can figure it out.

March 16, 2005 | What do I do all day?

When I buy Girl Scout Cookies (and I always buy Girl Scout Cookies, only because it’s a good cause… shut up) I put them in my deep freeze in the basement. I suffer from the delusion that 1) freezing them and 2) making them slightly harder to access will stop me from inhaling them all within the first week.

Being the logical person that I am, I make deals with myself. If I do the dishes, I can have some shortbread. If I fold the laundry and put it away, I deserve some thin mints. And tonight I want to do nothing more than vegetate in front of the television, or perhaps just go straight to bed… but I need to pay bills. So I promised my grumpy self some samoas if I took care of the bills. I gathered everything up, sat down at the computer, and got the “Sorry! We’re cheerful! But the site’s down! Bummer! Come back soon!” message from my bank.

I think I still deserve the samoas. It’s not my fault I couldn’t pay the bills. I was gonna.
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March 15, 2005 | It's not a regret, it's an "experience"

I had an entire post planned about The Great Pop Tart Debacle. It happened this morning and it was… majestic. In the worst possible (yet quite amusing) way. I wanted to share it and the utter JOY that is the thought process of a child that renders one foil packet SUPERIOR to another–identical!–foil packet by virtue of… ummm… well, I hadn’t really worked that part out. But there was a fabulous insight in there, I’m sure.

But screw that. No quirky uplifting breakfast stories, today. Nope. Warm-n-fuzzy exasperation at 7:15 can turn to a not-altogether-unexpected but still heart-wrenching downward spiral by 7:45. Because when you’re a parent, the only things more intense than the highs of the Good Stuff are the feelings of failure and helplessness with the Bad Stuff.
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March 14, 2005 | Offspring: ecstasy and agony

Dear Mrs. Unpronounceable,

I know that you’ve only been teaching first grade for… what is it? Fifty years? So probably I am the first parent in the history of your teaching career to allow her child to come to school in her pajamas. (Well, no; that seems pretty impossible to me, but I’m trying very hard to give you the benefit of the doubt.)

Anyway.

I’m guessing that you thought you were being helpful when you told the other children not to bother Chickadee about what she was wearing today. I’m sure it had absolutely nothing to do with not wanting to deal with a disruption in your classroom, or fear of having to talk to me (you know, “that parent who refuses to stand by while her child is called by the wrong name, ignored, or bored out of her skull”) again.

Well, I just wanted to say thanks. And explain why she’ll be wearing pajamas again tomorrow. And probably for the rest of the schol year, judging by her enthusiasm.

Ironically yours,
Chickadee’s Mom

P.S. Sorry about the blood. I hit my head on the desk while I was writing this… a few hundred times.

Offspring: ecstasy and agony

Dear Mrs. Unpronounceable,

This morning as I dragged around my 10-ton, phlegm-filled head, Chickadee commenced her usual morning routine of refusing to get out of bed and do any of the necessary before-school tasks. Rather than lose my temper, I decided it was time to employ a technique which her therapist has suggested.

“Look, you’re almost seven years old. I’m tired of arguing with you. You can make your own choice. Get your butt out of bed and get dressed, or go to school in your pajamas. It doesn’t matter to me.”

I snuck some clothes into her backpack, but she’s awfully proud of the ballerinas on her top. I hope it’s not too disruptive, and please don’t call CPS.

Thanks very much,
Chickadee’s Mom

P.S. Please encourage the other children in the class to tease her. Please?

March 13, 2005 | Haven't been hit by lightning yet!, Health is overrated

I fought the cold, and the cold won.

*hack* *cough* *snort*

We’re playing hooky from church. The children are thrilled (a little too thrilled, if you ask me). But I started losing my voice yesterday, and this morning as children circled my bed like wild animals, I pushed up on one elbow to tell them to get out.

In my mind, I said, “Guys, go downstairs and give me a minute to get up!”

In reality, I said, “G… g… d… … .i.. ee.. a… *hackhack*”

That pretty much answered the question of whether I would be making it to choir.
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