My brother and I were not kind or compassionate to each other when we were growing up. I will admit that I was especially evil to him. We grew up when Nintendo came out and we both loved playing Super Mario Bros. My favorite type of torture was to tell him that he was still invincible even after the "Star Power" wore off. God bless his heart, he believed me so many times (and lost a life so many times). It was horrible but I loved it.
We also had a lot of physical altercations. They would start off innocently enough and then escalate into full-blown MMA matches. It was brutal to witness, really, and there were plenty of physical marks left on both of us to tell the tell. I am the older sibling but Matt ended up taller than me. He even went so far to get his black belt (second degree) in karate. I no longer see a need to try and beat him up.
I grew up convinced that my parents had favorites. I've never asked them, parent to parent, if this was true or not. I know that I really was a daddy's girl and Matt was a momma's boy. Our family kind of naturally split along those lines. It has always been a blessing and a curse, honestly. I still struggle with feeling like my parents favor my brother more (I wish it weren't true). I feel at times that I'm the black sheep of my family; I'm the only one without a college degree, I don't work outside the home, I don't earn my own money.
All of this contributed to my decision not to play favorites with my own children. I don't know how it happened, but I really don't have a favorite. There's not anyone who has more of a special place in my heart than another. I do my best to split myself equally (even though that's pretty much impossible) amongst my kids. I don't dread hanging out with any of my kids and I don't have one that drives me crazier than another. In fact, on most days they all drive me equally crazy (but in different ways).
Now, that being said, there is some rivalry among my kids. It's interesting to see it develop because it manifests itself differently with each child. First, there's Jeremy. Being that he's the oldest he can dominate everyone physically. Just tonight he knocked Doug over because Doug was carrying a bag of mittens, hats and scarves around. I'm not sure why he did it; neither I nor Brian asked him to take the bag away from Doug.
Jeremy manhandles his sister, also. He lost iPad priviliges for two days because he scratched her. Why did he scratch her? Because she wasn't putting her clothes on. He threatens her with punishments from me, he knocks her down if she gets in his way and in many respects they are training to start a whole new club of MMA fighters.
Bekah can't match Jeremy with strength and so she fights him with words. It's actually been going on for some time and it's hilarious. I remember a few years ago, we were on our way to Lutheran General to see Jeremy's cardiologist and electrophysiologist. Both were riding in the van with me. Jeremy asked Bekah if she wanted to go with him to see his doctors. Bekah took her fingers out of her mouth and said, "no," then put them right back in.
It had the desired effect on Jeremy; it threw him into an emotional tailspin. He started crying and telling me that his sister wasn't going to come with him. I tried to inject logic into the situation by pointing out that both of them were in a vehicle that was going to the same place. How could she not go with him, I tried to ask him? But it was no use. He was devestated.
She now tells him, when she's angry, that he's not her brother anymore. She tells him that she doesn't want to play with him. She will simply walk away from him when she knows he wants to talk to her. She reminds him of punishments he's received from myself or Brian. She reminds him of past mistakes he's made. In all respects, she uses her verbal mastery to beat him up in a way her fists never could.
And then there's Doug. So far, he can't match anyone physically or verbally. He does his best to fight against his sister (who insists on trying to hold him and pick him up, even when he doesn't want her to). He tries to be physically close with his big brother. You can see in his eyes how proud he is when Jeremy deigns to talk to him or include him in his play. He does get upset if I spend too much time holding either Bekah or Jeremy. Lately he's taken to coming over to me and trying to push the other sibling off of my lap.
We keep warning Jeremy about Doug. We try to tell him that the time will come when Doug might be bigger than Jeremy. We remind Jeremy that Doug will have Bekah to share all of Jeremy's trangressions against Doug. So far, it's falling on deaf ears. I am going to have to have my camera available for the first brother-on-brother fight. I'm sure it's going to be epic.
In the end, I do my best to tell all of my kids how much I love them. I do not love them according to a hierarchy, but I do love different things about each of them. So far, I've not been accused of having favorites. I try to employ another trick my mom taught me. Rather than saying they're my favorite son or daughter, I say they're my favorite Jeremy, Bekah and Doug. They really are, and then I'm not showing favorites; I'm simply making a statement of fact.
We'll see how all of that holds up over the next few years. My guess is not well, but I'm going to hope for the best.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Monday, March 25, 2013
Spring Break Blues
Brian and I have already decided that we are not cut out for homeschooling. I firmly believe in the public school system. I went to school to be an educator but fell short of completing my degree. I have been told at various times that I should be an educator; I'm not saying I shouldn't, but I am saying I shouldn't be my children's educator.
The irony right now of this statement is that my kids are attending a Lutheran preschool. I love the school, the educators that work there and the church itself. We have had some rough patches but overall, I am happy with our choice to send our kids there.
I have nothing against a private education but I do feel like it's not right for us. There is an excellent Lutheran school system in our town. We've attended events at the school building; it seems like they are on the right track educationally. The cost is prohibitive but even more, I don't want my kids growing up with an air of superiority around them. I went to public school (as did my husband). In fact, I went to school in what many consider to be one of the worst districts in the state!
That opinion aside, I received a wonderful education. I loved most of my teachers (no one loves all of them), had a great fondness for learning and overall became quite a nerd.
What I'm learning not to like is spring break. See, the problem is that Jeremy thrives in a structured environment. It's one of the many reasons we're sending him to all-day kindergarten next year. It's our local school district's pilot year of all-day kindergarten. There is a fee involved but we are committed to paying it because we know that it will help Jeremy succeed.
He's always been a creature of habit, since he was little. I'm not sure about the nature versus nurture, but I can tell you that he grills me on a daily basis about what we're doing. He grills me about tomorrow's activities, too. He keeps tabs on what we're doing and gets frustrated and emotional if we stray from the path I set forth.
Bekah and Doug are more go-with-the-flow kind of people. Bekah does periodically check with me on what's going on, but she's nowhere near as stringent as Jeremy in making sure we're adhering to a strict schedule. Doug is a free spirit. So far, all he requires is some body of water (dog bowls are sufficient), stairs he can climb and cabinets he can raid. As long as he has a cup of milk and one or all of those things, then he's fine.
So you can understand why spring break is not as joyful as it should be. I want very much to embrace the laid-back spirit of not having to rise at dawn to prepare for the day. I like staying up late, I like sleeping in, I like not having to be places by specific times. All of this appeals to me in a great way. The problem is, if everyone is not on board with this plan it makes life extremely difficult.
Today was a perfect example. We did have to be somewhere this morning (albeit not at the crack of dawn). I have tried to get in the habit of laying out the kids' clothes so they can change when they go downstairs. Owing to this week's laid-back schedule, I didn't do that this morning. Before I was even able to brush my teeth, Bekah was in my bathroom telling me Jeremy had scratched her. The evidence was glaring; I knew she wasn't lying. He received a punishment (iPad taken away for the day) and was sent on his way.
That was the first of a series of punishments he received today. As of the writing of this blog entry, he is still awake and trying to "spend time with me." I can assure you, I'm done with that activity today. He was relentless today, asking more than his usual number of questions, being annoyed by and annoying his sister, pushing his baby brother down and generally just not coping well with life.
And that's only day #1 of spring break. Really, 4 more days? Seriously?!?! I'm going to need a vacation when this week is over.
The irony right now of this statement is that my kids are attending a Lutheran preschool. I love the school, the educators that work there and the church itself. We have had some rough patches but overall, I am happy with our choice to send our kids there.
I have nothing against a private education but I do feel like it's not right for us. There is an excellent Lutheran school system in our town. We've attended events at the school building; it seems like they are on the right track educationally. The cost is prohibitive but even more, I don't want my kids growing up with an air of superiority around them. I went to public school (as did my husband). In fact, I went to school in what many consider to be one of the worst districts in the state!
That opinion aside, I received a wonderful education. I loved most of my teachers (no one loves all of them), had a great fondness for learning and overall became quite a nerd.
What I'm learning not to like is spring break. See, the problem is that Jeremy thrives in a structured environment. It's one of the many reasons we're sending him to all-day kindergarten next year. It's our local school district's pilot year of all-day kindergarten. There is a fee involved but we are committed to paying it because we know that it will help Jeremy succeed.
He's always been a creature of habit, since he was little. I'm not sure about the nature versus nurture, but I can tell you that he grills me on a daily basis about what we're doing. He grills me about tomorrow's activities, too. He keeps tabs on what we're doing and gets frustrated and emotional if we stray from the path I set forth.
Bekah and Doug are more go-with-the-flow kind of people. Bekah does periodically check with me on what's going on, but she's nowhere near as stringent as Jeremy in making sure we're adhering to a strict schedule. Doug is a free spirit. So far, all he requires is some body of water (dog bowls are sufficient), stairs he can climb and cabinets he can raid. As long as he has a cup of milk and one or all of those things, then he's fine.
So you can understand why spring break is not as joyful as it should be. I want very much to embrace the laid-back spirit of not having to rise at dawn to prepare for the day. I like staying up late, I like sleeping in, I like not having to be places by specific times. All of this appeals to me in a great way. The problem is, if everyone is not on board with this plan it makes life extremely difficult.
Today was a perfect example. We did have to be somewhere this morning (albeit not at the crack of dawn). I have tried to get in the habit of laying out the kids' clothes so they can change when they go downstairs. Owing to this week's laid-back schedule, I didn't do that this morning. Before I was even able to brush my teeth, Bekah was in my bathroom telling me Jeremy had scratched her. The evidence was glaring; I knew she wasn't lying. He received a punishment (iPad taken away for the day) and was sent on his way.
That was the first of a series of punishments he received today. As of the writing of this blog entry, he is still awake and trying to "spend time with me." I can assure you, I'm done with that activity today. He was relentless today, asking more than his usual number of questions, being annoyed by and annoying his sister, pushing his baby brother down and generally just not coping well with life.
And that's only day #1 of spring break. Really, 4 more days? Seriously?!?! I'm going to need a vacation when this week is over.
Saturday, March 23, 2013
Worn-Out
This was an unusually rough week. In addition to preschool (I have one child going on every day), we had Doug's DT appointment, his first speech therapy appointment and Jeremy's appointment with his therapist. Somewhere in all of that, I had to find time to get to the doctor as well. I ran out of a prescription last week (my antidepressant). I am not good at planning ahead and so it became a sort-of crisis.
I didn't want to have the kids miss out on their activities. I also didn't want to drag Doug out too far past his nap time. The poor kid's schedule is already driven by whatever Bekah and Jeremy have going on. (It's funny how that changes by child #3; when it was just Jeremy, his nap schedule was sacrosanct.) My doctor is out Wednesday afternoons and Thursday mornings and so I was left with Friday.
The only appointment I could get was for 1:30. My doctor is very punctual, so I knew we wouldn't be sitting forever, waiting for him to get through previous patients. 1:30, however, is a tricky time. Technically, Doug is ready for a nap by this point in the day. He never really had a chance to have a morning nap so he takes a long afternoon nap. This stunts the possibilities for afternoon activities, but really after running the kids hither and thither all morning, I'm happy staying home.
The other problem was we were out of milk. This is not something the natives would stand for long-term. So here's how the day went. 8:45, took Jeremy to school. Came home, changed clothes, worked out. 11:15, scrambled to dress Doug and carry him to the van with shaky legs and arms (after doing 100 squats and 50+ push-ups), 11:35 get Jeremy, head home, cook lunch (two separate lunches, as Bekah refused to eat the eggs I cooked). 12:00-12:45 explain about 100 times that we weren't going to be able to do naps until after we went to see Dr. Malecki. No, it wasn't quite time to go see him but we would be leaving pretty soon. Tried to relax and catch my breath but the kids wouldn't let me.
12:45, buckle everyone up (for the third time that day), head to the doctor's. Unbuckle everyone, get out the umbrella stroller designed for midgets, let Bekah clumsily navigate Doug toward the building. Fight over who would get to push the buttons for the elevator, fight over who is going to open the door to the doctor's office, fight over which books we will read in the waiting room. 1:15 get called back to the doctor's office, stop to weigh myself while keeping mental tabs on Doug (who is not in the correct exam room). Hurriedly get off the scale, retrieve Doug, try to remember dates and other important things to tell nurse.
1:30 leave doctor's office--repeat previous sequence of Bekah pushing Doug and subsequent arguments over button-pushing. Re-buckle everyone, drive 4 minutes to nearby Target.
1:45 arrive at Target, find shopping cart, argue over who is going to ride and who is going to walk. Unbuckle everyone, try to get milk and get out without spending a fortune. (Luckily, my kids are not ones who want everything they see.)
2:00 re-buckle everyone into their seats, leave for the donut store (reward for good behavior at doctor's office).
2:30 arrive at home--by this time Doug has fallen asleep in his car seat. We all exit the van as quietly as possible and allow him to take his nap, undisturbed, in the van.
By 3:00 I was also taking a nap. I have been fighting the urge to nap because it messes with my nighttime sleep. The problem is, (as I am sure you can see by now), the process of caring for 3 small people is exhausting. I am happy to report that I took a brief nap, got up, prepared stuffed chicken breasts (with spinach, greek yogurt and feta cheese) and rice for dinner, made chocolate chip cookies and collapsed in bed by midnight, ready to do it all over again today.
I am still waiting for my prescription--it has to be sent in by mail order--but I assure you, I will not let it lapse again. I'm exhausted just at the prospect of that happening again.
I didn't want to have the kids miss out on their activities. I also didn't want to drag Doug out too far past his nap time. The poor kid's schedule is already driven by whatever Bekah and Jeremy have going on. (It's funny how that changes by child #3; when it was just Jeremy, his nap schedule was sacrosanct.) My doctor is out Wednesday afternoons and Thursday mornings and so I was left with Friday.
The only appointment I could get was for 1:30. My doctor is very punctual, so I knew we wouldn't be sitting forever, waiting for him to get through previous patients. 1:30, however, is a tricky time. Technically, Doug is ready for a nap by this point in the day. He never really had a chance to have a morning nap so he takes a long afternoon nap. This stunts the possibilities for afternoon activities, but really after running the kids hither and thither all morning, I'm happy staying home.
The other problem was we were out of milk. This is not something the natives would stand for long-term. So here's how the day went. 8:45, took Jeremy to school. Came home, changed clothes, worked out. 11:15, scrambled to dress Doug and carry him to the van with shaky legs and arms (after doing 100 squats and 50+ push-ups), 11:35 get Jeremy, head home, cook lunch (two separate lunches, as Bekah refused to eat the eggs I cooked). 12:00-12:45 explain about 100 times that we weren't going to be able to do naps until after we went to see Dr. Malecki. No, it wasn't quite time to go see him but we would be leaving pretty soon. Tried to relax and catch my breath but the kids wouldn't let me.
12:45, buckle everyone up (for the third time that day), head to the doctor's. Unbuckle everyone, get out the umbrella stroller designed for midgets, let Bekah clumsily navigate Doug toward the building. Fight over who would get to push the buttons for the elevator, fight over who is going to open the door to the doctor's office, fight over which books we will read in the waiting room. 1:15 get called back to the doctor's office, stop to weigh myself while keeping mental tabs on Doug (who is not in the correct exam room). Hurriedly get off the scale, retrieve Doug, try to remember dates and other important things to tell nurse.
1:30 leave doctor's office--repeat previous sequence of Bekah pushing Doug and subsequent arguments over button-pushing. Re-buckle everyone, drive 4 minutes to nearby Target.
1:45 arrive at Target, find shopping cart, argue over who is going to ride and who is going to walk. Unbuckle everyone, try to get milk and get out without spending a fortune. (Luckily, my kids are not ones who want everything they see.)
2:00 re-buckle everyone into their seats, leave for the donut store (reward for good behavior at doctor's office).
2:30 arrive at home--by this time Doug has fallen asleep in his car seat. We all exit the van as quietly as possible and allow him to take his nap, undisturbed, in the van.
By 3:00 I was also taking a nap. I have been fighting the urge to nap because it messes with my nighttime sleep. The problem is, (as I am sure you can see by now), the process of caring for 3 small people is exhausting. I am happy to report that I took a brief nap, got up, prepared stuffed chicken breasts (with spinach, greek yogurt and feta cheese) and rice for dinner, made chocolate chip cookies and collapsed in bed by midnight, ready to do it all over again today.
I am still waiting for my prescription--it has to be sent in by mail order--but I assure you, I will not let it lapse again. I'm exhausted just at the prospect of that happening again.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Opinions
One of the unexpected gifts of motherhood is that I gain a depth of knowledge when I am teaching my children new things. I was an education major in college, so I know there's some truth to this idea.
I had this realization as I was dropping my kids off at AWANA tonight. It's always a tumultuous time. I never start getting them ready early enough, so there's a mad scramble to put on vests, coats, socks, boots, etc. It was no different tonight except that I added a dimension--I wanted Bekah to brush her own hair.
She and I have gone rounds over her hair. My mother would say it's payback, I'm sure, for all of the struggles she and I had about my hair. I even convinced Bekah to cut her hair short so that it wouldn't be so difficult to brush. I have tried every product imaginable to detangle it, with very few appreciable results. In the end, I have chosen to task Bekah with brushing her own hair.
She actually does a decent job at it, if I give her enough space and time to do it. She usually misses a tangle here or there but overall it ends up looking less like a robin's nest than when she started.
The problem tonight was that neither of my kids are good at "hurrying up." They have two speeds--continental drift and glacial drift. Telling them to hurry seems to be counterproductive as they downshift rather than trying to be faster. There's no amount of cajoling, yelling, screaming, threatening, etc., that gets them to move in regular speed. I know, then, that the only real solution is to start getting ready sooner but time management is not my strong suit.
In addition, they choose critical times to add to the toy load in my van. I assure you, to anyone passing by my van it must look like I'm homeless. I have a bag of dog food, two strollers, two booster seats (tried to give them to Savers today but they won't take them), various DVDs, grocery bags (canvas and plastic), food items, sippy cups, etc., strewn all over my van. I try, on a weekly basis, to throw out any miscellaneous papers, food wrappers, cups, etc. It doesn't seem like I do but I really do.
So when we are in a hurry and they insist on bringing random toys with them, I kind of lose it. I gave them a choice tonight-either the stuffed animals they had picked or no AWANA. I was not going to even allow them to bring the animals to the van (because I knew there would be an argument at AWANA about taking the animals with them into the church).
Needless to say I forgot that Bekah had her Fur Real Bunny named Book Book in the van already. When we got to AWANA she did try to bring Book Book with her (that's the bunny's name--Book Book). I told her that she was not allowed to bring Book Book with her, that Book Book needed to stay in the car.
Then the verbal assault started. It's a new weapon in her arsenal lately. She starts saying the meanest things she can think of, which are sometimes funnier than mean. She has frequently told us that she doesn't want to play with us in the morning, that I'm not her mother, that I'm not nice, that I'm not beautiful, etc. She accompanies these statements with crossing her arms, furrowing her brow and turning her back towards me.
She threw a few of those statements at me tonight. When she told me I wasn't beautiful, I had an epiphany. I told her, "just because that's your opinion doesn't mean it's true." What occured to me is that this is true of all opinions from all people, not just from my grumpy 4-year-old.
You see, I have struggled my whole life with other people's opinions. Whether it was Jeremiah and Kevin in grade school, Ivan in middle school or Dustin in high school, I have allowed other people's opinions about me to shape what I thought about myself. For reasons I don't quite understand, I have allowed other people to define me. I am sure that countless adults, guidance counselors and therapists tried to combat this flaw but it wasn't until tonight that it all clicked into place.
There is such freedom in finally realizing that, really, the only opinion about which I should be concerned is God's and then my own (in that order). Most of the time, even my opinion about myself is not great. I have been devestated, even as an adult, by some random person's assessment of either myself or my family. I have literally spent days combatting what they said, picking apart their criticism and having mock fights with them in my head.
I can assure you, the offending party was not reciprocating. While I poorly spent that energy, they were carrying on with life as if nothing had happened. For them, unloading the opinion or criticism on me was the end of it; for me, it was just the start.
When Bekah told me tonight that I wasn't beautiful I didn't feel bad, I didn't flinch, I didn't internalize what she said. I don't believe I'm empirically more or less beautiful, funny, charming, articulate, etc., because of someone else's words. Those are all characteristics that were given to me by God; therefore, they cannot be taken away by man.
I'm going to need to remember this in the coming months, as I get ready to publish my book. Everyone's a critic, but no one will be able to take away from me that I published a book. People will be allowed to say whatever they want--I'll just need to remember to say, "just because that's your opinion doesn't mean it's true."
I had this realization as I was dropping my kids off at AWANA tonight. It's always a tumultuous time. I never start getting them ready early enough, so there's a mad scramble to put on vests, coats, socks, boots, etc. It was no different tonight except that I added a dimension--I wanted Bekah to brush her own hair.
She and I have gone rounds over her hair. My mother would say it's payback, I'm sure, for all of the struggles she and I had about my hair. I even convinced Bekah to cut her hair short so that it wouldn't be so difficult to brush. I have tried every product imaginable to detangle it, with very few appreciable results. In the end, I have chosen to task Bekah with brushing her own hair.
She actually does a decent job at it, if I give her enough space and time to do it. She usually misses a tangle here or there but overall it ends up looking less like a robin's nest than when she started.
The problem tonight was that neither of my kids are good at "hurrying up." They have two speeds--continental drift and glacial drift. Telling them to hurry seems to be counterproductive as they downshift rather than trying to be faster. There's no amount of cajoling, yelling, screaming, threatening, etc., that gets them to move in regular speed. I know, then, that the only real solution is to start getting ready sooner but time management is not my strong suit.
In addition, they choose critical times to add to the toy load in my van. I assure you, to anyone passing by my van it must look like I'm homeless. I have a bag of dog food, two strollers, two booster seats (tried to give them to Savers today but they won't take them), various DVDs, grocery bags (canvas and plastic), food items, sippy cups, etc., strewn all over my van. I try, on a weekly basis, to throw out any miscellaneous papers, food wrappers, cups, etc. It doesn't seem like I do but I really do.
So when we are in a hurry and they insist on bringing random toys with them, I kind of lose it. I gave them a choice tonight-either the stuffed animals they had picked or no AWANA. I was not going to even allow them to bring the animals to the van (because I knew there would be an argument at AWANA about taking the animals with them into the church).
Needless to say I forgot that Bekah had her Fur Real Bunny named Book Book in the van already. When we got to AWANA she did try to bring Book Book with her (that's the bunny's name--Book Book). I told her that she was not allowed to bring Book Book with her, that Book Book needed to stay in the car.
Then the verbal assault started. It's a new weapon in her arsenal lately. She starts saying the meanest things she can think of, which are sometimes funnier than mean. She has frequently told us that she doesn't want to play with us in the morning, that I'm not her mother, that I'm not nice, that I'm not beautiful, etc. She accompanies these statements with crossing her arms, furrowing her brow and turning her back towards me.
She threw a few of those statements at me tonight. When she told me I wasn't beautiful, I had an epiphany. I told her, "just because that's your opinion doesn't mean it's true." What occured to me is that this is true of all opinions from all people, not just from my grumpy 4-year-old.
You see, I have struggled my whole life with other people's opinions. Whether it was Jeremiah and Kevin in grade school, Ivan in middle school or Dustin in high school, I have allowed other people's opinions about me to shape what I thought about myself. For reasons I don't quite understand, I have allowed other people to define me. I am sure that countless adults, guidance counselors and therapists tried to combat this flaw but it wasn't until tonight that it all clicked into place.
There is such freedom in finally realizing that, really, the only opinion about which I should be concerned is God's and then my own (in that order). Most of the time, even my opinion about myself is not great. I have been devestated, even as an adult, by some random person's assessment of either myself or my family. I have literally spent days combatting what they said, picking apart their criticism and having mock fights with them in my head.
I can assure you, the offending party was not reciprocating. While I poorly spent that energy, they were carrying on with life as if nothing had happened. For them, unloading the opinion or criticism on me was the end of it; for me, it was just the start.
When Bekah told me tonight that I wasn't beautiful I didn't feel bad, I didn't flinch, I didn't internalize what she said. I don't believe I'm empirically more or less beautiful, funny, charming, articulate, etc., because of someone else's words. Those are all characteristics that were given to me by God; therefore, they cannot be taken away by man.
I'm going to need to remember this in the coming months, as I get ready to publish my book. Everyone's a critic, but no one will be able to take away from me that I published a book. People will be allowed to say whatever they want--I'll just need to remember to say, "just because that's your opinion doesn't mean it's true."
Monday, March 18, 2013
Comfy Pants
One of my friends came over tonight to hang out and chat. She is one of my more favorite friends. I would use the term BFF, but it seems like I use that term for people who don't reciprocate. I end up feeling like I've been sucked back into middle school. In lieu of my recent problems with sleep, I hate to evoke images like that before heading to bed.
In any case, I've not had a chance to meet one-on-one with this person for a while. As often happens with my mom friends, schedules, illness and the unexpected stand in the way of regularly scheduled get-togethers. I'm fortunate to have a small handful of mom friends who are normal.
I know that word can be overused so I'll attempt to qualify. There are moms who maintain a strict schedule with their children everyday. They do arts and crafts with their children, take them on exploratory trips to museums and other places, attend reading time with them and schlep them to different activities. These moms also never stop gushing over their children. They seldom have a hair out of place, wear clothes that match and have no persistent stains on them, go to bed when they should and are generally cheerful most of the time.
Then there is normal. It may include some, if not all of the aforementioned attributes. The difference is that the attributes seldom occur all at the same time. It's also likely that the normal moms may use swear words, will admit to transforming into a fire-breathing dragon mommy and above all will allow you into their cluttered home.
These are my kind of people. They are the stretchy pants in my wardrobe of ill-fitting, activity-based acquaintances. I am the person who breaks out the stretchy, or comfy, pants as soon as I step in the door. It's not that my clothes don't fit--it's that I'm more comfortable moving around and being active in clothes that have some give.
It's the same with these friends. I'm past the point where I'm concealing the parenting incidents that might make some blush. They may not know all about that which makes me queasy but I give them broad strokes and they don't flinch.
It's rare to have those kind of friends-rarer still to have more than a couple. I am wealthy when it comes to friends. I've still not gotten used to having to re-make friends quickly. That happened from last year to this of preschool. Jeremy made friends with a few kids in his preschool class. We did a lot of play dates with these kids last year; this year I am not as available because I've got someone going to preschool every day. The moms of these boys are still lovely people but they aren't there every day; our availability is much different and the frequency of play dates has dwindled.
It was so wonderful to have my friend come over and not feel pressure to pick up a single toy, article of clothing or dish. I did conceal from her a pair of underwear I realized I was sitting on but that's just common decency, really. I'm a little embarrassed that she saw my bathroom (it's something about which I feel self-conscious but continue to not clean), but she didn't come out with her nose turned up.
It's just so great to focus on the conversation and not feel hung-up on everything else. I have a similar friend at dance class. It took us about a week and a half to realize our daughters were in the same preschool class and dance class (we're quite swift). Since that realization, we have spent every Monday chatting away through the entire class.
With normal moms, the conversation is free and easy. If you need to vent, they are the people to hear it without judgement. Need to make an inappropriate comment? They're the gals that will giggle and not recoil in horror. The time you spend with them passes much too quickly. You feel genuine disappointment when something unexpected causes a cancellation.
I actually proposed a "date" to my dance class friend today. We've not gotten to the point in our friendship where we hang for the purpose of hanging. There is always some anxiety when you cross into spending time with other moms sans children. I worry that I won't have enough to talk about (stop laughing, I really do worry about that), that they'll discover they really don't find me as interesting as I am when my kids are around. We'll see if we make that leap-it's tough to coordinate schedules when more than one children are involved. It has to be just the right time--when Dad isn't too frazzled to watch the kids, when you're not past the point of exhaustion, when none of said children is fighting off the plague.
I'm hopeful, though. She's normal enough that it could just work out.
In any case, I've not had a chance to meet one-on-one with this person for a while. As often happens with my mom friends, schedules, illness and the unexpected stand in the way of regularly scheduled get-togethers. I'm fortunate to have a small handful of mom friends who are normal.
I know that word can be overused so I'll attempt to qualify. There are moms who maintain a strict schedule with their children everyday. They do arts and crafts with their children, take them on exploratory trips to museums and other places, attend reading time with them and schlep them to different activities. These moms also never stop gushing over their children. They seldom have a hair out of place, wear clothes that match and have no persistent stains on them, go to bed when they should and are generally cheerful most of the time.
Then there is normal. It may include some, if not all of the aforementioned attributes. The difference is that the attributes seldom occur all at the same time. It's also likely that the normal moms may use swear words, will admit to transforming into a fire-breathing dragon mommy and above all will allow you into their cluttered home.
These are my kind of people. They are the stretchy pants in my wardrobe of ill-fitting, activity-based acquaintances. I am the person who breaks out the stretchy, or comfy, pants as soon as I step in the door. It's not that my clothes don't fit--it's that I'm more comfortable moving around and being active in clothes that have some give.
It's the same with these friends. I'm past the point where I'm concealing the parenting incidents that might make some blush. They may not know all about that which makes me queasy but I give them broad strokes and they don't flinch.
It's rare to have those kind of friends-rarer still to have more than a couple. I am wealthy when it comes to friends. I've still not gotten used to having to re-make friends quickly. That happened from last year to this of preschool. Jeremy made friends with a few kids in his preschool class. We did a lot of play dates with these kids last year; this year I am not as available because I've got someone going to preschool every day. The moms of these boys are still lovely people but they aren't there every day; our availability is much different and the frequency of play dates has dwindled.
It was so wonderful to have my friend come over and not feel pressure to pick up a single toy, article of clothing or dish. I did conceal from her a pair of underwear I realized I was sitting on but that's just common decency, really. I'm a little embarrassed that she saw my bathroom (it's something about which I feel self-conscious but continue to not clean), but she didn't come out with her nose turned up.
It's just so great to focus on the conversation and not feel hung-up on everything else. I have a similar friend at dance class. It took us about a week and a half to realize our daughters were in the same preschool class and dance class (we're quite swift). Since that realization, we have spent every Monday chatting away through the entire class.
With normal moms, the conversation is free and easy. If you need to vent, they are the people to hear it without judgement. Need to make an inappropriate comment? They're the gals that will giggle and not recoil in horror. The time you spend with them passes much too quickly. You feel genuine disappointment when something unexpected causes a cancellation.
I actually proposed a "date" to my dance class friend today. We've not gotten to the point in our friendship where we hang for the purpose of hanging. There is always some anxiety when you cross into spending time with other moms sans children. I worry that I won't have enough to talk about (stop laughing, I really do worry about that), that they'll discover they really don't find me as interesting as I am when my kids are around. We'll see if we make that leap-it's tough to coordinate schedules when more than one children are involved. It has to be just the right time--when Dad isn't too frazzled to watch the kids, when you're not past the point of exhaustion, when none of said children is fighting off the plague.
I'm hopeful, though. She's normal enough that it could just work out.
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Sleep: A Love Story
I love sleep, I always have. Sleep and I, though, have a tempestuous love affair. You see, I love sleep at inappropriate times. I have always been a night owl. Always. Even in high school I would get involved in a book and stay awake, bleary-eyed, to see what end the heroine would meet.
The problem was always the next morning. It didn't matter what I did, I could not wake myself up. I set my alarm across the room, my mom would try to wake me up but 90% of the time, I was late in waking up and late to school.
In college, my mom encouraged me to schedule my classes first semester so that none started before 11 AM. I was the envy of everyone on my floor. As everyone scurried to be at class at the ungodly hour of 8, I rested peacefully until 10:50 (if my first class started at 11:00). A quick brush of the hair and teeth and some new clothes and I was ready for anything.
The problem became that I kept such irregular hours that I struggled to make it even to my later classes. It was pathetic really, that I couldn't get my butt to a class happening at 2:30 in the afternoon. I would stay up late, my eating habits were awful and so I would spend most of my time feeling sluggish and sleepy.
What killed me worse was the 7:30 AM Theory of Education class I had to take second semester freshman year. Even if I went to bed at 10 the night before (which I never did), I could not keep my eyes open. I loved Dr. Knowles and it pained me to have my head lolling and drool escaping from the corner of my mouth. I also had my friend Chante elbowing me at regular intervals.
Post-college didn't improve things, either. It turns out, living on my own meant I could sleep whenever I wanted and not have anyone to bug me. This was both a benefit and a detriment. I struggled to make it on time to work, I struggled to get in bed early enough and I generally just struggled.
What I find most interesting about my sleep habits is that when they have been at their worst, so has my weight. I have read articles that link lack of sleep to high levels of ghrelin (which causes you to want to sleep) and leptin (which causes you not to be able to stop eating). Put those two together and it's a recipe for disaster.
The one time sleep and I had a civil, appropriate relationship? When I was training for marathons. I had to have a very regimented schedule. I had to be able to go to work, run and have some social life. This meant that I needed to be asleep at a specific time or I would spend the whole day catching up.
Granted, I can't always be training for marathons (although I think that would be awesome). I envy two people when it comes to sleep--Brian and Bekah. Both fall asleep at the drop of a hat. Part of my struggle with sleep is that I tend to toss and turn. I am not one who's wracked with anxiety, I don't review what needs to be done for the day. I just lie there, waiting for my brain to turn off so that I can enjoy some sleep.
The other problem I've consistently had with sleep is bad dreams. I have always had very vivid, very realistic dreams. This means I will wake up a few times some nights, caught in between a dream and reality. I have hit Brian upon waking up, convinced that he's been unfaithful or in some other way a miscreant. It can be wonderful (I've kissed Benicio del Toro) and horrid (I've witnessed murders and other awful events). When I am pregnant, they are worse. Thankfully, right now I'm not.
The last factor that affects my sleep (and the impetus for this entry) is illness. Typically, when I feel under the weather, sleep and I are fast friends. The fly in the ointment this time has been this awfulness I've been fighting since January. One of the symptoms I've been regularly experiencing is a cough. It's exacerbated when I lie down. It's not shocking, then, that sleep has been elusive for me over the past couple of months. Even when I'm exhausted, when my eyes are unable to stay open on their own, I have fought to get more than a couple of hours of sleep at a time.
I only know a handful of people who can survive and thrive on few hours of sleep. I am not one of them. It has been excruciating and frustrating to not be able to sleep, every night, for a reasonable amount of time. I am not myself when I'm not able to sleep. I can't be cheerful. I can't think clearly, make rational decisions, be the most creative when I am working in a sleep deficit.
That being said, I've got to get some rest now.
The problem was always the next morning. It didn't matter what I did, I could not wake myself up. I set my alarm across the room, my mom would try to wake me up but 90% of the time, I was late in waking up and late to school.
In college, my mom encouraged me to schedule my classes first semester so that none started before 11 AM. I was the envy of everyone on my floor. As everyone scurried to be at class at the ungodly hour of 8, I rested peacefully until 10:50 (if my first class started at 11:00). A quick brush of the hair and teeth and some new clothes and I was ready for anything.
The problem became that I kept such irregular hours that I struggled to make it even to my later classes. It was pathetic really, that I couldn't get my butt to a class happening at 2:30 in the afternoon. I would stay up late, my eating habits were awful and so I would spend most of my time feeling sluggish and sleepy.
What killed me worse was the 7:30 AM Theory of Education class I had to take second semester freshman year. Even if I went to bed at 10 the night before (which I never did), I could not keep my eyes open. I loved Dr. Knowles and it pained me to have my head lolling and drool escaping from the corner of my mouth. I also had my friend Chante elbowing me at regular intervals.
Post-college didn't improve things, either. It turns out, living on my own meant I could sleep whenever I wanted and not have anyone to bug me. This was both a benefit and a detriment. I struggled to make it on time to work, I struggled to get in bed early enough and I generally just struggled.
What I find most interesting about my sleep habits is that when they have been at their worst, so has my weight. I have read articles that link lack of sleep to high levels of ghrelin (which causes you to want to sleep) and leptin (which causes you not to be able to stop eating). Put those two together and it's a recipe for disaster.
The one time sleep and I had a civil, appropriate relationship? When I was training for marathons. I had to have a very regimented schedule. I had to be able to go to work, run and have some social life. This meant that I needed to be asleep at a specific time or I would spend the whole day catching up.
Granted, I can't always be training for marathons (although I think that would be awesome). I envy two people when it comes to sleep--Brian and Bekah. Both fall asleep at the drop of a hat. Part of my struggle with sleep is that I tend to toss and turn. I am not one who's wracked with anxiety, I don't review what needs to be done for the day. I just lie there, waiting for my brain to turn off so that I can enjoy some sleep.
The other problem I've consistently had with sleep is bad dreams. I have always had very vivid, very realistic dreams. This means I will wake up a few times some nights, caught in between a dream and reality. I have hit Brian upon waking up, convinced that he's been unfaithful or in some other way a miscreant. It can be wonderful (I've kissed Benicio del Toro) and horrid (I've witnessed murders and other awful events). When I am pregnant, they are worse. Thankfully, right now I'm not.
The last factor that affects my sleep (and the impetus for this entry) is illness. Typically, when I feel under the weather, sleep and I are fast friends. The fly in the ointment this time has been this awfulness I've been fighting since January. One of the symptoms I've been regularly experiencing is a cough. It's exacerbated when I lie down. It's not shocking, then, that sleep has been elusive for me over the past couple of months. Even when I'm exhausted, when my eyes are unable to stay open on their own, I have fought to get more than a couple of hours of sleep at a time.
I only know a handful of people who can survive and thrive on few hours of sleep. I am not one of them. It has been excruciating and frustrating to not be able to sleep, every night, for a reasonable amount of time. I am not myself when I'm not able to sleep. I can't be cheerful. I can't think clearly, make rational decisions, be the most creative when I am working in a sleep deficit.
That being said, I've got to get some rest now.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Friday
I am trying to stay in the habit of writing everyday. It's advice I was given back in my high school creative writing class. I am not good at everyday. I'm good at periodic short bursts. I'm good at starting and then leaving incomplete.
It's certainly something that bothers my loved ones, this lack of follow-through. I have a bad habit of leaving cabinet doors and other doors wide open. The other night, for example, Brian went up to put the kids to bed. I let the dogs out and sat back down on the couch. It got progressively colder and I couldn't understand why.
I posited that I must really be coming down with an awful bug; upon Brian's return he noticed I had left the slider open. Not wide open--our slider doesn't really open that far. It was open enough, though, to explain the drop in temperature in the room.
One of my most prized possessions is a t-shirt I received upon completing my first marathon. It had the logo for the marathon on the front. On the back is one glorious word: Finisher. I actually get emotional seeing other people run marathons because I remember that overwhelming feeling of putting my foot over the finish line.
It's indescribable, really. In one stride I went from someone who loved running to someone who completed her first marathon. It represented hours of sacrifice, of getting up early, going to bed early and spending a lot of time with my feet pounding the pavement.
The trick of the marathon is not actually to consider the entire 26.2 miles all at once. The race really is just about putting one foot in front of the other. Granted, you're doing that over a span of (in my case) almost 5 hours, but honestly, I didn't think about the whole thing at once. I just did the mile that was in front of me. I knew I could do one mile; I could do that in my sleep.
I psyche myself out about a lot of things. For example, I'm in the middle of a few longer-term projects--organizing the house and writing a book. Both tasks, when viewed as a whole, seem crazy overwhelming. My house is a hodge-podge of clutter, garbage and unmanageability. I have been working with the organizer for about 5 weeks. We have organized the laundry room, the big kids' closet and Doug's room.
I, however, can only see the negative spaces, the ones we haven't done yet. It's an infuriating trait because we literally sorted through and pared down boxes upon boxes of clothes to give Doug a chance to sleep in a room that didn't resemble a storage space in Hoarders. My laundry room is now streamlined and easier to navigate. Clothes don't sit around for days on end because there's no room for them in anyone's closet or dresser.
I have more clothes that I want to sell at an upcoming resale. Thanks to the organizer, I've already got them up on hangers and sorted neatly in Doug's closet. I am not scrambling to find something in the kids' drawers that fit them.
I'm not able to focus on all of the progress, though. What's killing me is the garage, my dining room and the growing pile of stuff that needs to find its way to the curb (broken TV, broken couch, broken lamp, broken vacuum, broken high chair). I can't seem to run the dishwasher enough and yet my drying rack is permanently full because I can't find space in my cabinets for everything. There are several piles of various papers teetering like the leaning Tower of Pisa all over my counters.
I made a great start on my book this week--it's at almost 9,000 words so far. The thought that's running around my mind like a runaway train, though, is why haven't I done more? Why haven't I written 25,000 words? How many words long will this book be?
It's a peculiar twist in my mind that haunts me at every turn. When I trained for the marathon, I had a day-by-day schedule. I knew how much I needed to run every day so that I would be prepared to run 26.2 miles on race morning. I didn't run for two days and then run a marathon! It took months of building endurance, of learning techniques, of perfecting the art of staying hydrated.
It always comes back to grace. I forget to extend to myself that which I am so quick to extend to others and that which my Creator so lovingly extended to me. I am nothing more than a work in progress. We will be living in this house for many years; there is no rush to make it perfect because the way the house is being used will surely change as time wears on. I believe that God is prompting me to write this book; He would not give me more than He thinks I can handle and He always completes the work He begins.
My favorite definition of humility is not thinking less of myself but thinking of myself less. I have to realize that the help I need to complete any of these tasks is available; I just have to kneel to receive it.
It's certainly something that bothers my loved ones, this lack of follow-through. I have a bad habit of leaving cabinet doors and other doors wide open. The other night, for example, Brian went up to put the kids to bed. I let the dogs out and sat back down on the couch. It got progressively colder and I couldn't understand why.
I posited that I must really be coming down with an awful bug; upon Brian's return he noticed I had left the slider open. Not wide open--our slider doesn't really open that far. It was open enough, though, to explain the drop in temperature in the room.
One of my most prized possessions is a t-shirt I received upon completing my first marathon. It had the logo for the marathon on the front. On the back is one glorious word: Finisher. I actually get emotional seeing other people run marathons because I remember that overwhelming feeling of putting my foot over the finish line.
It's indescribable, really. In one stride I went from someone who loved running to someone who completed her first marathon. It represented hours of sacrifice, of getting up early, going to bed early and spending a lot of time with my feet pounding the pavement.
The trick of the marathon is not actually to consider the entire 26.2 miles all at once. The race really is just about putting one foot in front of the other. Granted, you're doing that over a span of (in my case) almost 5 hours, but honestly, I didn't think about the whole thing at once. I just did the mile that was in front of me. I knew I could do one mile; I could do that in my sleep.
I psyche myself out about a lot of things. For example, I'm in the middle of a few longer-term projects--organizing the house and writing a book. Both tasks, when viewed as a whole, seem crazy overwhelming. My house is a hodge-podge of clutter, garbage and unmanageability. I have been working with the organizer for about 5 weeks. We have organized the laundry room, the big kids' closet and Doug's room.
I, however, can only see the negative spaces, the ones we haven't done yet. It's an infuriating trait because we literally sorted through and pared down boxes upon boxes of clothes to give Doug a chance to sleep in a room that didn't resemble a storage space in Hoarders. My laundry room is now streamlined and easier to navigate. Clothes don't sit around for days on end because there's no room for them in anyone's closet or dresser.
I have more clothes that I want to sell at an upcoming resale. Thanks to the organizer, I've already got them up on hangers and sorted neatly in Doug's closet. I am not scrambling to find something in the kids' drawers that fit them.
I'm not able to focus on all of the progress, though. What's killing me is the garage, my dining room and the growing pile of stuff that needs to find its way to the curb (broken TV, broken couch, broken lamp, broken vacuum, broken high chair). I can't seem to run the dishwasher enough and yet my drying rack is permanently full because I can't find space in my cabinets for everything. There are several piles of various papers teetering like the leaning Tower of Pisa all over my counters.
I made a great start on my book this week--it's at almost 9,000 words so far. The thought that's running around my mind like a runaway train, though, is why haven't I done more? Why haven't I written 25,000 words? How many words long will this book be?
It's a peculiar twist in my mind that haunts me at every turn. When I trained for the marathon, I had a day-by-day schedule. I knew how much I needed to run every day so that I would be prepared to run 26.2 miles on race morning. I didn't run for two days and then run a marathon! It took months of building endurance, of learning techniques, of perfecting the art of staying hydrated.
It always comes back to grace. I forget to extend to myself that which I am so quick to extend to others and that which my Creator so lovingly extended to me. I am nothing more than a work in progress. We will be living in this house for many years; there is no rush to make it perfect because the way the house is being used will surely change as time wears on. I believe that God is prompting me to write this book; He would not give me more than He thinks I can handle and He always completes the work He begins.
My favorite definition of humility is not thinking less of myself but thinking of myself less. I have to realize that the help I need to complete any of these tasks is available; I just have to kneel to receive it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)