Parenting

So since I am a therapist and all, one of the basic premises of my personality (besides being a glutton for punishment) is that I want to make people feel better about themselves.  Keeping that in mind, here is my contribution for the day towards that cause.  After reading these gems, you are sure to feel better about your parenting and mental stability in general.


Charlie is playing with a bunch of bowls of water and some cups and spoons.  This usually keeps her entertained for almost a full hour.  I happened to look over at her and she is standing on top of the picnic table where she is playing.  I tell her to sit down and she sits...on top of the table.  Advantage, Charlie...next time I will need to be more specific.


When Elizabeth was about five or so,we had a Jack Russell Terrier named J.D.  Charles REFUSED to get this dog fixed.  REFUSED.  J.D. was lying on the ground one day, and his balls were sticking out from under his butt.  Elizabeth, of course, notices them and turns to me and says, "What are those things under J.D.?  Those...balls?"  I lost it and laughed and probably peed myself a little.  I figure that probably tacked on a minimum of 6 months of therapy...


These weren't my children, but just to show you that my stellar skills extend to other children as well (you know, in case you were ever contemplating leaving your children in my care...)...I worked at a daycare for years on and off.  My last stint was in a 3 year old preschool classroom, co-teaching with my sister.  We were talking about traveling or some shit, and what the kids would pack.  We got all of the typical stuff...clothes, nightgown, blankie, etc. (Though one kid did throw out "ointment", which of course I cracked up about...what three year old says "ointment?")  We were almost done when this one very sweet little girl pipes up with her contribution.  Now before I tell you what it was, keep in mind that her father always complained about how old he was to all of us.  Her contribution?  "My daddy packs little blue pills when he goes out of town."  The poor children did not know why their teacher thought that was so funny.  I told them all to ask their parents, cause I am so good at deflecting like that.


Both Elizabeth and Alexis could use fuck as a noun, adjective, and a verb by the age of three.  Charlie is probably well on her way there too.


Charlie comes walking into the kitchen in nothing but her diaper and a shit load of Mardi Gras beads.  Charles turns to me and goes, "Well, I guess she earned those beads, didn't she?"


Alexis is driving along in the car with me when Rhianna's S & M comes on.  She goes, "Oh, Mommy, turn this up!  This is my song!"

Toddlers

Toddlers can be such assholes.

This was my status on Facebook today.  And it is the honest to God truth.  I have said it before, but living with Charlie is like living with a person who has rapidly cycling bipolar disorder with psychotic features and who is quite possibly withdrawing from a substance.  In this case, that substance would be the crackers and marshmallows that I have the nerve to not allow her to subsist on.  (And hell yeah I just ended my sentence with a preposition.  That is what living with a toddler will do to you.  Their assholery will make you do things like have poor grammar.  And make up words like assholery.)

I could not even begin to imagine the emotions that that child must experience, not just day to day but minute to minute.  She will go from throwing herself down on the floor in a murderous rage when I won't allow her to climb inside the stove to running up to me with those big baby blues and asking sweetly, "Outside?  Play?".  She is very good at knowing exactly which buttons of Charles's to push and will do things like look him directly in the eye while turning a cup of milk over to pour it all over the floor.  She has perfected this unholy screech that makes angels cry and shatters crystal.  She can arch her back in the midst of her temper tantrum and put the back bend of an Olympic gymnast to shame.

But then there are moments like tonight, when she calls plaintively for me from her crib.  "Mama! Mama!"  I go up there wearily, bracing myself for the onslaught of passionate, unbridled emotions that she can sling my way.  She is standing up in her crib, holding Doggie in one hand and her blanket in the other.  She wants me to pick her up and hold her.  She snuggles into the center of my chest like she did as an infant, tucking her butt under her legs and just melting into me.  And I think, "What did I do to deserve the love of such a passionate, dynamic creature?  Why does she need me so when she is so capable of doing and being whatever she wants?  How did I get so lucky?"  All is forgiven and I can laugh at her toddler antics.

Yes, toddlers can be such assholes.

Rainbows

So because I really like to put my Zoloft to the test, I decided today that I was going to join the community garage sale. That was today from 9-4.  At 11 AM.  I put my stuff out and got rid of a lot of baby shit...and made enough to go buy Alexis her bike. She wanted one for her birthday, but I am not so mean as to make her wait until the end of September (though certain other of my children may dispute this point...).

I felt a twinge or two as I was shameless giving away crap that I don't ever have a use for ever again.  It is quite public knowledge that I hate being pregnant.  I am happy about the size of our family.  The twinge was not about that.

Rather, it was more about giving the damn Bumbo seat, the red toddler bed, the Jumperoo, etc. away before ALL of my children had a chance to use them.  I had overheard Alexis telling her friend on the porch today as they colored, "I DO TOO have a brother!  He is in heaven!  I don't see him, though..."  Talk about being shot through the heart.

I went about my day.  I ran out to do the grocery shopping, and of course as soon as I get out of the grocery store, it LETS LOOSE.  I turn and look at the west...sun is shining as brightly as can be.  I am torn.  It is pretty much a tie between what I hate more...water, or being pregnant.  (This only applies to water that is on my body.  I drink tap water like I am getting paid to do so.)  Do I stay facing the east, in the rain, and look for the rainbow, or do I get my groceries, the crabby baby I  have with me, and my tired ass, in the car and headed in the opposite direction?

Practicality won out.  Plus I was cold.  I got in the car and headed home, convinced that I was not going to see the rainbow.  Disappointment was felt by all involved (which pretty much was only me).  

You see, rainbows have had a special significance for me since my son's death.  When I was in labor with him, I saw my father.  Big deal, right?  Yeah, except for he is dead.  He was holding a baby, wrapped in the God-awful receiving blankets that hospitals use, and singing this God-awful song he used to sing to all of the grandchildren:

Teera, Leera, Loora, 
Teera, Leera, Lie, 
Teera, Leera, Loora, 
Hush, now, don't you cry.

That was the first time since I had learned that I was going to have to deliver a dead baby that I felt comforted.

Fast forward about a month.  We were on vacation, and it started to storm again.  In the sky, there was a gorgeous double rainbow.  It was almost as though my dad and Gabe were saying, "Be at peace; we are here."

Since then, it has always seemed that whenever things were tough, or I was thinking about Gabe a lot for whatever reason (well, more than usual I should say...) a rainbow will come out.

It did not fail me today, either.  Looking in my rear view mirror, I saw the biggest, most beautiful rainbow against the dark slate gray storm clouds.  I almost drove the car off the road; I literally could not take my eyes off of it.  It was THAT brilliant and beautiful and big.

Thanks, son.

Unhinged

Some days I feel as though I have my very own special psychiatric ward here in my home, filled with bipolar patients who rapidly cycle through their moods. Between having a toddler, a teenager, and a 5 year old (I am firmly convinced that children at that age have little mini hormonal cycles just like a woman...), there is enough lability of mood to make the makers of Depakote go nuts.  Between Charlie's dramatic temper tantrums about being prevented from running out in traffic, Alexis's conviction that she is the ONLY ONE IN HER ENTIRE GRADE who had to wear long sleeves, and Elizabeth's just general teen-ness, I am about to go completely unhinged myself.

And yet...I would not trade it for the world.  My children are both my sanity and my madness.  I come home from work on days like today, when I am surrounded by desperation and pain and hopelessness, and I see why I do what I do.  It is because there is hope in Charlie's "muwah's"  (kisses) that she gives me when I get home from work.  There is still innocent joy in Alexis begging me to play on the trampoline with her.  There is promise in my conversations I have with Elizabeth.  There is sheer delight in the way that they all play together.  The simple pleasure that I get in making dinner for my family, in watching them grow and learn and become women.  In seeing the development of their personalities, their growth as human beings.

I am humbled by watching them become just generally fantastic people.  Bright, creative, funny, caring.  It makes all of the insanity worth it.

Conversations IX

My brother in law, after eating a sundae that consisted of a peanut butter sauce filled chocolate mini cake, hot fudge, peanut butter sauce, a Reese's cup, and peanut butter and fudge swirled peanut butter cup ice cream (with some whipped cream and two cherries on it):

"I have not put anything this unhealthy in my body for a long time, and right now by body is saying to me, 'You asshole'."


Elizabeth's father texted her a picture of her sister with their cat and the message that the cat had died.  I asked her if they were going to get a new cat.  Her response?

"No, Mom.  You can't just get a new cat to replace the old one.  It is just not the same.  They have their own personalities.  It is like asking someone if they were going to have a new baby to replace the old one when it died.  That's just wrong."

I did ask her if she realized that she just compared a cat to a baby and she just shrugged.  I may  need to rethink this whole baby-sitting thing here...


Talking to Charles's cousin about her new baby:

Cousin:  Yeah, she has a lot of hair on her head.  And some on her back too.

Cousin's husband:  Yeah, she is going to be like her daddy and just have a blanket.

Me, to Charles:  Maybe that is what I need to do!  I need to grow some back hair!  I wonder how I could make that happen so I am not always cold...

Few minutes later, talking about covering yourself up while in bed because if you don't the serial killer who lives under your bed will GET YOU AT NIGHT!!!

Charles:  Eh, I  always have to have my arms out.  I can't stand to have my hand covered, even if they are cold.

Cousin's husband, to me:  See?  If you figure out the back hair thing, he can just bury his hands in there to keep them warm!  LIKE A BLANKET!!!

(Obviously it takes a special kind of person to marry into this family....)

Random III

Charlie came home from daycare with a rather large goose egg down the middle of her forehead.  She was running and tripped and bashed her head into a table.  I guess she made that table her bitch.  She OWNS that table now.  Honestly, I am just glad that she was not climbing on that table and dancing on it.  She is my child, though to look at her appearance one would have to strongly question her maternity.

She also has another fucking ear infection and her tubes are clogged again.  What is the average cost of raising a child up to now?  All I gots to say is, she better go to a cheap ass college or get a full ride scholarship because she is totally using up all of that money on her medical bills now.  Cause you know, once she hits that average I am so cutting her off and making her get a job...

Alexis has learned the art of stalling.  Specifically, dragging out bedtime routine so she does not have to go to bed.  I decided to go all Love and Logic on her ass and stop nagging because really, it is way too much effort.  I told her that she would have to start making up the time the next day, meaning that she would have to go to bed earlier, and that by my calculations she needed to go to bed now.  Parent of the year I am not, but it got my point across.

Elizabeth just told me that there was a slug on her shoe (which was really my shoe she was wearing...) and that she had wiped it off.  Not only did she wipe it off, but she disinfected the shoe.  Then she told me that she had a slug in her hair as well.  I did not ask questions.  Sometimes it is just better that way.  Though I do wonder if she disinfected her hair as well...

Deception

Charlie looks very angelic for a demon child.

Seriously.  She has these big blue eyes, this creamy soft skin, this mischievous little grin...my little ginger baby is adorable if I do say so myself.  But good God almighty, that child is hell on wheels.  Or rather, hell on tiny size 4 sneakers.

I went to the Children's Museum with my sister-in-law this weekend.  After watching Charlie climb up (and almost fall down) a set of stairs, pick up several chairs (and throw one in a fit of rage when it wasn't doing exactly what she wanted it to...), arch her back and throw herself around when I dared to stop her from falling off of a bench, and attempt to climb up the side of the car that they had for kids to pretend to drive, she turned to me and said, "I see now why you call her Char-Rambo."

Exactly.

Charlie is a tank.  She knows what she wants and she goes for it with a passion that only a toddler can muster.  She sits and concentrates and figures things out and by God, if it does not do what she thinks it should do, her head starts spinning and green vomit comes out her mouth.  Kidding!  (Well, maybe just a little bit...)

When do we lose that single-minded determination to figure things out?  When does the child learn to temper the emotions to more socially acceptable responses, like binge drinking and cage fighting?  I wish I knew the exact moment, because I want to tell Charlie to never lose that passion.  Learn to control it, to direct it in a positive direction...but to never stop feeling the sting of that chair not doing what the fuck you want it to when you have tried so hard to figure it out.

Conversations VIII

Charles:  (referring to the TV show Swamp People)  They are making this appeal to people who think that women aren't as good as men.  I'll bet Liz could kick most men I know's ass...

Me:  I am just so proud of you right at this moment...

Charles:  Well, you could give me a blow job...

Me:  And then you just kept talking...

Miscellaneous

Do you know that there are entire television shows dedicated to filming people (mainly men, with a token woman thrown in) hunting wild game? 

There are also shows dedicated to guns and target shooting.

This was information that I could have gone pretty much my whole life without knowing, and still felt that I was a pretty educated individual.

Just sayin'...

Memories

The aroma of vinegar is forever associated with the dyeing of Easter eggs by me.  I remember the excitement of coloring eggs every year for Easter, using the Paas kits.  They have not changed much in the 30+ years I have been doing this...still the same little tablets that bubble, the same clear crayon that magically makes words come out on the eggs, the same wrappers that you can put around the eggs that crack.  There are a few minor differences in what I do and what we did when I was young...I don't keep the eggs out on the table for weeks at a time and then allow my children to eat them (MOM!!!), Elizabeth is way more creative with her decorations than we ever were as children, my kids actually eat the eggs we dye (to me, any egg tastes like a tiny bit of hell in your mouth).  The act of dyeing the eggs, though, is essentially the same.

When I have grandchildren I want to do this with them.  It might just be eggs, but there are memories there.  It was a time from my childhood I can remember being happy.  It was fun and innocent.  I want that to keep up throughout the generations.  There is wonder in the fizzing of those tablets, the creation of something pretty from something plain, the time spent together.  It is worth spending time on, because the payback is rich.