Quinn (2nd from left) on a field trip to the local fire station, posing with her preschool class and the fire captain.
11/20/2009
11/05/2009
on peanut butter sandwiches and milkshakes
This week has been a week of earlier than the already horribly early risings of the sweet little Quinn due to the "falling back" rule. And a week of holy crap it's only 5:30 pm and it feels like 10. These time changes are evil, you know?
Thankfully I have several friends with children who have confirmed that indeed this week has been painful for them as well.
As the parents, we groan and yawn and deal with the ramifications of such an insane rule that surely was meant only to disrupt our neat and tidy routine. The children, however, are expectedly not as well equipped to cope with this change, since they have no clue it has even occurred. (Read: Quinn is crabby as hell and complaining all during her waking hours).
Yesterday at lunchtime, after short discussion, the children and I elected to have peanut butter sandwiches. I can't clearly recall the exact event that preceeded her whine-fest, but anyway there was a whine-fest while I was trying to prepare lunch.
So I pulled out the ol' not-so-reliable shock statement used by parents to elicit a child's appreciation for food.
Me: "You know Quinn, I have something to tell you."
Quinn: "What Mommy?"
Me: "There are little children whose parents do not have enough money to buy peanut butter. Those little children have never even TASTED peanut butter!"
Quinn: *look of sheer horror*, followed by a tearful "WHY???" (yes, real tears over such an atrocity.)
Me: *satisfied to have evoked an emotional response* "Because, not everyone is as lucky as you are, Quinn. We should always remember how lucky we are to have nice things like peanut butter."
*********
Tonight Casey tells me a story. When he picked up Quinn from preschool this afternoon, he brought a milkshake for them to share as a special treat. (Which by the way she took 1 SECOND to spot when they got into the vehicle). Back and forth they took turns sipping, with Quinn drinking most of the shake. Casey drank the last sip.
Quinn: (howling with drama) "DADDY! You drank ALL of MY milkshake!!!"
Casey: "Honey, it was our milkshake to share. There was one tiny sip left and I just finished it. You got plenty of milkshake."
Quinn: "Daddy, that is NOT how you are supposed to treat your children."
*********
Wow, seriously? Back to square one. This lesson might take a few rounds to sink in.
Thankfully I have several friends with children who have confirmed that indeed this week has been painful for them as well.
As the parents, we groan and yawn and deal with the ramifications of such an insane rule that surely was meant only to disrupt our neat and tidy routine. The children, however, are expectedly not as well equipped to cope with this change, since they have no clue it has even occurred. (Read: Quinn is crabby as hell and complaining all during her waking hours).
Yesterday at lunchtime, after short discussion, the children and I elected to have peanut butter sandwiches. I can't clearly recall the exact event that preceeded her whine-fest, but anyway there was a whine-fest while I was trying to prepare lunch.
So I pulled out the ol' not-so-reliable shock statement used by parents to elicit a child's appreciation for food.
Me: "You know Quinn, I have something to tell you."
Quinn: "What Mommy?"
Me: "There are little children whose parents do not have enough money to buy peanut butter. Those little children have never even TASTED peanut butter!"
Quinn: *look of sheer horror*, followed by a tearful "WHY???" (yes, real tears over such an atrocity.)
Me: *satisfied to have evoked an emotional response* "Because, not everyone is as lucky as you are, Quinn. We should always remember how lucky we are to have nice things like peanut butter."
*********
Tonight Casey tells me a story. When he picked up Quinn from preschool this afternoon, he brought a milkshake for them to share as a special treat. (Which by the way she took 1 SECOND to spot when they got into the vehicle). Back and forth they took turns sipping, with Quinn drinking most of the shake. Casey drank the last sip.
Quinn: (howling with drama) "DADDY! You drank ALL of MY milkshake!!!"
Casey: "Honey, it was our milkshake to share. There was one tiny sip left and I just finished it. You got plenty of milkshake."
Quinn: "Daddy, that is NOT how you are supposed to treat your children."
*********
Wow, seriously? Back to square one. This lesson might take a few rounds to sink in.
11/03/2009
football girl
I'm a football girl. Sometimes I yell louder than my husband when watching a game. I really never had a choice in this matter though.
During most of my childhood, our family had one television. Said television was tuned in to Green Bay Packers football every Sunday without fail, and Sundays when my mother was at work meant football ALL day. I suppose I spent perhaps my first ten years hating Sundays, pouting and scowling in objection, and eventually retreating to my bedroom to find something else to do when my efforts failed.
Somewhere along the line, I caved and started to watch and listen. I became one of very few little girls who knew full well what a first down was and knew the difference between a tackle and a sack. I began to ask Dad questions during the game, and he explained it all. I knew that the coming of Fall signified the coming of the football season, and I looked forward to it eagerly.
Sundays during the off-season meant watching reruns of Gunsmoke, so can you really blame a girl?
My favorite person to watch the game with to this day is still my dad. He's hilarious, entertaining, and continues to enlighten me with little tidbits about the game that I have yet to learn. And he's always right. Nobody knows a horse-shit call like my dad.
This season I'm thrilled to be going to my second live Packers game with some girlfriends. Apparently they caved somewhere along the line too and became football girls, so we get along well. I can't wait to be there on the sidelines cheering on my favorite team.
During most of my childhood, our family had one television. Said television was tuned in to Green Bay Packers football every Sunday without fail, and Sundays when my mother was at work meant football ALL day. I suppose I spent perhaps my first ten years hating Sundays, pouting and scowling in objection, and eventually retreating to my bedroom to find something else to do when my efforts failed.
Somewhere along the line, I caved and started to watch and listen. I became one of very few little girls who knew full well what a first down was and knew the difference between a tackle and a sack. I began to ask Dad questions during the game, and he explained it all. I knew that the coming of Fall signified the coming of the football season, and I looked forward to it eagerly.
Sundays during the off-season meant watching reruns of Gunsmoke, so can you really blame a girl?
My favorite person to watch the game with to this day is still my dad. He's hilarious, entertaining, and continues to enlighten me with little tidbits about the game that I have yet to learn. And he's always right. Nobody knows a horse-shit call like my dad.
This season I'm thrilled to be going to my second live Packers game with some girlfriends. Apparently they caved somewhere along the line too and became football girls, so we get along well. I can't wait to be there on the sidelines cheering on my favorite team.
10/23/2009
autumn's blessings
Autumn is here. The fall season used to be my absolute favorite time of year. Few things can make me happier than fresh, cool air blowing through the house and the beautiful colors of changing leaves; time for baking cookies and pies, carving pumpkins, and looking forward to the upcoming holiday season.
Then we had kids. Don't get me wrong, I still love all of those things about this time of year, but it's just not the same.
This year there was an added element of excitement for the season with Quinn in preschool for the first time. It was great fun shopping for a backpack and school clothes, even though a little bittersweet as these events mark the beginning of her journey into girlhood.
BUT. When you are blessed with children, September and October are daunting months as they provide a nice, cozy, undisturbed harbor for germs. A cornucopia of germs, if you will. I should be thankful that in my day and time there are such conveniences as alcohol hand gel and antibacterial wipes for faces and hands as well as household surfaces. Honestly, I've been using them like a crazy person to avoid the impending doom brought on by lurking viruses and bacteria.
A couple weeks ago Casey and I had the great opportunity to travel out of town for a couple of kid-free days. Now I admit I'm not one of those moms who feels horribly guilty once I'm away, or one who needs to call every two hours because I'm worried about my children. I love them dearly, but I do trust our family as caregivers and cherish time away to rejuvenate. I believe it makes me a better parent. My problem is the anticipation of leaving, and an unexplainable severe anxiety that someone will become ill before we leave. So before our little getaway, I became so worked up about this I nearly became ill myself. In the end nobody got sick, and we went and had a very nice time. It's likely this pre-getaway anxiety about sickness will always haunt me as long as my children are small.
But now the bugs are here. Poor Liam has been hit the hardest with a never-ending cold, ear infections, and now both kids have been hit with a nasty flu virus. And I'm quite certain that puke virus is out there waiting its turn. I hate seeing my children not feeling well. I hate rearranging schedules, missing work, and paying for daycare I'm not using all because my children are sick. I also hate that I've spent time and effort disinfecting and making sure cups are not cross-contaminated -- all for nothing. Who can afford this? Not I.
Side story: Part of Quinn's virus has caused her to speak in a demon-like voice. The demon has been substituted for her whining voice, and is accompanied by a twisted up scary face. I'm sure down the line this will be something I can laugh about.
This week I've spent five full days home with my children without going anywhere except to the clinic twice. Seriously, how can a person entertain one child and one demon child within the same four walls for that many days? It isn't possible. I'm all out of ideas. Even the illustrious SpongeBob SquarePants has lost his luster this week. But I must say, I've cuddled and played with my children more in these five days than I have in the last month combined. That is a blessing, even if in disguise. We've had some good laughs and good fun amidst the sickness. If vomit and high fever are what it takes to get some cuddle time, I'll do it once in awhile.
After this round of the sickies, I do plan on disinfecting-- although I'm not sure why I bother. I'm not yet hopeless I guess. After disinfecting, I plan on making time to bake and enjoy the things I've always enjoyed about the season. We're on the mend, thank God. And please God, if you're listening, let us stay mended for at least a little while. It's going to be a long wait for Spring.
Then we had kids. Don't get me wrong, I still love all of those things about this time of year, but it's just not the same.
This year there was an added element of excitement for the season with Quinn in preschool for the first time. It was great fun shopping for a backpack and school clothes, even though a little bittersweet as these events mark the beginning of her journey into girlhood.
BUT. When you are blessed with children, September and October are daunting months as they provide a nice, cozy, undisturbed harbor for germs. A cornucopia of germs, if you will. I should be thankful that in my day and time there are such conveniences as alcohol hand gel and antibacterial wipes for faces and hands as well as household surfaces. Honestly, I've been using them like a crazy person to avoid the impending doom brought on by lurking viruses and bacteria.
A couple weeks ago Casey and I had the great opportunity to travel out of town for a couple of kid-free days. Now I admit I'm not one of those moms who feels horribly guilty once I'm away, or one who needs to call every two hours because I'm worried about my children. I love them dearly, but I do trust our family as caregivers and cherish time away to rejuvenate. I believe it makes me a better parent. My problem is the anticipation of leaving, and an unexplainable severe anxiety that someone will become ill before we leave. So before our little getaway, I became so worked up about this I nearly became ill myself. In the end nobody got sick, and we went and had a very nice time. It's likely this pre-getaway anxiety about sickness will always haunt me as long as my children are small.
But now the bugs are here. Poor Liam has been hit the hardest with a never-ending cold, ear infections, and now both kids have been hit with a nasty flu virus. And I'm quite certain that puke virus is out there waiting its turn. I hate seeing my children not feeling well. I hate rearranging schedules, missing work, and paying for daycare I'm not using all because my children are sick. I also hate that I've spent time and effort disinfecting and making sure cups are not cross-contaminated -- all for nothing. Who can afford this? Not I.
Side story: Part of Quinn's virus has caused her to speak in a demon-like voice. The demon has been substituted for her whining voice, and is accompanied by a twisted up scary face. I'm sure down the line this will be something I can laugh about.
This week I've spent five full days home with my children without going anywhere except to the clinic twice. Seriously, how can a person entertain one child and one demon child within the same four walls for that many days? It isn't possible. I'm all out of ideas. Even the illustrious SpongeBob SquarePants has lost his luster this week. But I must say, I've cuddled and played with my children more in these five days than I have in the last month combined. That is a blessing, even if in disguise. We've had some good laughs and good fun amidst the sickness. If vomit and high fever are what it takes to get some cuddle time, I'll do it once in awhile.
After this round of the sickies, I do plan on disinfecting-- although I'm not sure why I bother. I'm not yet hopeless I guess. After disinfecting, I plan on making time to bake and enjoy the things I've always enjoyed about the season. We're on the mend, thank God. And please God, if you're listening, let us stay mended for at least a little while. It's going to be a long wait for Spring.
8/31/2009
comfort food
Is it good or bad that life continues to evolve in a constant state of change? I suppose it could be either, depending on the nature of the change...
I love watching my children grow, but hate seeing their baby days gone, one by one, forever. Quinn will begin preschool next week, and she will absolutely love this new adventure. This is so exciting, but marks the end of one stage and the beginning of another.
I am elated and ever-appreciative of my husband's decision to start from scratch in his career in order to make our family a priority. As wonderful as this change has been, it is still a daunting challenge to remain patient as we wait for the consistent, yet very gradual growth in his new endeavor. Show me the MONEY! Okay, honestly it has gotten better with time, but like I said, I am impatient.
I appreciate my employer for making a perpetual effort to better our place of work, but the immensity of 'new and improved' policies and procedures sends my mind reeling, and can be slightly irritating.
My sister, who has struggled to find peace in her life for many years is embarking on multiple significant changes at the moment, which brings a sense of hope and yet also ambivalence and worry.
A good friend who has been an amazing source of support for me during various junctures in my life has recently learned her father has stage 3 lung cancer. This places me on the other side of the court, hoping to offer her the same comfort and friendship she has given me in the past.
And as we try to adapt to all of these transitions, our environment reminds us that it too must change. Temperatures have dropped, signaling the end of summer and beginning of fall. Thanks Mother Nature. I am not done shopping for fall clothes yet.
Overall I think I'm doing pretty well with all of this crap, considering I am usually thrown off quite a bit when it comes to transition. My mind has been trying to wrap itself around it all, and I haven't gone nuts (as far as I know). But as always, my evil arch nemesis (food, food, freakin' fatty food) has crept up on me again. Damn! I have been doing pretty well for the last few weeks. Barrage me with a few bumps in the road and my ticket to self-esteem hell is right there waiting.
This week that snakey, paunch subconscious has slithered back into my mind, and I never saw it coming. It convinced me it would be perfectly fine to make my loaded baked potato soup from scratch. It said, "go ahead, eat TWO pieces of birthday cake." It opened my recipe collection and assured me that making meatballs and mashed potatoes was necessary. And that sordid serpent even wreaked havoc on my lunch one day and dished me up some Scooby Doo macaroni and cheese.
Disclaimer: In my own defense, I must say I did prepare these things as scaled-down, low fat, low calorie, as I possibly could. But really, there's no excuse for that 2nd piece of birthday cake [and the two margaritas I never mentioned, but they were in celebration of our anniversary so they didn't count] other than it tasted GOOD.
The slate (err....plate?) must be wiped clean again. I'm banishing the snake and the cake. Back in the groove, I hope. Why can't I find comfort in carrots? Nevermind. I don't even like carrots.
I love watching my children grow, but hate seeing their baby days gone, one by one, forever. Quinn will begin preschool next week, and she will absolutely love this new adventure. This is so exciting, but marks the end of one stage and the beginning of another.
I am elated and ever-appreciative of my husband's decision to start from scratch in his career in order to make our family a priority. As wonderful as this change has been, it is still a daunting challenge to remain patient as we wait for the consistent, yet very gradual growth in his new endeavor. Show me the MONEY! Okay, honestly it has gotten better with time, but like I said, I am impatient.
I appreciate my employer for making a perpetual effort to better our place of work, but the immensity of 'new and improved' policies and procedures sends my mind reeling, and can be slightly irritating.
My sister, who has struggled to find peace in her life for many years is embarking on multiple significant changes at the moment, which brings a sense of hope and yet also ambivalence and worry.
A good friend who has been an amazing source of support for me during various junctures in my life has recently learned her father has stage 3 lung cancer. This places me on the other side of the court, hoping to offer her the same comfort and friendship she has given me in the past.
And as we try to adapt to all of these transitions, our environment reminds us that it too must change. Temperatures have dropped, signaling the end of summer and beginning of fall. Thanks Mother Nature. I am not done shopping for fall clothes yet.
Overall I think I'm doing pretty well with all of this crap, considering I am usually thrown off quite a bit when it comes to transition. My mind has been trying to wrap itself around it all, and I haven't gone nuts (as far as I know). But as always, my evil arch nemesis (food, food, freakin' fatty food) has crept up on me again. Damn! I have been doing pretty well for the last few weeks. Barrage me with a few bumps in the road and my ticket to self-esteem hell is right there waiting.
This week that snakey, paunch subconscious has slithered back into my mind, and I never saw it coming. It convinced me it would be perfectly fine to make my loaded baked potato soup from scratch. It said, "go ahead, eat TWO pieces of birthday cake." It opened my recipe collection and assured me that making meatballs and mashed potatoes was necessary. And that sordid serpent even wreaked havoc on my lunch one day and dished me up some Scooby Doo macaroni and cheese.
Disclaimer: In my own defense, I must say I did prepare these things as scaled-down, low fat, low calorie, as I possibly could. But really, there's no excuse for that 2nd piece of birthday cake [and the two margaritas I never mentioned, but they were in celebration of our anniversary so they didn't count] other than it tasted GOOD.
The slate (err....plate?) must be wiped clean again. I'm banishing the snake and the cake. Back in the groove, I hope. Why can't I find comfort in carrots? Nevermind. I don't even like carrots.
8/19/2009
a manipulating maneuver
The instant you become a parent, joy and amazement over each and every milestone becomes part of daily living. Your identity is now forever linked with your child’s, and witnessing their ability to learn and grow is one of the most rewarding aspects of parenting. Heartwarming, isn’t it?
Heh. Yep, that sponge housed beneath their cranium sure is porous. I admit I’ve succumbed to those sweet feelings more than a time or two. Those first smiles get me every time. New teeth, first foods, crawling, you know the list.
The present state of affairs in our humble world consists of our daughter who is only weeks away from becoming a preschooler, and her wannabe-toddler brother, who only months ago was my baby. Damn they grow like weeds! Even as my children outgrow their baby ways, those milestones keep-a-coming. And yes, most times these benchmarks are celebrated, photographed, videotaped, facebooked, blogged, emailed, and documented in every way humanly and technologically possible.
Most times, I said. Not sure about your life, but in our home there are certain achievements that we feel less-than-amused about. While we may share these little tidbits with family or friends, these are the types of events we tend to opt out of reporting to the pediatrician at a well visit. “Oh, yes doctor! Liam is walking, running, climbing like a monkey on crack! In fact, the other day when I wasn’t watching him he climbed onto the sofa and nearly scaled the blinds in the living room. Imagine my horror! Thank God I yanked him down before the blinds were damaged!” (Which YES, is really what I was thinking when I pried his sweaty little palms off my expensive window treatments). “Yes, Quinn’s vocabulary is simply flourishing each day! Just the other day we had the television tuned to an action movie on HBO, and she said, ‘Mommy! Daddy! That man just said FUCKER!’” (You guessed it, true story).
Fearless toddlers are meant to test their behavioral and physical boundaries by exploring their environments from floor to window blinds to ceiling. It’s how they learn to act and move in this world. I get that. And from the moment our children can speak, they can learn any word, so I get that too. Child-proofer, conversation-editor, and constant observer are all listed next to bullets under my trusted copy of the Mommy job description.
And beneath those job duties is listed another very important skill that must be honed—(lest you be overtaken by your children beyond the point of no return):
· Master of escape from parental manipulation
Seriously, how can children learn to be so manipulative? And how can we as parents actually fall victim to the manipulation of a three-year-old? Quinn is GOOOODDD at manipulation. Even great, really. She’s got a GIANT bag of tricks that I would love to steal from her to save my soul. Although her “tricks” bug the crap out of me (and often cause me severe anxiety and make me feel like a sucky mother when I give in), I am always impressed by her creativity and persistence.
Which brings me to the inspiration for this blog about spongy intelligence laced with manipulation…this occurred tonight about 15 minutes prior to dinner being ready:
Quinn: Mommy, I really need something small to eat. (Exhibit 1—using the word “small” indicates she is aware that it’s nearly time for dinner, and that my likely answer is NO—a bargaining tool)
Me: No, honey, dinner is almost ready.
Quinn: But my tummy is hurting! (Exhibit 2—feigned illness to elicit sympathy)
Me: No, sweetie. Dinner will make your tummy feel better. Just wait until dinner.
Quinn: But Mo-om, I NEED something, even TINY to eat NOW, because......I GOT A TIRED ARM! (Combining strategies now, Exhibit 1 again, followed by Exhibit 3—feigned injury)
Here is where I burst out laughing…God, this girl is funny! I am just cracking up, and she’s making her bashful face, trying not to smile when she totally realizes she is caught in the act of concocting some fake drama for the sake of a snack. This lasted maybe an instant, after which she snapped back into MASTER MANIPULATOR MODE,
Quinn: Mo-om! I need a snack now! My tired arm is just waiting!
She drives me crazy, but I love her dearly. She didn’t get a snack. She and her tummy ache and tired arm waited for dinner. Somehow by the grace of God her ailments were cured once we ate.
Heh. Yep, that sponge housed beneath their cranium sure is porous. I admit I’ve succumbed to those sweet feelings more than a time or two. Those first smiles get me every time. New teeth, first foods, crawling, you know the list.
The present state of affairs in our humble world consists of our daughter who is only weeks away from becoming a preschooler, and her wannabe-toddler brother, who only months ago was my baby. Damn they grow like weeds! Even as my children outgrow their baby ways, those milestones keep-a-coming. And yes, most times these benchmarks are celebrated, photographed, videotaped, facebooked, blogged, emailed, and documented in every way humanly and technologically possible.
Most times, I said. Not sure about your life, but in our home there are certain achievements that we feel less-than-amused about. While we may share these little tidbits with family or friends, these are the types of events we tend to opt out of reporting to the pediatrician at a well visit. “Oh, yes doctor! Liam is walking, running, climbing like a monkey on crack! In fact, the other day when I wasn’t watching him he climbed onto the sofa and nearly scaled the blinds in the living room. Imagine my horror! Thank God I yanked him down before the blinds were damaged!” (Which YES, is really what I was thinking when I pried his sweaty little palms off my expensive window treatments). “Yes, Quinn’s vocabulary is simply flourishing each day! Just the other day we had the television tuned to an action movie on HBO, and she said, ‘Mommy! Daddy! That man just said FUCKER!’” (You guessed it, true story).
Fearless toddlers are meant to test their behavioral and physical boundaries by exploring their environments from floor to window blinds to ceiling. It’s how they learn to act and move in this world. I get that. And from the moment our children can speak, they can learn any word, so I get that too. Child-proofer, conversation-editor, and constant observer are all listed next to bullets under my trusted copy of the Mommy job description.
And beneath those job duties is listed another very important skill that must be honed—(lest you be overtaken by your children beyond the point of no return):
· Master of escape from parental manipulation
Seriously, how can children learn to be so manipulative? And how can we as parents actually fall victim to the manipulation of a three-year-old? Quinn is GOOOODDD at manipulation. Even great, really. She’s got a GIANT bag of tricks that I would love to steal from her to save my soul. Although her “tricks” bug the crap out of me (and often cause me severe anxiety and make me feel like a sucky mother when I give in), I am always impressed by her creativity and persistence.
Which brings me to the inspiration for this blog about spongy intelligence laced with manipulation…this occurred tonight about 15 minutes prior to dinner being ready:
Quinn: Mommy, I really need something small to eat. (Exhibit 1—using the word “small” indicates she is aware that it’s nearly time for dinner, and that my likely answer is NO—a bargaining tool)
Me: No, honey, dinner is almost ready.
Quinn: But my tummy is hurting! (Exhibit 2—feigned illness to elicit sympathy)
Me: No, sweetie. Dinner will make your tummy feel better. Just wait until dinner.
Quinn: But Mo-om, I NEED something, even TINY to eat NOW, because......I GOT A TIRED ARM! (Combining strategies now, Exhibit 1 again, followed by Exhibit 3—feigned injury)
Here is where I burst out laughing…God, this girl is funny! I am just cracking up, and she’s making her bashful face, trying not to smile when she totally realizes she is caught in the act of concocting some fake drama for the sake of a snack. This lasted maybe an instant, after which she snapped back into MASTER MANIPULATOR MODE,
Quinn: Mo-om! I need a snack now! My tired arm is just waiting!
She drives me crazy, but I love her dearly. She didn’t get a snack. She and her tummy ache and tired arm waited for dinner. Somehow by the grace of God her ailments were cured once we ate.
8/13/2009
water resistant
I often feel as though I’m struggling to keep my head above water, nearly drowning in my endless sea of parenting, household, and career. One thing’s for sure, I’m never bored. This week has brought a fun new challenge in our world: swimming lessons with the kids. Considering these are the very first swimming lessons for both kids, we chose to do a parent-child swim so we could assist and protect our little fishies-to-be.
Looking in a mirror, Q is the carbon-copy, feminine version of her dad. Her eyes, lips, body shape, and even her fingernails don’t lie. She is daddy’s girl. But her brain, on the other hand— she got that from me.
Our personalities are so similar it’s almost frightening. She's dramatic, sensitive, opinionated, shy but outspoken, always under-stimulated but leery of change, and amazingly creative yet in need of direction. I’m thinking it was because our personalities are so alike that I assumed she would love the water from the start as I did when I was a child.
Ah, but for some reason I forgot the essential rule of parenting my Q: NEVER assume anything, because undoubtedly the unfortunate assumer will be thwarted. Side note: I looked up ‘thwarted’ to be sure it was the most accurate terminology to describe my never ending struggle. Thwart (verb): 1 – to oppose successfully, 2 – to frustrate or baffle. Yep, that’s the right word.
So, our first lesson began with my darling girl squealing, “I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared!” the very second our toes touched the water in the zero-depth entry to the pool. I assumed that as our lessons went on, her confidence would increase. [Yes, the joke's on yours truly].
Sometime during the first lesson, Q slipped a little somehow, and her head accidentally went [barely] underwater. After a small sputter and cough, she screamed and cried for about one minute. After that, she was fine. She even told us later that night that she thought the little mishap was “fun”. Ummm…okay.
Before our second lesson, we were informed by our sweetie that she would not be going underwater EVER again. And boy has she achieved that goal! Mission accomplished--by clutching our necks in a nearly unbreakable death grip. And again, with the "I'm scared!", only this time in more of a shrieking manner, followed by “I WANT TO GET OUT! GET ME OUT!” Thank God the pool is noisy and there are a ton of kids doing lessons at the same time, so only half of the parents (whose children, by the way, are all swimming like fish) were staring at us.
Another side note: the death grip and shrieking were accompanied once by a BITE on my chest that I think surprised Q as much as it did me. I can’t explain why she did this, and I think it was involuntary but worth mentioning to emphasize her ghastly fear.
Oh dear. Seven more lessons to go, and at this rate we’ve taken a huge step back each time. Looking on the positive side, she still looks forward to going each night, so at least we have that. And by the way, little 15 month old L love, love, LOVES swimming lessons. He is instantly calmed by the water. He laughs throughout the lessons, and shows not the least bit of fear or ambivalence. The child is a dream in the pool.
So what can I learn from all of this? Yes, I need to stop assuming anything. And I suppose I’m going to have to be patient for her trust and confidence to develop. Maybe while I wait, I should try to trust in my family, my friends, and my God to build my own confidence—as a wife, mother, and nurse—and somehow in the process ward off my own “can’t keep my head above water” feeling. Either that, or I just get crazier.
Looking in a mirror, Q is the carbon-copy, feminine version of her dad. Her eyes, lips, body shape, and even her fingernails don’t lie. She is daddy’s girl. But her brain, on the other hand— she got that from me.
Our personalities are so similar it’s almost frightening. She's dramatic, sensitive, opinionated, shy but outspoken, always under-stimulated but leery of change, and amazingly creative yet in need of direction. I’m thinking it was because our personalities are so alike that I assumed she would love the water from the start as I did when I was a child.
Ah, but for some reason I forgot the essential rule of parenting my Q: NEVER assume anything, because undoubtedly the unfortunate assumer will be thwarted. Side note: I looked up ‘thwarted’ to be sure it was the most accurate terminology to describe my never ending struggle. Thwart (verb): 1 – to oppose successfully, 2 – to frustrate or baffle. Yep, that’s the right word.
So, our first lesson began with my darling girl squealing, “I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m scared!” the very second our toes touched the water in the zero-depth entry to the pool. I assumed that as our lessons went on, her confidence would increase. [Yes, the joke's on yours truly].
Sometime during the first lesson, Q slipped a little somehow, and her head accidentally went [barely] underwater. After a small sputter and cough, she screamed and cried for about one minute. After that, she was fine. She even told us later that night that she thought the little mishap was “fun”. Ummm…okay.
Before our second lesson, we were informed by our sweetie that she would not be going underwater EVER again. And boy has she achieved that goal! Mission accomplished--by clutching our necks in a nearly unbreakable death grip. And again, with the "I'm scared!", only this time in more of a shrieking manner, followed by “I WANT TO GET OUT! GET ME OUT!” Thank God the pool is noisy and there are a ton of kids doing lessons at the same time, so only half of the parents (whose children, by the way, are all swimming like fish) were staring at us.
Another side note: the death grip and shrieking were accompanied once by a BITE on my chest that I think surprised Q as much as it did me. I can’t explain why she did this, and I think it was involuntary but worth mentioning to emphasize her ghastly fear.
Oh dear. Seven more lessons to go, and at this rate we’ve taken a huge step back each time. Looking on the positive side, she still looks forward to going each night, so at least we have that. And by the way, little 15 month old L love, love, LOVES swimming lessons. He is instantly calmed by the water. He laughs throughout the lessons, and shows not the least bit of fear or ambivalence. The child is a dream in the pool.
So what can I learn from all of this? Yes, I need to stop assuming anything. And I suppose I’m going to have to be patient for her trust and confidence to develop. Maybe while I wait, I should try to trust in my family, my friends, and my God to build my own confidence—as a wife, mother, and nurse—and somehow in the process ward off my own “can’t keep my head above water” feeling. Either that, or I just get crazier.
what's with the crazy noodle?
Maybe you're curious [or don't give a crap at all] about why I'm calling this blog 'my crazy noodle.' First off, I must say I am probably partially crazy, so that part is accurate. Second, I do love pasta. And lastly, the blog is about what's in my head, AKA: noodle. So there you go.
But of course there's more to the story.
A few years ago, err...maybe more than that...okay, I'm sad to admit this likely occurred prior to having children. Anyway, a few years back I was pleasantly surprised when I discovered a culinary delight like no other. A cheesy, green and orange delicacy with a taste that is out of this world.
Of course, I'm talking about Kraft Macaroni and Cheese -- Crazy Noodles!
In the words of Rachael Ray: Yum-O! I have been a fan of mac and cheese since forever. After this amazing discovery, the crazies quickly became a staple in our cupboard. Oh, and the [not so] witty and hilarious digs from my husband were immediate as well. I was often referred to as a 'crazy noodle' because of my obsession with the mac. I didn't mind. I was happy with my status as a crazy noodle fanatic.
Sadly, this story doesn't have a happy ending.
The crazy noodles were apparently a limited edition, as only 5000 boxes were ever produced. (Really I have no idea how many were produced but I wanted to add some drama here).
Imagine my bewilderment when I went to buy my cherished mac and it was nowhere to be found! And whenever I go to buy mac and cheese to this day, I seriously check to make sure the Crazy Noodles have not been resurrected. (I told you I'm partially crazy). Because my husband is such a loving guy, my old nickname does pop up every now and again...and my response is always, "HEY, I LOVED Crazy Noodles!".
So now you really know the whole story. I hope you feel enlightened.
P.S. You, yourself may want to keep an eye out for the reincarnation of the Crazy Noodles. If you need some visual guidance, here is a photo of my beloved:
But of course there's more to the story.
A few years ago, err...maybe more than that...okay, I'm sad to admit this likely occurred prior to having children. Anyway, a few years back I was pleasantly surprised when I discovered a culinary delight like no other. A cheesy, green and orange delicacy with a taste that is out of this world.
Of course, I'm talking about Kraft Macaroni and Cheese -- Crazy Noodles!
In the words of Rachael Ray: Yum-O! I have been a fan of mac and cheese since forever. After this amazing discovery, the crazies quickly became a staple in our cupboard. Oh, and the [not so] witty and hilarious digs from my husband were immediate as well. I was often referred to as a 'crazy noodle' because of my obsession with the mac. I didn't mind. I was happy with my status as a crazy noodle fanatic.
Sadly, this story doesn't have a happy ending.
The crazy noodles were apparently a limited edition, as only 5000 boxes were ever produced. (Really I have no idea how many were produced but I wanted to add some drama here).
Imagine my bewilderment when I went to buy my cherished mac and it was nowhere to be found! And whenever I go to buy mac and cheese to this day, I seriously check to make sure the Crazy Noodles have not been resurrected. (I told you I'm partially crazy). Because my husband is such a loving guy, my old nickname does pop up every now and again...and my response is always, "HEY, I LOVED Crazy Noodles!".
So now you really know the whole story. I hope you feel enlightened.
P.S. You, yourself may want to keep an eye out for the reincarnation of the Crazy Noodles. If you need some visual guidance, here is a photo of my beloved:
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