My youngest daughter came into this world with a set of lungs on her like you wouldn't believe.
She was delivered by c-section almost two weeks early, and I think she just wasn't really ready to come out. She looked like a little doll. Actually, everyone that saw her made that exact comment, but she had a temperament that was not quite so reposed.
She had colic for the first four months of her life. And not this sissy "few hours each evening" stuff. Nope, not her. She cried, all day, every day. For Four Months. She slept well and didn't cry as much throughout the night. But during the day it was madness. I tried to get a photographer in twice to take baby portraits. She left twice with nary a photo in sight. My husband and my mom would try to hold her and comfort her, but after about 20 minutes they'd hand her back to me. It was a trying time, for sure.
But she also laughed like a loon, and was very quick. She said her first word at 5 months and was speaking in short sentences by 1 year. She's clever and witty and compassionate. But she hasn't grown out of the feisty.
She's that child that can be so tender and sweet one minute, just melting your heart. In the next she could be yelling and stomping up to her room. The teenage years should be.....interesting.
But she is also one of the funniest kids I've ever known. And I've known a lot. She says things, out of nowhere, that completely crack me up.
Here are some recent examples:
The other night we were sitting on the couch together watching a show. I asked her to get ready to go up to bed in a few minutes. We continued to watch for a few minutes more, and I gave her the "2 minute warning." Deadpan, she looks at me, takes her slipper off of her foot and says, "Mommy, I have slippers. Don't make me use them" while holding the slipper up to me. I started laughing, hard. She did too. I honestly don't know where she comes up with this stuff, but it's out of the blue and just hilarious.
Another evening, she and my husband were lying together in our bed, reading their own separate books. My husband could see her keep glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. A few times, he looked over and caught her staring at him. After several minutes of this, he turned to her and said, "WHAT??" She looked at him, brought her two fingers of one hand up to her eyes, and then pointed them at him and said, "Daddy, I've got my eyes on you." I could hear the roaring laughter from downstairs.
But last night, she said something that showed the other side of her nature. As she was lying on the couch, sick, tired and generally not feeling well, my husband heard her speak in a quiet, strained voice. She said, "I believe in magic. Good magic. Not witches and stuff. But magic that lets my teddy bear talk to me at night."
My husband told her, "You may be grumpy sometimes B, but you have a good heart." To which she responded, "so do you Daddy. I love you."
And that makes me believe in magic too. The magic of a little five year old girl that holds my heart.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire
Lying. Fibbing. White lies. Big lies. Small lies. Twisting the truth. Exaggerating.
Whatever you want to call it, we all do it to some degree.
I know lately my children are in this phase where they will tell me a story about something that happened at school, or where one of their classmates said or did something that was either inappropriate or unbelievable. I'm not one of those Moms that just says, "oh? Really?" and lets them go along with the story. I always call them on it. I'll ask, "did this REALLY happen?" Usually the answer goes something like, "well not EXACTLY."
I'm a horrible liar. Really, really bad. Oh I can tell the little fib if I need to, yes. I'm not a saint! But that's usually something non-hurtful. You know the type, like where you don't want to go to a party or event so you make up a little untruth to spare the person's feelings. But even then, I'm wracked with guilt. I don't lie about things to my friends in terms of their asking my opinion, though. Whether it's on their clothing choice, or a bigger life choice issue, they know I'll give it to them straight. No, those pants do NOT do your booty justice!
But when it comes to a bigger lie, I can't do it. Even if I try!!! I get a serious case of the giggles. I just can't even get the words out. So, needless to say, everyone around me knows when I am lying. Studies have been done that show that there are cues when someone is lying. Like they'll rub their nose, or not be able to look you in the eyes, or shuffle their feet. How come I always seem to miss those? Does giggling like a mad fiend count as a clue?
And what's the deal with lying anyways???? When children tell a lie, it's usually to protect themselves from something they've done wrong. The old "the dog ate my homework" line. They don't want to get in trouble. They don't want to admit what they did, because they know inherently that it was wrong.
And I think the same goes for adults really. They lie to protect themselves from admitting wrongdoing. See, but adults are a tricky lot. They'll justify their lies to themselves. It is better to lie in this situation to protect the other persons feelings. Or, "what they don't know won't hurt them." But the thing about lies is, they create more lies. And it's been my experience that a lie usually finds a way out. And then you can't go back and undo it. And really, it's not the "other persons" feelings you are protecting, its your own butt. It's not really that different from a child.
So, are "good liars"people who just didn't get the memo in their childhood that, hello!, lying is wrong? Or are they sociopaths? Is something missing in their moral code? I just don't know. But I do know that I'm someone who would always prefer the truth. Even if it hurts. Obviously tact can go a long way in how you tell a difficult truth.
But when it comes to the 'big lie," in the end, the truth is, the one you are lying to is yourself.
Whatever you want to call it, we all do it to some degree.
I know lately my children are in this phase where they will tell me a story about something that happened at school, or where one of their classmates said or did something that was either inappropriate or unbelievable. I'm not one of those Moms that just says, "oh? Really?" and lets them go along with the story. I always call them on it. I'll ask, "did this REALLY happen?" Usually the answer goes something like, "well not EXACTLY."
I'm a horrible liar. Really, really bad. Oh I can tell the little fib if I need to, yes. I'm not a saint! But that's usually something non-hurtful. You know the type, like where you don't want to go to a party or event so you make up a little untruth to spare the person's feelings. But even then, I'm wracked with guilt. I don't lie about things to my friends in terms of their asking my opinion, though. Whether it's on their clothing choice, or a bigger life choice issue, they know I'll give it to them straight. No, those pants do NOT do your booty justice!
But when it comes to a bigger lie, I can't do it. Even if I try!!! I get a serious case of the giggles. I just can't even get the words out. So, needless to say, everyone around me knows when I am lying. Studies have been done that show that there are cues when someone is lying. Like they'll rub their nose, or not be able to look you in the eyes, or shuffle their feet. How come I always seem to miss those? Does giggling like a mad fiend count as a clue?
And what's the deal with lying anyways???? When children tell a lie, it's usually to protect themselves from something they've done wrong. The old "the dog ate my homework" line. They don't want to get in trouble. They don't want to admit what they did, because they know inherently that it was wrong.
And I think the same goes for adults really. They lie to protect themselves from admitting wrongdoing. See, but adults are a tricky lot. They'll justify their lies to themselves. It is better to lie in this situation to protect the other persons feelings. Or, "what they don't know won't hurt them." But the thing about lies is, they create more lies. And it's been my experience that a lie usually finds a way out. And then you can't go back and undo it. And really, it's not the "other persons" feelings you are protecting, its your own butt. It's not really that different from a child.
So, are "good liars"people who just didn't get the memo in their childhood that, hello!, lying is wrong? Or are they sociopaths? Is something missing in their moral code? I just don't know. But I do know that I'm someone who would always prefer the truth. Even if it hurts. Obviously tact can go a long way in how you tell a difficult truth.
But when it comes to the 'big lie," in the end, the truth is, the one you are lying to is yourself.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Home Sweet Home
I grew up in the same city where I was born. I lived there for my entire life, except for one year that I moved away when I first started dating my husband. We lived in different houses, but basically they were all within the same general area.
In August of 2007, my husband was offered a new position in a city four hours from my hometown. It meant a raise, a promotion in position, and living in a smaller town where the cost of living was significantly less. We couldn't turn it down.
It was very difficult for us to pack up and move away. My daughters had always lived with their Granny, my Mom. That loss was a huge transition for them, and one we still struggle with daily. They were leaving behind friends and family and all they had ever known. For the "unknown."
That first year, we went "home" as often as we could. Monthly drives home for a weekend. We still referred to our old digs as "home." We LIVED here, but it would never feel like our home. Also, we always counted on the fact that we wouldn't be here long. Most moves within my husbands company, like we did, are for a few years time before you are moved again. We assumed two to three years. Tops.
This year, we decided that we would go "home" less. Not that the pull to do so is any less. We just realized that we don't know how long this move is going to be, or how long we will live where we do. With the economy in its current state, my husbands company has stated that they won't be relocating anyone unless the need is specific and warranted. Yes, we could still be moved at any time. But the likelihood, currently, now seems less concrete. We decided that if we keep waiting on that move, and keep hoping to go back, then where we are now is NEVER going to seem like home and that we will all just be anticipating leaving with each passing day. And that's truly no way to really enjoy life or where we currently reside.
It's not that we haven't made a home here either. We continue to work on our house and make improvements and upgrades. We've joined groups and activities. Our children are busy in their schools. My husband is busy in the community. I volunteer when I can. But it's all been done with the thought in the back of our minds that we'd be called back at any time. At any moment. We were just waiting on pins and needles for that call to come in.
While I miss my old hometown, and I DO hope we get to go back there, I think for my girls sake, if anything, that I need to be more positive and proactive about them being happy here. For as long as we are going to be here. This IS now our home. It's different than what we are used to, for sure. It's smaller, less big city. It doesn't have many of the amenities we are used to having. We can't go to any number of ethnic food restaurants. They don't exist. Often, the way of thinking here differs from ours. It's like being strangers in a strange land.
But it can also be an adventure. We are exposed to things we didn't ever think we'd experience. No one here locks their doors. That's vehicle and house. They let their vehicles run for a half an hour in the morning without blinking. The kids play outside, all over the neighbourhood, on their own! There are no parents watchful eyes on them. You still see your neighbours all winter long. Everyone is out, everyday. People snowshoe and ski and skate and toboggan and ice fish and snowmobile......and don't just hibernate. People did that in my hometown, as well. But you just seemed to see your neighbours less. Sometimes not for days to weeks. Every Friday for the month of February, my daughter will be having "Winter Electives". She will be cross-country skiing with her class on some Fridays. Others, she will snowshoe and learn Inuit games. She'll track animal prints and build a quinzee.
I guess it's about accepting what you have, and where you are, and making the most of it. It may not be our ideal in terms of being far from family and friends, but it CAN be whatever we make it. And memories can be made here as well. Maybe one day we'll get moved again. It may be back to my hometown, or it may be somewhere completely different. And we may leave here with the same bittersweet feelings as when we first arrived. Excited to be going somewhere new, but sad to be leaving our Home.
In August of 2007, my husband was offered a new position in a city four hours from my hometown. It meant a raise, a promotion in position, and living in a smaller town where the cost of living was significantly less. We couldn't turn it down.
It was very difficult for us to pack up and move away. My daughters had always lived with their Granny, my Mom. That loss was a huge transition for them, and one we still struggle with daily. They were leaving behind friends and family and all they had ever known. For the "unknown."
That first year, we went "home" as often as we could. Monthly drives home for a weekend. We still referred to our old digs as "home." We LIVED here, but it would never feel like our home. Also, we always counted on the fact that we wouldn't be here long. Most moves within my husbands company, like we did, are for a few years time before you are moved again. We assumed two to three years. Tops.
This year, we decided that we would go "home" less. Not that the pull to do so is any less. We just realized that we don't know how long this move is going to be, or how long we will live where we do. With the economy in its current state, my husbands company has stated that they won't be relocating anyone unless the need is specific and warranted. Yes, we could still be moved at any time. But the likelihood, currently, now seems less concrete. We decided that if we keep waiting on that move, and keep hoping to go back, then where we are now is NEVER going to seem like home and that we will all just be anticipating leaving with each passing day. And that's truly no way to really enjoy life or where we currently reside.
It's not that we haven't made a home here either. We continue to work on our house and make improvements and upgrades. We've joined groups and activities. Our children are busy in their schools. My husband is busy in the community. I volunteer when I can. But it's all been done with the thought in the back of our minds that we'd be called back at any time. At any moment. We were just waiting on pins and needles for that call to come in.
While I miss my old hometown, and I DO hope we get to go back there, I think for my girls sake, if anything, that I need to be more positive and proactive about them being happy here. For as long as we are going to be here. This IS now our home. It's different than what we are used to, for sure. It's smaller, less big city. It doesn't have many of the amenities we are used to having. We can't go to any number of ethnic food restaurants. They don't exist. Often, the way of thinking here differs from ours. It's like being strangers in a strange land.
But it can also be an adventure. We are exposed to things we didn't ever think we'd experience. No one here locks their doors. That's vehicle and house. They let their vehicles run for a half an hour in the morning without blinking. The kids play outside, all over the neighbourhood, on their own! There are no parents watchful eyes on them. You still see your neighbours all winter long. Everyone is out, everyday. People snowshoe and ski and skate and toboggan and ice fish and snowmobile......and don't just hibernate. People did that in my hometown, as well. But you just seemed to see your neighbours less. Sometimes not for days to weeks. Every Friday for the month of February, my daughter will be having "Winter Electives". She will be cross-country skiing with her class on some Fridays. Others, she will snowshoe and learn Inuit games. She'll track animal prints and build a quinzee.
I guess it's about accepting what you have, and where you are, and making the most of it. It may not be our ideal in terms of being far from family and friends, but it CAN be whatever we make it. And memories can be made here as well. Maybe one day we'll get moved again. It may be back to my hometown, or it may be somewhere completely different. And we may leave here with the same bittersweet feelings as when we first arrived. Excited to be going somewhere new, but sad to be leaving our Home.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Drama Queen
I've mentioned before that my daughters both love dancing and singing and both have always wanted to get into acting.
Well, today is Day One of the realization of one of their dreams.
My eldest daughter auditioned way back, I think maybe September or October, for a role in the community theatre group production of "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory." They said they had close to 200 people audition and not everyone would be cast.(90 people were cast) They had an "info" night where the actors were taught a dance and a song, and then had to come back two days later for the audition.
This was a pretty serious audition as well. It was in front of a choreographer, vocal coach, director and producer. No parents were allowed in the room with their child, and the child had to perform the dance and song they were given in front of the panel.
We had encouraged our daughter to do her best, and we had spent many hours practicing her dance and getting the right pitch for her song.
We were THRILLED when she was cast. It's not a main character, by any means, but for a girl who has never done this before, amid some seasoned child actors, this was a thrill. She was part of the Oompah Loompah's. She is part of four numbers.
This started months upon months of rehearsals twice a week. And then, this month, to an even more fevered pitch. She has been having rehearsals four times a week. Some three hours long, some five hours long.
And today is the culmination of all of that hard work. She is at the theatre from eight this morning until three this afternoon. She will be performing two shows, each in front of three to four schools from the area. She repeats that schedule tomorrow as well. She then has performances Thursday, Friday and Saturday as well. Those luckily are "just" one show per day. Finally, Sunday is the cast party.
I'm excited and nervous for her, even more so because parents aren't allowed at these performances! I won't get to see her perform until Saturday night when we are going as a family. I'm also extremely proud of her because she started not feeling well yesterday, and went ahead today with a slight fever, headache and not much sleep. She truly is not up to her full "self" today, but she didn't want to let anyone down. I guess she has the "show must go on" attitude already.
This week is surely a busy one for us all. But it's also a beautiful moment. I get to see my daughter reaching for a dream she wanted to achieve, and seeing it through to the end, even when feeling like she'd rather just be lying in her bed. She made the commitment to this production, and she has sacrificed friends birthday parties, trips, and other activities she wanted to join, to pursue it.
As the lights go down on Saturday night, and music starts to resonate down the aisle, as clapping rises into the rafters......there might also be some silent tears.
And a bouquet of roses for the "actress extraordinaire."
Well, today is Day One of the realization of one of their dreams.
My eldest daughter auditioned way back, I think maybe September or October, for a role in the community theatre group production of "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory." They said they had close to 200 people audition and not everyone would be cast.(90 people were cast) They had an "info" night where the actors were taught a dance and a song, and then had to come back two days later for the audition.
This was a pretty serious audition as well. It was in front of a choreographer, vocal coach, director and producer. No parents were allowed in the room with their child, and the child had to perform the dance and song they were given in front of the panel.
We had encouraged our daughter to do her best, and we had spent many hours practicing her dance and getting the right pitch for her song.
We were THRILLED when she was cast. It's not a main character, by any means, but for a girl who has never done this before, amid some seasoned child actors, this was a thrill. She was part of the Oompah Loompah's. She is part of four numbers.
This started months upon months of rehearsals twice a week. And then, this month, to an even more fevered pitch. She has been having rehearsals four times a week. Some three hours long, some five hours long.
And today is the culmination of all of that hard work. She is at the theatre from eight this morning until three this afternoon. She will be performing two shows, each in front of three to four schools from the area. She repeats that schedule tomorrow as well. She then has performances Thursday, Friday and Saturday as well. Those luckily are "just" one show per day. Finally, Sunday is the cast party.
I'm excited and nervous for her, even more so because parents aren't allowed at these performances! I won't get to see her perform until Saturday night when we are going as a family. I'm also extremely proud of her because she started not feeling well yesterday, and went ahead today with a slight fever, headache and not much sleep. She truly is not up to her full "self" today, but she didn't want to let anyone down. I guess she has the "show must go on" attitude already.
This week is surely a busy one for us all. But it's also a beautiful moment. I get to see my daughter reaching for a dream she wanted to achieve, and seeing it through to the end, even when feeling like she'd rather just be lying in her bed. She made the commitment to this production, and she has sacrificed friends birthday parties, trips, and other activities she wanted to join, to pursue it.
As the lights go down on Saturday night, and music starts to resonate down the aisle, as clapping rises into the rafters......there might also be some silent tears.
And a bouquet of roses for the "actress extraordinaire."
Monday, January 26, 2009
The Mother of All Guilt
Why is it that as Moms, we feel this pressure to compare ourselves to others?
If we aren't judging one another, we're feeling internal guilt about our OWN mothering. Is this an inherent aspect of being a Mom? From what I've gathered from all of my research (okay, talking to other moms over wine and martini's!) it seems we all feel some sense of guilt or remorse about SOMETHING child related.
It's like no matter how great of a mother you think you are-how attentive, how caring, how present-there are other moms out there besting you. And the need to compare ourselves to them and compete rears its' head.
I'm the Mom that tries to go out of my way to make sure everything is "right" for my kids. I'm sure most moms do this. I want them to eat healthy foods, get exercise, try new activities, take chances. I want to expose them to culture, and theatre, and new ways of thinking and doing. I'll forgo my own activities or pursuits if it means accommodating theirs.
I make sure they have Christmas cards for their friends at school, that they bring gifts to their teachers and one for their bus driver. On Halloween, we make little goodie bags for the class. On Valentine's day, we send little cards with a little special treat attached. I make something for the class as a whole.
I work on their homework with them. I help them to work to the maximum of their ability on projects and speeches. We go out of our way to make sure they are completely happy and proud of what they are presenting.
I feel pretty smug about the fact that my kids are able to bring these things and always have a little something prepared. I feel confident as a mother that I do "all that I can."
And then.....it happens.
My kids come home with something another child in their class has given to each of them. It's extravagant! Beautiful! Or they come home from a birthday party with some sort of crazy, over the top, loot bag. The party they went to had the WHOLE CLASS invited and TWO cakes and a clown and donkey and a magician and a contortionist and Celine Dion. Or at least it seems like it.
And I feel bested and defeated. I bemoan the fact that I'll never be THAT mom and that my kids are going to need therapy from the lackluster parenting they received.
Why oh why do we feel like what we do is never enough???
Of course, then there is the opposite reaction. The feeling that "well, at least I do more than THAT mom!" You know the mom I mean. The one who never knows what her kids are doing at school, that doesn't ever send anything, that could care less what the kid does at a party or what he/she brings home as long as they are gone for a few hours and out of her hair. And we more zealous moms feel somehow self-righteous that at least we can "beat" that mom. We are at least better than HER.
But maybe, secretly, deep down inside....we'd all like to be a little more like her. A little more devil may care. A little more relaxed. A little less Type A, a little more cool.
Well, maybe just for a moment. Then reality sets in and I realize that my eldest has a speech due and she's doing it on Ireland,and really, who knows best how to help her about THAT topic, than me?? And my youngest has to do her VERY FIRST presentation to her senior kindergarten class and we need to rehearse it several times so it's just right and so that she's not nervous, of course.
It'll never be "enough", I'm sure. But it's going to be "enough for today."
If we aren't judging one another, we're feeling internal guilt about our OWN mothering. Is this an inherent aspect of being a Mom? From what I've gathered from all of my research (okay, talking to other moms over wine and martini's!) it seems we all feel some sense of guilt or remorse about SOMETHING child related.
It's like no matter how great of a mother you think you are-how attentive, how caring, how present-there are other moms out there besting you. And the need to compare ourselves to them and compete rears its' head.
I'm the Mom that tries to go out of my way to make sure everything is "right" for my kids. I'm sure most moms do this. I want them to eat healthy foods, get exercise, try new activities, take chances. I want to expose them to culture, and theatre, and new ways of thinking and doing. I'll forgo my own activities or pursuits if it means accommodating theirs.
I make sure they have Christmas cards for their friends at school, that they bring gifts to their teachers and one for their bus driver. On Halloween, we make little goodie bags for the class. On Valentine's day, we send little cards with a little special treat attached. I make something for the class as a whole.
I work on their homework with them. I help them to work to the maximum of their ability on projects and speeches. We go out of our way to make sure they are completely happy and proud of what they are presenting.
I feel pretty smug about the fact that my kids are able to bring these things and always have a little something prepared. I feel confident as a mother that I do "all that I can."
And then.....it happens.
My kids come home with something another child in their class has given to each of them. It's extravagant! Beautiful! Or they come home from a birthday party with some sort of crazy, over the top, loot bag. The party they went to had the WHOLE CLASS invited and TWO cakes and a clown and donkey and a magician and a contortionist and Celine Dion. Or at least it seems like it.
And I feel bested and defeated. I bemoan the fact that I'll never be THAT mom and that my kids are going to need therapy from the lackluster parenting they received.
Why oh why do we feel like what we do is never enough???
Of course, then there is the opposite reaction. The feeling that "well, at least I do more than THAT mom!" You know the mom I mean. The one who never knows what her kids are doing at school, that doesn't ever send anything, that could care less what the kid does at a party or what he/she brings home as long as they are gone for a few hours and out of her hair. And we more zealous moms feel somehow self-righteous that at least we can "beat" that mom. We are at least better than HER.
But maybe, secretly, deep down inside....we'd all like to be a little more like her. A little more devil may care. A little more relaxed. A little less Type A, a little more cool.
Well, maybe just for a moment. Then reality sets in and I realize that my eldest has a speech due and she's doing it on Ireland,and really, who knows best how to help her about THAT topic, than me?? And my youngest has to do her VERY FIRST presentation to her senior kindergarten class and we need to rehearse it several times so it's just right and so that she's not nervous, of course.
It'll never be "enough", I'm sure. But it's going to be "enough for today."
Friday, January 23, 2009
Sista's!
It's amazing to me to watch my two little girls in their interactions together. Their personalities are very different, polar opposites in fact. They share a love of drama, of theatre and dance. And neither of my children are shy. I would say that they are both outgoing, confident and friendly. Also both have a very compassionate nature. If they see someone being hurt or bullied, even on tv, they will change the channel or turn it off. It truly bothers them.
But in some ways, it's like watching history repeat itself for me. For though they obviously are their own unique little individuals, they share many similarities between my sister and I.
My sister is 4.5 years older than me. My eldest is 4 years older than my youngest. My sister is also artistic and sensitive. She always loved "beauty" stuff like makeup and clothes and frills and jewellery. She modelled and still does occasionally. She had a temper as a child, but more of a slow fuse that was even more scary than my quick to explode but quick to cool temperament. In other words, you needed to sleep with one eye open if she was mad at you. When she was a young girl (ie before I was born!) she hated being dirty and didn't like playing with the other kids in her preschool, because they didn't wash their hands. Shudder. She liked dresses and bows and staying clean. She didn't yell or break things. She could be counted on to listen and not touch what she wasn't supposed to touch.
That's all very much like my eldest daughter, A. She was the type of little kid that I could have left in a room with dangers and toxic chemicals (not that I WOULD) and she would have sat right where I left her. If other children were fighting around her, she would simply remove herself from the situation and play on her own. Her artistic talents amaze me. She truly has a gift. When she was about three years old, her grandma taught her to sew. She started making her own doll clothing, barbie clothing, and even skirts and purses for herself. She can look at an abstract piece of fabric and not measure or draw anything on it, just cut and sew and VOILA. It comes out perfect. She was always the child that stayed clean, played gently, and rarely lost her cool.
Now that she's a bit older, I'm seeing that other side of her that resembles my sister as well. That scary, eerie, quiet temper. Her interactions with her sister remind me so much of the two of us growing up, it's frankly a little disconcerting. She wants her privacy. She doesn't want her sister touching her makeup or hair elastics or art supplies. She tends to keep her emotions more to her self, but then will let it all out a week after an incident has occurred.
Now, as a child, I was the opposite to all of that. I was loud, outgoing, and if a fight broke out, I was usually at the center. I was the child that if you told not to do something, and created barriers to prevent me from doing so, would figure out a way to do it anyways. My mom came into the kitchen when I was three, and I was standing on a chair with a ruler in my hand, trying to knock out the hook from the latch at the top of the door frame leading to our steep basement stairs. I had(umm, okay, have) a fiery temper. I'm quick to snap, but quick to move on. I'm sensitive, but hate to show it. I'm also very bossy and stubborn. I'm creative, but in a totally different way. I was the kid that was ALWAYS dirty and messy and cut or scraped up. I fractured my jaw at age three. I learned to ride my two wheeler by my sister pushing me down a hill. I rode my bike down a ravine and landed with my chin on my handle bars. I fell off the top of the jungle gym beam (you know the one over the tire) that I was walking across, in the winter. Many of my teeth were punched out rather than lost completely on their own. Ya, I was THAT kid. My Mom said she knew if the school was calling, it was likely about me.
Yet, on the other hand, I am anal. I am very organized and neat. I would have a temper tantrum and throw everything I owned around my room, and then quickly clean the whole thing up again because it drove me crazy that it was "out of place." I alphabetized my CD collection as a teen. I've told you that I was always trying to be top of the class with my grades. I was loving and liked cuddling, on my own time.
And that's my youngest, Miss B, to a T. She can go from being the funniest kid you've ever met (her one liners are hilarious!) to being the grumpiest. All in the space of 5 minutes. Her temper is legendary. Yet, as quickly as it flares up, it also recedes. Her room is always neat and tidy. If she takes something out, she folds it and puts it away. When she plays with something, she then puts it back in it's place. She clucks her teeth at her sisters room or the state of her sisters drawers. Her feelings are easily hurt, but trust me when I say, she makes sure you KNOW it. She can be the sweetest, most compassionate girl I've ever met. Or she can take you down in one fell swoop. She hates jewellery beyond reason. She won't even let it touch her skin. I swear she's accident prone because she's had more spills over the smallest crack in a sidewalk or tiniest bump in the grass, than any child I've ever known.
And when I see the two of them together, it's like a grainy snapshot of another time. My youngest thinks her sister is fascinating. She wants to be with her all of the time, do what she does. My eldest often tolerates it, at her whim, but also will lose her cool and tell her little sister to "beat it." Other times, they can play for hours, laughing and joking. The fights over the bathroom mirror and sink have also already started.
I wonder if it's all just a normal "sister" thing, this dichotomy of love and hate. A natural sister dance of togetherness and retreat. My sister and I did it for many years, and it's like history in the remaking.
The difference this time, I hope, will be the ongoing forging of that sisterly bond. We grew up in a difficult environment for many years, and my sister moved out at sixteen. The years after that created a wall between us that grew higher and higher. Our opposing traits seemed insurmountable. And who we "could have been" was altered and likely stifled during those formative years. My daughters have the freedom to be who they are and have those differences not only encouraged, but fostered. I want them to know that even though they are very different, neither one of their choices or personalities is "better" than the other. Neither is in the wrong. I want them to celebrate each others unique qualities, loving each other not in spite of their differences, but BECAUSE of them.
I've learned now, as an adult, that the qualities that my sister has are often areas where I lack. She shows me a whole other way of thinking or responding that I hadn't thought of, or that doesn't come naturally to me. And I also realize now, we are actually more similar than I thought. We share the same dry wit. We are both sarcastic and a little OCD. We are both incredibly stubborn and hard to please.
And, in a lot of ways, I'm still that little sister that wants to do what my sisters doing. I'm still fascinated by her artistic skills. I'm still in awe of the way she can do makeup, or fix someones hair. I still see her as my more beautiful sister. I think I just understand her a little better now. Maybe it's that we aren't fighting for the mirror.
But I still like to borrow her stuff. Shhhh!
But in some ways, it's like watching history repeat itself for me. For though they obviously are their own unique little individuals, they share many similarities between my sister and I.
My sister is 4.5 years older than me. My eldest is 4 years older than my youngest. My sister is also artistic and sensitive. She always loved "beauty" stuff like makeup and clothes and frills and jewellery. She modelled and still does occasionally. She had a temper as a child, but more of a slow fuse that was even more scary than my quick to explode but quick to cool temperament. In other words, you needed to sleep with one eye open if she was mad at you. When she was a young girl (ie before I was born!) she hated being dirty and didn't like playing with the other kids in her preschool, because they didn't wash their hands. Shudder. She liked dresses and bows and staying clean. She didn't yell or break things. She could be counted on to listen and not touch what she wasn't supposed to touch.
That's all very much like my eldest daughter, A. She was the type of little kid that I could have left in a room with dangers and toxic chemicals (not that I WOULD) and she would have sat right where I left her. If other children were fighting around her, she would simply remove herself from the situation and play on her own. Her artistic talents amaze me. She truly has a gift. When she was about three years old, her grandma taught her to sew. She started making her own doll clothing, barbie clothing, and even skirts and purses for herself. She can look at an abstract piece of fabric and not measure or draw anything on it, just cut and sew and VOILA. It comes out perfect. She was always the child that stayed clean, played gently, and rarely lost her cool.
Now that she's a bit older, I'm seeing that other side of her that resembles my sister as well. That scary, eerie, quiet temper. Her interactions with her sister remind me so much of the two of us growing up, it's frankly a little disconcerting. She wants her privacy. She doesn't want her sister touching her makeup or hair elastics or art supplies. She tends to keep her emotions more to her self, but then will let it all out a week after an incident has occurred.
Now, as a child, I was the opposite to all of that. I was loud, outgoing, and if a fight broke out, I was usually at the center. I was the child that if you told not to do something, and created barriers to prevent me from doing so, would figure out a way to do it anyways. My mom came into the kitchen when I was three, and I was standing on a chair with a ruler in my hand, trying to knock out the hook from the latch at the top of the door frame leading to our steep basement stairs. I had(umm, okay, have) a fiery temper. I'm quick to snap, but quick to move on. I'm sensitive, but hate to show it. I'm also very bossy and stubborn. I'm creative, but in a totally different way. I was the kid that was ALWAYS dirty and messy and cut or scraped up. I fractured my jaw at age three. I learned to ride my two wheeler by my sister pushing me down a hill. I rode my bike down a ravine and landed with my chin on my handle bars. I fell off the top of the jungle gym beam (you know the one over the tire) that I was walking across, in the winter. Many of my teeth were punched out rather than lost completely on their own. Ya, I was THAT kid. My Mom said she knew if the school was calling, it was likely about me.
Yet, on the other hand, I am anal. I am very organized and neat. I would have a temper tantrum and throw everything I owned around my room, and then quickly clean the whole thing up again because it drove me crazy that it was "out of place." I alphabetized my CD collection as a teen. I've told you that I was always trying to be top of the class with my grades. I was loving and liked cuddling, on my own time.
And that's my youngest, Miss B, to a T. She can go from being the funniest kid you've ever met (her one liners are hilarious!) to being the grumpiest. All in the space of 5 minutes. Her temper is legendary. Yet, as quickly as it flares up, it also recedes. Her room is always neat and tidy. If she takes something out, she folds it and puts it away. When she plays with something, she then puts it back in it's place. She clucks her teeth at her sisters room or the state of her sisters drawers. Her feelings are easily hurt, but trust me when I say, she makes sure you KNOW it. She can be the sweetest, most compassionate girl I've ever met. Or she can take you down in one fell swoop. She hates jewellery beyond reason. She won't even let it touch her skin. I swear she's accident prone because she's had more spills over the smallest crack in a sidewalk or tiniest bump in the grass, than any child I've ever known.
And when I see the two of them together, it's like a grainy snapshot of another time. My youngest thinks her sister is fascinating. She wants to be with her all of the time, do what she does. My eldest often tolerates it, at her whim, but also will lose her cool and tell her little sister to "beat it." Other times, they can play for hours, laughing and joking. The fights over the bathroom mirror and sink have also already started.
I wonder if it's all just a normal "sister" thing, this dichotomy of love and hate. A natural sister dance of togetherness and retreat. My sister and I did it for many years, and it's like history in the remaking.
The difference this time, I hope, will be the ongoing forging of that sisterly bond. We grew up in a difficult environment for many years, and my sister moved out at sixteen. The years after that created a wall between us that grew higher and higher. Our opposing traits seemed insurmountable. And who we "could have been" was altered and likely stifled during those formative years. My daughters have the freedom to be who they are and have those differences not only encouraged, but fostered. I want them to know that even though they are very different, neither one of their choices or personalities is "better" than the other. Neither is in the wrong. I want them to celebrate each others unique qualities, loving each other not in spite of their differences, but BECAUSE of them.
I've learned now, as an adult, that the qualities that my sister has are often areas where I lack. She shows me a whole other way of thinking or responding that I hadn't thought of, or that doesn't come naturally to me. And I also realize now, we are actually more similar than I thought. We share the same dry wit. We are both sarcastic and a little OCD. We are both incredibly stubborn and hard to please.
And, in a lot of ways, I'm still that little sister that wants to do what my sisters doing. I'm still fascinated by her artistic skills. I'm still in awe of the way she can do makeup, or fix someones hair. I still see her as my more beautiful sister. I think I just understand her a little better now. Maybe it's that we aren't fighting for the mirror.
But I still like to borrow her stuff. Shhhh!
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Frogs and Snails and Puppy Dogs Tails.....
There is a Garth Brooks song called "Unanswered Prayers" that says, "Sometimes I thank God, for unanswered prayers. Remember when you're talking to the man upstairs. Just because he doesn't answer, doesn't mean he don't care.....some of God's greatest gifts, are unanswered prayers."
I've found that to be so true, so many times, in my life.
You beg and hope and plead for a circumstance to turn out the way you think it should, or for a wish to come true, or a love to be forever. When it doesn't turn out that way, we're angry and depressed and lose a little faith. And then, somewhere down the line, we see that everything actually happened exactly the way it was supposed to happen. We realize that if that wish or dream or love HAD been granted, we wouldn't be where we are today. In just the right place, at just the right time.
I remember as a teen thinking that when I had children, I'd surely have all boys. In fact, I pictured four little boys. I pictured tossing a football and running around the yard. I envisioned little sweaters and cute little boy hairdo's. I didn't really know what I'd DO with girls, since I am not very girly, nor crafty or frilly.
And then, I had two girls. And now, I can't for the life of me think of what I'd do had I had boys.
I guess in some ways, I DID get to "have" boys. I ran the daycare and in so doing, played and tossed a football and taught little boys how to use the toilet. But I think it's also different as a teacher, as opposed to a Mom. And boys are truly delightful and magical in their own right. But boys ARE different, in many ways. I know that's a generalization, and there are always exceptions. Most boys however, are just a little more rough. A little more aggressive. A little more rambunctious.
And that's probably the number one reason I didn't get bestowed with boys. I'm a worrier mom. Big time. I don't like my girls to run in sandals on cement. They might trip over the end of the shoe and fall! I don't like roughhousing. I don't, and have never, wrestled with my girls. I'm not the mom that holds her kid by the feet upside down, hanging. I worry about scrapes and bumps and bruises. I try to avoid any and all possibility of those things occurring.
And with girls, it's not that hard to do so. My girls like tea parties. They like to paint and colour. They like dress up clothes and hairdo's and painting their nails. They would sit on my lap and snuggle into me for hours, reading books or just chatting. They like playing "Mommy" and singing and dancing.
Turns out I'm more girly and crafty than I thought. And, there are Moms out there that are way more suited to raising boys than I am. Who are the perfect pairing for a little boy.
Don't get me wrong-I love little boys too. I love their sweet little faces and messy scruffy hair. I love their sense of adventure and mischief. I love to see their tenderness under all that gruff acting. But I think I'd be a nervous wreck every day of their lives, thinking about what they were getting into and what they had touched that was germy and being anxious that they were running too fast on the cement!
Right now, the only little boy in my life is my nephew. He's both mischievous and sweet. He can be as tough and tumble as any boy I've ever seen, but he can also sit with a book or play quietly with my daughter. In fact, in most cases, it's her that bosses him around and instructs him what to do. And, he abides by her demands. He protects her at all costs, if anybody dares go against her. They are a month apart, and while he is about double her size, he's never been anything but sweet to her. He's that perfect culmination of what little boys are all about. And I can see the wonderful man in him, already.
But for me, and the Mom I was supposed to be......Well, I think maybe I need to be thankful for Unanswered Prayers. I have exactly what I was supposed to have. And I couldn't be more grateful for that blessing.
I've found that to be so true, so many times, in my life.
You beg and hope and plead for a circumstance to turn out the way you think it should, or for a wish to come true, or a love to be forever. When it doesn't turn out that way, we're angry and depressed and lose a little faith. And then, somewhere down the line, we see that everything actually happened exactly the way it was supposed to happen. We realize that if that wish or dream or love HAD been granted, we wouldn't be where we are today. In just the right place, at just the right time.
I remember as a teen thinking that when I had children, I'd surely have all boys. In fact, I pictured four little boys. I pictured tossing a football and running around the yard. I envisioned little sweaters and cute little boy hairdo's. I didn't really know what I'd DO with girls, since I am not very girly, nor crafty or frilly.
And then, I had two girls. And now, I can't for the life of me think of what I'd do had I had boys.
I guess in some ways, I DID get to "have" boys. I ran the daycare and in so doing, played and tossed a football and taught little boys how to use the toilet. But I think it's also different as a teacher, as opposed to a Mom. And boys are truly delightful and magical in their own right. But boys ARE different, in many ways. I know that's a generalization, and there are always exceptions. Most boys however, are just a little more rough. A little more aggressive. A little more rambunctious.
And that's probably the number one reason I didn't get bestowed with boys. I'm a worrier mom. Big time. I don't like my girls to run in sandals on cement. They might trip over the end of the shoe and fall! I don't like roughhousing. I don't, and have never, wrestled with my girls. I'm not the mom that holds her kid by the feet upside down, hanging. I worry about scrapes and bumps and bruises. I try to avoid any and all possibility of those things occurring.
And with girls, it's not that hard to do so. My girls like tea parties. They like to paint and colour. They like dress up clothes and hairdo's and painting their nails. They would sit on my lap and snuggle into me for hours, reading books or just chatting. They like playing "Mommy" and singing and dancing.
Turns out I'm more girly and crafty than I thought. And, there are Moms out there that are way more suited to raising boys than I am. Who are the perfect pairing for a little boy.
Don't get me wrong-I love little boys too. I love their sweet little faces and messy scruffy hair. I love their sense of adventure and mischief. I love to see their tenderness under all that gruff acting. But I think I'd be a nervous wreck every day of their lives, thinking about what they were getting into and what they had touched that was germy and being anxious that they were running too fast on the cement!
Right now, the only little boy in my life is my nephew. He's both mischievous and sweet. He can be as tough and tumble as any boy I've ever seen, but he can also sit with a book or play quietly with my daughter. In fact, in most cases, it's her that bosses him around and instructs him what to do. And, he abides by her demands. He protects her at all costs, if anybody dares go against her. They are a month apart, and while he is about double her size, he's never been anything but sweet to her. He's that perfect culmination of what little boys are all about. And I can see the wonderful man in him, already.
But for me, and the Mom I was supposed to be......Well, I think maybe I need to be thankful for Unanswered Prayers. I have exactly what I was supposed to have. And I couldn't be more grateful for that blessing.
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