Good mom comes back to Grace's room after tucking in Lauren for a little extra snuggle and a few stories about when I was kid.
Bad mom tells Lauren she can have lots of pancakes for breakfast when Lauren starts to cry at bedtime that she's hungry.
Good mom has grapes and crackers ready for a post-swimming lessons snack.
Bad mom forgot to bring underwear for the girls to put on after swimming lessons are over.
Good mom gets out the matching aprons and lets the kids do most of the work - and all of the spilling - while we make cupcakes.
Bad mom makes muffins while the kids are sleeping and then hides them in the morning so Chad and I can have them to ourselves.
Good mom has all the kids clothes clean and laid out on the toybox at bedtime, so the morning will go more smoothly.
Bad mom is stuffing microwaved pancakes into ziploc bags, then throwing them and the kids into the car.
Good mom has the kids bathed and in their clean jammies with enough time left over for two bedtime stories.
Bad mom figured they can go one more day without a bath AND says it's so late we can only sing songs, no stories.
Why is that bad mom really seems a lot more like NORMAL mom?
Monday, March 30, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Close to home.
When you live in a small town you develop a sense that nothing truly bad could happen there. Of course this is not true, but the fact that you know your mailman, your favorite waitress at your favorite lunch place, the school principal, the guy who owns the giant condo development that everyone hates and even the mayor by name lulls you into a sense of wellbeing. It's the best of Mayberry, only not so corny and with free wireless in a few places.
But blind wellbeing is not a good idea.
On Friday, the school district here in our town of about 3,000 full-time residents (at most) received a tip that someone had read on the internet that there would be a shooting at a school here that afternoon. Thanks to the district's Web site, they were able to receive the information and respond quickly, immediately engaging our local police forces to patrol the schools. At the same time, a search began to track back to the source of the threat with full intent to prosecute.
As of Tuesday morning nothing has happened. Thank God. There was a police officer in the front lobby of the elementary school when we got there, but my first-grade daughter didn't even notice. After all, one of her good friends is the child of two police officers. I also saw a police presence at the high school - low key, but still there.
My gut tells me the threat was probably not real. But I'm grateful to the school district for taking it seriously and taking prompt action to do what they could to protect the children and staff. It's easy to say that a school shooting here doesn't "fit the profile." After all, looking back at most cases it's a kid who is lost in the roiling sea of a big school, an anonymous face who doesn't feel he fits in. Around here, it's pretty hard not to fit in because everyone is involved in everything. That's the way it is when there are less than 100 kids in the senior class.
I'm not a worrier or a fear monger. But you still have to take it seriously. You still have to be cautious. And you have to make a conscious effort to take note of the issue and then move on. Because living in fear is not living. And if you spend all your energy on things that haven't happened and that you can't control you'll miss out on the beauty that is unfolding in your life every day.
But blind wellbeing is not a good idea.
On Friday, the school district here in our town of about 3,000 full-time residents (at most) received a tip that someone had read on the internet that there would be a shooting at a school here that afternoon. Thanks to the district's Web site, they were able to receive the information and respond quickly, immediately engaging our local police forces to patrol the schools. At the same time, a search began to track back to the source of the threat with full intent to prosecute.
As of Tuesday morning nothing has happened. Thank God. There was a police officer in the front lobby of the elementary school when we got there, but my first-grade daughter didn't even notice. After all, one of her good friends is the child of two police officers. I also saw a police presence at the high school - low key, but still there.
My gut tells me the threat was probably not real. But I'm grateful to the school district for taking it seriously and taking prompt action to do what they could to protect the children and staff. It's easy to say that a school shooting here doesn't "fit the profile." After all, looking back at most cases it's a kid who is lost in the roiling sea of a big school, an anonymous face who doesn't feel he fits in. Around here, it's pretty hard not to fit in because everyone is involved in everything. That's the way it is when there are less than 100 kids in the senior class.
I'm not a worrier or a fear monger. But you still have to take it seriously. You still have to be cautious. And you have to make a conscious effort to take note of the issue and then move on. Because living in fear is not living. And if you spend all your energy on things that haven't happened and that you can't control you'll miss out on the beauty that is unfolding in your life every day.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Now it's a cat?
Swimming lessons are on Monday and Wednesday evening. Miraculously both girls are in lessons at the same time. Different levels, but same pool, same day, same time on the clock. The stars will probably never align like this again, so I'm trying to enjoy it.
So far Lauren has sobbed through her first two lessons. This is a mystery to me since she was jumping off the swim platform of our boat at 18 months. So it's not the water, but maybe the place. The pool is cavernous, bright and teeming with soggy kids, swim instructors who I'm sure are not paid nearly enough to herd cats all evening, the older crowd who are waiting for us to get done so they can start water aerobics, and the uber-clean smell of chlorine. It's a lot and I think it freaks her out.
But I don't like to be a hovering parent. So I sit on a storage locker nearby and wave cheerfully as my wee Lauren clings to the side of the pool and sobs. When it's her turn for one-on-one practice of whatever skill she changes her tone, and in an instant she is engaged, smiling and fluttering her little feet like an old hand. This is why I'm not falling for the tears. That, and this conversation:
Lauren (sobbing, gasping and red-faced): Mommy, (sob, gulp) I have to tell you sumpting.
She is in a pull-up position, her round grey eyes just peeping over the tile edge.
Me (finally giving in and crouching poolside): What is it honey?
Lauren (deep breath): I was sitting in my garden and I saw a purple cat. And a pink cat. And the purple cat was named Kania (caw-nee-uh) and the pink cat was named Kania. And there were two Kanias!
Me (trying, I mean it - really trying, not to laugh): Okay, well keep listening to your teacher. Only 10 more minutes of swimming.
The minute I settled back on to my fiberglass poolside post the sobbing started again.
Drama queen.
So far Lauren has sobbed through her first two lessons. This is a mystery to me since she was jumping off the swim platform of our boat at 18 months. So it's not the water, but maybe the place. The pool is cavernous, bright and teeming with soggy kids, swim instructors who I'm sure are not paid nearly enough to herd cats all evening, the older crowd who are waiting for us to get done so they can start water aerobics, and the uber-clean smell of chlorine. It's a lot and I think it freaks her out.
But I don't like to be a hovering parent. So I sit on a storage locker nearby and wave cheerfully as my wee Lauren clings to the side of the pool and sobs. When it's her turn for one-on-one practice of whatever skill she changes her tone, and in an instant she is engaged, smiling and fluttering her little feet like an old hand. This is why I'm not falling for the tears. That, and this conversation:
Lauren (sobbing, gasping and red-faced): Mommy, (sob, gulp) I have to tell you sumpting.
She is in a pull-up position, her round grey eyes just peeping over the tile edge.
Me (finally giving in and crouching poolside): What is it honey?
Lauren (deep breath): I was sitting in my garden and I saw a purple cat. And a pink cat. And the purple cat was named Kania (caw-nee-uh) and the pink cat was named Kania. And there were two Kanias!
Me (trying, I mean it - really trying, not to laugh): Okay, well keep listening to your teacher. Only 10 more minutes of swimming.
The minute I settled back on to my fiberglass poolside post the sobbing started again.
Drama queen.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
We sat curled into each other on the bed, Grace a puddle of tears and anguish.
"Mom, she HATES me! Lauren HATES me!"
"No she doesn't honey, she loves you. She just says that to make you upset. Shhhh, it's okay sweetie."
How does a 3 year old know just what to do to get her sister's goat? I wonder. Where did she learn this?
"She hates me mom!" More tears. "And she keeps on saying that stupid thing about her garden.... it drives me NUTS! Make her stop!"
"Oh honey," I say. "Just ignore her. She's using her imagination. I know it's kind of weird, but it doesn't bother me. Just try to walk away if it bothers you."
"WHY!? WHY doesn't it bother you," Grace nearly shrieks. Her face is tear stained, her nose running. "And why (sniffle) does Lauren keep saying she doesn't liiiiike meeeeee?!"
She buries her head in my torso. I stroke her hair and wonder what to say. Lauren doesn't hate her. Far from it. But Lauren doesn't need her big sister's approval either. And she seems to take a mean little delight in tormenting her. Secretly I think it's a little bit funny. But Grace is Lauren's polar opposite: sweet where Lauren is stubborn, kind where Lauren is, well... not. I don't know how to explain why siblings torment each other any more than I know why, when my sister and I were kids, I used to pretend I was dead until she would start to cry in fear and panic. How do you explain mental torture to someone who would never even conceive of performing it?
As I rock Grace gently and try to shhhsh her into quiet Lauren nimbly climbs up onto the bed and presses herself against me.
"Mom," she stage whispers. "I need to tell you sumpting."
"What is it Lauren," I ask.
"I was sitting in my garden and I saw puwple biwd."
"AAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!" Grace flings her self up, over and then facedown in the opposite direction at the foot of the bed.
I swear, I tried not to laugh.
"Mom, she HATES me! Lauren HATES me!"
"No she doesn't honey, she loves you. She just says that to make you upset. Shhhh, it's okay sweetie."
How does a 3 year old know just what to do to get her sister's goat? I wonder. Where did she learn this?
"She hates me mom!" More tears. "And she keeps on saying that stupid thing about her garden.... it drives me NUTS! Make her stop!"
"Oh honey," I say. "Just ignore her. She's using her imagination. I know it's kind of weird, but it doesn't bother me. Just try to walk away if it bothers you."
"WHY!? WHY doesn't it bother you," Grace nearly shrieks. Her face is tear stained, her nose running. "And why (sniffle) does Lauren keep saying she doesn't liiiiike meeeeee?!"
She buries her head in my torso. I stroke her hair and wonder what to say. Lauren doesn't hate her. Far from it. But Lauren doesn't need her big sister's approval either. And she seems to take a mean little delight in tormenting her. Secretly I think it's a little bit funny. But Grace is Lauren's polar opposite: sweet where Lauren is stubborn, kind where Lauren is, well... not. I don't know how to explain why siblings torment each other any more than I know why, when my sister and I were kids, I used to pretend I was dead until she would start to cry in fear and panic. How do you explain mental torture to someone who would never even conceive of performing it?
As I rock Grace gently and try to shhhsh her into quiet Lauren nimbly climbs up onto the bed and presses herself against me.
"Mom," she stage whispers. "I need to tell you sumpting."
"What is it Lauren," I ask.
"I was sitting in my garden and I saw puwple biwd."
"AAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!" Grace flings her self up, over and then facedown in the opposite direction at the foot of the bed.
I swear, I tried not to laugh.
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