This Girl

Is only eleven years old but looks sixteen in this picture.



She’s grouchy one minute and clingy the next. She’s always reading, unless she’s on her tablet, killing zombies and building whatever is built in Minecraft.

She wants independence even as she holds tight to childhood.

She’s at that amazing age where we are lucky she wants to be near us and grateful when she doesn’t.

I can’t keep up with her as she outgrows pants and shoes but still sleeps with Bubby the stuffed dog.

She hasn’t missed a day of school this year and yet celebrated every single snow day like a veritable delinquent glad for an excused absence.

She’s got one foot in the teen years even as she looks back at seven with wonder.

She amazes me even as she frustrates me.

I remind myself every single day how lucky I am to be on this journey with her, to hopefully guide her and help her navigate the tough world of the preteen years and the coming, gasp, teenage years. She’s challenging even as she’s inspiring. I’m just along for the ride, holding tight to her coattails, hoping she’ll let me stick around the edges of her life a little longer.

A Bear Hunt

Olivia’s class put on a show for us last night.

The class has been preparing for this for over a month. O’s been singing the songs they’ve learned for the past couple of weeks. She sings in the car, at home doing flips, in the bathtub. I love listening to her sing.

Alas, last night, while on the second step of a set of risers, Olivia did not sing. She stood there and looked around at her classmates, most of whom were singing, doing motions and having a great time.

I could tell Olivia was nervous. I knew it wasn’t the lights or the audience that made her nervous. No, it was the riser on which she was standing. She wasn’t comfortable up there. She felt unbalanced and unsafe.

But you know what? She powered through. She stood there and found her footing. She centered herself and realized that she wasn’t going to fall. She started moving her feet a little here and there during the songs. She stepped down to play her part when it was time and she climbed back up when her part was over.

Five years ago when Olivia took her first tentative steps, I never imagined she’d be climbing up risers, overcoming her own fears and standing there, straight and tall. For the first year of her life as an independent walker, Olivia had serious balance issues. She had no idea how to break a fall and fell often, landing on her face more often than not.

These days, she’s a flipper, a runner, a climber. And as of last night, she’s performer. She was so excited when the program was over and asked if I though her class would get to do another program soon.

I hope so. I love watching this girl shine.

Other People's Kids

While at McD’s last night, my mom and were subjected to many eardrum rupturing screeches from a couple of little girls who were playing.

These little girls were not our little girls, by the way. My girls aren’t screechers. They never have been.

Jaxon was with us too and after the second crystal-shattering scream, he made his way out of the play area and came to sit with us. “Why are those girls making those noises, Gram?” he asked.

“Because they can,” my mom answered.

Yes, we were in the play area of McD’s but honestly, it wouldn’t have killed the parents of those children to actually tell their children to hold it down a little.

Maybe they’d gone to McD’s to let their kids run off some energy and screaming was one way of dong that. Whatever.

The point is, those parents and their children were not the only people in that place and I always find myself wondering what other parents are thinking when their kids are being obnoxious but the parents do nothing about it. Do they think that others will understand that their kids are just blowing off steam? Do they think other people enjoy the screaming sounds of kids having fun?

I’m am so hyper-aware of how my kids’ behavior might be affecting other people that I am probably at the other end of the spectrum, jumping all over my kids before it’s even necessary but I realize that other people might not enjoy the spectacle of my children as much as I do. Heck, they might not enjoy my children at all, gasp! I feel like one of my jobs as a parent is to make my girls aware of the fact that they share this world with other people and they need to be considerate of those other people to a point.

The visit to McD’s reminded me of a conversation I had with Julie earlier in the week.

She was talking about some lovely parents she knows who are both very patient and loving with their kids.

To be honest, after talking to her, I feel like the parents are too patient and loving and that they put their kids’ feelings above the feelings of the rest of the world.

At one point, the son of these lovely parents spilled water all over our good friend Julie. She didn’t say whether the parents apologized to her for their son’s accident. She just said that they were so calm and patient with their son, letting him know it was no big deal that he’d spilled water over someone.

Excuse me, but it was sort of a big deal. The kid spilled water on her a second time not even five minutes later, so obviously, their patience did nothing to teach him to be more careful and more aware of how is actions might inconvenience others.

As with most aspects of parenting, it’s a fine line. Yes, we want our kids to feel like their feelings matter but I don’t think we should put our kids’ feelings above everyone else’s. Not only are we trying to keep these kids alive, we’re also charged with raising contributing members of society. And society isn’t always going to be as patient and loving as dear old mom and dad.

The Middle of Noon

Reason #457 to hate daylight savings time:

Last night I was trying to convince Olivia that it was time to put on her pajamas, have her bedtime snack of cherry pie and ice cream and let me read to her so she could settled down and go to sleep soon.

She looked out the front window and asked, “Why are we getting ready for bed at the middle of noon?”

I glanced outside with her and saw that it was definitely still daylight out there and laughed. “It’s not the middle of noon. It’s actually 7:40. I know the sun is still shining but it’s definitely almost bedtime.”

She looked skeptical but accepted her pie and ice cream with relative grace. After the pie and ice cream were consumed and hands were washed, I read our nightly books to her.

Finally, I got up and closed the curtains, shutting out all that ‘middle of noon’ sunlight that was distracting Olivia from the fact that she was quite tired after a full day at school.

Ten minutes later? Girlfriend was sound asleep even though the light trying to creep past the curtains assured her it was still only about noon-thirty.

A Beer

“I’m still not happy with you,” Alyssa informed her father yesterday afternoon as she and Olivia and I were heading to the car to go to my mom’s for an afternoon of television watching and visiting.

It took me a minute to remember why she wasn’t happy with her dad.

Ah yes, it was because she’d seen him drink some beer the night before at a birthday party for Tom’s oldest son, who happened to be turning 30.

Alyssa had never seen either of us drink any sort of alcohol and the sight of her dad drinking a cup of beer really irritated her. She knows that alcohol is not good for you. She’s been told in school that it’s a bad habit to start and so seeing her dad do something she knows in her very sweet, sanctimonious little soul is wrong just really got to her.

I tried to explain to her that at 53, it really was okay for her dad to have a cup or two of beer. That the very fact that she’d never seen him drink before was a good thing but it really wasn’t that big a deal that he was having a cup that night.

She informed me haughtily, “I am not getting in our car if he’s driving us home.”

I told her I would, of course, be driving us the hour and a half home from the party that night. That appeased her wounded heart.


This girl…she’s so much like her mom. That would be me for anyone not paying attention. I wasn’t a drinker. I’m still not much of one except once a year, I might have something while away from home for a weekend. But even then, maybe not.

But when I was younger, as in Alyssa age and even in high school? I had very strong opinions about alcohol. It was illegal for anyone under 21 to drink and so I wasn’t going to do so. And I didn’t think anyone else should either. Everyone around me knew my thoughts on this subject because I strenuously shared this opinion with anyone within hearing distance.

Honestly, I hope Alyssa maintains this stance for many years to come. I hope she continues to view alcohol as a bad thing, as something to avoid. I hope she also maintains her convictions and her strength in sharing those convictions. I love that she has a strong opinion and isn’t afraid to share it, even with her dad.

At one point in the evening Tom and I were standing with his younger son and Tom’s ex-wife. Alyssa happened to walk past and mutter something about Tom being drunk.

Everyone laughed because, well, it’s laughable. Tom has never been drunk in all the years I’ve known him. Even is ex-wife admitted that in all her years of knowing him, she’s never seen him drunk either.

I explained Alyssa’s views on imbibing and Tom’s ex whispered to my sweet, opinionated girl, “Your daddy doesn’t deserve a daughter like you.”

To be honest, Alyssa couldn’t be more different from her big sister, the daughter Tom shares with his ex. J is doing amazing things with her life these days but there were months, years even, when we all worried about whether or not she’d survive the life she was living.

I pray that Alyssa continues on her straight and narrow road. She’s a good girl, something I am constantly reminding Tom about. She’s strong, she’s smart, she’s sure of herself and if she’s a little sassy to her dad? Well, where do you think she learned that sass? It wasn’t from me, is what I’m saying.

Tough Day

I’m out of sorts today. My eyes are tired, my body is hungry. My brain is foggy and my mood is grim.

My husband sent a big ass box for me to ship today, which irritated me, which, in turn, irritated him. Whatever. I can’t bring myself to feel bad for being irritated. He muttered that I should be happy that this is one of the last packages he intends to ship UPS. I’d be happy if the last one he’d sent was the last one but no, this is just one of the last ones. Which means there will be more after this one. This one is huge and over thirty pounds, which just makes it awkward, which irritates me all the more.

Anyway, like it matters, right? That’s probably not even what is making my mood do bleak.

Last week was a tough week as far as food goes. I ate badly and it showed up on my scale. I got myself under control and the scale is showing decent progress but I’ve spent most of this week hungry and that tends to make me grumpy. Obviously, I’d rather be hungry and thin(ner) and grumpy than fat and happy because honestly, no one is truly happy when I’m fat. This just so stupid. The whole thing makes me crazy. I had to cut out a serving of raisins, for Pete Sakes! (Again, I know the phrase is Pete’s sake…I like Pete Sakes, though.) Who the hell eats too many raisins!?! Me, obviously.

I also had to drop a serving of peanut butter in order to get back on track. Again, it makes me a little nuts to know that my weight is so precarious that a serving of raisins and a serving of peanut butter can make or break me.

I think I’m lonely. All my friends live over three hours (driving time) away. Which means I never see them. We email and Facebook but it’s not the same. They’re amazing email buddies but I miss their smiles, their voices, their hugs. I miss sitting around and talking about nothing, or even talking about something, like our kids and our worries for them. Alyssa asked me last week what superpower I'd choose if I could have any superpower in the world. My immediate response was the ability to teleport. This would come in so handy when I wanted/needed some me time with my besties who are all the way down in Indy.

The girls and I have a sort of friend date for a week from Saturday to go roller skating with a mom who has daughters who are A’s and O’s classes. Her girls are awesome and I really like this mom. I hope we can do this a little more often because it might help this crushing loneliness I seem to be suffering.

Yikes. Can I get more maudlin? Suck it up, right? Things aren’t that bad. They’re never that bad. We’re all healthy, we’re all here, life is good. Really, it is. And tomorrow it’ll be even better.

Nicknames

When Tom and I decided that Alyssa was the name for our first child, I thought we’d call her Ali. I don’t know why I thought that. I just thought I’d like that nickname better.

Alas, Ali is not a natural name for a child named Alyssa. At least, it didn’t come naturally for me. I supposed if I’d started calling her Ali from the start, it would have been fine but it didn’t feel like her name. Actually, it was even hard for me to call her Alyssa for the first six months or so. It just felt so grown up and awkward. Weird? Maybe but she grew into her name and now, at eleven, she loves it which makes me love it that much more.

But the nicknames that have come from the name Alyssa are fun too.

She’s Lyssie around the house. Or just Lyss, which I kind of love. And there is always the fun Lyssie Lou and Lyssie Louise, which is nothing like her middle name at all but just rolls of the tongue. It actually sort of makes me wish I’d named her Alyssa Louise because it’s awesome.

She told me yesterday that a couple of her friends have given her new nicknames recently. I was very interested to hear these.

One friend calls her Alyssie. Which, yeah, cute, right?

The other calls her Alaska. Huh. I kind of love that. And, oddly enough, I can totally see how Alaska comes out of Alyssa.

A lot of her other friends call her Lyssie, like we do at home but most of her classmates and all of her teachers just call her Alyssa and that’s fine with her.

I think she’s just glad that none of them call her Alyssica, which is something I throw out every so often just because it’s a blend of her name and her older sister’s name. I also call Olivia Olivica every so often just because it’s fun and silly.