Patterns

Once upon a time, there was a girl who had a younger brother. When the girl was eleven and her brother was seven, their parents divorced.

It was decided that this girl and her brother would live with their mom and their dad would move in with his brother, three houses up the street.

The girl and her brother saw their dad whenever they wanted and had scheduled visits every Sunday.

One Sunday afternoon, while out driving, as was their dad’s habit, the girl was asked by her father how her mother had told her about the divorce, which at this point had happened about a year before.

The girl knew what her dad was getting at and replied that her mom had said that the marriage wasn’t working and that a divorce was imminent.

Her dad pressed, wanting to know if her mother had told her that they both wanted the divorce. The answer was that no, her mother hadn’t said that.

The dad nodded. The girl hoped the conversation was over but alas, her hopes were dashed when her dad informed her and her brother, now twelve and eight, that he wanted to make sure they understood that he hadn’t wanted the divorce. It had been their mother’s idea, her desire to break up the family.

Then he started the drive home. About a half mile from home, the girl’s dad burst into tears. He managed to drive the rest of the way to the home the girl and her brother shared with their mother and then began sobbing while sitting in the driveway.

The girl opened the door on her side of the car as the boy sat forward and asked, “Dad? What’s wrong?”

The girl took her brother’s hand and said, “Come on, Jason. Dad, we’ll be inside.”

The girl went inside and told her mom about her dad sitting in his car crying.

She was very, very angry at her dad for what he’d done. She didn’t want to see her dad cry, to know he was hurt, sad, upset. She was furious at him for making her be the grown up in that incident.

The other night, when I was at my bitchiest, I sat down across the room from the girls, trying to get some distance and needing to not be touched for even a few minutes.

Alyssa sat on the couch beside Olivia and when Olivia tried to get down and come over to me, Alyssa held her back, saying quietly, “Livie, stay here.”

In that moment, I hated myself more than I can describe. I’d become my father, making my CHILD be the grown up as I sat in a stupid, moody fit of annoyance. It jolted me out of my mood, made me sit up, move from my seat and place my big butt between my little girls on the couch, pulling both of them to me into a hug. I kissed Alyssa’s hair and apologized, telling her I was so sorry for being such a grouch. I told her that it wasn’t her fault and that I would not be grouchy anymore that night.

I asked Olivia if she wanted some ice cream and she asked me if I was done being a grouchy Gus. I laughed along with both A and O and said yes, I was done being a grouchy Gus.

I don’t want to repeat the patterns of my childhood. I never want to let my moodiness or tiredness make Alyssa feel the way I’d felt that day so many years ago. I never want to be the child in our relationship, making her grow up way before her time.

And what I want most of all is to forgive my father for that moment in time when I was so angry at him for showing his feelings in a way that felt inappropriate to my twelve-year-old self. I know we are all human and we can’t help how we feel but I also know that as a parent it is up to me to protect my children even from my own moods, feelings.

Thirty years ago I felt like my dad had let me down. Now I know he was just doing his best. He never meant to hurt me or my brother and he’s done good things for both of us over the years, things that negate that one moment in time.

So…I guess it’s time to forgive him and myself for being human. It’s time to remember that we can’t change the past but we can do better in the future.

Sometimes Mommy is a Grouchy Bitch

Last night was not my best mommy moment. I was tired, the girls were annoying the crap out of me, I just wanted some down time.

Olivia wanted to take a bath and I’m not usually one to say no to a bath. Who doesn’t like clean kids?

Except these days, she won’t leave the faucet alone, she’s constantly trying to turn the water to the hottest temperature possible. I have to sit there and hold the knob so she can’t adjust it herself.

And even though I told her several times not to throw a soaking wet wash cloth out of the tub onto the floor, she did it twice. The very plopping sound grated on my nerves something fierce.

When I finally made them get out of the tub, the bath had lasted an hour. It was 8:00. Time for bed.

But Olivia wanted dessert. I tried to tell her that dessert time had come and gone while she was in the bath.

She didn’t believe me.

I grouched and fussed and refused to get ice cream for her.

Then I felt horrible. I told the girls that I needed a time out. Olivia laughed. Alyssa told me it was okay.

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t their fault I was being such a grouchy bitch and I needed to get a grip and stop being that way.

I pulled myself together, apologized to them and got ice cream for Olivia and popcorn for Alyssa. We settled onto the couch, watched a rerun of The Middle and everyone got a nice back scratch as another, non-verbal apology.

I try to catch these moods before they get out of control. And if I don’t, I apologize and we make up and go on. I guess it’s okay for my girls to know I’m human too, that I get grouchy and bitchy. As long as I remind them that when it does happen, it’s never, ever their fault. That’s my biggest goal. Not to be perfect but to be aware of my imperfections and try not to take them out on these two (mostly) innocent souls.

Hair We Go Again

Olivia’s obsession with hair continues. While she no longer pulls her own hair out, she can often be heard asking me if she can ‘play’ with my hair. This involves her pulling gently at the hair at the nape of my neck, which drives me insane.

So her question is more often than not answered with a, “No, you cannot play with my hair.”

She’ll reply, “Please.”

I’ll say again, “No.”

She’s insist, “But I said please!!”

And I’ll tell her, “I don’t want you to play with my hair. I don’t like how it feels.”

Then, thankfully, she’ll be distracted by something and leave me and my hair alone.

A few days ago, I heard Alyssa yell, “Hey, what are you doing?”

When I went to investigate, I found that Olivia had a pair of scissors in her hand and was attempting to cut Alyssa’s hair.

Yikes! We were lucky. They were smallish, plastic scissors and Olivia didn’t have the time to actually hole A’s hair in one hand and the scissors in the other before she tried to make the first cut.

I took the scissors away before any more mischief could be attempted.

Last night, O was running around the house, working off energy before dinner.

She came up to me and said she was hot. She was wearing just underwear at that point. I told her to leave her underwear on. She said, “I don’t want to take off my underwear but I do want you to cut my hair. It’s hot on my neck.”

I offered to put her hair into a ponytail to help with the neck sweat. Olivia informed me, “I can’t do flips when my hair is in a pony!”

I told her I would not be cutting her hair, she could either stop running around or deal with the heat of her hair.

She was clearly annoyed, as her eyes almost rolled out of her head as she dealt with such an inconsiderate mother.

She ran a little more and again stopped to tell me to cut her hair.

I repeated my previous answer.

Then I called the girls to the table for dinner. Yes, Olivia arrived in just her underwear. We have a rule in our house. Underwear must be worn during dinner. I know, we practically require black-tie for meals.

Once O was seated at the table, she ordered, “Mom, come over here and bring the scissors.”

Ohh, that girl. She is so funny. Except she was serious. I reminded her yet again that I would not be cutting her hair anytime soon.

Do you all remember this?

This was Christmas 2010. Just over two years ago. Her hair has grown so much over these past two years. I can’t even imagine cutting it now. And yet…she’s so insistent. And she is six. Does she have the right to make this decision for herself? I am thinking maybe I’ll ‘trim’ it for her, just enough that she thinks I’ve cut it but to leave the length.

She’s overcome so much to get this head of hair. But I also know that cutting it might be something she just wanted last night and tomorrow, she’ll want it braided again.

I think the novelty of getting a haircut is exotic to her. We cut about six inches off Alyssa’s hair about a month ago and O’s been talking about haircuts ever since. She even tried to order me to cut my own hair last week. So yes, haircuts are all the rage for her. I’m keeping all scissors under lock and key for the time being.

The Letter Bag

Olivia’s class learns a new letter each week. Along with learning words that start with the letter of the week, the teachers read stories that incorporate that letter and they send home a Letter Bag with one student each week. The student with the Letter Bag is asked to find things that start with that letter and bring them to school on Thursday to share with the class. Olivia’s had had the Letter Bag twice. The first week we needed to find things that started with the letter K. The second…I don’t remember.

Last week, their letter was Xx. The teacher was kind enough not to burden a single student with trying to find words that start with X, she instead invited all students to bring something that has X in it, such as fox or xylophone.

This week, their letter of the week is Uu. And it’s Olivia’s turn with the Letter Bag.

My first thought was umbrella. Our bright orange umbrella is already inside the Letter Bag, awaiting its trip to school.

Second thought, was, duh, unicorn! Boy do we have unicorns prancing around our house. One of them made its way into the letter bag along with the umbrella.

I asked Tom if we have a ukulele laying around that I’m not aware of. He laughed at me.

But wait!! I do have a music box that is probably supposed to be a small violin or something but a small label and a pen later, it’s officially a Ukulele. Go me!!

I kind of like projects like this. It is fun to get the whole family thinking and Olivia loves the attention she gets both at home and at school doing these things.

I couldn’t find an actual umpire to stuff into the bag so I found a picture of one and labeled it to avoid confusion.

We’re getting there. We still have two more evenings and three mornings to come up with things that start with the letter U.

But even with all that time ahead of us, I’m not going with Alyssa’s suggestion of putting a pair of underwear in the bag. I might be willing to take my kids to Walmart in their pajamas but I’m not willing to send underwear to school to be flashed about the kinderkids’ classroom.

Wearing Me Out

Okay, I know moms don’t really get downtime. I know this. I also know that mothers who work outside the home really don’t get downtime. We’re away from home and our children for nine plus hours a day, we shouldn’t be wishing for bedtime just so we can have a minute or seven all to ourselves, without someone leaning into us or laying on us or asking for ice cream or wanting a drink of water.

But I do want those minutes. I crave them.

Olivia, you see, has decided that going to sleep between 7:30 and 8:00 is for babies. And she’s also decided that she? She is not a baby, thank you very much. She’s a very mature six year old who knows when she’s tired and when she should go to bed.

Except she doesn’t. Know when she’s tired and should go to sleep, that is. She’s not mature enough to know that she needs more sleep than she’s been getting in the past couple of weeks. So, as her mother, for her own good, I’ve have to reinforce bedtime, reminding her that she has school the next day and she needs to sleep so she can get up and play before school each morning.

Yeah, that’s why I want her to go to bed. It’s for her own good. Sure.

Just because the added bonus of her going to bed by 8pm is that I get a little time to just be instead of ‘being’ mom for a while doesn’t mean I am not putting her first. No, not at all.

See, by the end of the day I’m done. I’m all given out. I can’t give another piece of me. I need to sit and watch mindless television (thank you Biggest Loser!) or read in bed by the light of a flashlight. I just need that time so I can do it all again.

And Livie, by pushing back her bedtime to 8:45 last week, is not only hurting herself, but she’s making her mother crazy. And that’s not got for anyone.

So the mean mom has to come stay for a while. Let’s call her Kate, shall we? She’s going to reign in all the roughhousing, the silliness, the child-led chaos that had taken over our house. She’s going to bring calm and organization to our home, a sense of peace and love that lets the girls know how cherished they are while reminding them that there are rules and those rules exist for a reason.

I’ll let you know how it all works out. Wish Kate luck.

Pajama Day

As I got dressed this morning, Olivia sat in front of the space heater in the bathroom. She watched me go about the room doing my thing to get ready to go to town for our weekly trip to the library and grocery shopping.

She looked down at her pajamas and asked if she could wear them to town.

I told her she could if she wanted to.

She asked if Lyssie was going to wear her jammies to town.

I replied that I didn't know. It would be up to Alyssa.

The very thought of going to town in jammies thrilled Livie to her very bones. She couldn't get over the idea that I'd let such a thing happen.

She did, of course, need makeup to dress the green monkey pajamas up but that didn't take longer than about thirty seconds.

She pranced down the stairs to show off her 'make over' and inform Tom that she was going to wear her pajamas to the library and everywhere else we were going.

He said, "Well, at least you'll be warm."

Ha. But true.

Olivia asked Alyssa if she was going to wear her pajamas to town too and at first Alyssa wasn't going to do so but after just a minute of thought, she decided it was a lovely idea too.

I was the only rebel who insisted on wearing actual clothes into public.

So today, we were that family at Walmart, the ones where the kids were wearing pajamas under their coats. It was fun for both girls. They were comfy and happy and I felt good for having let it happen.

The sad thing? No one even seemed to notice the pajamas at Walmart. We got a few odd looks at the library and Dairy Queen but everyone at Walmart seemed to think it was just another day. In fact, I was probably over dressed in my jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt. I think I might be getting old.

In Hot Water

On Wednesday night I told Olivia she could take a bath after dinner.

I fed the girls and as I was washing the dishes (we have a dishwasher but it seems, these days anyway, just easier to wash the dishes after each meal than to rinse them, stack them in the dishwasher and let them sit for days until it’s full enough to run) I realized the water wasn’t getting hot. It was warmish but not hot.

At 7:00, Alyssa laid out the Scrabble board and I had to tell her I’d already promised Olivia she could take a bath. Alyssa moaned her frustration but got over it.

Olivia and I went up and got the space heater running and I started the water. I turned it to warm.

I told O I was going to go get her pajamas. She was already nude and climbing into the tub. When I got back she informed me that the water wasn’t hot. I checked and saw that she’d already turned it to the hottest setting. I felt the water and she was right, it wasn’t hot.

I called down to Tom to ask him if he’d used a lot of hot water earlier in the day. He said he hadn’t, that we needed to let it run. Duh! I told him we’d let it run and it wasn’t getting hot.

He ran the hot water in the kitchen sink, still believing that it just needed to run through the pipes.

Huh. Okay. Except, it still never got hot.

He went to check the water heater and noted that the pilot light had gone out.

Olivia declared she was not taking a non-hot bath and climbed out of the tepid water. I can’t say I blame her.

I wrapped her in a towel and she sat in front of the space heater to cook her feet.

Tom spent the next hour trying to get the pilot light to light and stay lit. It didn’t happen.

He finally called a heating/cooling guy he’d had out months before to work on our furnace and the guy was nice enough to walk Tom through taking part of the water heater apart. It turned out some kind of thingamajig had gone bad. I think it had the word thermal in it but I can’t be sure.

The next morning, Tom surprised me by having four pots of hot water on the stove ready for me to use to wash my hair since I couldn’t (wouldn’t?) shower. He really is my hero.

Later that day he solidified his hero status by call the local hardware store in hope they’d carry this thingy. They did.

Nine dollars and forty-five minutes later, the pilot light was lit and the water was heating. If the heating/cooling guy had come out to do this himself, it would have cost $100.

We really do live a life of luxury. Turn a knob and there’s hot water, all you could want. Plug in an appliance and there is heat. Open a refrigerator and there’s food.

Even one night and morning without hot water makes me realize how incredibly blessed we are to live in this country, this home, this life. To have a husband who can fix even the slightest of problems seems almost selfish to me. But I think we’re going to keep him. Who else would heat water at 5am just so I can wash my hair?