Three-year-old R is a sensitive soul. Last evening she was upset (ie, throwing a fit) over not wanting a bath, and 8-year-old G and I were practicing "active ignoring," a parenting technique that sounds easier than it is when the walls are shaking.
When I turned to walk downstairs, away from R, that pushed her over the edge. She took a deep breath, and howled: "NOOOOBODY LOOOOVES MEEEEEE!!!! NOOOBODY!!! NOOOBODY LOOOOVES MEEEEE!!!"
I stopped, looked at her, and said "You know that's not true. Many people love you. You're upset. You can go on being upset if you want. But you know that's not true." And I walked away. The wailing got even louder.
"I love you." I stopped in my tracks. Was I hearing things? Did G just tell R "I love you"? I held my breath.
I heard it again. "I, love you." Definitely G!
R, clearly as stunned as I was, stopped crying. And then, she took a deep breath, and said "Except G."
Pause. "And Mommy."
Pause. Sniff, sniff. "And Daddy."
"And my family."
End of tantrum.
A friend once said that as the hostess of a restaurant, she used to put the code "NL" on tables where particularly cranky customers were sitting so the waitstaff would know how to approach them. "NL: Needs Love."
Lots of love to you R, and you, G for knowing that she needed it so.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
My Big Fat Lip
I think it's safe to say the only full-contact sport I've ever been any good at is wrangling my children. Boosting them across the monkey bars, holding them back from oncoming traffic, separating them in a fight, fishing them slippery wet out of a bath, containing their tantrums...without any special equipment or padded clothing to help lasso them in or deflect their blows. I bob and weave like a professional boxer. Of course, injuries happen - to me, that is.
Yesterday, mid-tantrum, in public, 3-year-old R's head bashed my lip. Oh! That hurts! And in that split second, the bond of parenthood overrided every evolutionary instinct to fight or flee. I took a deep breath, said "R, calm down or you could hurt yourself," picked up all our bags and my howling child, and walked us to the car. A while later, I held her, spent, on a swing, her head resting on my chest.
Mom: "Wow, R you were really upset. Your feelings must have been soooo big."
R: "Yeah. And my love is so little."
Mom: "You know that I still love you when you're mad?"
R: "Yeah. Mom, why do you love me soooo much?"
I answered about love in my heart and how it never runs out, and how special she is and that in the entire world she and her sister are my only children, and on and on. And I realized that's what overrides the instinct to squash a pint-sized Muhammed Ali after she deals me a blow, or run away from her as fast as I can. Raising children is not a sport to be won or lost, or a matter of survival of the fittest (because let's face it, children will adapt, outwit, outplay and outlast us in the end). It's a matter of wrangling them until they can wrangle their own huge emotions, sticking around til the storm passes, so she can know how much she was loved the whole time.
As for the fat lip, I'll put gloss on and call it Botox.
Yesterday, mid-tantrum, in public, 3-year-old R's head bashed my lip. Oh! That hurts! And in that split second, the bond of parenthood overrided every evolutionary instinct to fight or flee. I took a deep breath, said "R, calm down or you could hurt yourself," picked up all our bags and my howling child, and walked us to the car. A while later, I held her, spent, on a swing, her head resting on my chest.
Mom: "Wow, R you were really upset. Your feelings must have been soooo big."
R: "Yeah. And my love is so little."
Mom: "You know that I still love you when you're mad?"
R: "Yeah. Mom, why do you love me soooo much?"
I answered about love in my heart and how it never runs out, and how special she is and that in the entire world she and her sister are my only children, and on and on. And I realized that's what overrides the instinct to squash a pint-sized Muhammed Ali after she deals me a blow, or run away from her as fast as I can. Raising children is not a sport to be won or lost, or a matter of survival of the fittest (because let's face it, children will adapt, outwit, outplay and outlast us in the end). It's a matter of wrangling them until they can wrangle their own huge emotions, sticking around til the storm passes, so she can know how much she was loved the whole time.
As for the fat lip, I'll put gloss on and call it Botox.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Numerology
Have you taken any of those "real age" quizzes online? People with healthy lifestyles love them, confirming how youthful they are underneath all that um, life experience. I confess I did this one: http://www.sonnyradio.com/realage.htm and was as pleased as punch to discover I am actually 24, with an estimated life span of 89.
While genetics play a role, it appears that we can turn back the virtual clock by what we do: according to this quiz, daily breakfast is a good thing, but if it's coffee and a donut that'll take FOUR YEARS off your life. Yikes! Having friends, feeling happy, meditating, all make the age meter click down, down, down. It's a little disturbing how happy that makes me...
After all, age is just a number. But, then why do numbers hold such associations, such power? 4, the year my sister was born and my memories began. 9, when we moved from suburb to city and life burst into color - fuller, noisier, scarier. 15, when I met my future husband. 21, when I learned to drive, but didn't really until I was 25. The 30s, a blur of sleeplessness and small children. 39, the year I decided to face 40 upside down.
Real Patty at age 24 was certain. Career, marriage, family plans - all in place. So where does virtually 24-year old Patty fit in? The one who greets the question "What do you do?" without knowing where to begin? The one with the stamina of an at-home mom (i.e. Wonder Woman) but with creaky knees and memory loss? The one who still wants to make a mark on the world but is not sure how?
As a kid I used to love reading mysteries but I always jumped ahead to the ending - I couldn't stand the suspense. As a young adult I saw life as a clear progression of steps to achieve and assumed through hard work and planning it would all be mine. Having children with special needs changed all that. Now, halfway there to my virtual life-span, I'm discovering through them, spontenaity, living in the moment, letting go of expectations. Experiencing joy.
Late at night I sometimes lie awake worrying about how it will all end up. But in the daylight, it's all about the now - we're learning drums and violin, how to make eye-contact, how to make a friend. How to fall and get up, again and again. How to try, just try, and be open to surprise.
This "real age" quiz gave me an estimated 18,400 more days to live. A big fat number. Somehow, it still doesn't seem like enough, for all that I want to do.
While genetics play a role, it appears that we can turn back the virtual clock by what we do: according to this quiz, daily breakfast is a good thing, but if it's coffee and a donut that'll take FOUR YEARS off your life. Yikes! Having friends, feeling happy, meditating, all make the age meter click down, down, down. It's a little disturbing how happy that makes me...
After all, age is just a number. But, then why do numbers hold such associations, such power? 4, the year my sister was born and my memories began. 9, when we moved from suburb to city and life burst into color - fuller, noisier, scarier. 15, when I met my future husband. 21, when I learned to drive, but didn't really until I was 25. The 30s, a blur of sleeplessness and small children. 39, the year I decided to face 40 upside down.
Real Patty at age 24 was certain. Career, marriage, family plans - all in place. So where does virtually 24-year old Patty fit in? The one who greets the question "What do you do?" without knowing where to begin? The one with the stamina of an at-home mom (i.e. Wonder Woman) but with creaky knees and memory loss? The one who still wants to make a mark on the world but is not sure how?
As a kid I used to love reading mysteries but I always jumped ahead to the ending - I couldn't stand the suspense. As a young adult I saw life as a clear progression of steps to achieve and assumed through hard work and planning it would all be mine. Having children with special needs changed all that. Now, halfway there to my virtual life-span, I'm discovering through them, spontenaity, living in the moment, letting go of expectations. Experiencing joy.
Late at night I sometimes lie awake worrying about how it will all end up. But in the daylight, it's all about the now - we're learning drums and violin, how to make eye-contact, how to make a friend. How to fall and get up, again and again. How to try, just try, and be open to surprise.
This "real age" quiz gave me an estimated 18,400 more days to live. A big fat number. Somehow, it still doesn't seem like enough, for all that I want to do.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
See Wendy Run.
I am loving More Magazine's website, http://www.more.com/ (although Tim Gunn's feature "Is Your Closet Too Young" is sure to make me cringe - considering I want to bring back torn T-shirts in honor of Patrick Swayze, I'm pretty sure the answer in my case is YES).
Through More.com I've met incredible women like Wendy. Wendy is 39 and going back to school to become an RN. After volunteering at Children's Hospital in Kansas City and being touched by the cancer patients there, she is planning to run a half-marathon to raise money for Paul Newman's Hole in the Wall Gang camps (http://www.holeinthewallcamps.org/). One of the patients who inspired her wanted to go to the camp so she could "be normal for a week," but recently passed away.
Wendy's never done fundraising before, but she's not letting that stop her, even if it's hard to ask folks for money in a recession. So let's all cheer Wendy on - checkout her webpage, donate if you can. The race is October 17 at the Kansas City Marathon:
http//www.teamholeinthewall.org/netcommunity/kansascitycares
I love that the web address says "netcommunity" because that's what we are. And that Kansas City cares - and so do we.
Or take a spin through More.com and send Wendy a message at: http://www.more.com/user/profile/8484. Tell her all of us at Facing Forty Upside Down thinks she rocks!
Run, Wendy, run!
Through More.com I've met incredible women like Wendy. Wendy is 39 and going back to school to become an RN. After volunteering at Children's Hospital in Kansas City and being touched by the cancer patients there, she is planning to run a half-marathon to raise money for Paul Newman's Hole in the Wall Gang camps (http://www.holeinthewallcamps.org/). One of the patients who inspired her wanted to go to the camp so she could "be normal for a week," but recently passed away.
Wendy's never done fundraising before, but she's not letting that stop her, even if it's hard to ask folks for money in a recession. So let's all cheer Wendy on - checkout her webpage, donate if you can. The race is October 17 at the Kansas City Marathon:
http//www.teamholeinthewall.org/netcommunity/kansascitycares
I love that the web address says "netcommunity" because that's what we are. And that Kansas City cares - and so do we.
Or take a spin through More.com and send Wendy a message at: http://www.more.com/user/profile/8484. Tell her all of us at Facing Forty Upside Down thinks she rocks!
Run, Wendy, run!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
