Rebellin

I was watching Oprah sometime last year, and she did an interview with The Judds.   The Judds then did a performance of their song Love Can Build A Bridge.  I was instantly transported back to church camp in the early 1990s…  I remembered singing that song with my camp mates, full of hope for finding the perfect love in my life — that of a husband, of children, and also with God.

I was very religious in my teens, needless to say.

That song spoke to me powerfully back then.  When I saw the song performed on Oprah, it stopped me in my tracks. I replayed it over and over.  Soon therafter, I started using that song to sing my children to sleep.

Little Man has now become very addicted to the song.  I’m not allowed to sing any other lullaby to him.  He insists on the “Bridge” song, and also will only allow me to sing it when it is bedtime (no breaking schedule).

The other night, I was singing this song to him, when I heard my daughter singing along from her bedroom, and my son started singing, too.  I was amazed that they knew all of the lyrics.  It also made me smile. If any song lyrics are going to make an imprint on my children, I think these are the perfect ones to describe the love I feel for them as their mother.

Love Can Build A Bridge (lyrics)

I’d gladly walk across the desert with no shoes upon my feet
To share with you the last bite of bread I had to eat
I would swim out to save you
In your sea of broken dreams
When all your hopes are sinking
Let me show you what love means

Love can build a Bridge
Between your heart and mine
Love can build a Bridge
Don’t you think it’s time?
Don’t you think it’s time?

I would whisper love so loudly
Every heart could understand
That love and only love
Can join the tribes of man
I would give my heart’s desire
So that you might see
The first step is to realize
That it all begins with you and me

Love can build a Bridge
Between your heart and mine
Love can build a Bridge
Don’t you think it’s time?
Oh, don’t you think it’s time?

When we stand together
It’s our finest hour
We can do anything, anything Anything, anything
Keep believin’ in the power of Love
Between your heart and mine
Love can build a Bridge

Don’t you think it’s time? Don’t you think it’s time?

I’m tired.  As much as I love long holiday weekends, the week afterwards just seems interminably long.  After returning from the Bay Area around midnight on Monday morning, we were slammed back into reality.  On top of this adjusment, my daughter was begging me to set up the Christmas tree (as she just LOVES to play with Christmas ornaments).

I finally caught my breath around Wednesday evening, so I set up the tree with the kids after dinner.  I got the box of ornaments out, and Little Miss immediately opened it, and within a split second, Little Man had grabbed two ornaments and broke them (one being a glass ornament we got on our honeymoon in Venice).

As I was getting our fake tree out of the shed, I stumbled upon our Elf on the Shelf, which Little Miss named Bethaniel when she was two.  I decided he would make a magical appearance as we set up the tree, but also needed to sneak him into the house without the kids seeing him.

So I shoved the elf down my pants, and lugged the Christmas tree into the house.

I had that darn elf down my pants for at least 10 minutes until the kids were out of sight for me to place him in the house.

Almost as if on cue, Little Miss asks me, “when is Bethaniel going to come?”

Totally winging it, I said, “well, have you done the magical dance to ask him to come?”

“No.”

I told her to turn in a circle three times, while chanting, “Bethaniel come play, Bethaniel come play, Bethaniel come to our house today!”

She then found Bethaniel in his new spot, and was thrilled by the magic of it all.

I was pretty smug about how magical I was until the next morning, when Little Miss woke up her brother at 6am to look for that darn elf.

Last night I put the elf in her room after she was asleep.  She woke me up at 3am because she had a nightmare.  (Side note:  she keeps having nightmares about Miss Trunchbull from the Roald Dahl book Mathilda.  Perhaps that wasn’t a great book to read to her in hindsight…)  I go upstairs with her, find her light on, and she says, “do you like my room?  I cleaned it because Bethaniel was watching.”

Yes, she was cleaning her room at 3am.

Anyway, I’m rather tired today from her late night escapades, but it is fun making Christmas magical for my kiddos.

Today I volunteered at my daughter’s new elementary school in her kindergarten class. She was so excited to have me in her class. She was clamoring to hug me, hold my hand, etc., and I couldn’t help but think that someday in the not too distant future, she would be too embarrassed to enjoy my presence at her school.

When I showed up, the kids were working on projects in small groups. The teacher said I could help Little Miss’ group, so I sat down with her and four other children. It didn’t take me long to feel the tension coming from a girl that my daughter talks about daily (very admiring, I must add). We’ll call her Susie.

“Little Miss won’t do as she is told,” Susie complained. She then said that they were supposed to have one child be the teacher and the other should be the student. But I noticed that the boys were not approaching the task that way. They were working together just fine as peers.

There was several minutes of back and forth, where Susie kept trying to direct my daughter, and my daughter kept doing her own thing. And then, my daughter said very matter of factly, “you are not the boss of me.”

It wasn’t confrontational. It was strong. It was empowered. My heart swelled with pride.

Susie melted into tears. I’m sure it looked to the teacher like I made the girl cry. I did my best not to crack a smile, but to try to redirect Susie, but she was ANGRY. She kept focusing on how my daughter was “being mean to her”. Susie finally got pulled aside by the teacher and had to move her clip down (how the kids are rated on their behavior in class each day). Moving your clip down means you get a note from the teacher to send home to your parent.

Susie was even angrier after this, saying my daughter got her in trouble.

This is the girl my daughter has raved about daily, saying she plays with her all the time. I’m thinking Susie is trouble, but am not sure I can or should intervene.

The rest of the volunteering went well, and I even got to escort the class to lunch (ironically during National School Lunch week). After watching Jamie Oliver for two seasons, I was curious to see the situtation of our school’s lunch. It wasn’t horrible, but I would clasify it as lacking. Some of the covered stuff that just get heated up looked like quite a mystery to me, and the lettuce was all iceburg.

But what I found really appalling was looking at what all of the kids had in their packed lunch. SO much processed food. Little Debbies, chips, white bread, Capri Suns… I’m starting to think I am much more anal about healthy food than your normal parent.

But thankfully, my daughter still likes the healthy food I pack for her, although she leaps at the opportunity for junk food when she is at someone else’s house.

Oh, well. I’ll do my best and hope she’ll end up making wise choices.

As I was driving the kids home tonight, this exchange went on in the back seat…

Little Man: Booger. In mouth.
Me: Did you eat it?
Little Man: Uh huh
Little Miss: Oh, I LOVE those! Aren’t they delicious?!

It is no wonder I’m having such a hard time getting her to stop picking her nose in public.

Little Man has been talking a ton lately. A lot of his sentences are short and to the point. They sound a lot to me like advertising tag lines. For instance:

“Milk — have some.” (The next Got Milk campaign)
“Garbage — got it?” (Waste Management’s next campaign)
“Booger — don’t want it.” (Future ad for Kleenex)
“Poop in there.” (Future ad for Charmin)

My baby turns two next week. I can’t believe it. Two! That really isn’t a baby anymore. I want my baby back!

In preparation for his birthday, I have been asking him, “How old are you?”

His response is always, “good.”

Making a mental note to get that on video before he learns the appropriate answer!

Last night, I was in my bedroom changing clothes when both children started screaming and crying at the top of their lungs. I came into the family room to find Little Miss saying, “He bit me!”

I had to wonder why Little Man was crying, too. I also have never known him to bite, so I figured there would be a back story.

Turns out she was trying to feed him a marshmallow when he accidentally bit her. I looked at her finger to find a small scratch. Then she turned her finger over, and I saw what looked like a big flap of skin hanging loose.

I quickly ran to my bedroom and got the hydrogen peroxide and a band aid. When I came back to doctor her, I told her to hold her finger out. That flap of skin seemed to be gone.

“Where is the skin that was hanging off?” I asked, perplexed.

“Oh, that was just a booger.”

Nice.

Little Miss has been getting me up almost each night this week, mainly due to coughing fits. Who needs a newborn when your five year old can yank you out of sleep by hacking up a lung?!

The medicine is working, and her coughing is subsiding. Therefore, I was surprised to awake to her screaming in a panic at 2am. My knee is really stiff after I’ve been sleeping, so JB bounded up the steps as I limped my way up. The whole way, I’m chanting please don’t let there be puke. Please don’t let there be puke.

The problem? A nightmare.

JB promptly turned around and went back to bed. I crawled into bed with her, and asked her what happened in her dream.

“My brother picked you up, Mom, and took you down the stairs. He then went in your room and closed the door.”

Really?! My first reaction was, wow, that would be one strong toddler to carry me down the stairs. But then I sat there perplexed, wondering why that dream would evoke such panic-stricken cries.

I also thanked my lucky stars that her nightmares are so mundane. There are many children on this earth that have had horrible things happen to them and have truly horrific nightmares as a result. May all of her problems be solved so easily.

Yesterday, my daughter’s teacher told me that she asked the entire class of pre-k and Kindergarten students what we’re celebrating at Easter. All of the kids except for one said that Easter was about the Easter Bunny.

My little girl is the only one who said that Easter is about Jesus.

*sniff* That makes a Momma proud.

My alarm went off this morning, and as I pressed snooze, I heard cries coming through the baby monitor.

But it wasn’t the cries of the baby. It was the cries of my 5 year old daughter in the room next to the baby. So, I got up, crutched myself up the stairs and found Little Miss in her bed crying real tears saying her tummy hurt.

Need I say I was just a tad bit irritated? She recently spent two weeks at home — one week with Grandma while I was recovering, and last week was Spring Break. Of course, I was paying for all of that time. And now, my first day scheduled to be back in the office, she has the stomach flu?!

Or does she? Although the display was rather convincing, she didn’t have a fever, and there was no vomit. And then she started asking for breakfast… Her tears and writhing on the floor/couch/bed went on for 45 minutes, but my Mother’s Intuition was telling me something was amiss.

And my logical side was thinking you haven’t hardly left the house for the past five days — how could you have gotten sick?!

So, although I worried about the guilt if I was wrong, I told Little Miss that she needed to go get dressed, as she was leaving for school in 10 minutes. And that she better hurry, because otherwise she wouldn’t get breakfast.

I packed her a lunch of chicken noodle soup, yogurt and Saltines just in case. When she came downstairs, she had discovered one of her favorite summer dresses in the closet, and already her demeanor had changed. She then fretted that she wanted to make sure she had time to brush her hair, and went running into my bathroom to do so.

A few hours later, I called her school, telling them the scenario and asking them to check if I made the right decision. The teacher went to check on her, and came back laughing, saying, “you totally made the right call. She’s fine.”

That girl is getting very good at playing sick. I keep telling her the story of the Boy Who Cried Wolf, as one of these days, I’m not going to believe her, and send her off to school despite being sick!

I love Tina Fey. Check out this quote:

“Kids are definitely the boss of you. Anyone who will barge into the room while you are on the commode is the boss of you. And when you explain to them that you’re on the commode and that they should leave but they don’t? That’s a high-level boss.”

Taken from this article. That is SO true!

Isn’t it lovely how kids repeat the things we adults say?! This weekend, while in the locker room at the pool, my daughter says loudly to me, “you’re driving me INSANE.”

“Little girls shouldn’t say that.” I responded.

She then asks, “what does that mean?”

In my head, I’m thinking you know when you’re running around like a crazy person in our house making your brother scream over and over and over? That drives me INSANE.

I had to tone it down a bit and tell her that when she acts really silly and doesn’t follow my rules, it makes me feel a little insane.

I know I shouldn’t use those words, but sometimes living with two little ones can be a bit like Chinese water torture, as they keep irritating you with an endless stream of little transgressions until you JUST CAN’T HANDLE IT ANYMORE. That is the point I usually tell my daughter she is driving me insane.

Oops. What can I say? I’m only human!

Little Miss has had the stomach flu twice in the past month. She has been complaining of a tummy ache for much of the time in between, and that’s one of those things I never know is real or contrived.

This morning, I found her laying in bed with the light on, reading. She usually gets up to harass her brother, so this was different. She immediately started complaining of a tummy ache. After I fed her breakfast (yogurt, toast, and ginger tea — the tummy ache solution in my house), she curled up in front of the fire place under a blanket. Her eyes were dull, and she didn’t smile or interact with her brother. I really thought she was sick.

Even though I had been up since 6 rocking my spin bike (rocking is a very relative term for this gimpy momma), I hauled out my computer and decided I’d be working from home with her.

Although I was a bit suspicious. I put out a few pieces of bait to see if she’d bite.

“You know, if you stay home today, you’re not going to be allowed to watch any movies.”

She didn’t bite at that. Just said OK.

“And if you start running around the house, I’m going to take you straight to school.”

She said OK.

I set up shop on my laptop beside her in front of the fire, and about 20 minutes later, I thought I might know what was behind all of this tummy aching.

“Is this about the girl at school who has been bossing you around?”

She nodded.

“If I talk to your teachers about it, will you go to school?”

She nodded.

Bingo. If only that didn’t make me an hour late to work! Turns out there is this kindergartner that has been trying to play “Queen and Servant” with Little Miss, and every time, she makes Little Miss the servant, bossing her around. And my daughter, who isn’t horribly compliant at home, succumbs to this girls’ every wish.

So, I packed her up and took her to school, coaching her the entire drive there on how she should just tell this girl she doesn’t want to play with her.

“Who is the boss of you, Little Miss?”

“I am,” she muttered very unconvincingly.

I need to get this girl into drama. She has a natural talent for it.

Last week, I found out that a mother of one of Little Miss’ friends at preschool died unexpectedly of a heart attack. I didn’t know the woman, but the news really floored me. You don’t expect someone my age to die of a heart attack, and my heart breaks when I think of all that she’s going to miss in her daughter’s life, and how much her daughter will miss knowing her mother.

My Mom used to tell me growing up that “a daughter needs her mother.” I never really thought much about that comment, but now that I have a daughter of my own, I see from a different perspective and agree with her whole heartedly. One of my many prayers each night is that God will let our little family lead long, healthy lives together. But there is definitely a special bond between a mother and a daughter, and there are so many things that I think a father just wouldn’t think about or have sensitivity. I mean how can a man understand the crazy emotions during puberty, or what it feels like to be on the outside of the popular girl clique? Or how challenging prom dress shopping can be?

I also think how no one would love my children as I do. There is a bond you just can’t replace when you grow someone in your belly, nurture them as a newborn, and watch them blossom into the children that you are. The idea of me not being able to finish raising them is a devastating thought, so I try to focus on how I can try to lead a long, healthy life.

My heart breaks for that entire family. The day I heard the news, I hugged my kids so tight, thankful that I am able to pick my kids up each night. I’ll take a bum knee any day over missing out on a single day with my kids.

My daughter turned five last week. I think this is going to be a really good age for her. She is as tall as an 8 year old, and as verbal as one as well. We went through a tough time for well over a year after Little Man was born, but I really think she is blossoming.

She is loving, and cares deeply about other people. She is funny, and loves to tell jokes and make funny faces. She plays with her brother really well, and she has overcome her fear of skiing and swimming.

My injury has forced her to grow up a bit faster, as she now has to help a lot more with chores, like dinner, laundry, cleaning up, etc. But she has done them without complaining for the most part, and I think this will help her develop a good work ethic young.

For her birthday, I got off work a bit early and took her to a cupcakery, where I was proud when she stopped eating her cupcake halfway because her tummy was full. We then picked up her grandparents from the airport, and had a family party for her that evening, complete with gifts and singing. The only downer was her 1.5 hour coughing fit, experienced right as I was about to paint her nails with some new nail polish she received as a gift. As the coughing fit started, somehow the cap came off the nail polish, and next thing I knew, we had purple nail polish on my leather recliner and on her new dress. Gah! Call the haz-mat team!

Anyway, her birthday party was this past Saturday at a pool. The kids stayed in the toddler pool for the most part, except when my brother took Little Miss and her cousins into the big pool and helped them go off the diving board. I still have delusions of getting her in swim team this summer, but she’s still far from being able to swim across the pool.

I can’t believe I have been a mother for five years. She has taught me how to love deeper than I’ve ever known, and forced me to grow in ways I could have never imagined. I love you, little girl. I look forward to many more birthdays with you.

Here is a picture of her with her cousin at the party (she’s the one with goggles on, because we are swimming nerds in our family.)

I was talking to my Mom yesterday, telling her how challenging it has been for me to keep Little Man out of mischief while I’m on crutches. We then started talking about the video that shows how Little Man gets really scared if you “roar” around him.

So Mom says, “what if you roared at him when he gets into mischief?”

I shared that thought with JB last night, and we shared a good laugh. I didn’t think anything of it until this morning, when I heard “clank, clank” as Little Man played with some bottles in the recycle bin. JB happened to be walking through the room, and next thing I know, I heard a deep, loud, “ROARRRRRRRRRR”. It sounded like a very angry Daddy bear!

Little Man stopped in his tracks, gave a little cry, and then moved on to something else.

I think Mom is onto something here, though I don’t know how long it will work!

Part of me was dreading this weekend. Being laid up, I shuddered to think of an entire weekend where I couldn’t take the kids anywhere or do the things we
love to do. So far, I’ve been pleasantly surprised.

The morning started with yet another cuddle session with Little Man, and some quiet time with the kids in the morning as JB caught up on sleep. He then got up and made us all pancakes, and then we all went to the park together.

Being at the park was a little frustrating, as I’m not normally a parent to just sit on a bench and watch. I like to get on the equipment, play with the kids, and run around with them. But today, I was on the bench. I think some other mothers thought I was nuts when I started doing tricep dips on the bench. But come on, I’m afraid my whole body is going to atrophy during this recovery process.

After lunch, we put Little Man to sleep in a pack-n-play in our bedroom (since I can’t get upstairs to his room) while JB went out skiing (and later mountain biking when the conditions sucked). While Little Man slept, my daughter and I read books on my brand new Kindle and watched our DVDs of Little House on the Prairie. First off — wow, the Kindle is amazing. It’s the perfect new gadget for someone stuck in a recliner most of the day! Secondly, a neighbor gave us the Little House on the Prairie box set (it was a cast off of theirs from a white elephant gift exachange), and I’ve truly enjoyed watching the series from the beginning and explaining the plot and what it was like living on the prairie a hundred years ago.

So now on to day two. Tomorrow, I’ll be flying solo with Little Man while JB takes my daughter to ski camp (sniff — that used to be my job!). I’m a bit nervous about watching him by myself in my gimpy state, but hopefully it goes smoothly. Unfortunately for me, it’s supposed to snow, so I guess I’ll be homebound. Crutches and snow just don’t mix.