"Oook. Ouch. Eeez."
I am sure the above means nothing to any of you. In fact, I am sure you are wondering how it was that I let the obvious misspellings go unnoticed by Blogger's spellcheck. However, the above is not a case of mistyping; it is, in fact, Connlaodh's latest move to communicating like a child and not like an infant.
For those of you who don't know, Connlaodh had tubes put it in his ears when he was 13 months old because he had been more or less deaf for the 8 months prior. His language acquisition has been terribly delayed because of this; he understands everything, but his speaking ability is hindered. He has made great gains over the last few months, but really, to everyone else, his words sound like grunts. To those of us who have been listening, though, the difference is there. Tonight's "Oook. Ouch. Eeez" was said through tears. He was bawling in my arms, pointing out the door. What could he possibly have been looking for?
"Oook" = book. Connlaodh has a few books that he will read endlessly now, and he was holding one of them in his arms...
"Ouch" = the couch, of course, as it is our favorite place to read!
"Eeez" = please!
He so badly wanted to stall bedtime by reading just one more book. And while it was incredibly sad to watch, it was such a relief to actually be able to understand what he wanted! Aaron read him a book (on his bed, not the couch, though), and little man was calmed and snuggled shortly thereafter.
Actions may speak LOUDER than words, but it is amazing how infrequently you need to be loud when you have the right words to use.
28 September 2008
21 September 2008
On the Eve of "Big Kid"-dom...
A few weeks ago I was talking to my dad about how amazed I was that Taidhgin was starting kindergarten this year..."Where has all the time gone? He is so old! It seems like only yesterday I was changing his diapers," I cried. My dad, who pulls no punches, turned around and said, "Yeah, someone just told me that MY baby would be turning 33 soon. How the hell did THAT happen?"
How the hell DOES that happen? Seriously, the idea of Taidhgin, Eibhlin, or Connlaodh turning ten makes my stomach churn- how does 33 happen to one's kids? Don't get me wrong, I want my children to grow up, become productive citizens and be happy adults, but isn't it supposed to take one year at a time? Why does the life of a child feel like dog years to their parents? I swear it has been a year since I brought him home but the loose tooth and fixation on Ben 10 and video games proves me wrong...
Tomorrow Taidhgin turns five. He was born on a Monday and tomorrow will be the first time since then that his birthday has fallen on a Monday Five years ago this moment we were packing up the dogs to bring them to the I-20 Medical Center since we were heading off to the hospital soon and didn't know when we would be back. I was wearing a pink sleeveless maternity shirt, black maternity yoga pants, and pink/ black/ white flip-flops. My hair was almost as short as it is now, I was very tan, I had just turned 28. Every detail is permanently etched into the ever so fragile gossamer of memory that I have left...from the way my rose of sharon's were in bloom to the music that was playing on the radio to the fact that I remember being on the phone with my cousin, tracking my contractions while she prattled on and one, dying to tell her what I was doing but not wanting to just in case it wasn't the real thing.
We waited until my contractions were "close"- they were right at about 5 minutes apart (and, as mothers of more than one know, five minutes apart is nothing with babies 2 and then some...hell, at five minutes apart with Eibhlin I was putting on make up and with Connlaodh I was still sleeping!) so I was anxious and nervous and fidgety and ready to go- and the excitement I felt as we headed up Matlock Road toward Arlington Memorial was overwhelming. What would this baby be like? Who would he look like? What color would his hair be? Would he like to read? Would he like broccoli? Would he play sports? Would he sing bass? Would he be tall or short? Would he be a scrawny little chicken or a big ol' moose? WHO would he be?
By 11:45 the next morning (given time for a weigh-in and a wipe down post delivery), we had a few of those questions answered. Taidhgin Dante Fitch Steele was just over 7 lbs, just over 20" long- no big winner there...and not much has changed- ha ha. He had dark hair then, light hair now. He does like broccoli. He probably will not sing bass- tenor, if anyone will take him in their choir, that is. He will probably play a sport that doesn't involve a team effort, though more than likely he will play on the chess team instead of the soccer team. He likes to read as long as he can take a break after a page or two. After just short of five years, as you can see, we have managed to answer most of our initial questions. That last one, the all important one, remains to be seen....and, if I am lucky, I will be around long enough to see him come closer and closer to the real truth of who he is.
We celebrated Taidhgin's fifth birthday today at the Y with a great group of 20+ kids and a handful of adults. The pool at the Y was a hit among all age groups and the kids just had a great time hanging out with each other. Other than one lone whine about an "unshared" pair of goggles, there was nary a complaint from the under 10 or over 20 crowd (the ones in the middle are at that age where they will whine about anything, so I ignored them altogether).
There are lots of pics of the party on our Kodak site (check out the link on the left), but I will post some here, as well...only after I once again use this forum to reflect on just how much we need to appreciate what we are given in our children.
I began by talking about five years ago, let me end by talking about today. Today I watched one of Taidhgin's best friends lose his first tooth. I know, I know...you are saying, "So what? Every kid loses their teeth?" But I am retarded and thought it so poignant that I got all emotional and acted like an idiot. Why oh why would the sight of a space where a tooth once stood set me off? Because I can remember losing my own teeth, and in my head I was so old- such a BIG kid- and while I know that I am not every person now, surely in that sense back then I was every child. And if my baby loses his tooth, does not a part of his innocence and childhood fall out with it? With every millimeter that new adult tooth creeps upward, isn't it also my son creeping that much closer to being an adult? So maybe my reaction to poor Quincy's tooth loss was less a mourning for the tooth (and Quincy's obvious discomfort with the subsequent hole in his gum) and more a mourning of the hole that will one day be in his mother's heart, the day Quincy walks out the door, bags in hand, and sets off to be who HE is. Far-fetched, perhaps, but if you have read this far in and have read even one other post, then you probably already assumed I would make a leap such as this one. But I digress...my point is that maybe this means that we as parents should stop thinking about that future for our own child- who he/she WILL be- and start spending that much more time on who he/she IS now. And maybe that means that when Taidhgin's front tooth (oh, yes- the one that is wiggling as we speak) makes its journey out of his mouth and into his tooth pillow, I will place a quarter in the pocket of the pillow, remove the tooth,wipe a tear from my eye, and remember that he still has 19 of those suckers yet to come out before he can call himself grown.
************************************************************************************
Now for a couple of pics...feel free to hit up our Kodak site to check out the other ones from today and the rest from yesterday, too!
Sorry. No words for this one. :-)
What kind of a wish does a 5 year old make?
The Highpointe Boys.
How the hell DOES that happen? Seriously, the idea of Taidhgin, Eibhlin, or Connlaodh turning ten makes my stomach churn- how does 33 happen to one's kids? Don't get me wrong, I want my children to grow up, become productive citizens and be happy adults, but isn't it supposed to take one year at a time? Why does the life of a child feel like dog years to their parents? I swear it has been a year since I brought him home but the loose tooth and fixation on Ben 10 and video games proves me wrong...
Tomorrow Taidhgin turns five. He was born on a Monday and tomorrow will be the first time since then that his birthday has fallen on a Monday Five years ago this moment we were packing up the dogs to bring them to the I-20 Medical Center since we were heading off to the hospital soon and didn't know when we would be back. I was wearing a pink sleeveless maternity shirt, black maternity yoga pants, and pink/ black/ white flip-flops. My hair was almost as short as it is now, I was very tan, I had just turned 28. Every detail is permanently etched into the ever so fragile gossamer of memory that I have left...from the way my rose of sharon's were in bloom to the music that was playing on the radio to the fact that I remember being on the phone with my cousin, tracking my contractions while she prattled on and one, dying to tell her what I was doing but not wanting to just in case it wasn't the real thing.
We waited until my contractions were "close"- they were right at about 5 minutes apart (and, as mothers of more than one know, five minutes apart is nothing with babies 2 and then some...hell, at five minutes apart with Eibhlin I was putting on make up and with Connlaodh I was still sleeping!) so I was anxious and nervous and fidgety and ready to go- and the excitement I felt as we headed up Matlock Road toward Arlington Memorial was overwhelming. What would this baby be like? Who would he look like? What color would his hair be? Would he like to read? Would he like broccoli? Would he play sports? Would he sing bass? Would he be tall or short? Would he be a scrawny little chicken or a big ol' moose? WHO would he be?
By 11:45 the next morning (given time for a weigh-in and a wipe down post delivery), we had a few of those questions answered. Taidhgin Dante Fitch Steele was just over 7 lbs, just over 20" long- no big winner there...and not much has changed- ha ha. He had dark hair then, light hair now. He does like broccoli. He probably will not sing bass- tenor, if anyone will take him in their choir, that is. He will probably play a sport that doesn't involve a team effort, though more than likely he will play on the chess team instead of the soccer team. He likes to read as long as he can take a break after a page or two. After just short of five years, as you can see, we have managed to answer most of our initial questions. That last one, the all important one, remains to be seen....and, if I am lucky, I will be around long enough to see him come closer and closer to the real truth of who he is.
We celebrated Taidhgin's fifth birthday today at the Y with a great group of 20+ kids and a handful of adults. The pool at the Y was a hit among all age groups and the kids just had a great time hanging out with each other. Other than one lone whine about an "unshared" pair of goggles, there was nary a complaint from the under 10 or over 20 crowd (the ones in the middle are at that age where they will whine about anything, so I ignored them altogether).
There are lots of pics of the party on our Kodak site (check out the link on the left), but I will post some here, as well...only after I once again use this forum to reflect on just how much we need to appreciate what we are given in our children.
I began by talking about five years ago, let me end by talking about today. Today I watched one of Taidhgin's best friends lose his first tooth. I know, I know...you are saying, "So what? Every kid loses their teeth?" But I am retarded and thought it so poignant that I got all emotional and acted like an idiot. Why oh why would the sight of a space where a tooth once stood set me off? Because I can remember losing my own teeth, and in my head I was so old- such a BIG kid- and while I know that I am not every person now, surely in that sense back then I was every child. And if my baby loses his tooth, does not a part of his innocence and childhood fall out with it? With every millimeter that new adult tooth creeps upward, isn't it also my son creeping that much closer to being an adult? So maybe my reaction to poor Quincy's tooth loss was less a mourning for the tooth (and Quincy's obvious discomfort with the subsequent hole in his gum) and more a mourning of the hole that will one day be in his mother's heart, the day Quincy walks out the door, bags in hand, and sets off to be who HE is. Far-fetched, perhaps, but if you have read this far in and have read even one other post, then you probably already assumed I would make a leap such as this one. But I digress...my point is that maybe this means that we as parents should stop thinking about that future for our own child- who he/she WILL be- and start spending that much more time on who he/she IS now. And maybe that means that when Taidhgin's front tooth (oh, yes- the one that is wiggling as we speak) makes its journey out of his mouth and into his tooth pillow, I will place a quarter in the pocket of the pillow, remove the tooth,wipe a tear from my eye, and remember that he still has 19 of those suckers yet to come out before he can call himself grown.
************************************************************************************
Now for a couple of pics...feel free to hit up our Kodak site to check out the other ones from today and the rest from yesterday, too!
Sorry. No words for this one. :-)
What kind of a wish does a 5 year old make?
The Highpointe Boys.
14 September 2008
Babysitting and Fishing
Before I go into the lesson of the day- ha ha- let me just brag on baby boy for a bit. My little "Re Re" (if you don't know what this means, please don't ask- it is just too mean to share) has been mumbling his way through life for 20 months now. The poor kid couldn't hear for more than half of the first year of his life, so his ability to gauge sound is definitely developmentally behind. However, in the last two weeks his vocabulary has exploded, as has his ability to enunciate and speak clear enough for even a stranger to be able to make out what he is saying. Don't get me wrong, we're not talking sentences here, but he has absolutely surpassed "Re Re" in terms of language, is well on his way past "Mushmouth", and is creeping up to being on target for his age. Go, Connlaodh!
Lessons of the day...
As always, I am amazed both by my children in and of themselves and also by just how much of the world they allow me to see through their eyes and actions. Just when I feel myself safely cocooned inside my bubble of automaton adulthood, one of them does something so mundane, so trivial, yet so new when done by them that I am given cause to pause, review, and either shudder because they have hit so close to a sad or bitter truth or laugh because their actions are so clean and so innocent, and so FULL of truth.
Today we were at the Museum of Nature and Science in Dallas (by the way, for you Fort Worth snobs out there- the Fair Park complex blows Fort Worth away...as much as I love Cowtown - and you know I do- I just don't get the need to blow off South Dallas in favor of the Stockyards and cobblestone streets...anyway...). Damn, again I digress. Have I mentioned yet that I have this terrible habit of starting three conversations at once and never finishing any of them? As always, I blame the children. Okay, where was I....? Oh, yes. The Museum in Fair Park.
So we ramble through the exhibits upstairs, unearthing fossils and making giant bubbles, and finally reach the stairs to head down to the Children's Museum (which is, in fact, the entire bottom floor of the Museum of Nature and Science)...this is always the highlight of the trip, as the Children's Museum has everything from fire trucks to farms to baby dolls to bugs- fun for the whole family! We spent several hours down there, playing in the water, climbing the rock wall, etc. Anyway, Eibhlin and I spent some time with the baby dolls in the house area- we fed them, patted them, swaddled them, and had a grand ole time reliving the last five years of my life- ha ha. I decided to put my "baby" down and head on into the next room- the living room- for a few minutes of "me" time, complete with little plastic couch and little board books. We're talking serious R & R. Eibhlin said she would follow soon, so I went into the next room and sat down.
I was there, alone, for quite some time. I peeked through the "window" between rooms and could see Eibhlin- she was sitting on the floor. Now, I want you to visualize the scene as I saw it. Eibhlin was on the floor, in front of a cradle, sitting with her legs up to her chest and with her left arm resting on her knees. Her right arm was off to the side and behind her, her right hand inside the cradle, patting the "baby" inside. She was not looking at the baby or at me; Eibhlin was staring at the ceiling, quietly singing a lullaby.
I said, "Eibhlin, are you okay?"
She sighed and shushed me, "Shh, she is not asleep yet. I will be in there when she's asleep, okay?"
I, being the moron that I am asked, "WHO is not asleep?" Really, could I be any dumber? Duhh...
"The BABY is still awake and if I leave she will cry. I need to pat her. SHHHH," and Eibhlin turned her eyes back to the ceiling and continued to sing.
Now this was not a little girl playing "dolls", nor was this a little girl playing "Mommy". What I saw, sitting on that floor, was me and every other woman who has ever been exasperated by a baby who would not settle down. I saw me at 2 am with Eibhlin as an infant, when she was screaming bloody murder until she would pass out...I saw my sister-in-law and brother passing off their squeaky three month old when she wouldn't stop squealing unless she was moving...I saw woman after woman do what they needed to, and often unconsciously, in order to make sure their baby was tended to, no matter how hard it was. I saw my little girl as a mother, in those few moments, and realized (yet again) that the teacher in her life who will have the most impact on who she becomes is the one with whom she spends the most time, sees in context the most often. And again, I have been reminded that no matter what I feel, how tired I am, how frustrated I may be, no matter how much I have to do, etc., etc., she is dependent upon me- us- to show her what is right and what is wrong. In a very weird way I was proud of what I saw today, because though it reminded me of those moments of sheer exhaustion that I am not exactly sad to never relive, I saw in her the persistence and love necessary as a mother to make it through those moments well enough to be able to do them all over again and again.
(A few hours later)
The kids napped for a while after the Museum and finally woke up in time for dinner. Taidhgin was so upset when he woke up because we had decided to go fishing before dinner, and here it was dinner time and we wouldn't be able to go. He was so upset, in fact, that I broke down and told him we could go for just a little bit right AFTER dinner. So that is what we did...
We packed up the rod and tackle box, hopped in the truck, and headed down to the duck pond. Eibhlin came along for the ride and the three of us were ready and raring to go. Personally, I was absolutely terrified of actually catching something- I had no wire cutter, no pliers, no gloves- just me, two kids, and some power bait. Some of you are laughing, I am sure, about how I don't actually need those other items. However, I have serious issues with fish hook removal (and holding a fish without a glove) courtesy of the sunny who cut up the inside of my dad's hand one day when I was barely 8 or 9. So I have this deep and grave concern over little tiny fish causing me to gush rivers of blood- you will just have to forgive my one terribly silly fear. If I have gloves, I am golden. Without, I can only hope that there is nothing in that pond besides turtles and algae. Moving on...
So, the duck pond isn't exactly known for its huge fish population and I felt fairly certain that I wouldn't have to worry until this man tells us that he just let go a 7" fish and there were at least 10 more in the water below when he dropped in back in. Damn it! I congratulated him, bit my cheek, and put some bait on the line...
There really was no need to worry, as I was soon to find out, because neither kid had any interest in letting the bait sit still long enough to land anything at all. They were all about watching the bobber get dragged from one end to the other and then reeling it in as fast as their little hands could handle. I breathed a sigh of relief and opted to spend our time there teaching them how to cast as opposed to how to de-hook. Ha ha.
Let me tell you how I now see why my dad DID drag us out to catch those dumb ass sunnies. I never understood how a man who fished the ocean, fished in Alaska, etc. could possibly find fishing for sunnies in a little watering hole a worthwhile way to spend a few hours. I truly understand now...wow...my son is incredible. After a few demonstrations and a couple of guided releases, he nailed it. He could get that bait out damn near to the center of the pond without much effort at all. He would press the release button with his right thumb, grab the pole from under with the rest of his right hand, grasp the end of the pole with his left hand for leverage, swing back slow and steady, and then cast his line like he had been doing it his whole life. It was fantastic! He had control, he was steady, he was responsible and checked to make sure there was no one behind him, and he was focused. He did such a beautiful job casting, checking for slack, pulling up on the line, etc., that we are heading back on Wednesday--- and this time I am bringing my gloves.
Lessons of the day...
As always, I am amazed both by my children in and of themselves and also by just how much of the world they allow me to see through their eyes and actions. Just when I feel myself safely cocooned inside my bubble of automaton adulthood, one of them does something so mundane, so trivial, yet so new when done by them that I am given cause to pause, review, and either shudder because they have hit so close to a sad or bitter truth or laugh because their actions are so clean and so innocent, and so FULL of truth.
Today we were at the Museum of Nature and Science in Dallas (by the way, for you Fort Worth snobs out there- the Fair Park complex blows Fort Worth away...as much as I love Cowtown - and you know I do- I just don't get the need to blow off South Dallas in favor of the Stockyards and cobblestone streets...anyway...). Damn, again I digress. Have I mentioned yet that I have this terrible habit of starting three conversations at once and never finishing any of them? As always, I blame the children. Okay, where was I....? Oh, yes. The Museum in Fair Park.
So we ramble through the exhibits upstairs, unearthing fossils and making giant bubbles, and finally reach the stairs to head down to the Children's Museum (which is, in fact, the entire bottom floor of the Museum of Nature and Science)...this is always the highlight of the trip, as the Children's Museum has everything from fire trucks to farms to baby dolls to bugs- fun for the whole family! We spent several hours down there, playing in the water, climbing the rock wall, etc. Anyway, Eibhlin and I spent some time with the baby dolls in the house area- we fed them, patted them, swaddled them, and had a grand ole time reliving the last five years of my life- ha ha. I decided to put my "baby" down and head on into the next room- the living room- for a few minutes of "me" time, complete with little plastic couch and little board books. We're talking serious R & R. Eibhlin said she would follow soon, so I went into the next room and sat down.
I was there, alone, for quite some time. I peeked through the "window" between rooms and could see Eibhlin- she was sitting on the floor. Now, I want you to visualize the scene as I saw it. Eibhlin was on the floor, in front of a cradle, sitting with her legs up to her chest and with her left arm resting on her knees. Her right arm was off to the side and behind her, her right hand inside the cradle, patting the "baby" inside. She was not looking at the baby or at me; Eibhlin was staring at the ceiling, quietly singing a lullaby.
I said, "Eibhlin, are you okay?"
She sighed and shushed me, "Shh, she is not asleep yet. I will be in there when she's asleep, okay?"
I, being the moron that I am asked, "WHO is not asleep?" Really, could I be any dumber? Duhh...
"The BABY is still awake and if I leave she will cry. I need to pat her. SHHHH," and Eibhlin turned her eyes back to the ceiling and continued to sing.
Now this was not a little girl playing "dolls", nor was this a little girl playing "Mommy". What I saw, sitting on that floor, was me and every other woman who has ever been exasperated by a baby who would not settle down. I saw me at 2 am with Eibhlin as an infant, when she was screaming bloody murder until she would pass out...I saw my sister-in-law and brother passing off their squeaky three month old when she wouldn't stop squealing unless she was moving...I saw woman after woman do what they needed to, and often unconsciously, in order to make sure their baby was tended to, no matter how hard it was. I saw my little girl as a mother, in those few moments, and realized (yet again) that the teacher in her life who will have the most impact on who she becomes is the one with whom she spends the most time, sees in context the most often. And again, I have been reminded that no matter what I feel, how tired I am, how frustrated I may be, no matter how much I have to do, etc., etc., she is dependent upon me- us- to show her what is right and what is wrong. In a very weird way I was proud of what I saw today, because though it reminded me of those moments of sheer exhaustion that I am not exactly sad to never relive, I saw in her the persistence and love necessary as a mother to make it through those moments well enough to be able to do them all over again and again.
(A few hours later)
The kids napped for a while after the Museum and finally woke up in time for dinner. Taidhgin was so upset when he woke up because we had decided to go fishing before dinner, and here it was dinner time and we wouldn't be able to go. He was so upset, in fact, that I broke down and told him we could go for just a little bit right AFTER dinner. So that is what we did...
We packed up the rod and tackle box, hopped in the truck, and headed down to the duck pond. Eibhlin came along for the ride and the three of us were ready and raring to go. Personally, I was absolutely terrified of actually catching something- I had no wire cutter, no pliers, no gloves- just me, two kids, and some power bait. Some of you are laughing, I am sure, about how I don't actually need those other items. However, I have serious issues with fish hook removal (and holding a fish without a glove) courtesy of the sunny who cut up the inside of my dad's hand one day when I was barely 8 or 9. So I have this deep and grave concern over little tiny fish causing me to gush rivers of blood- you will just have to forgive my one terribly silly fear. If I have gloves, I am golden. Without, I can only hope that there is nothing in that pond besides turtles and algae. Moving on...
So, the duck pond isn't exactly known for its huge fish population and I felt fairly certain that I wouldn't have to worry until this man tells us that he just let go a 7" fish and there were at least 10 more in the water below when he dropped in back in. Damn it! I congratulated him, bit my cheek, and put some bait on the line...
There really was no need to worry, as I was soon to find out, because neither kid had any interest in letting the bait sit still long enough to land anything at all. They were all about watching the bobber get dragged from one end to the other and then reeling it in as fast as their little hands could handle. I breathed a sigh of relief and opted to spend our time there teaching them how to cast as opposed to how to de-hook. Ha ha.
Let me tell you how I now see why my dad DID drag us out to catch those dumb ass sunnies. I never understood how a man who fished the ocean, fished in Alaska, etc. could possibly find fishing for sunnies in a little watering hole a worthwhile way to spend a few hours. I truly understand now...wow...my son is incredible. After a few demonstrations and a couple of guided releases, he nailed it. He could get that bait out damn near to the center of the pond without much effort at all. He would press the release button with his right thumb, grab the pole from under with the rest of his right hand, grasp the end of the pole with his left hand for leverage, swing back slow and steady, and then cast his line like he had been doing it his whole life. It was fantastic! He had control, he was steady, he was responsible and checked to make sure there was no one behind him, and he was focused. He did such a beautiful job casting, checking for slack, pulling up on the line, etc., that we are heading back on Wednesday--- and this time I am bringing my gloves.
07 September 2008
I Am SO Not Your Friend Anymore!
It is 8:19 and we have finished putting the kids to bed (Connlaodh had to be put to bed twice- ha ha). I am sitting in the loft, right outside the kids' rooms, listening to Angry Eibhlin tell me how much she doesn't like me ... and, for now, I am laughing my ass off.
Eibhlin did NOT want to go to bed. She must have told me 100 times between 7:50 and 8 o'clock that she had no intention of going to bed.
"Mommy, I do not want to go to bed now."
"I do not need to go to bed right now, Mom."
"Mimi, noooo, please don't make me go to bed."
Despite her nearly-convincing arguments, I persisted and, finally, put her to bed.
For fifteen solid minutes after I shut her door, this is what I heard...(as you read this, imagine a high pitched shriek, my guess would be similar to a Siren...and be sure to emphasize the words in all caps with an increase in level of at least 100 decibels):
"You are NOT my friend anymore."
"YOU are not my friend anymore."
"I am GLAD you are NOT my friend."
"I am SO not YOUR friend anymore."
"I do not want YOU to be my friend."
"I don't like you; you are not my FRIEND."
(sound of jumping on the bed)
"YOU are not my FRIIIIIIEEEEENNNND."
(sound of stuffed animals being thrown at the fan)
"I do not LIIIIIIKE YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUU."
"I am NOT your friend."
So, why am I laughing my ass off? Because while I am sure this will not be the only time I hear this sentiment from my daughter's lips, I am fairly certain it will be one of the only times in which I will be more likely to get a hug and a kiss from her if I went in right now than I would get a smack in the head. My guess is that shift will take place in a little less than 10 years. So, for now, I am laughing because it really is funny. I wouldn't let her see me laughing- I am not that cold- but I can't help but slap my hand over my mouth to stifle a guffaw every time I hear a new variation of the same theme.
Okay, and now 24 minutes after bedtime, she is simply screaming in 1 minute intervals.
Damn...if this is the reaction I get over bedtime, what in the world will I get when I tell her she can't have a boyfriend or wear make up until she is 20. Ha ha.
( a few moments later)
So I broke down and went in and informed her very politely of the fact that she was keeping her brothers awake and that she needed to stop screaming...
Okay, so what really came out of my mouth was something along the lines of, "You need to stop this now otherwise you will be given something to scream about. Get a book, get a doll, get a pillow, whatever it takes, but stop screaming now or else there will be consequences."
She asked for a book. And I got my hug and kiss without even having to ask. All is well. And, wait....yes, I hear it--- silence from the pink and yellow room down the hall.
Good night!
Eibhlin did NOT want to go to bed. She must have told me 100 times between 7:50 and 8 o'clock that she had no intention of going to bed.
"Mommy, I do not want to go to bed now."
"I do not need to go to bed right now, Mom."
"Mimi, noooo, please don't make me go to bed."
Despite her nearly-convincing arguments, I persisted and, finally, put her to bed.
For fifteen solid minutes after I shut her door, this is what I heard...(as you read this, imagine a high pitched shriek, my guess would be similar to a Siren...and be sure to emphasize the words in all caps with an increase in level of at least 100 decibels):
"You are NOT my friend anymore."
"YOU are not my friend anymore."
"I am GLAD you are NOT my friend."
"I am SO not YOUR friend anymore."
"I do not want YOU to be my friend."
"I don't like you; you are not my FRIEND."
(sound of jumping on the bed)
"YOU are not my FRIIIIIIEEEEENNNND."
(sound of stuffed animals being thrown at the fan)
"I do not LIIIIIIKE YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUU."
"I am NOT your friend."
So, why am I laughing my ass off? Because while I am sure this will not be the only time I hear this sentiment from my daughter's lips, I am fairly certain it will be one of the only times in which I will be more likely to get a hug and a kiss from her if I went in right now than I would get a smack in the head. My guess is that shift will take place in a little less than 10 years. So, for now, I am laughing because it really is funny. I wouldn't let her see me laughing- I am not that cold- but I can't help but slap my hand over my mouth to stifle a guffaw every time I hear a new variation of the same theme.
Okay, and now 24 minutes after bedtime, she is simply screaming in 1 minute intervals.
Damn...if this is the reaction I get over bedtime, what in the world will I get when I tell her she can't have a boyfriend or wear make up until she is 20. Ha ha.
( a few moments later)
So I broke down and went in and informed her very politely of the fact that she was keeping her brothers awake and that she needed to stop screaming...
Okay, so what really came out of my mouth was something along the lines of, "You need to stop this now otherwise you will be given something to scream about. Get a book, get a doll, get a pillow, whatever it takes, but stop screaming now or else there will be consequences."
She asked for a book. And I got my hug and kiss without even having to ask. All is well. And, wait....yes, I hear it--- silence from the pink and yellow room down the hall.
Good night!
03 September 2008
Wow. I am so LAZY.
Seems like my last post was only yesterday....though I guess it is closer to 24 yesterdays. What in the world sucks up my time like a Bounty? Hmmm...
Could it be working with adolescent students who are needier and more enabled than any child in any of my own children's classes? Nah.
Could it be running from work to tennis to home for dinner to the grocery store to baths and bedtime stories? Nah.
Could it be checking and rechecking and re-rechecking fares to NY in Oct, NY and MA in Mar, HI in July? Nah....ok, that's a lie. A lot of my time DOES go to that. I really should have been a travel agent; nothing gets me going more than a good deal on a flight that is non-stop and on the days I need!
What it boils down to is that 24 hours in a day and 7 days in a week is nowhere near enough time to live my life, love my family, and share with you the highlights. Unfortunately, I only have time for two of the three (if that), so you, dear reader, will always get the short end of that stick. However, it is after 10 pm, I am the only one awake, and I have had at least one glass of wine - i.e. I am in perfect form to reflect and regale.
Taidhgin--- started kindergarten on 25 Aug. He is officially a big kid now. There is homework and classwork and sight-word tests starting next week and an actual 3 ring binder filled (already!) with things to sign, papers that have been graded, and forms to fill out. What is more amazing than anything to me is that the start of kindergarten seems to have triggered in him this jump from baby to boy. He rolls his eyes, knows how to be a smartass (okay, so given his DNA perhaps this part isn't so shocking), and has begun to favor his friends over me. WTF is up with that, by the way!? Seriously, though, I sit back and watch the new Taidhgin with awe- he has a sense of humor, an overabundant sense of compassion and concern, a love of jokes and sarcasm, and more confidence than I ever remember having. His drawing...wow. He used to draw oval-shaped "circles" that were people without eyes...now he draws pirate ships with masts and cannons. He asks what words mean if he doesn't understand them and then he uses them in conversations later on that day/week. He desperately wants to tie his shoes and gets so frustrated when his fingers don't work the way he wants them to. He is so excited about trying to ride his bike without training wheels, but has decided he won't be ready to make the attempt until he is 5. HE JUST ASKED FOR A NINTENDO DS FOR HIS BIRTHDAY!?! My bug-boy is gone and left in his wake is the beginnings of the young man who will crush my heart by dating some girl who I hate and then will fix it by reminding me that I will always be his M O M (with a heart next to it for love).
Eibhlin--- my bestest gal is now in Pre-K. She is in the Turtles class and, according to her teacher, is about the most polite and helpful child ever to have gone through Highpointe. Come again? She is so damn intuitive and smart and manipulative. *Sigh* Everything I could have ever asked for in a daughter! :-) What comes out of her mouth sometimes is so insightful...for example, on our last day in San Antonio, Meema was saying how much "(she) loved spending time with (Eibhlin), Taidhgin, Connlaodh, your mom and dad..." What was Eibhlin's response? "What about Gramps?" Ha ha, especially if you know my folks *wink wink*. She has mastered the art of getting what she wants by "trading" to someone else something that she claims is better. She directs the events of the day..."First, Mom, we are going to the zoo, okay? And then, maybe, if we're good, we can go and get a treat at Target. And then, can we have salad for dinner? That sounds like a great idea, doesn't it? Then we can do a puzzle and read and watch TV. Okay? Okay, Mom?" And imagine all of this said with her three year old hands placed on her mini-teen hips with her sun-streaked hair swinging as she nods her head in exaggerated approval. How could one do anything other than what she suggests? It is hard to argue with the logic of one who includes a behavior clause in her agenda. It amazes me that she is so grown up inside that 38" body. And it blows my mind that she is no longer the colicky newborn of my nightmares and instead is the preschooler of my dreams.
Connlaodh--- Mongo began the summer with a vocabulary made up mainly of grunts and screams and has ended it with a number of words that can actually be understood by strangers. Every day I look at him and realize that he is no longer a baby- while not a preschooler, barely even a toddler, really, he is truly NOT a baby. He thinks, he decides, he teases, he plays games, he gets mad, he gets sad, he fakes tears for effect- he does all of these things that a baby can't do and yet I have such a hard time accepting it. Why? Because for as much as I am anxious to embark on a new era in our lives, it hurts to hear the squeak of the hinge of the door that is quickly slamming shut behind us. Connlaodh was our last doorstop, if you will; he was my last tie to the world of stretch marks and preggo pops, of new life to come, of teeny tiny diapers and bottles and highchairs. And yet, for as much as it hurts to let go of that world, I look at the little boy I have now and couldn't imagine reliving it. Who he is, this not-quite-2-year-old, more than makes up for the little loss I feel. He is 100% CHILD- fun loving and active. He is 100% SIBLING- he follows his brother and sister and desperately wants them in his life. He is 100% INVOLVED- he participates in every aspect of the world that is shown to him. He is 100% BULL IN CHINA SHOP- he breaks nearly everything. He is 100% MINE...and I couldn't ask for anything other than that. I melt with each sloppy kiss and every time he says "Tarry (sorry)" and hugs my neck I forget about the breakfast he threw on the floor and the water bowl he spilled....
Okay, so maybe I don't forget about them altogether, but I do find them easier to forgive :-).
I wish I had the wherewithal to remember the "moments" of each day of the last month...hell, of the last five years. I am going to make a concerted effort from now on to make this more of a slice of life page as opposed to a lexical collage of random thought. I am sure to bore you either way, but at least I can pretend to be more entertaining if I am more anecdote and less soapbox.
Bear in mind that I make no guarantees as to the success of this new drive; I promised myself I would do laundry every weekend, too, but I am fairly sure that at least two people in the family have recently run out of clean underwear. And on that note, it is way past my bedtime and the hours between now and my morning alarm are growing shorter and thinner with each passing moment. Good night, friends.
Could it be working with adolescent students who are needier and more enabled than any child in any of my own children's classes? Nah.
Could it be running from work to tennis to home for dinner to the grocery store to baths and bedtime stories? Nah.
Could it be checking and rechecking and re-rechecking fares to NY in Oct, NY and MA in Mar, HI in July? Nah....ok, that's a lie. A lot of my time DOES go to that. I really should have been a travel agent; nothing gets me going more than a good deal on a flight that is non-stop and on the days I need!
What it boils down to is that 24 hours in a day and 7 days in a week is nowhere near enough time to live my life, love my family, and share with you the highlights. Unfortunately, I only have time for two of the three (if that), so you, dear reader, will always get the short end of that stick. However, it is after 10 pm, I am the only one awake, and I have had at least one glass of wine - i.e. I am in perfect form to reflect and regale.
Taidhgin--- started kindergarten on 25 Aug. He is officially a big kid now. There is homework and classwork and sight-word tests starting next week and an actual 3 ring binder filled (already!) with things to sign, papers that have been graded, and forms to fill out. What is more amazing than anything to me is that the start of kindergarten seems to have triggered in him this jump from baby to boy. He rolls his eyes, knows how to be a smartass (okay, so given his DNA perhaps this part isn't so shocking), and has begun to favor his friends over me. WTF is up with that, by the way!? Seriously, though, I sit back and watch the new Taidhgin with awe- he has a sense of humor, an overabundant sense of compassion and concern, a love of jokes and sarcasm, and more confidence than I ever remember having. His drawing...wow. He used to draw oval-shaped "circles" that were people without eyes...now he draws pirate ships with masts and cannons. He asks what words mean if he doesn't understand them and then he uses them in conversations later on that day/week. He desperately wants to tie his shoes and gets so frustrated when his fingers don't work the way he wants them to. He is so excited about trying to ride his bike without training wheels, but has decided he won't be ready to make the attempt until he is 5. HE JUST ASKED FOR A NINTENDO DS FOR HIS BIRTHDAY!?! My bug-boy is gone and left in his wake is the beginnings of the young man who will crush my heart by dating some girl who I hate and then will fix it by reminding me that I will always be his M O M (with a heart next to it for love).
Eibhlin--- my bestest gal is now in Pre-K. She is in the Turtles class and, according to her teacher, is about the most polite and helpful child ever to have gone through Highpointe. Come again? She is so damn intuitive and smart and manipulative. *Sigh* Everything I could have ever asked for in a daughter! :-) What comes out of her mouth sometimes is so insightful...for example, on our last day in San Antonio, Meema was saying how much "(she) loved spending time with (Eibhlin), Taidhgin, Connlaodh, your mom and dad..." What was Eibhlin's response? "What about Gramps?" Ha ha, especially if you know my folks *wink wink*. She has mastered the art of getting what she wants by "trading" to someone else something that she claims is better. She directs the events of the day..."First, Mom, we are going to the zoo, okay? And then, maybe, if we're good, we can go and get a treat at Target. And then, can we have salad for dinner? That sounds like a great idea, doesn't it? Then we can do a puzzle and read and watch TV. Okay? Okay, Mom?" And imagine all of this said with her three year old hands placed on her mini-teen hips with her sun-streaked hair swinging as she nods her head in exaggerated approval. How could one do anything other than what she suggests? It is hard to argue with the logic of one who includes a behavior clause in her agenda. It amazes me that she is so grown up inside that 38" body. And it blows my mind that she is no longer the colicky newborn of my nightmares and instead is the preschooler of my dreams.
Connlaodh--- Mongo began the summer with a vocabulary made up mainly of grunts and screams and has ended it with a number of words that can actually be understood by strangers. Every day I look at him and realize that he is no longer a baby- while not a preschooler, barely even a toddler, really, he is truly NOT a baby. He thinks, he decides, he teases, he plays games, he gets mad, he gets sad, he fakes tears for effect- he does all of these things that a baby can't do and yet I have such a hard time accepting it. Why? Because for as much as I am anxious to embark on a new era in our lives, it hurts to hear the squeak of the hinge of the door that is quickly slamming shut behind us. Connlaodh was our last doorstop, if you will; he was my last tie to the world of stretch marks and preggo pops, of new life to come, of teeny tiny diapers and bottles and highchairs. And yet, for as much as it hurts to let go of that world, I look at the little boy I have now and couldn't imagine reliving it. Who he is, this not-quite-2-year-old, more than makes up for the little loss I feel. He is 100% CHILD- fun loving and active. He is 100% SIBLING- he follows his brother and sister and desperately wants them in his life. He is 100% INVOLVED- he participates in every aspect of the world that is shown to him. He is 100% BULL IN CHINA SHOP- he breaks nearly everything. He is 100% MINE...and I couldn't ask for anything other than that. I melt with each sloppy kiss and every time he says "Tarry (sorry)" and hugs my neck I forget about the breakfast he threw on the floor and the water bowl he spilled....
Okay, so maybe I don't forget about them altogether, but I do find them easier to forgive :-).
I wish I had the wherewithal to remember the "moments" of each day of the last month...hell, of the last five years. I am going to make a concerted effort from now on to make this more of a slice of life page as opposed to a lexical collage of random thought. I am sure to bore you either way, but at least I can pretend to be more entertaining if I am more anecdote and less soapbox.
Bear in mind that I make no guarantees as to the success of this new drive; I promised myself I would do laundry every weekend, too, but I am fairly sure that at least two people in the family have recently run out of clean underwear. And on that note, it is way past my bedtime and the hours between now and my morning alarm are growing shorter and thinner with each passing moment. Good night, friends.
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