Today is my beloved's birthday.
And, sadly, he's sick. I'm already on notice that he's planning to be extra pitiful about the illness since it's interfering with his enjoyment of his birthday. Makes all kinds of sense to me because, in our family, your birthday is basically your day off. You get to pick what we eat, what we do, what you want to do or not do, etc. He's getting a little gypped on the tradition, so he gets to milk the day for other perks. Bring it on, Honey.
I have a gift in the back of the car that I'm not at all sure will scratch the itch of a man who really only wants cattle, land, and peace and quiet (namely, the demise of the neighbors' yippy dogs), but I hope he likes it. Bryn painted him a picture yesterday (in his presence) and then wanted to hide it until today since it was a surprise for him.
So, Beau, Happy Birthday! I'm so glad that you were born, and I thank God that He saw fit for our paths to cross 16 years ago. (Thanks for helping, Wendy). I love everything about you...even that you get extra pitiful when you're sick. Our lives are enriched daily because you're here.
I love you.
(A Happy Birthday shout-out to GG and Grandpa, too, for having Beau.)
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Lessons of the Night
Bryn is prone to the dramatic. I'm not sure that phrase quite captures the extent of it, but the girl can work up some serious tears at will and just wail at the smallest, and sometimes, strangest things.
This characteristic shows up other times, but it is most striking at bedtime. Last weekend, for instance, she had the kind of meltdown that made me just look at her in amazement because a) I couldn't understand her words very well to decipher what she was sad about, b) the offense changed periodically during her attempts to explain what went wrong, c) there was absolutely no obvious trigger to the meltdown, and d) there was apparently nothing I could do to head it off. All I could muster was, "Wow, Bryn. I don't know what's going on here." The reason ranged from where I put the second bedtime book (which she only noticed after the first one was finished..."But I wanted to HOLD i-i-i-i-t!") to the fact that she wanted to turn the pages ("No, Mommy! Don't finish/start reading until I get my finger on the corner!") to her grave concern that she didn't know how to fall asleep. That was my favorite--and it was accompanied with a confession.
Bryn: "But I don't know HOW to fall asleep!"
Mom: "Honey, your body is very tired. I'm sure that if you lie very still and close your eyes, that your body will know how to fall asleep."
Bryn: "No, it won't. Because I always play too much. I make bad choices and pl-ay-ay-ay-ay."
In an effort to hammer home the point that she's in charge of her behavior, we've really talked to her a lot about choices that she makes. One of the most devastating realizations for her (again with a touch of drama) is to note that she's made a bad choice.
Well, the bad choice of playing when she was supposed to be sleeping came back to bite her tonight.
Because of daylight savings, bedtime may as well be at high noon because her room is still bright when we turn off the lights that we didn't need to read books. She laid in her bed (as far as I know) for about 30 minutes before I heard her call that she needed to use the restroom. By all means...
Here's where "bad choices" and parental assumptions collide in a serious way. I assumed that after I heard the toilet flush that she'd be heading back to bed. Alas...I had forgotten rule number one of Bryn's routine..."playing too much." After about 15 minutes, I hear Bryn calling me saying that her eyes hurt.
Eyes and feet--we take care of eyes and feet--oh, and teeth--in our family, so I ran up the stairs to see what went wrong. Her room smelled very strongly--a familiar and pleasant, but strong scent--but I couldn't identify the source when my baby's eyes were hurting without cause (she thought naively). She was rubbing her eyes, and when I felt her hands they were unbelievably greasy. "Bryn! What is on your hands?!" I ask. She didn't know or at least couldn't tell me through the tears.
I ran to the bathroom to get a rag to clean her hands and face, trying to get the whatever out of her eyes. At this point, Beau came up to help, so we got Bryn to SHOW us what is on her hands. And, who would have thought...
She had smeared ALL of an English Lavender jar candle all over her face and upper body. And it was an awesome candle, too....the kind with lots of essential oils to make it smell awesome (ah, yes, I remember that smell now!).
Bryn was profuse with her apologies. Poor thing, her eyes are burning and yet all she could muster was "sorry, Mommy. I made bad choices and played."
We were way more worried than angry. While Beau gave her a(nother) shower, he quizzed her about the lessons that she learned tonight. Here's her summary.
1) Don't put anything in my eyes.
2) Don't play with anything unless I ask Mom or Dad.
3) Go to sleep when it's bedtime.
We'll be quizzing her from now on.
PS: Her room still smells nice. I hope that the trauma hasn't been forever linked with the smell of lavender.
This characteristic shows up other times, but it is most striking at bedtime. Last weekend, for instance, she had the kind of meltdown that made me just look at her in amazement because a) I couldn't understand her words very well to decipher what she was sad about, b) the offense changed periodically during her attempts to explain what went wrong, c) there was absolutely no obvious trigger to the meltdown, and d) there was apparently nothing I could do to head it off. All I could muster was, "Wow, Bryn. I don't know what's going on here." The reason ranged from where I put the second bedtime book (which she only noticed after the first one was finished..."But I wanted to HOLD i-i-i-i-t!") to the fact that she wanted to turn the pages ("No, Mommy! Don't finish/start reading until I get my finger on the corner!") to her grave concern that she didn't know how to fall asleep. That was my favorite--and it was accompanied with a confession.
Bryn: "But I don't know HOW to fall asleep!"
Mom: "Honey, your body is very tired. I'm sure that if you lie very still and close your eyes, that your body will know how to fall asleep."
Bryn: "No, it won't. Because I always play too much. I make bad choices and pl-ay-ay-ay-ay."
In an effort to hammer home the point that she's in charge of her behavior, we've really talked to her a lot about choices that she makes. One of the most devastating realizations for her (again with a touch of drama) is to note that she's made a bad choice.
Well, the bad choice of playing when she was supposed to be sleeping came back to bite her tonight.
Because of daylight savings, bedtime may as well be at high noon because her room is still bright when we turn off the lights that we didn't need to read books. She laid in her bed (as far as I know) for about 30 minutes before I heard her call that she needed to use the restroom. By all means...
Here's where "bad choices" and parental assumptions collide in a serious way. I assumed that after I heard the toilet flush that she'd be heading back to bed. Alas...I had forgotten rule number one of Bryn's routine..."playing too much." After about 15 minutes, I hear Bryn calling me saying that her eyes hurt.
Eyes and feet--we take care of eyes and feet--oh, and teeth--in our family, so I ran up the stairs to see what went wrong. Her room smelled very strongly--a familiar and pleasant, but strong scent--but I couldn't identify the source when my baby's eyes were hurting without cause (she thought naively). She was rubbing her eyes, and when I felt her hands they were unbelievably greasy. "Bryn! What is on your hands?!" I ask. She didn't know or at least couldn't tell me through the tears.
I ran to the bathroom to get a rag to clean her hands and face, trying to get the whatever out of her eyes. At this point, Beau came up to help, so we got Bryn to SHOW us what is on her hands. And, who would have thought...
She had smeared ALL of an English Lavender jar candle all over her face and upper body. And it was an awesome candle, too....the kind with lots of essential oils to make it smell awesome (ah, yes, I remember that smell now!).
Bryn was profuse with her apologies. Poor thing, her eyes are burning and yet all she could muster was "sorry, Mommy. I made bad choices and played."
We were way more worried than angry. While Beau gave her a(nother) shower, he quizzed her about the lessons that she learned tonight. Here's her summary.
1) Don't put anything in my eyes.
2) Don't play with anything unless I ask Mom or Dad.
3) Go to sleep when it's bedtime.
We'll be quizzing her from now on.
PS: Her room still smells nice. I hope that the trauma hasn't been forever linked with the smell of lavender.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Adventures with Homophones*
"Mommy, do crowns bite?"
I was sitting in the backseat with Bryn one evening, when this question occurred to the Princess of Random Thoughts.
"What do you mean, honey? Like the sharp points pinch your finger or something?"
"No, crowns. Do they bite?"
"Ummmm. (glancing at Dad in the rear view mirror for some help that was not to come.) I don't understand your question."
"Crowns. Crowns. Can they bite your finger?"
"Are you saying crown like a princess wears?"
"No, Mom. CROWN," she says enunciating the word slowly and with slightly more force.
"Are you saying crayon?" (knowing full-well that, although her pronunciation of crayon sounds a LOT like crown, it made even less sense in this context.)
"I'm saying CROWN. You know, CROWNS?!", growing exasperated by my embarrassingly miserable attempt to communicate on a very simply topic.
---Dad to the rescue.--- "Honey, do you mean clown? Cl-Cl-Clown?"
Bryn throws her hands up and shouts, "YES!"
Me: "Oh, then, no. Clowns usually don't bite."
*I was trying to remember the term for the "they're/there/their" phenomena, and somehow miraculously I came up with homonym. Not wanting to embarrass myself, I googled that to be sure it was correct. The first entry was Alan Cooper's Homonym List. Quite an interesting find. I'll be forever thankful that I also clicked on "About the List" because I learned that what I was talking about wasn't actually a homonym, his title notwithstanding. Thanks, Alan, for illuminating the confusing subtlety of the English language.
I was sitting in the backseat with Bryn one evening, when this question occurred to the Princess of Random Thoughts.
"What do you mean, honey? Like the sharp points pinch your finger or something?"
"No, crowns. Do they bite?"
"Ummmm. (glancing at Dad in the rear view mirror for some help that was not to come.) I don't understand your question."
"Crowns. Crowns. Can they bite your finger?"
"Are you saying crown like a princess wears?"
"No, Mom. CROWN," she says enunciating the word slowly and with slightly more force.
"Are you saying crayon?" (knowing full-well that, although her pronunciation of crayon sounds a LOT like crown, it made even less sense in this context.)
"I'm saying CROWN. You know, CROWNS?!", growing exasperated by my embarrassingly miserable attempt to communicate on a very simply topic.
---Dad to the rescue.--- "Honey, do you mean clown? Cl-Cl-Clown?"
Bryn throws her hands up and shouts, "YES!"
Me: "Oh, then, no. Clowns usually don't bite."
*I was trying to remember the term for the "they're/there/their" phenomena, and somehow miraculously I came up with homonym. Not wanting to embarrass myself, I googled that to be sure it was correct. The first entry was Alan Cooper's Homonym List. Quite an interesting find. I'll be forever thankful that I also clicked on "About the List" because I learned that what I was talking about wasn't actually a homonym, his title notwithstanding. Thanks, Alan, for illuminating the confusing subtlety of the English language.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Three Random Things
Wendy tagged me with this topic several days ago. If I were in elementary school, I would be "all-time-it" considering my reaction speed, but alas. So, I think the idea is to share three random things about myself....
1. I have an intense, to-my-core-being, dislike for honey. I don't like "mocha" anything either (which some try to convince me is really code for chocolate, when in fact it is code for "still-tastes-like-coffee"), but even that doesn't bring me to literal tears the way honey has in the past. I am a painfully rationale person, and even with Beau's incredibly sound arguments about how local honey would probably help my spring allergies, I would rather take a pill every single morning for the rest of my days than purposefully put a single drop of honey in my mouth. And yes, "honey butter" is no better.
2. I have a secret (can't say that anymore) desire to be a midwife, or at least a doula, at some point in my life. Attending my niece's birth was an incredible experience that so greatly affected my attitudes during Bryn's birth. I would like to contribute to other women having similar experiences. I have absolutely no idea how to become one, so I may as well have said I would love to be a Rockette, but at least now the universe knows.
3. I make killer apple pie and homemade rolls. I think baking suits me because it requires precision. I absolutely can not improvise in the kitchen whatsoever; I work strictly from recipes. Always been a pretty good rule follower. And to set the record straight, the apple pie recipe came from my sister--who can also bust out some serious bread.
How cathartic that turned out to be.
Bonus #4: As I looked around the office, thinking about how to wrap up this post, I glanced over to Beau's aquarium. One of the Oscars was totally staring at me while I typed...just treading water right at my eye level. Kind of freaked me out a little bit, because it was like when someone catches you staring at them (or vice versa) across a restaurant or something and you have to look like you were actually looking just over their shoulder before casually turning away. This fish did that! He didn't jump right away, but eventually, ever so casually turned and swam away.
Back to the catharsis....perhaps I'll write random things about other people in the family from time to time. This was pretty fun.
1. I have an intense, to-my-core-being, dislike for honey. I don't like "mocha" anything either (which some try to convince me is really code for chocolate, when in fact it is code for "still-tastes-like-coffee"), but even that doesn't bring me to literal tears the way honey has in the past. I am a painfully rationale person, and even with Beau's incredibly sound arguments about how local honey would probably help my spring allergies, I would rather take a pill every single morning for the rest of my days than purposefully put a single drop of honey in my mouth. And yes, "honey butter" is no better.
2. I have a secret (can't say that anymore) desire to be a midwife, or at least a doula, at some point in my life. Attending my niece's birth was an incredible experience that so greatly affected my attitudes during Bryn's birth. I would like to contribute to other women having similar experiences. I have absolutely no idea how to become one, so I may as well have said I would love to be a Rockette, but at least now the universe knows.
3. I make killer apple pie and homemade rolls. I think baking suits me because it requires precision. I absolutely can not improvise in the kitchen whatsoever; I work strictly from recipes. Always been a pretty good rule follower. And to set the record straight, the apple pie recipe came from my sister--who can also bust out some serious bread.
How cathartic that turned out to be.
Bonus #4: As I looked around the office, thinking about how to wrap up this post, I glanced over to Beau's aquarium. One of the Oscars was totally staring at me while I typed...just treading water right at my eye level. Kind of freaked me out a little bit, because it was like when someone catches you staring at them (or vice versa) across a restaurant or something and you have to look like you were actually looking just over their shoulder before casually turning away. This fish did that! He didn't jump right away, but eventually, ever so casually turned and swam away.
Back to the catharsis....perhaps I'll write random things about other people in the family from time to time. This was pretty fun.
Monday, April 21, 2008
I'm back
Sorry for the lengthy absence. I was being a little hopeful a month ago when I bid farewell to the morning sickness that ended up lingering for another 2-3 weeks. I just couldn't muster the desire/energy/motivation/creativity/vocabulary to get on the computer after spending the day on one at work.
But....I have been making mental notes of what I would be writing about "were I to blog today," so have some stored up. Have one started, but need to go wake the family.
Happy Monday everyone....funny stories to come.
But....I have been making mental notes of what I would be writing about "were I to blog today," so have some stored up. Have one started, but need to go wake the family.
Happy Monday everyone....funny stories to come.
Books as Currency
Bryn is a complete delight 90% of the time. With that kind of record, Beau and I are ALWAYS shocked when she has a bonafide three-year-old moment. We regularly forget that she is still learning right from wrong, how to make good decisions, that bad decisions have consequences, that she doesn't always get her way, etc.
To date, all the discipline that she has really required is--what amounts to--a "stern talking to" (in Southern-speak). More recently it has dawned on her that she has to be a willing participant for these little chats to be effective. She has taken to the "courtesy" of announcing when she doesn't plan on being a willing participant (although that typically doesn't go well). The conversation usually goes like this:
Mom/Dad: "Bryn, come here. we need to talk about how you are acting right now."
Bryn: "I don't WANT to talk to you!" (or the nominee for most creative variation: "I don't want to listen to your words!!")
Exasperated parent takes a deep breath--knowing where this is heading--and escalates to "oh, yes, you will" posturing. Then out come the big guns--what will happen if she proceeds on the path she's chosen. And here's where it becomes very clear that she doesn't have a firm grasp on consequences.
We've elected not to spank, so our options are to take away things or opportunities that she holds dear. Sometimes there is an event that she is really looking forward to, but usually our go-to is books. (NOTE: as an educator who firmly believes in the importance of a book-rich environment, this is a constant struggle for me. But you harvest where there's fruit, right?)
Sometimes, I try to ward off a fit by bargaining with bedtime books. Our usual routine is two books before lights out. If she is being uncooperative/defiant, I'll (politely) warn her that if she doesn't pull it together, we'll only have time for one book (or heaven forbid, zero books). The unfortunate part of this strategy is I don't have much wiggle room when I count down from 2 because when we move to only reading 1 book, she keeps up the protests about "But I want TWO books!!!" (Which, for those of you paying attention, is exactly the opposite of the reaction I'm hoping for.) So then, all her arguing about two books (whose ship has sailed) leads me to explicitly state--again--that she now has the choice of one book or zero books, and that she is making the choice by the way she is acting and talking to me. Usually, the continued argument about two books requires that I take away all books. (Which, of course, IMMEDIATELY makes one book the thing she wants more than anything in life....but at that point, even the one book has sailed.) As mentioned earlier, sending a child to bed with no books is bordering on un-American and inhumane, but my thinking is---she had fair warning and continued with poor choices.
Last night she chose so poorly with behavior so unacceptable that we had to skip all bargaining, going straight to zero books. Straight out of the bath, to bed, no books. Oh, my goodness. You would have thought we had cut off a finger or something. She was nearly inconsolable. She tried to say "sorry" to undo her actions, but this was not a "that's okay, honey" situation. We thought it warranted making a more explicit statement about consequences. It's great that you are sorry, but there are always consequences to what you choose to do. That's a good life lesson, right? So, "we love you, but no books."
Instead of books, we just said a prayer. Bryn wanted to do it "allbymyself" (her new favorite phrase), so through the tears about not reading books she offered this gem of a prayer....
"Dear God, Please help me to slow down all the crying. Amen."
And all the people said....Amen to that.
PS: I was in the kitchen when Bryn woke up. She came downstairs with two books and asked sweetly, "Can you read these two books to me now?"
To date, all the discipline that she has really required is--what amounts to--a "stern talking to" (in Southern-speak). More recently it has dawned on her that she has to be a willing participant for these little chats to be effective. She has taken to the "courtesy" of announcing when she doesn't plan on being a willing participant (although that typically doesn't go well). The conversation usually goes like this:
Mom/Dad: "Bryn, come here. we need to talk about how you are acting right now."
Bryn: "I don't WANT to talk to you!" (or the nominee for most creative variation: "I don't want to listen to your words!!")
Exasperated parent takes a deep breath--knowing where this is heading--and escalates to "oh, yes, you will" posturing. Then out come the big guns--what will happen if she proceeds on the path she's chosen. And here's where it becomes very clear that she doesn't have a firm grasp on consequences.
We've elected not to spank, so our options are to take away things or opportunities that she holds dear. Sometimes there is an event that she is really looking forward to, but usually our go-to is books. (NOTE: as an educator who firmly believes in the importance of a book-rich environment, this is a constant struggle for me. But you harvest where there's fruit, right?)
Sometimes, I try to ward off a fit by bargaining with bedtime books. Our usual routine is two books before lights out. If she is being uncooperative/defiant, I'll (politely) warn her that if she doesn't pull it together, we'll only have time for one book (or heaven forbid, zero books). The unfortunate part of this strategy is I don't have much wiggle room when I count down from 2 because when we move to only reading 1 book, she keeps up the protests about "But I want TWO books!!!" (Which, for those of you paying attention, is exactly the opposite of the reaction I'm hoping for.) So then, all her arguing about two books (whose ship has sailed) leads me to explicitly state--again--that she now has the choice of one book or zero books, and that she is making the choice by the way she is acting and talking to me. Usually, the continued argument about two books requires that I take away all books. (Which, of course, IMMEDIATELY makes one book the thing she wants more than anything in life....but at that point, even the one book has sailed.) As mentioned earlier, sending a child to bed with no books is bordering on un-American and inhumane, but my thinking is---she had fair warning and continued with poor choices.
Last night she chose so poorly with behavior so unacceptable that we had to skip all bargaining, going straight to zero books. Straight out of the bath, to bed, no books. Oh, my goodness. You would have thought we had cut off a finger or something. She was nearly inconsolable. She tried to say "sorry" to undo her actions, but this was not a "that's okay, honey" situation. We thought it warranted making a more explicit statement about consequences. It's great that you are sorry, but there are always consequences to what you choose to do. That's a good life lesson, right? So, "we love you, but no books."
Instead of books, we just said a prayer. Bryn wanted to do it "allbymyself" (her new favorite phrase), so through the tears about not reading books she offered this gem of a prayer....
"Dear God, Please help me to slow down all the crying. Amen."
And all the people said....Amen to that.
PS: I was in the kitchen when Bryn woke up. She came downstairs with two books and asked sweetly, "Can you read these two books to me now?"
Saturday, March 15, 2008
These Boots are Made for Walkin
Bryn picked out her first pair of cowgirl boots last night. She was SOOOOO excited about them, and they really do suit her perfectly. She wore them to a very eventful trip to the grocery store and got no fewer than five compliments on them--every girl's dream.
Everyone, please take a moment and imagine the perfect pair of boots for the world's girliest girl. Have a mental image?
Now, compare what you were thinking to the real thing.
How close were you?
Give yourself 5 points if you guessed the color.
Give yourself another 5 points if you guessed the toe and heel shape.
Give yourself a bonus 65 points if you could have ever imagined the straps of "bling" draped across each one.
One final question--worth up to an extra 25 points (could bring your total up to 100, for those of you keeping score). Now imagine how happy Bryn looks in them (and how great they are for dancing), and compare to reality.
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