Filed under: Parenting | Tags: Boston, family, parenting, superheroes, tragedy
I have a six year old. She is a sponge. I know that seems redundant, every six year old is a sponge. She soaks up information from me, her dad, our families, school and the world at large and regurgitates it with a six year old spin. I know that things get lost in the translation from time to time. Somewhere in that beautiful and brilliant little brain of hers the information gets jumbled and comes out slightly off kilter. Most of the time it’s funny; it’s a game for mommy to try to pick apart the fact from the filter.
There was the time, around president’s day that she explained that they learned all about the president’s. They learned about Washington, who was first but now he is dead. They learned about Lincoln, who made everyone the same but sadly got shot so he is dead too. She worried about Obama, since he seemed nice and didn’t want him to be dead like all of the other presidents. History is complicated, especially to a 6 year old. I could only imagine the thought process there, almost like the American people send the president’s off to some “farm” when they complete their tenure. It took a little bit, but I managed to explain that they were simply learning about some of the older presidents, that died because they lived long ago. That it wasn’t a job requirement to die at the end of your term, and there are plenty of living presidents still around. She told me it was a good thing, since there was a volcano by the White House that Obama would have to worry about first. Her friend Ben had told her so. There was no amount of convincing that could change her mind. So now she believes that Obama’s job as president is to keep an eye on the volcano. He is kind of like a super hero. Oh, and he is my boss. Apparently the only person that can trump a mommy ruling is the president of the United States. I am okay with this logic.
I know she picks up lots of stuff from the media; the radio, movies and television. I can tell by her uncanny ability to pick the most annoying pop song currently on the radio and sing it ad naseum. I try to limit her exposure to this because I find it overwhelming sometimes, and I have a fully formed frontal lobe. (At least I think I do.) But there are the moments we forget, the weather report she is regurgitating to me as I give her brother a bath… “There is a line of thunderstorms approaching the St. Louis metro area, mom,” she says. “Please be aware of the potential for hail and high winds,” she repeats; echoing the weather man word for word. She takes her cues from me. If I am not flustered by it, all is right with her world. And so she watches the pretty colors on the radar, deciding she really likes the dark purple the best even if it means lots of thunder. She goes to bed secure in the idea that nothing can happen to her, her parents will keep her safe.
Then Monday happened, the Boston Marathon Bombing; one of a series of horrible events to occur in her short lifetime. The news played in my kitchen on a loop while her brother napped and she was in school. I was shocked and horrified at the wanton violence, the reckless and callous disregard for human life. I was angered as the events unfolded, an eight year boy and two young women among the casualties. I tuned into Twitter and the radio to learn more over the past few days. I did all of this while she was away, careful that my little sponge would pick up on this tragedy. I sheltered her from the news; instead playing outside, reading books and coloring pictures. She is young enough that I can do that without worry that some classmate will bring it up at school.
I know that time is not on my side, that the world will find a way to come crashing in. I know that I can’t prevent every tragedy nor do I want to shelter her from life in all its nuances. I want her to learn to cope with a scary world; I want her to process not only the good but also the bad in life with equal parts sadness, empathy, balance and hope. I want to help build her foundation so she knows that despite the evil in the world there will always be more good as long as there are people like me, and her daddy, her teachers and our family. There will always be those helpers who rush in to protect the innocent and fight the bad guys. I will teach her this every chance I can by reading books and playing games, reminding her always that I am here. She knows now that her parents will keep her safe, no matter what. It is my job right now to keep the world at bay. But when she is at school, and her brother is napping I sit, I watch the news and sometimes I cry.
I cry for the families wrenched apart by senseless violence. I cry for happy moments denied. I cry for a world that is a little darker today. I cry at all of the wonderful stories of human kindness unfolding from tragedy, proof that there is indeed more good than bad in this world. I cry for a moment for all of these things, and then I stop because above all the last thing I want my little sponge soaking up is my tears. Some days it tough to be a mommy.
So now I will go, for the hundredth time, try to convince Madison that there is no volcano at the White House. And if there is, well we can remain calm; at least Obama is there to protect us.
Photo Courtesy of Jib Jab
Today is the first day of school. For the first time in her short life, I put my little girl on a bus and sent her off to school; by herself. No walking her into class, no helping her hang her coat up and no last kiss before she sat down. Needless to say I am a bit of a wreck. I think the best way to describe this feeling is through a story. (I am Irish after all.)
This story begins when I was five. I had an imaginary friend, Snoopy. He was my playmate and confidant, my partner in crime and the dog I didn’t have; even if no one else could see him. I always knew he was there. Snoopy scared away the monsters under the bed at night and woke me up in the morning so I wouldn’t miss a moment of playtime. He was my best friend.
On the first day of school in little Atchison, Kansas I woke up with Snoopy. I got dressed and ate breakfast. Backpack in hand I walked out the door and began my two block walk to school with mom looking on from the sidewalk. Two houses away I turned around and yelled at the thin air, “Go home Snoopy. You can’t come with me to school. Go home.” My mom sat on the front porch and cried; that was the last we saw of Snoopy.
Growing up I had heard this story a lot. For me it was a funny story about my cute quirkiness as I ventured off into the world of school. Now, as a parent I realize that this story means so much more. What I left behind on that sidewalk so many years ago was not just my imaginary friend, it was the first little bit of the complete innocence of youth. It was the last moment that my parents would be my entire world. It was the last moment that pure fantasy and imagination would be as real to me as ground beneath my feet. What I left behind was just the first of many moments leading me to this moment now, a grown-up with kids of my own.
Today my daughter starts kindergarten. She will go off into the world, armed with the values and confidence that I hope that I have taught her (and will continue to teach her), but for 7 hours a day she will go without me. This is a good thing, a wonderful first. It will be followed by new friends and first sleepovers. The first time she gets in an argument with a friend, the first time she realizes what a BEST friend is and the first time she thinks that her parents just don’t “get” her are all around the corner. These and all of the tiny little moments of childhood that will shape her into what I hope will be a strong, confident and happy person; these moments make up a wonderful life. This is what every parent wants.
But today, standing on the bus stop as my daughter drove away I realize that she leaves behind a tiny kernel of her childhood with me. On the walk home I thought about all of her firsts, her first real word (Dodo, for dog. Okay, it is only kind of a real word but we knew what she meant.) Her first ride on an airplane, trick-or-treating for the first time, her first trip to see Santa… all of these firsts came with me at her side. Today she starts a world of firsts without me. Today I really understand why my mother cried over an imaginary dog that ran away and never came home. Today for the first time in almost thirty years I want to stand on the front porch and yell, Come home Snoopy. Come home. I could really use an old friend, even if he is just in my imagination.
So I have been missing a while. I have a valid excuse, I promise. I am pregnant and due in less than a month. Not that pregnancy is an excuse in and of itself, I am a modern woman who can do just about anything with a gestational tag-along. Anything except process simple sugars apparently. In the beginning of December I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes and for the past two months I have been pretty obsessed with food. This pregnancy has been a little bit high maintenance to say the least.
I have always loved food, carbs in particular. Little did I know that carbohydrates would become the enemy and my obsession. When my doctor first called, they were pretty confident that they could tackle this with some simple changes in my diet. By simple changes, I mean a highly restrictive diet with a strict time table for eating. From the morning when I wake up to the time I go to bed I have to track everything that goes into my body. For the first few weeks I was a total nut-bag, it is amazing what carb withdrawal can do to you. (Especially when your drug of choice is a big fat cinnamon roll.) Over time though, I slowly learned what I could and could not eat and tracked my blood sugars four times a day. I tracked them steadily rise, diet be-damned.
I am a little type A when it comes to my personality. I truly believe there is nothing I can’t do if I put my mind to it. (My siblings think I was Napoleon in a past life, but I am sure that is because I am such an inspiring leader and not because I am bossy and domineering at all.) So when my body decided to completely revolt I was flabbergasted and frustrated. I couldn’t figure it out. The low-carb dieting didn’t work, a bevy of medications didn’t work and even insulin shots have been less than effective. To a type A person like myself this is tantamount to total failure.
I have wavered between absolutely guilty to incredibly frustrated touching on every emotion in between. Food has become my obsession and my enemy. The worst part of this has been the uncertainty, not knowing how this is affecting my little bundle that I am over-sugaring in my oven. I stressed on the size of the baby, the stress on his body (yes it is a little boy) and the constant warnings from nurses and doctors alike. Its a pretty crappy feeling to think that you are already messing up your kid before he even leaves your body.
I started to withdraw from life, taking daily naps for hours at a time and using the television to entertain my four year old. I was snappy with my husband and rarely wanted to leave the house. Let’s face it, I was depressed. Then I went in for another ultrasound, to check on the status of my son. I learned two things that day, one I have HUGE babies. He is already pushing eight pounds with a month to go. Two, and by far more importantly, I learned that I am human… and I have limits.
The ultrasound tech may have helped with this epiphany, she was kind and compassionate and most of all she made me smile. She showed me a picture of my little boy and for the first time I didn’t just see a little blob looking back at me. (I admit I can never really read those pictures. I could never do the magic eye things at the mall either.) For the first time I saw my son, and I realized why I was doing all of this. I understood that the best I can do is ALL I can do, and so far he is doing okay.
It also reminded me that I am incredibly lucky to be able to have a child, no matter how difficult this process has been. I am very lucky to already have a smart, funny and very loving daughter, who is both excited and apprehensive about having a new addition to the family. I have a husband who has been supportive and sweet during the process (most of the time) and who has done his best to balance out my insanity. I have friends and family who will love and support me no matter how nutso I get too.
I guess, I finally realized that I have it pretty good. It is time to pull myself out of my pity party and take a good look at how lucky I really am. Now I will just have to remind myself of this when I am working on no sleep with a new born and a demanding five year old… although I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I have run into a conundrum and I am turning to the internet to gather my thoughts.My four year old has become slightly obsessed with death. You heard me correctly, my darling cherubic daughter has become a burgeoning Wednesday Adams. I am not sure what to do.
It started innocently enough, with Disney; some of the Disney Princess movies to be precise. I guess I never noticed this, but there is a lot of death in fairy tales. Many of the princesses are missing a mother or a father or both. The movies gloss over this morbid fact, but from Tiana in the Princess and the Frog to Snow White, it is not uncommon for one of these heroines to live without at least one parent. I guess I understand this, without a missing mom you can never have an evil stepmother which is a catalyst for many of the stories. I mean, what would Cinderella be without her horrible stepmother? I learned from watching Tangled with Maddie that I would much rather have the villain be a stepmother than an actual mother. (That opened up a whole other issue. Madison STILL calls me MUDDER when she is displeased with me, in her best Rapunzel voice.)
In addition to the death of parents Maddie also was influenced by a term she made up called deaded, another something she learned from these movies. “I’m deaded,” she says and then flops to the ground awaiting a kiss. Two of her favorites, Sleeping Beauty and Snow White, both fall under a curse and slip into… well I guess they are in a coma? Huh, never really thought about that either. It is deeper than a sleep, but not quite dead and quite confusing for a four year old. And all these beautiful princesses need to be revived is a kiss from her true love; simple right?
Simple until you lose a couple of fish… and mommy doesn’t want to kiss them. I don’t know which would have been more traumatic, watching mommy make out with a dead beta fish or seeing that mommy’s kiss isn’t as magical as she has sold it to be. Added to the mix, is an avid hunter for a daddy. A daddy who thinks nothing of calling us out to take picture with his latest kill, smiling proudly with a dead duck, buck or turkey. It takes some getting used to. (I revert to my mantra… find a happy place find a happy place. I am not quite altogether used to it.) The first time Madison witness one of Daddy’s deer she asked him to fix it. So between a liar for a mommy (no magical kisses) and a killer for a daddy (he has an entire photo album devoted to his conquests) we have unintentionally scarred our child for life.
So began the questions. “Why do fish die?” Hmmm, it is just a part a life and it is sad but your fish is in heaven now. “Do people die?” Well, everyone dies honey, but don’t worry. Most people don’t die until they are very old. “So when is great-grandma Kate going to die? She is old.” That question I side stepped with candy.Don’t judge, you would have done the same thing.
Yesterday, while sitting on the toilet, she asked when she is going to die. After a momentary thought that my child was the reincarnated Elvis (she really really likes music and swaying her hips AND peanut butter) I stammered out why? She looked at me like it was a ridiculous question. “I just want to know, if everyone dies…” she let the thought trail off. I told her not for a long time I hope. I told her that mommy and daddy would really miss her. All the while I am panicking, WHY does my kid keep asking me this question? Then she says, “Well, I want to know about heaven.”
Heaven, I think I can handle. I mean, it’s paradise right? So how hard can that be to explain to a four year old? Apparently very. I started off saying that heaven was a place filled with happiness and love. It was everything that she could ever want it to be. Seemingly satisfied she went off to play for a bit. She came back a few minutes later with her swimming suit.
“Mom, tomorrow we need to go to heaven to swim in the pool.”
What?
Looking annoyed she said, “Well you said heaven could be anything I want it to be. I want it to be a big swimming pool. Can we go tomorrow?”
So, to my four year old daughter, heaven is a swimming pool where her fish and her long passed family all swim together. It’s as good a thought as any I guess.
I am writing this post on a brand new laptop, which seems like good news. The circumstances that required the purchase of said laptop were less than ideal, however. Last Tuesday I had a bad day of epic proportions.
The day started innocently enough, Starbucks and school, a typical running-around morning. After preschool I walked into the house to discover the back door standing wide open. My beagle, demon that he is, managed to jiggle the lock and worm his way inside. Once inside he managed to tip over the trash can and help himself to rancid ravioli. He also spread coffee grounds all over the kitchen. How fun.
I started to clean the mess up and heard an awful sound from the office. The sound of sick beagle… on my brand new carpet. I think I moved in hyper-speed to the other room just in time to see my adorable dog soil my brand-spanking-new floor.
Madison, curious to see what the commotion was about came running behind me. She tripped over the cord to my laptop and sent it crashing from the table to the floor; shattering the screen. In the span of 15 minutes my day took a nosedive.
I found myself in an unusual and new position. For the first time in Madison’s life I felt completely out of control. I wanted to scream or cry or yell profanities; none of which I like to do in front of my kiddo. Greg wasn’t home so I couldn’t rely on him to take over parenting duties while I had a mental breakdown. I was on my own.
I asked Maddie to play in her room for a second, while explaining she wasn’t in trouble. I threw the dog outside and while I was there I let loose some very loud four letter words. I sent my husband a profanity laden text message and then I sat on the couch for a minute before I tackled the mess around me.
I bring this up because it is in this moment that I realized how hard parenting can be sometimes. It is these moments that can set the tone for how a child deals with conflict and mistakes, how they chose to handle issues in life. It is also in these moments that it is hardest to keep your cool.
It is kind of hard to admit that for a split second I wanted nothing more than to yell at my child or hit my dog for being so bad. I wanted to yell at my husband for not closing the door all the way and I wanted to kick myself for leaving the laptop cord hanging off of the table. But in truth, these things just happen. No matter how crappy, it is just a part of life.
I had to remind myself that it was just carpet, and with a little cleaning I was able to get the stain out. I was able to sweep up all of the coffee grounds and get my kitchen clean again. And I was able to buy a new laptop, one that I have to admit, I like a little more than my old one. All of this was just stuff, and it is either fixable or replaceable.
My daughters peace of mind is not as easily fixed and I am glad that I did not damage it by losing my cool in front of her. I can’t guarantee that I will always take the right track or that my daughter won’t hear me slip a four letter word every now and then. But in this moment, right now, I am glad that I didn’t react the way I wanted to. I guess that is why parenting is so hard, because it involves years of putting your own needs and basic instincts aside for the betterment of your child.
When I walked into my daughters bedroom, happily playing with her princess dolls I had a realization. Parenthood is hard because it is worth it.
My daughter was singing and talking near the fridge today. This is not surprising since I often sing happy songs to my refrigerator, especially when it contains French Silk Pie. (I double checked, there was no pie so the chocolate fairies did not magically come last night. I felt it was important that I make sure, just in case you see… I am getting off topic.)
Madison was singing a happy little daddy song while she was playing with the magnets on the fridge, the ones shaped like Buddha. Uh, oh. You see daddy is a big guy, and he shaves his head so he is bald too. He is a pretty happy guy most of the time, so he generally has a smile on his face. Do you see where I am going with this?
I asked her what she was doing and she said she was playing with the daddy magnets. Look, here is one in blue and green and pink… I have a feeling I may be in trouble here. I can think of nothing I would rather do than cuddle up with my big teddy bear of a husband, tummy and all. But body image is a tricky thing and I imagine daddy won’t find it as funny as I do. My go- to solution would be to make something yummy, in line with the “spoonful of sugar” philosophy; making this bit of yucky medicine go down. That seems a little counterproductive though, since I have a feeling that our delicious, but not always healthy eating habits may have added to the problem.
Maybe I will just tell him he has the body of a God…
I mean who doesn't have tiny dieties chilling on their appliances?
The Oeltjen house is in mourning today. David died last night, peacefully in his sleep… I think. It is hard to tell when a frog is sleeping and when it is just hanging out. We found him in his tank last night, not moving… lying belly up. David was gone.
David may seem like a strange name for a frog, but in truth he was named in honor of Madison’s uncle. A little back story:
Madison turned three last February. As the only grandchild, her aunts and uncles—both biological and surrogate—vie to win the “best gift” of the year. That is the present that Madison likes the most, the present that makes her eyes go wide with joy. I know, I know, rough life for little Miss Madison. We are a lucky bunch. There is no prize for this gift (although there should be now that I think about it, maybe a bottle of champagne to share with Mommy.) All they win is bragging rights for the rest of the year. It is funny to watch the most free spirited bachelors and trend conscious ladies spend hours in the toy store hunting down the perfect gift for a three year old. It is amazing to see a little girl turn the toughest of guys into a marshmallow playing dolls on the living room floor.
For her first birthday the big winner was a blanket, a purple Tinker-Bell blanket. The second Madison opened the present she flopped on the floor, cuddled up and stuck her thumb in her mouth. Ding, ding ,ding, we have a winner folks. We don’t go anywhere without purple Tinker-Bell. There have been other toys that are special to Madison, a floppy Eeyore doll and a stuffed kitten named Sushi to name a few. They are special toys that remind Madison of special people in her life, always there for her when she needs them.
This last birthday, the big 3, Madison got a special gift from her Uncle David and his girlfriend Jamie. It was a little aquarium with two little frogs swimming in the bottom. I wasn’t sure how I felt about presents that require regular feeding and tank cleaning, but the smile on Maddie’s face made me rethink my doubts. She immediately named her frogs, Jamie and David. Easy enough to remember, right? Little amphibian namesakes for two very special people.
For several months Jamie and David lived happily in their tank, at least I think they did. It is not like they have tails to wag so it is hard to tell. Madison would introduce them to everyone who walked in the door. She would tell the checker at the grocery store about David and Jamie, who lived in her room, prompting quizzical looks at Mommy. Life was good.
After a time, Jamie started to get a little thinner. She didn’t swim as vigorously as she once did. We noticed that David was getting fatter and fatter and we thought he was eating Jamie’s food. One day we woke up and Jamie was gone. At naptime we told Madison we were going to bury Jamie in the back yard; a little white lie since she was given a burial at sea, if you know what I mean. We tried to explain that Jamie had died and Madison seemed okay with the idea. Especially when we went to the next family function and Madison told the entire extended family that Jamie had died. This was particularly awkward since the human Jamie was out of town and not there to prove she was still alive and kicking. Whoops.
David has been swimming along happily for the past several months. Then, last night we found David belly up. I looked at Greg, trying to figure out what to say when Madison spoke up. “I guess David just really missed Jamie;” she said. I looked at her sideways. “What do you mean, sweetie?” I asked. She just smiled and said, “David really missed Jaime, so he died and now he can be with her in the back yard.” It is amazing what three year olds will say sometimes.
With the holiday season approaching I had been worried about Madison getting spoiled. She doesn’t really need anything and I was getting worried that the focus on presents would be unhealthy. I was worried that she would miss the point of the season. I guess I didn’t have to worry. It seems like the lessons I want her to learn are sinking in, that people are more important than “stuff.” Who knew that two little amphibians could help teach me and Madison such a good lesson?
I looked at Greg with a smile. “I guess they just needed to be together,” I said as I tucked in Madison for the night. Greg was waiting with a kiss when I closed her bedroom door. Who knew that a birthday gift for a three year old could turn into something so sweet? Something so romantic even? It is just like Romeo and Juliet; a froggy, green version of Romeo and Juliet playing itself out on a shelf in the bedroom of a three year old.
I can only quote the Bard of Avon for the moral of this story: “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts.” I guess I didn’t realize that one of those parts could be froggy in nature. Maybe I should be quoting Kermit for this post, “it’s not easy being green.”
a life just ordinary 