Nine

Nine years ago today, my daughter entered the world.

After nearly three full days of trying to trick my body into having her the "old-fashioned way", I relented to a c-section.

We didn't click for some time, my daughter and I. I suppose at some level, I resented this little creature who had put me through such a difficult birth. My husband stepped in and bonded with her while I tried to push through the haze of new motherhood and depression to find my place.

Eventually, though, I fell in love with her and she with me. And I have thanked all that is good and holy for giving her to me each day since.

Today, she is nine.

Happy Birthday, my darling Claire....

A Bad Start

Do you ever have those moments when you hate yourself for what you've done or said to your kid?

I just had one of those.

Liam slept late and, as he is our alarm clock, RxMan and I slept late too. So, we woke Claire up a few minutes late and didn't have all of the things ready for her to go to school- y'know packed lunch, bookbag in order, etc. (99% of the time I do all of this the evening before but Liam has been rising at 5! AM! for days and I thought I would have hours before Claire needed to leave- ha!)

As I am frantically gathering her things, I also check her homework for errors and she has done over half of it wrong. Instantly, I flip into psycho-mom mode:

"Claire, your homework is done wrong! Roar!"

"No, I followed the directions!"

"Grumble, grumble, roar, roar! No, you didn't! Now get over here and do it right!"

As this exchange happens, I know this is not the way to handle my still sleepy, very sensitive eight year old but when the ugly head of my father rears, I almost can't suppress it. I am possessed with anger and disappointment and frustration and, for a moment, want to see her cry because I want a reaction.

Of course, the logical Toni and fairly good mom doesn't want her to cry. I want to shush her and rub her bed head and soothe her but, for a couple minutes, I am overcome with emotions that I detested in my own father, who always reacted badly to small situations such as this.

As my daughter, a wonderful, conscientious child, stands there with tears wetting her Hannah Montana nightgown, I feel terrible that I have begun her morning-her school week- with anger and rejection. I try to hug her and she shirks away.

My heart breaks a little more.

I apologize over and over- something my own father never did- and try to mend the hurt. She leaves with a shaky smile and I feel like the worst mom in the world for sending her out into this cold world feeling so small and hurt on a Monday morning.

On the Cusp

Today Claire starts third grade.

Last night as I thought about writing this post, I thought it would be all, "YAY! The kids are back in school!" And, it is; oh, my GAWD it is.

But, it is also something more.

Third grade, for me, was the last year I went to school without a bra. It was the last year the boys and girls played together easily and without any concern for the fact that they are biologically "different".

As I have seen her several times over these last few months in a bathing suit and various states of dress and undress, I realized that she, Lord help me, is on the brink of puberty. Her little body is starting to just look different- not like Pam Anderson, mind you, just different. I believe that she, poor thing, will likely start fourth grade with a trainer's bra, just like her ol' mommy did.

Her attitude has changed, too. She is becoming more obstinate and opinionated with me- only me. She questions me directly when I make rules or rulings she doesn't like. She is entering that stage where her parents (or at least her mom) are essentially there to make life totally blow for her and are the dumbest and uncoolest creatures in the entire! universe! She's not there just yet, but the winds are changing, my friends. My little angel is about to see me as Pulic Enemy Numero Uno in a few short years.

And, the drama that has ensued in this neighborhood of three 8-year old girls this summer! Oh, the tears! The disappointments! The wrongdoings! Three little people who used to be sweet, giggling buddies often part now in sobs and hurt feelings. See, I told you, the estrogen is revving up.

So, as I stuff her pink and brown plaid backpack, still smelling of newness, with medical emergency slips and checks for lunch and school fees this perfect, humid morning, I do so with a bit of heaviness clouding the pure joy that the first day of school brings to parents.

My baby is growing up.


I hope to share photos of this momentous day but my camera, once lost, has been found. But, it is 150 miles from home. I hope my neighbor will be kind enough to email photos that I can upload to you, otherwise I am going old school today....

To Sleep, Perchance To Dream-

Ay, there's the rub.

But not for the same reason as Hamlet.

Apparently when my little Princess of Denmark closes her eyes and falls asleep, the dreams are pretty freakin' scary. So, guess what that means?

It means that she isn't sleeping.

Which means that I am not sleeping.

Which means I am not a happy camper/mommy.

RxMan and I have taught Claire that it is acceptable to wake us if she has a bad dream and we will let her sleep in our room (in a chair or on the floor) for a little while. I decided to do this because I didn't have those parents who comforted you back to sleep after a nightmare. Or the ones who held your hair while you barfed your brains out. Nope, I was raised to take care of my own bidness and not bother the parents unless I was completely broken or required stitches.

So, we have allowed, even encouraged, Claire to come to us when she is frightened or awakened by a thunder storm. Until the last several days, it has been sporadic and really not a problem.

Last night, though, she woke us 6 times before midnight! Six. Times. Before. Midnight.

Yeah.

That totally sucked.

She is having nightmares and overall trouble getting to- and staying- asleep; 3 of the 6 times she woke us were to simply tell us that she couldn't get back to sleep....Again, we have encouraged this in the past but this is day 5 of having been awakened several (5+) times each night for some reason or other by the 8 year old.

So, at 11:45PM, I snapped at her. I barked and ordered her back to bed. I demanded that she stay in her room unless she was hit by a car! (I don't like to be awakened, people, bear with me!) Then, I gave her a Benadryl chewable and bid her a firm and not very nice good-night.

It was not one of my finer parenting moments- being mean to my kid and drugging her, too.

We have spoken about it and I apologized for being cranky and kissed and hugged her. I feel bad but, honestly, at what point can she start recognizing that I cannot magically fix the problem that she cannot sleep? I am fine with soothing her when she is scared and will sit with her or allow her in our room but this other stuff? Is driving me batty...

So, tell me, am I being too harsh? Should I suck it up and let her continue to wake us a dozen times a night or is it time to lay down the law? I am tired- bone-tired- and frazzled so I need someone with a little distance on the situation to advise me....

My Daughter the Doormat

Claire is a nice girl.

She is polite.

She is kind and generous.

But, she is a doormat.

I raised her with the first three lines of this post in mind. I wanted her to be a pleasure to be around; the kind of kid other parents want their children to hang out with. And, in this way, I was successful. She has many friends and their parents always remark on her manners and overall niceness.

The doormat issue, though, was an unforeseen consequence of all this kindness, friendliness and politeness that I drilled instilled in her. Now, she is a sitting duck for more aggressive, dominant personalities. These kids just roll right over my kid.

I've taken the classes and I know that society encourages this type of behavior in our girls but that was not my intent. I am not a doormat! I am a strong, opinionated woman who doesn't take any crap from anyone. So, when my firstborn popped out with a vajayjay I thought that I could have it both ways: a polite, kind, force of nature sort of daughter.

Well, apparently, I spent too much time on the politeness and not enough on the butt kicking part of my master plan. Because now my daughter is sensitive and easily hurt. Other kids are bossy and don't consider her opinions in decision making areas.

So, now I am left with a doormat and one who spends a lot of time feeling alienated and hurt. But, how do I change this? I have tried the "buck it up" way in which I was raised but to little avail. I have coached her on saying, "I don't like to be treated that way, please stop." That seems fairly effective but I want her to be the kid that says, "Fine, you think I'm ugly? Well, not as ugly as you!" and storm off proud of herself for coming up with a snarky comeback.

In my defense, my husband is also a doormat has tendencies of a doormat. He has parent issues that have festered since the moment I entered his life and they took an immediate and total dislike of me. He avoids confrontation and wants to make everyone happy at his own expense.

Because of her more quiet ways, I find myself wanting to jump in and fix some of the sticky situations with other kids but I know that I cannot and must not. I will not always be there to work things out for her or rescue her. And this is hard. So hard. It is certainly one of the hardest things I have encountered yet in parenting because, for so long, it has been my job to protect her from the hurts of this cold world and the jerks who inhabit it. But, parenting is as much about teaching a child to be a productive adult as it is setting rules and example. It takes all the restraint this hothead can muster to hold back and not do some butt kicking on Claire's behalf but I manage most of the time because she is going to have to learn to be her own best friend and hero and it is better to learn now when the hurts are relatively small and minor than later when they are not.


Man, this parenting gig is hard.

Masked

This is a photo of my daughter, Claire, and my niece, Emma, on a recent trip to the Columbus Zoo and Aquarium. With only 9 months separating the two, they have been raised more like sisters than cousins. They rarely fight and are each other's staunchest supporters and biggest fans.

I was raised without a sister and am not particularly close to Emma's dad (my younger/only brother) but I love to see these two grow up together and hope that the closeness they share now follows them through life. Both have younger siblings but Emma's sister is 8 years her junior and Liam is 7 years younger than Claire so they have had only each other as playmates for the majority of their young lives.

It took 10 minutes in line to have the face painting done.

It cost me $20.

The resulting smiles and memory?

Priceless.

To play along with Photostory Friday, go here.

Apparently, I Am O-L-D

Out of nowhere last week Claire says to me, "Mommy, was there a space shuttle that had a woman on it and it blew up and she died?"

I knew she was talking about the Challenger so I answered, "yes, Claire, there was. The lady was a teacher and it was very sad."

"She was a teacher?"

"Yes, she was. Her name was Christa MacAuliffe and she was going to teach from space but she didn't get to. Where did you hear about this?"

"Oh, we talked about it in summer camp yesterday," she replied. "Was it a long time ago?"

"Well, sort of. Mommy was in the fifth grade when it happened."

"Oh," she said, eyes wide and mouth in a big circle. "It was a REALLY long time ago!"


Just when I thought we were going to have an intellectual discussion about something that really touched my childhood, she goes and calls me old! Kids!

Ingenuity

Summer vacation began about 10 days ago. There are good and bad things about summer: I appreciate the less structured routine for my daughter. My son, though, at 17 months still thinks 5:45 is the perfect time to rise and shine.

I did something a little sneaky this year, though. I convinced my daughter that attending a half day summer camp at school for 4 weeks (beginning today! woot!) would be the perfect cure for the dreaded seven letter word of summer- BOREDOM!

Back when you and I were little, this summer camp would have simply been called summer "school" but the savvy folks in our district refer to it as "camp" to trick kids and parents into it. No trickery needed on my part 'cause I think three hours of FREE babysitting by a teacher with a Master's Degree sounds darn near heavenly. Not to mention the snacks, learning and recess? Sign me up! I only wish there was a program for the little man...

Kidding! Okay, not really!

She and her dad needed a little prodding and convincing but I did it! She's going today and every Monday - Thursday until July 3. Ahh. It was much easier to convince her of this than that the orange and yellow Starburst are the good ones and she should make Mommy eat the red and pink ones.

Yep, that's me. I am a wicked, wicked lady. Just think if I used these powers for good instead of evil....