Good Times

My car wouldn't start on Friday morning.

Instead of panicking, I chose to see this as a good thing seeing as how we leave for Hilton Head Island on September 5. Better now than then, right?

Then, I learned that the dealer, who must work on my vehicle because of the warranty, is booked solid until Thursday, August 28.

Guess who had to beg, borrow, steal and threaten a lawsuit to get a crummy loaner car? I mean, even us SAHMs must run to The Wal-Mart once in a while, right? Imagine their surprise that I refused to go 7 days without a vehicle!

And, just for a little more rain on my parade, the main drain for two of our bathrooms chose last night to clog up and begin backing up into the tubs. Can you say ew?

So, now I get to spend today waiting on the plumber to come, writing a ginormous check to cover his time and, then, cleaning used toilet paper out of my bathtubs...what fun!

So, what's on your agenda today???

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....

Irony

I am married to a pharmacist and I hate medicine.

I really hate medicine.

I will wait for hours before taking a couple ibuprofen to clear up a headache.

I will suffer with sniffles and stuffiness for days before taking Claritin.

I rarely carry my asthma inhaler with me.

Now, I am fighting the doldrums and just can't make myself go to a doctor and see if I need to be medicated.

For some reason- okay, I know why and it all goes back to the people who raised me- I equate medicine with weakness. And medicine that helps with issues such as depression the doldrums and anxiety? Well, those are for the weakest of the weak! Those meds are for people who can't deal with life and all that that entails!

Pish! Posh!

I am strong. I am woman! Hear me roar!

Yeah, I've been doing a lot of roaring and it is at my kids and husband. For no good reason other than that I feel like I am walking around on eggshells- all. the. time. I also feel like I am just about the worst wife and mother on the planet.

But, the hardest thing for me to deal with is that I have little reason to feel so crappy all the time. I am happily married. I am healthy. I am going on vacation in 17 days. My life is really, really good.

But, still....

I can't shake this sense of impending doom. The vacation is causing some anxiety as it will be the first time Liam has slept away from home. Also, the family who we are supposed to travel with may or may not be going. This isn't a big deal (because there is a perfectly good reason) but I am left feeling unsure and up in the air and it is causing me a lot of concern because I just don't know what is happening. It is also a trip of about 700 miles one way. And, I am worried about Liam's traveling and that we are going to die in a car accident.

You know- little things.

So, I go to visit the troll who is my gynecologist on Thursday for our annual visit and I am really going to try to bring this up to her. She, however, is not the most understanding or empathetic lady in the world so I don't know if it will get me anywhere but I will try to talk to her about it....

Maybe...

Yeah, probably not.

'Cause I'm the pharmacist's wife who hates doctors and pills....

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....

Absorbed

I have fallen off the face of the blogosphere.

And as much as I would love to regale you with tales of an exotic vacation or a birth, I cannot.

Nope.

I have just not felt like blogging.

I have been around- lurking at most of your places. I know, shame on me for lurking.

Truthfully, though, I am feeling a little quiet.

As I sit here and think of a friend who just lost a parent, I am taking stock of all that I have to be thankful for and have decided not to feel guilty about my absence because life truly is too short, friends.

So, I haven't forgotten any of you; I have just been trying to relish every last drop of sweetness that the summer has to offer.

To quote Arnold the Governator, "I'll be back...."

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.