When I lay in bed, I worry. I know that's when I'm supposed to pray, to lean on the Lord... but a lot of the time I worry. Or worse, I Google.
Cohen's hearing appointment is tomorrow. I'm so scared and I'm forced to go alone because Derek is in an audit. What if the diagnosis is not what I want? How do I think, and hold it together, and not snap at Addison, and ask the right questions, and FUNCTION all by myself??
What if my son can't understand my voice when I tell him I love him? What if he doesn't know the sound of his mama calling his name?
My mama heart is heavy tonight... lots of worry, lots of questions, lots of fear. I'm going to bed now and I'm going to pray like I've done every night in recent history. I'm going to pray that my babies are healthy and that they know that I adore them above everything else. I'm going to pray for the doctors to have the expertise and understanding that we need. And I'm going to pray for myself... that no matter what, I have the strength and dignity to hold it together and do what needs to be done. I can lose my shit later, if need be, once the kids are in bed.
Prayers for my baby boy... for tomorrow's test, for the blood work we're still waiting on, for the diagnosis we're unsure of, and for what the future holds.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Day 5...
Today was hard... preschool days are always hard. What I'm learning from this challenge is less about yelling and more about triggers... Addison's triggers and my own.
Addison's meltdown triggers:
- no nap days
- preschool days
- days where the schedule changes unexpectedly
- the word 'no'
Mama's screaming triggers:
- Addison's meltdown triggers
- anything involving managing two small children in a large hospital
- plus lack of sleep, lack of caffeine, stress at work, sick children, a sick husband...
Okay, so basically what I've learned is that everyday there are triggers, preschool days are by far the worst, but they exist everyday. As soon as I walked in the door today to pick up Addison I knew what I was in for... she screamed, "MAMA!!!" and swung her coat around like a lasso. She was in timeout before we could even get out the door and it just continued when we made an unexpected stop at the grocery store to pick up some things and when we walked past the greeting cards our world came to a grinding halt. She saw a princess kitty card that said, "Happy Birthday Niece!" {It would have been funny, I totally admit... but I said no.}
As soon as I said no, she was gone - a screaming, foot stomping, crocodile tear producing, rationale lacking 4 year old.
Now, without the challenge I would have managed to get out of the store without screaming. That part I could handle - but I would have lost it when we got in the car and the constant crying, screaming, kicking, flailing continued.
I didn't lose it. I did turn up the music ridiculously loud. I did wait until she quit howling to explain that we could make daddy a card when we got home that he would like 100x times more. And I did repeat that compromise ten times before she actually HEARD me, but I didn't yell.
When we got home we colored a beautiful princess dress picture and wrote, "Happy 10th Birthday Dad-O" per her request and everyone was happy.
Tiny victories my friends, tiny victories.
{300 days to go...}
Addison's meltdown triggers:
- no nap days
- preschool days
- days where the schedule changes unexpectedly
- the word 'no'
Mama's screaming triggers:
- Addison's meltdown triggers
- anything involving managing two small children in a large hospital
- plus lack of sleep, lack of caffeine, stress at work, sick children, a sick husband...
Okay, so basically what I've learned is that everyday there are triggers, preschool days are by far the worst, but they exist everyday. As soon as I walked in the door today to pick up Addison I knew what I was in for... she screamed, "MAMA!!!" and swung her coat around like a lasso. She was in timeout before we could even get out the door and it just continued when we made an unexpected stop at the grocery store to pick up some things and when we walked past the greeting cards our world came to a grinding halt. She saw a princess kitty card that said, "Happy Birthday Niece!" {It would have been funny, I totally admit... but I said no.}
As soon as I said no, she was gone - a screaming, foot stomping, crocodile tear producing, rationale lacking 4 year old.
Now, without the challenge I would have managed to get out of the store without screaming. That part I could handle - but I would have lost it when we got in the car and the constant crying, screaming, kicking, flailing continued.
I didn't lose it. I did turn up the music ridiculously loud. I did wait until she quit howling to explain that we could make daddy a card when we got home that he would like 100x times more. And I did repeat that compromise ten times before she actually HEARD me, but I didn't yell.
When we got home we colored a beautiful princess dress picture and wrote, "Happy 10th Birthday Dad-O" per her request and everyone was happy.
Tiny victories my friends, tiny victories.
{300 days to go...}
Monday, November 11, 2013
The Challenge...
So, I have successfully made it to day three of the Orange Rhino challenge.. that seems like a victory until I think of it in terms of the 362 days left to go. Part of the challenge is to document the triggers and your reactions during the first week or so... Let me recap yesterday and today for you.
Sunday - Church was a bit crazy because Addison wanted to go with me into worship until the kid's message. She doesn't go with me very often so it's fair to say she doesn't really understand the expectations of being in 'big church'. She was crawling all over the pew and had a hard time sitting still during prayer but overall she did alright. I took her down to Kid Zone after the children's message {where she tried to pretend to be a 2nd grader so she could get a bible :)} and when I picked her up she was pretty wound up. I was talking with a friend from work about Cohen and Addison was running off every two seconds to hug a teacher or story teller from Sunday School. It seems like every lesson I've tried to teach her about caution with people we don't know goes out the window EVERY TIME WE STEP OUTSIDE. So, I kept calm and decided that I probably needed to just get her out of there because she was at the level of 'wonky' that makes her almost impossible to deal with. After we left church, we stopped at Walgreens to get cold medicine and she was touching EVERYTHING. I nagged her {didn't yell} to keep up and kept my trip as short as possible but finally had to get down to her eye level just before we left the store to have a quick chat about why we don't touch everything in the store and why we need to listen to mama. Not sure it really did much good, BUT I didn't yell or even raise my voice, so I think it counts for something.
Today - She wasn't with me for a large chunk of the day since she went to a Veteran's Day parade with a friend and her grandma and then came home and instantly was ready for her nap. But this morning I did yell once - loudly. I think it falls within the rules of the challenge... I walked into the living room to find Addison with her little brother in a headlock, trying to drag him onto the couch, which looked a lot like a WWE move. I yelled, "Addison, let him go!" and she started crying. I sent her to the corner while I checked on Cohen {he was unfazed} then pulled her aside and tried to stay calm as I explained that she could hurt him by handling him like that.
The real challenge begins tomorrow when we have to get dressed, get ready, and get out the door for work on time. Mornings are one of the times when I'm most likely to yell - especially when she is whiny because she's tired or cold or whatever is bugging her at that moment. So, I'm going to have to be mindful in the morning that with all of us being sick, with the weather freezing, and going into a week after a three day weekend, it will likely be a morning full of triggers.
Wish me luck...
Sunday - Church was a bit crazy because Addison wanted to go with me into worship until the kid's message. She doesn't go with me very often so it's fair to say she doesn't really understand the expectations of being in 'big church'. She was crawling all over the pew and had a hard time sitting still during prayer but overall she did alright. I took her down to Kid Zone after the children's message {where she tried to pretend to be a 2nd grader so she could get a bible :)} and when I picked her up she was pretty wound up. I was talking with a friend from work about Cohen and Addison was running off every two seconds to hug a teacher or story teller from Sunday School. It seems like every lesson I've tried to teach her about caution with people we don't know goes out the window EVERY TIME WE STEP OUTSIDE. So, I kept calm and decided that I probably needed to just get her out of there because she was at the level of 'wonky' that makes her almost impossible to deal with. After we left church, we stopped at Walgreens to get cold medicine and she was touching EVERYTHING. I nagged her {didn't yell} to keep up and kept my trip as short as possible but finally had to get down to her eye level just before we left the store to have a quick chat about why we don't touch everything in the store and why we need to listen to mama. Not sure it really did much good, BUT I didn't yell or even raise my voice, so I think it counts for something.
Today - She wasn't with me for a large chunk of the day since she went to a Veteran's Day parade with a friend and her grandma and then came home and instantly was ready for her nap. But this morning I did yell once - loudly. I think it falls within the rules of the challenge... I walked into the living room to find Addison with her little brother in a headlock, trying to drag him onto the couch, which looked a lot like a WWE move. I yelled, "Addison, let him go!" and she started crying. I sent her to the corner while I checked on Cohen {he was unfazed} then pulled her aside and tried to stay calm as I explained that she could hurt him by handling him like that.
The real challenge begins tomorrow when we have to get dressed, get ready, and get out the door for work on time. Mornings are one of the times when I'm most likely to yell - especially when she is whiny because she's tired or cold or whatever is bugging her at that moment. So, I'm going to have to be mindful in the morning that with all of us being sick, with the weather freezing, and going into a week after a three day weekend, it will likely be a morning full of triggers.
Wish me luck...
My Dad, My Hero
I've had this in my drafts for a while, it's what I read at my dad's memorial. I figured Veteran's Day was an appropriate day to post it because it focuses on how he had always been my hero... it brings back sad memories to read over these words again... I miss him so much.
----
Ever since I was a little girl, my dad has been my hero. I was in awe of him. As far as I was concerned he was the smartest, handsomest, funniest man on the planet.
It wasn't until I got older that I started to notice a pattern. I started paying more attention to the stories the our family and friends told about my dad. People always talked about how he was a stellar athlete, smart, kind, helpful, dedicated... the list goes on and on. What I started to realize, was that I wasn't the only person who looked up to my dad; I wasn't the only person who thought of him as my hero. Former teammates, friends, colleagues, and family all looked up to him for a variety of reasons. In these past weeks my mom and I have received countless emails, letters, CaringBridge comments, and phone calls and all of them have shared the same common message - that my dad was every bit the hero to them as he has been to me for my entire life. I had always thought that my feelings were simply the embodiment of the typical 'daddy's little girl' - I have since realized that it was not simply because he was my dad that I looked up to him as I did, but even more-so because he was the kind of person that everyone admired.
While Derek and I were planning our wedding, my dad was horrified at the cost of my 'dream' wedding. He always was a man who weighed the pros and cons of finances and he could not comprehend how flowers, a cake, or a wedding video could mean so much to me and cost so much. At one point, he made Derek and I an offer. He said that if we would elope and have a small wedding somewhere, he would give us the budgeted money for the wedding as a down payment on our first house. At the time, I was young and totally naive about both the importance of lilies AND the value of a down payment. I chose my dream wedding and even though I don't think he agreed with me at the time - he didn't argue again. For the remainder of the time leading up to the wedding he obligingly wrote the checks as the bills were due and held his tongue - even though I know it was difficult for him. On my wedding night, during our father-daughter dance my dad asked me one question that has stuck with me since. He asked if I was happy. I smiled and laughed and said, "Of course!" He looked at me very seriously and said, "Then it was worth it - every penny."
I learned an important lesson from my dad in that moment - that the memories that we make with the people we love matter more than anything else. I feel like my dad lived his life as an example of that lesson.
Cancer wasn't supposed to happen to my dad. He spent his life being healthy and fit. It wasn't supposed to happen to him... the star quarterback, the Vietnam veteran, the man who taught me how to ride a bike and shoot a gun, who walked me down the aisle at my wedding, the man who had a secret handshake with my baby girl, and wanted nothing more than to throw a football with my son. Cancer stole my dad away too soon - but it can never take away the love, the admiration, and the memories that we made with him, right up until his last days.
--
There is a verse in the bible that I have relied on during some of the darkest points in my life. This verse comes from Hebrews chapter 6, verse 19. It reads:
We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.
At various points in my life, I have wondered if God had forgotten me. My plans and hopes for my life weren't coming to pass as I had expected - I was devastated and angry at God for these disappointments. I realize now that this was simply God telling me that he had better and more important plans for my life and this led me to understand the importance of hope. I have discovered that anything is survivable if we are able to hold out hope. Over spring break, during my last visit to see my parents in Arizona, I had an anchor tattooed on my wrist. Later that night, I explained the motivation behind it to my dad. I had hope for the success of his medical treatments and the possibility of remission, and although I didn't say it at the time, I had hope that my dad to come to Christ, to find his faith, and as a result, that even if our time together on Earth was limited - we would be together again in heaven. That hope is was sustains me today - the understanding that even though we are all flawed - my dad and myself certainly included, that we will be welcomed into the gates of heaven as children of God. So today as we say goodbye to this amazing man I feel that it is better for me to think of it as, "see you later".
----
Ever since I was a little girl, my dad has been my hero. I was in awe of him. As far as I was concerned he was the smartest, handsomest, funniest man on the planet.
It wasn't until I got older that I started to notice a pattern. I started paying more attention to the stories the our family and friends told about my dad. People always talked about how he was a stellar athlete, smart, kind, helpful, dedicated... the list goes on and on. What I started to realize, was that I wasn't the only person who looked up to my dad; I wasn't the only person who thought of him as my hero. Former teammates, friends, colleagues, and family all looked up to him for a variety of reasons. In these past weeks my mom and I have received countless emails, letters, CaringBridge comments, and phone calls and all of them have shared the same common message - that my dad was every bit the hero to them as he has been to me for my entire life. I had always thought that my feelings were simply the embodiment of the typical 'daddy's little girl' - I have since realized that it was not simply because he was my dad that I looked up to him as I did, but even more-so because he was the kind of person that everyone admired.
While Derek and I were planning our wedding, my dad was horrified at the cost of my 'dream' wedding. He always was a man who weighed the pros and cons of finances and he could not comprehend how flowers, a cake, or a wedding video could mean so much to me and cost so much. At one point, he made Derek and I an offer. He said that if we would elope and have a small wedding somewhere, he would give us the budgeted money for the wedding as a down payment on our first house. At the time, I was young and totally naive about both the importance of lilies AND the value of a down payment. I chose my dream wedding and even though I don't think he agreed with me at the time - he didn't argue again. For the remainder of the time leading up to the wedding he obligingly wrote the checks as the bills were due and held his tongue - even though I know it was difficult for him. On my wedding night, during our father-daughter dance my dad asked me one question that has stuck with me since. He asked if I was happy. I smiled and laughed and said, "Of course!" He looked at me very seriously and said, "Then it was worth it - every penny."
I learned an important lesson from my dad in that moment - that the memories that we make with the people we love matter more than anything else. I feel like my dad lived his life as an example of that lesson.
Cancer wasn't supposed to happen to my dad. He spent his life being healthy and fit. It wasn't supposed to happen to him... the star quarterback, the Vietnam veteran, the man who taught me how to ride a bike and shoot a gun, who walked me down the aisle at my wedding, the man who had a secret handshake with my baby girl, and wanted nothing more than to throw a football with my son. Cancer stole my dad away too soon - but it can never take away the love, the admiration, and the memories that we made with him, right up until his last days.
--
There is a verse in the bible that I have relied on during some of the darkest points in my life. This verse comes from Hebrews chapter 6, verse 19. It reads:
We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.
At various points in my life, I have wondered if God had forgotten me. My plans and hopes for my life weren't coming to pass as I had expected - I was devastated and angry at God for these disappointments. I realize now that this was simply God telling me that he had better and more important plans for my life and this led me to understand the importance of hope. I have discovered that anything is survivable if we are able to hold out hope. Over spring break, during my last visit to see my parents in Arizona, I had an anchor tattooed on my wrist. Later that night, I explained the motivation behind it to my dad. I had hope for the success of his medical treatments and the possibility of remission, and although I didn't say it at the time, I had hope that my dad to come to Christ, to find his faith, and as a result, that even if our time together on Earth was limited - we would be together again in heaven. That hope is was sustains me today - the understanding that even though we are all flawed - my dad and myself certainly included, that we will be welcomed into the gates of heaven as children of God. So today as we say goodbye to this amazing man I feel that it is better for me to think of it as, "see you later".
Saturday, November 9, 2013
I think I've said this before...
but parenting is really hard.
I thought it was hard with a newborn - no sleep, no clue what I was doing, pumping milk every 3 hours, spit up, blow out diapers, packing an entire car load just to run to the store... it was hard.
Then I had a toddler - suddenly I was operating on no sleep {okay, more sleep than in the newborn days but compared to pre-baby, it was hardly sufficient}. We had moved past the pumping and spit up and cruised right into a cupboard raiding, electricity outlet seeking, temper tantrum throwing 2 year old... and it was hard.
Then I had a preschooler and a newborn and shit hit the fan {pardon my language... but in some instances, we could be talking about actual poop here... this is the stage where potty training when horribly wrong AND I had a new born with blow out diapers}... and everything that was hard about the first two stages got smooshed together under one roof and this mama may have come ever-so-slightly unglued.
Now, everything that I've just written up there ^ is exactly why this blog has been neglected since Cohen's birth. Parenting TWO children is exceptionally more challenging than parenting one... and I would hedge a bet that it is even more fun with three, and four, and so on... but I have no intentions of discovering that first-hand.
So fast forward to now, I'm mama-ing a 4-year-old and an 18-month-old, working more than full time, grieving the loss of my dad, holding together a marriage that on some days feels like it's on the verge of crumbling down {and on others, feels like perfection.. go figure.}, and trying to do it all and make it look like it's no big deal.
So, basically, I'm a big, fat liar.
Like I've said before, parenting is hard. Being an adult is hard. Being a wife is hard. LIFE IS FREAKING HARD.
{I do have a point, pinkie-swear}.
In the pre-baby days, I could lose my shit - scream, cry, throw things, buy things, starve myself, do whatever it took to make myself feel in control. I looked like an idiot more often than not, but it worked for me. Even in the early days when Addison was so little that I could be letting loose with a string of swear words that would make a sailor blush, but as long as I did it in my 'mommy voice' and had a smile on my face, she was none the wiser. Then, she started to get it. Addison knew when I was mad or sad, reacted when I was angry, and paid attention to whether or not what I did matched what I said I was going to do. Suddenly, I had to follow through. I had to watch what I said. I had to be a PARENT {read: role model} and it was terrifying. Back in the days when Addison was tiny and she cried or did something naughty, I could soothe or scold her and move on with life. However, four years old means memories and grudges tiny broken hearts over tiny broken promises. Four means laying down the law and teaching respect and asking WHY did it seem like a good idea to bite daddy... four means shit is getting real.
Addison is a mini-me... it's adorable most of the time - she's wonky and silly and loves people and runs on high octane... but minus a nap or with an unplanned change in the schedule or just because the moon is full, she can turn into a small, but mighty terror. Please understand, that until she turned three, I just thought that 'those people' with 'those obnoxious children' simply had no parenting skills and knew that no offspring of my womb would EVER dare act that way sohelpmeGod. Mmmmhmmm... That was the naivety of a first time parent. I know better now. The higher the stakes, the classier the joint, the more likely it is that my child will do something crazy. And I never wanted to be 'that parent' with 'that kid'... so I scolded and I YELLED. And then one day, Addison dropped her drink in the kitchen and I turned around with what I'm assuming it the typical "take cover, mom is going to explode" look... and my kid flinched.
My child was scared that I was going to yell. She was expecting it. And it stopped me dead in my tracks.
{^ point, if you missed it}.
I don't want to be that mom. I want to be a mom who has well-behaved kids because they don't want to disappoint her, not because they fear her. I want to have kids who come clean about their mistake before I even find out because they know that I am a safe haven and that even though there will be consequences - they are SAFE. I don't want to be the mom who screams. I never want to see fear in my child's eyes.
So, I'm starting over. I don't think you really get to do that but it's better than mucking through the way I've been going. I read several articles today as I planned this blog and, as He has a way of doing - God guided me to this decision and gave me the resources and the support from other mom's to say that I'm not going to yell anymore. {I realize this is the goal, and not likely the actual reality... but I'm talking about my children, so I'm setting the bar high.} I'm taking the OrangeRhino Challenge. 365 days {and hopefully many, many more - of no yelling}. I may vent on here, I may lock myself in the bathroom to count to 100, but I will do my absolute best not to yell.
Because as I realized today... that even though I carried these two tiny humans inside my body, pushed them out into this world, nursed them, and fell madly in love with them - THEY ARE NOT MINE TO KEEP. God blessed me with these to precious souls and has charged me with caring for them and raising them up until they are ready to go out into the world and do His work. When I fully realize that these are children of God, not just children of Stefani and Derek, I feel even more pressure to do the right thing. And the right thing, the thing that God has done with me, is to raise them with love. God has never yelled at me and I want to mirror that parenting that He has shown me. I want to be worthy of being called 'mama' by these two precious souls.
So, my first step, is to stop yelling, to treat them with love and to be honest with myself, with God, and with my children about the kind of parent I need to be.
Today was my first day... 364 to go {and hopefully 6552 after that...}
I had one major trigger and I snapped, but I didn't yell. I caught Addison coloring in pencil on the door panel in the new Pilot while we were driving to the store. When I realized what was happening, I snapped at her to stop and give me the pencil. I asked her why she thought it was okay to color on the car {and herself, which happened yesterday when she came home from preschool with washable marker toenail polish, fingernail polish, lipstick, and body paint}. Then I handed her a wipe and made her clean up every mark of pencil we could see. She didn't get a treat at the store {as she had been promised} but I explained that it was a consequence of making the choice to color on the car. She didn't like it, but she didn't cry and she still held my hand as we walked across the parking lot.
I have a long way to go and I know that I am going to slip up more than once and end up back a zero, but I can handle that as long as I can turn around when juice goes crashing to the floor and not see fear in the eyes of my child.
I will do this. With God, all things are possible. {Matthew 19:26}
Here is a list of what I've been reading today:
Orange Rhino Challenge
10 Things I Learned When I Stopped Yelling At My Kids
When Your Temper Scares You
How To Have A Temper Tantrum {This is the one that started it all for me... it brought tears.}
The Passion of Parenting
I thought it was hard with a newborn - no sleep, no clue what I was doing, pumping milk every 3 hours, spit up, blow out diapers, packing an entire car load just to run to the store... it was hard.
Then I had a toddler - suddenly I was operating on no sleep {okay, more sleep than in the newborn days but compared to pre-baby, it was hardly sufficient}. We had moved past the pumping and spit up and cruised right into a cupboard raiding, electricity outlet seeking, temper tantrum throwing 2 year old... and it was hard.
Then I had a preschooler and a newborn and shit hit the fan {pardon my language... but in some instances, we could be talking about actual poop here... this is the stage where potty training when horribly wrong AND I had a new born with blow out diapers}... and everything that was hard about the first two stages got smooshed together under one roof and this mama may have come ever-so-slightly unglued.
Now, everything that I've just written up there ^ is exactly why this blog has been neglected since Cohen's birth. Parenting TWO children is exceptionally more challenging than parenting one... and I would hedge a bet that it is even more fun with three, and four, and so on... but I have no intentions of discovering that first-hand.
So fast forward to now, I'm mama-ing a 4-year-old and an 18-month-old, working more than full time, grieving the loss of my dad, holding together a marriage that on some days feels like it's on the verge of crumbling down {and on others, feels like perfection.. go figure.}, and trying to do it all and make it look like it's no big deal.
So, basically, I'm a big, fat liar.
Like I've said before, parenting is hard. Being an adult is hard. Being a wife is hard. LIFE IS FREAKING HARD.
{I do have a point, pinkie-swear}.
In the pre-baby days, I could lose my shit - scream, cry, throw things, buy things, starve myself, do whatever it took to make myself feel in control. I looked like an idiot more often than not, but it worked for me. Even in the early days when Addison was so little that I could be letting loose with a string of swear words that would make a sailor blush, but as long as I did it in my 'mommy voice' and had a smile on my face, she was none the wiser. Then, she started to get it. Addison knew when I was mad or sad, reacted when I was angry, and paid attention to whether or not what I did matched what I said I was going to do. Suddenly, I had to follow through. I had to watch what I said. I had to be a PARENT {read: role model} and it was terrifying. Back in the days when Addison was tiny and she cried or did something naughty, I could soothe or scold her and move on with life. However, four years old means memories and grudges tiny broken hearts over tiny broken promises. Four means laying down the law and teaching respect and asking WHY did it seem like a good idea to bite daddy... four means shit is getting real.
Addison is a mini-me... it's adorable most of the time - she's wonky and silly and loves people and runs on high octane... but minus a nap or with an unplanned change in the schedule or just because the moon is full, she can turn into a small, but mighty terror. Please understand, that until she turned three, I just thought that 'those people' with 'those obnoxious children' simply had no parenting skills and knew that no offspring of my womb would EVER dare act that way sohelpmeGod. Mmmmhmmm... That was the naivety of a first time parent. I know better now. The higher the stakes, the classier the joint, the more likely it is that my child will do something crazy. And I never wanted to be 'that parent' with 'that kid'... so I scolded and I YELLED. And then one day, Addison dropped her drink in the kitchen and I turned around with what I'm assuming it the typical "take cover, mom is going to explode" look... and my kid flinched.
My child was scared that I was going to yell. She was expecting it. And it stopped me dead in my tracks.
{^ point, if you missed it}.
I don't want to be that mom. I want to be a mom who has well-behaved kids because they don't want to disappoint her, not because they fear her. I want to have kids who come clean about their mistake before I even find out because they know that I am a safe haven and that even though there will be consequences - they are SAFE. I don't want to be the mom who screams. I never want to see fear in my child's eyes.
So, I'm starting over. I don't think you really get to do that but it's better than mucking through the way I've been going. I read several articles today as I planned this blog and, as He has a way of doing - God guided me to this decision and gave me the resources and the support from other mom's to say that I'm not going to yell anymore. {I realize this is the goal, and not likely the actual reality... but I'm talking about my children, so I'm setting the bar high.} I'm taking the OrangeRhino Challenge. 365 days {and hopefully many, many more - of no yelling}. I may vent on here, I may lock myself in the bathroom to count to 100, but I will do my absolute best not to yell.
So, my first step, is to stop yelling, to treat them with love and to be honest with myself, with God, and with my children about the kind of parent I need to be.
Today was my first day... 364 to go {and hopefully 6552 after that...}
I had one major trigger and I snapped, but I didn't yell. I caught Addison coloring in pencil on the door panel in the new Pilot while we were driving to the store. When I realized what was happening, I snapped at her to stop and give me the pencil. I asked her why she thought it was okay to color on the car {and herself, which happened yesterday when she came home from preschool with washable marker toenail polish, fingernail polish, lipstick, and body paint}. Then I handed her a wipe and made her clean up every mark of pencil we could see. She didn't get a treat at the store {as she had been promised} but I explained that it was a consequence of making the choice to color on the car. She didn't like it, but she didn't cry and she still held my hand as we walked across the parking lot.
I have a long way to go and I know that I am going to slip up more than once and end up back a zero, but I can handle that as long as I can turn around when juice goes crashing to the floor and not see fear in the eyes of my child.
I will do this. With God, all things are possible. {Matthew 19:26}
Here is a list of what I've been reading today:
Orange Rhino Challenge
10 Things I Learned When I Stopped Yelling At My Kids
When Your Temper Scares You
How To Have A Temper Tantrum {This is the one that started it all for me... it brought tears.}
The Passion of Parenting
Sunday, September 8, 2013
All I want for my birthday...
is to NOT celebrate my birthday.
I don't want to have cake or open presents or, honestly, even hear the words, "Happy Birthday" on Wednesday. I know that it's irrational and I know that it's immature but if I can't hear those words from my dad this year, then I don't want to hear them at all.
I don't want to have cake or open presents or, honestly, even hear the words, "Happy Birthday" on Wednesday. I know that it's irrational and I know that it's immature but if I can't hear those words from my dad this year, then I don't want to hear them at all.
Thursday, June 27, 2013
The pain and the loss...
I haven't blogged in awhile. Not because of a lack of topic-worthy events, not because I haven't been craving the time and emotional release that come with writing... simply because life has spun out of control so quickly that I'm just now feeling that my feet are back on the ground long enough to start trying to process things.
On June 9th, as I was waiting to board a plane to Las Vegas with my husband, anxiously awaiting the celebration of our 9th anniversary - I answered a phone call that changed my life. My mom was on the phone and she very calmly, very clearly said the words that I've dreaded since I was old enough to understand their meaning.
"Dad died this morning."
Four words. Less than two seconds of my life. And yet everything changed.
I don't remember how long I was in the phone, or what I said next. I don't remember getting off the phone or how I told my husband. I just remember looking around the terminal at the airport and feeling like somehow, even though I was in a crowded room - I was completely alone. My life was crumbling around me and the lives of all those people around me were continuing on as planned that day. All of the sudden there were decisions that had to be made right away - get our luggage and go home, board the plane? My mom had begged me to go on our trip - to try and have the vacation we had planned. My rationale was simply that Vegas was two hours closer to Mesa, and that once we arrived in Nevada I could make travel arrangements to get the rest of the way. So we boarded, and in a haze of tears and shock, we made our way south.
Once we were airborne, I dug out my tablet and started to write. Putting my thoughts down in writing has always been a form of therapy for me. At first I didn't know what I was writing, but it quickly became clear to me that it was something that I would read at his memorial. Something I wish I would have written and read to him much earlier in life. I am still working on that piece of writing, and I will share it here once the memorial has passed. This piece, this entry, serves a different purpose. The blog that I am writing today is selfish, it's focused on my feelings, my pain, my loss. The piece I'm writing for the memorial is focused on my dad, on his life, and on who he was to so many people.
When I was in the 7th grade, I lost two of my grandparents within weeks of each other. In September, my mom's mom passed away after a long battle with breast cancer. Less than six weeks later, my dad's dad passed away from complications with emphysema. I watched both of my parents grieve their losses, make final arrangements, and try to pick of the pieces of their lives to move on. In that short time, I came to understand very clearly, that someday, I would lose my parents. It's something that we all grow up understanding to some degree, but it always seems like it must be so far in the future that worrying about it and imagining what life will be like or what will need to be done, is nearly impossible. Even when my dad was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma in 2011 and after he came out of remission in early 2013, I never really could wrap my head around the idea that this disease could kill him. Logically, I understood it. I knew that his cancer was very aggressive, that the treatments hadn't been successful, that we were running out of options. But, the idea that my dad would be gone at 68 was something that my brain simply couldn't process. I have lost someone who has been a part of my life from the very beginning - someone who brought me home, loved me, protected me, taught me, guided me, and shaped me. I still have a hard time understanding how the world can continue on, seemingly without a hitch, while it feels like my world has come to a screeching halt.
The only other loss that I've ever felt that has compared was the loss of my pregnancy in spring of 2011 - just before Dad was diagnosed {I wrote about it here if you missed it...}. Losing a baby before you ever get to know them is a heart-wrenching, soul-crushing experience. I already had a child and I knew the capacity for love that my lost pregnancy represented and I grieved it very deeply. I knew I would never see that baby's face, hold him in my arms, send him off to school, or have any other beautiful moments with him. That grief was hard to stand because, on one hand, I felt like I had no right to grieve for someone I had never known. On the other hand, there was a loss of life and of potential that was simply too agonizing to ignore.
I feel like losing my dad has been equally agonizing, but for almost opposite reasons. I cry because I have so many memories - good, bad, funny, scary, mundane, special - and I loved him so deeply and knew him so well that his absence has left a gaping hold in my life. I know that these memories are something to treasure, and eventually, when the pain of loss is no longer so acute, I will cherish them and share them with my mom and with my kids as they grow up. Right now however, it's the knowledge that there will be no more memories with my dad to make. Even last night, as I was organizing pictures for a book I'm making for my kids, I caught myself thinking it would be fun to go on the boat again with Derek and the kids and my parents. In the next moment I was caught with a lump in my throat and I realized, again, that there would not be any more boating trips with my parents. I won't get to fish with my dad again. I won't see him on the bridge of our boat, grinning at me. Those times are done and THAT is the part that hurts. It seems unfair that he is going to miss so much - he had so much life in him and so many plans. He looked forward so much to being able to toss a football around with Cohen, taking the kids camping and boating, traveling with my mom, and countless other hopes and dreams that will never be realized. It breaks my heart to look ahead and see what he's going to miss and what my kids are going to miss. Addison and Cohen will never KNOW their Papa. They will see pictures and hear stories but they won't have any memories of their own with him. As painful as remembering is, the thing I fear even more is forgetting. I worry that I'll forget the way his eyes crinkled with he really smiled, how he always squeezed several times during a really good hug, how his voice sounded, and a million other things that made him MY dad. I recorded his voice-mail message on my phone so I can replay it but that will never even come close to being enough.
I do have things to be thankful for, despite this loss and all the tears. I'm thankful that I had an amazing relationship with my dad. We certainly didn't see eye-to-eye on everything {I learned my stubbornness from him} but from the time that I moved away to college, we never ended a phone conversation without saying our "I love yous", we played cribbage often, and hiked up to see Praying Hands on my last trip to Arizona.
My single regret is that we never had the graduation dinner that he promised me almost a decade ago. Before he retired, he used to have lunch at the Met in Seattle. I begged him to take me there and he promised me that when I graduated from college he would take me to dinner. Since then, I've graduated with three different degrees and each time we've joked that it was finally time to have our special dinner - and each time things got in the way. I looked forward to that dinner for the better part of two decades - not because of the food {which, I'm told is amazing} but because that dinner meant that my dad was proud of me and THAT meant more to me than anything else I could think of.
I don't know how you are supposed to end a post like this other than to say that I was lucky enough to be the daughter of an exceptional man and I am thankful for every moment that we had together.
On June 9th, as I was waiting to board a plane to Las Vegas with my husband, anxiously awaiting the celebration of our 9th anniversary - I answered a phone call that changed my life. My mom was on the phone and she very calmly, very clearly said the words that I've dreaded since I was old enough to understand their meaning.
"Dad died this morning."
Four words. Less than two seconds of my life. And yet everything changed.
I don't remember how long I was in the phone, or what I said next. I don't remember getting off the phone or how I told my husband. I just remember looking around the terminal at the airport and feeling like somehow, even though I was in a crowded room - I was completely alone. My life was crumbling around me and the lives of all those people around me were continuing on as planned that day. All of the sudden there were decisions that had to be made right away - get our luggage and go home, board the plane? My mom had begged me to go on our trip - to try and have the vacation we had planned. My rationale was simply that Vegas was two hours closer to Mesa, and that once we arrived in Nevada I could make travel arrangements to get the rest of the way. So we boarded, and in a haze of tears and shock, we made our way south.
Once we were airborne, I dug out my tablet and started to write. Putting my thoughts down in writing has always been a form of therapy for me. At first I didn't know what I was writing, but it quickly became clear to me that it was something that I would read at his memorial. Something I wish I would have written and read to him much earlier in life. I am still working on that piece of writing, and I will share it here once the memorial has passed. This piece, this entry, serves a different purpose. The blog that I am writing today is selfish, it's focused on my feelings, my pain, my loss. The piece I'm writing for the memorial is focused on my dad, on his life, and on who he was to so many people.
When I was in the 7th grade, I lost two of my grandparents within weeks of each other. In September, my mom's mom passed away after a long battle with breast cancer. Less than six weeks later, my dad's dad passed away from complications with emphysema. I watched both of my parents grieve their losses, make final arrangements, and try to pick of the pieces of their lives to move on. In that short time, I came to understand very clearly, that someday, I would lose my parents. It's something that we all grow up understanding to some degree, but it always seems like it must be so far in the future that worrying about it and imagining what life will be like or what will need to be done, is nearly impossible. Even when my dad was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma in 2011 and after he came out of remission in early 2013, I never really could wrap my head around the idea that this disease could kill him. Logically, I understood it. I knew that his cancer was very aggressive, that the treatments hadn't been successful, that we were running out of options. But, the idea that my dad would be gone at 68 was something that my brain simply couldn't process. I have lost someone who has been a part of my life from the very beginning - someone who brought me home, loved me, protected me, taught me, guided me, and shaped me. I still have a hard time understanding how the world can continue on, seemingly without a hitch, while it feels like my world has come to a screeching halt.
The only other loss that I've ever felt that has compared was the loss of my pregnancy in spring of 2011 - just before Dad was diagnosed {I wrote about it here if you missed it...}. Losing a baby before you ever get to know them is a heart-wrenching, soul-crushing experience. I already had a child and I knew the capacity for love that my lost pregnancy represented and I grieved it very deeply. I knew I would never see that baby's face, hold him in my arms, send him off to school, or have any other beautiful moments with him. That grief was hard to stand because, on one hand, I felt like I had no right to grieve for someone I had never known. On the other hand, there was a loss of life and of potential that was simply too agonizing to ignore.
I feel like losing my dad has been equally agonizing, but for almost opposite reasons. I cry because I have so many memories - good, bad, funny, scary, mundane, special - and I loved him so deeply and knew him so well that his absence has left a gaping hold in my life. I know that these memories are something to treasure, and eventually, when the pain of loss is no longer so acute, I will cherish them and share them with my mom and with my kids as they grow up. Right now however, it's the knowledge that there will be no more memories with my dad to make. Even last night, as I was organizing pictures for a book I'm making for my kids, I caught myself thinking it would be fun to go on the boat again with Derek and the kids and my parents. In the next moment I was caught with a lump in my throat and I realized, again, that there would not be any more boating trips with my parents. I won't get to fish with my dad again. I won't see him on the bridge of our boat, grinning at me. Those times are done and THAT is the part that hurts. It seems unfair that he is going to miss so much - he had so much life in him and so many plans. He looked forward so much to being able to toss a football around with Cohen, taking the kids camping and boating, traveling with my mom, and countless other hopes and dreams that will never be realized. It breaks my heart to look ahead and see what he's going to miss and what my kids are going to miss. Addison and Cohen will never KNOW their Papa. They will see pictures and hear stories but they won't have any memories of their own with him. As painful as remembering is, the thing I fear even more is forgetting. I worry that I'll forget the way his eyes crinkled with he really smiled, how he always squeezed several times during a really good hug, how his voice sounded, and a million other things that made him MY dad. I recorded his voice-mail message on my phone so I can replay it but that will never even come close to being enough.
I do have things to be thankful for, despite this loss and all the tears. I'm thankful that I had an amazing relationship with my dad. We certainly didn't see eye-to-eye on everything {I learned my stubbornness from him} but from the time that I moved away to college, we never ended a phone conversation without saying our "I love yous", we played cribbage often, and hiked up to see Praying Hands on my last trip to Arizona.
My single regret is that we never had the graduation dinner that he promised me almost a decade ago. Before he retired, he used to have lunch at the Met in Seattle. I begged him to take me there and he promised me that when I graduated from college he would take me to dinner. Since then, I've graduated with three different degrees and each time we've joked that it was finally time to have our special dinner - and each time things got in the way. I looked forward to that dinner for the better part of two decades - not because of the food {which, I'm told is amazing} but because that dinner meant that my dad was proud of me and THAT meant more to me than anything else I could think of.
I don't know how you are supposed to end a post like this other than to say that I was lucky enough to be the daughter of an exceptional man and I am thankful for every moment that we had together.
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| Papa finally has a boy to love on... |
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| Summer 2012 |
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| Summer 2012 at the summer house |
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| The last picture taken of my dad, five days before he died. |
Sunday, April 28, 2013
1 YEAR OLD!!
Length:
Weight:
Feeding Schedule: Still working on the sippy cup thing... Right now he's waking
up around 6:30am for a bottle, and then eats breakfast around 9:30
(fruit, puffs, yogurt bites, formula in a sippy), lunch around noon time
(veggies, puffs, whole milk or water in a sippy), a sippy after his nap, dinner
around 5:30 (meat, veggies, puffs, yogurt), and a bottle when he goes to
bed. Annnnd a bottle (water) in the middle of the night because HE IS STILL
WAKING UP. Sleeping Schedule: He's down most nights by 6:30 or 7pm, up once during the night, and then up again around 6am. He usually takes a morning nap around 9:30 and an afternoon one around 1pm.
Milestones: He's a whole year old! He's in 18 month clothes and is FINALLY off formula and drinking whole milk instead. There is $100 in savings every month right there!
Best Moment This Month: Having my parents here to see how much he's grown, his first birthday, his monster party, and his baptism.
Loves: Toy Story 3, phones and all electronics, getting tossed in the air by daddy while mommy cringes, standing, sitting up, crawling like a boss, taking baths, giggling, smiling, wrestling with blankets, babbling, pulling on facial features and hair, swings, his blankie...
Hates: Still hates food with any strange texture and REFUSES to eat stage 3 baby food because of it, so we're skipping it altogether and I'm going to start cooking him veggies at night with pasta or rice. Also hates, getting his face wet, touching grass with ANY part of his body,
What We're Looking Forward To: Excited and anxious to see his first steps... once he takes off he'll never stop!
Thursday, April 11, 2013
11 months...
Length: 27.5 inches {as of his last appointment}
Weight: lbs. oz. {will update soon}
Feeding Schedule: Allow the bottle weaning to begin... sort of. This little man gave up the bink without a fight, but the bottle? He's going to make us work for that one. Right now he's waking up around 6:30am for a bottle, and then eats breakfast around 9:30 (fruit, puffs, yogurt bites, formula in a sippy), lunch around noon time (veggies, puffs, formula in a sippy), a sippy after his nap, dinner around 5:30 (meat, veggies, puffs, yogurt), and a bottle when he goes to bed. Annnnd a bottle in the middle of the night because HE IS STILL WAKING UP. Sleeping Schedule: He's down most nights by 6:30 or 7pm, up once during the night, and then up again around 7am. He usually takes a morning nap around 10:30 and an afternoon one around 1pm.
Milestones: Aside from the fact that this is his last month as a 'less than one year old', he's crawling like a pro, pulling up, today he stood by the couch and let go for a second, he mimics playing patty-cake, he says Dada, Mama, and Ba-Ba, and he's making the transition to a sippy cup.
Best Moment This Month: Watching him 'hunt' for his first Easter eggs.
Loves: Toy Story 3, phones and all electronics, getting tossed in the air by daddy while mommy cringes, standing, sitting up, crawling like a boss, taking baths, giggling, smiling, wrestling with blankets, babbling, pull on facial features and hair...
Hates: Still hates food with any strange texture and REFUSES to eat stage 3 baby food because of it, so we're skipping it altogether and I'm going to start cooking him veggies at night with pasta or rice.
What We're Looking Forward To: His first birthday with is coming up super fast!! EEK!!
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| Oh, how time flies... |
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| He was ruining my backdrop but he was so cute that I couldn't stop him... |
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| If he ever forgives me for this hat, it'll be a miracle... |
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| These eyes melt my heart.. |
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