I'm going to finish that conversation I started with my husband
I'm going to write a book
I'm going to send people birthday cards again (I used to be so good at that!)
I'm going to take a nap (to preserve the mind I found)
I'm going to sit and read a book - for as long as I like. I may even finish it.
I'm going to have all those people over for dinner that I keep meaning to invite
I'm going to make a menu and actually stick to it instead of scrapping the whole thing in exhaustion and making grilled cheese sandwiches by Tuesday night
I'm going to remember what I was going to say
...just as soon as I find my mind. I know I had a fully working brain. I remember it. Vaguely, but I do remember.
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 11, 2012
Mom vs. Dad vs. Child
Brody is Brynna's best buddy. He doesn't care if she makes him call her princess. He runs the same speed she does - fast. everywhere. always. He is perfectly content to play Spiderman Bad Guys right next to her dancing like a fairy. He lets her be her and she does the same. And somehow even though they don't love the same things, they love to do them side-by-side. So when it was time to find activities for the fall, it made sense that they'd do some of them together. Brody wasn't so interested in joining BG for ballet, but tennis and gymnastics were right up his alley. So on Wednesdays and Fridays (and usually other days as well), we hang out with Brody, his dad Jason and his little sister McKenna.
As much as I love to watch people, this new addition to our schedule has been fascinating. I get to watch up-close how little boys and girls are so very different (you know...without having to clean pee off my bathroom floor every other day). I also get to remember how cute baby girls can be (you know...without having to change diapers). And McKenna even lets me snuggle her sometimes - something BG was NEVER interested in doing. She had too much else on her plate. Most fun, though, is that I get to see how moms, dads and kids see the same object through totally different eyes.
For instance:
A plastic bag - Mom sees this as a choking hazard and removes at all costs. Child sees this as a fun toy to put on one's head. Dad, while acknowledging that it's not the most safe thing to play with, lets child play with it for a few minutes before jokingly removing it.
A straw wrapper - Mom sees this as trash to be disposed of. Child sees this as another fun toy and one to be tasted until pieces are stuck to her face like spit wads in 3rd grade. Dad thinks the spit wads are funny and laughs with child while cleaning her face.
Ottoman - Mom sees this as an expensive piece of furniture she painstakingly chose and purchased to complete the decor of the room she designed. Child sees this as a trampoline springboard. Dad sees potential in the child's ability so encourages her to jump only one more time to try and perfect the spin move before he enforces the No Jumping on the Furniture rule.
Wet wood chips - Mom sees this as a dirty floor at the playground to be avoided if possible. Child sees this as a plethora of fun toys to be tasted, crawled on, rolled in, stacked like a castle and sat on during hide-and-seek. Dad sees this as a chance to experience a new thing and acknowledges as he sets the child down that "we'll just give you a bath when we get home."
Maybe all moms, dads and kids don't fall into these strict categories. But generally speaking, this is how we see the world. I saw the moms at gymnastics the day Jason let McKenna play with the plastic bag after she finished her Cheerios. I know what was going through their minds. "That's dangerous. He shouldn't let her play with that." There was nothing dangerous about him playing WITH her, though. There was nothing that would harm her about a little paper straw wrapper or some dirty clothes after crawling through the wet wood chips at the park. She experienced her world and she did so all the while knowing her daddy was there to make sure no harm came to her. That's a far better lesson to learn than staying clean.
Maybe we could all use a lesson from Brody and Jason. Maybe we don't have to love what they do but teach them to love doing it side-by-side. Maybe Dad doesn't need so many lessons from Mom. Maybe Mom needs to sit back and learn...
And a sidenote: the ottoman happens at our house, not Brody's. (Well, maybe Brody's too...that wouldn't surprise me.) And while I still contend that we don't jump on furniture, there's something special about when Brynna fearlessly faces a new challenge and when it doesn't work out perfect the first time, I hear her say, "It's ok. Daddy will help me." How different would your life be if that was your response to each day? If it didn't matter how dirty or proper you were as long as you knew your Daddy was there to make sure you were ok? Brynna and McKenna will be strong, confident young women because of what their mommies lovingly teach them. But they will be independent, courageous young women because their daddies have given them a safe space to be free.
As much as I love to watch people, this new addition to our schedule has been fascinating. I get to watch up-close how little boys and girls are so very different (you know...without having to clean pee off my bathroom floor every other day). I also get to remember how cute baby girls can be (you know...without having to change diapers). And McKenna even lets me snuggle her sometimes - something BG was NEVER interested in doing. She had too much else on her plate. Most fun, though, is that I get to see how moms, dads and kids see the same object through totally different eyes.
For instance:
A plastic bag - Mom sees this as a choking hazard and removes at all costs. Child sees this as a fun toy to put on one's head. Dad, while acknowledging that it's not the most safe thing to play with, lets child play with it for a few minutes before jokingly removing it.
A straw wrapper - Mom sees this as trash to be disposed of. Child sees this as another fun toy and one to be tasted until pieces are stuck to her face like spit wads in 3rd grade. Dad thinks the spit wads are funny and laughs with child while cleaning her face.
Ottoman - Mom sees this as an expensive piece of furniture she painstakingly chose and purchased to complete the decor of the room she designed. Child sees this as a trampoline springboard. Dad sees potential in the child's ability so encourages her to jump only one more time to try and perfect the spin move before he enforces the No Jumping on the Furniture rule.
Wet wood chips - Mom sees this as a dirty floor at the playground to be avoided if possible. Child sees this as a plethora of fun toys to be tasted, crawled on, rolled in, stacked like a castle and sat on during hide-and-seek. Dad sees this as a chance to experience a new thing and acknowledges as he sets the child down that "we'll just give you a bath when we get home."
Maybe all moms, dads and kids don't fall into these strict categories. But generally speaking, this is how we see the world. I saw the moms at gymnastics the day Jason let McKenna play with the plastic bag after she finished her Cheerios. I know what was going through their minds. "That's dangerous. He shouldn't let her play with that." There was nothing dangerous about him playing WITH her, though. There was nothing that would harm her about a little paper straw wrapper or some dirty clothes after crawling through the wet wood chips at the park. She experienced her world and she did so all the while knowing her daddy was there to make sure no harm came to her. That's a far better lesson to learn than staying clean.
Maybe we could all use a lesson from Brody and Jason. Maybe we don't have to love what they do but teach them to love doing it side-by-side. Maybe Dad doesn't need so many lessons from Mom. Maybe Mom needs to sit back and learn...
And a sidenote: the ottoman happens at our house, not Brody's. (Well, maybe Brody's too...that wouldn't surprise me.) And while I still contend that we don't jump on furniture, there's something special about when Brynna fearlessly faces a new challenge and when it doesn't work out perfect the first time, I hear her say, "It's ok. Daddy will help me." How different would your life be if that was your response to each day? If it didn't matter how dirty or proper you were as long as you knew your Daddy was there to make sure you were ok? Brynna and McKenna will be strong, confident young women because of what their mommies lovingly teach them. But they will be independent, courageous young women because their daddies have given them a safe space to be free.
Oct 9, 2012
Confessions
1. This is one of my favorite things to watch. (And apparently photograph.)
Yeah, she's trying to get her pajamas off...
and she turned it into a straight jacket...and she can't get out.
2. When they start talking about tests and what weeks what happens and baby registries...I feel like the woman in the group who hasn't had a kid. I know I was pregnant. I have the marks on my a** to prove it. I think I mind-blocked at least 10 months of my life.
3. That doesn't make me sad. (That I don't remember at which week they learned which thing after making me pee in a cup for the 73rd time...that day.)
4. Sometimes if the plastic container is too dirty or if I don't remember what year I put it in the fridge or if I'm afraid the smell of opening it might send the dog into shock, I don't clean it. I just throw it away.
5. I let her do this for hours even though I knew it wasn't going to end well. (And it didn't...end well.)
and she turned it into a straight jacket...and she can't get out.
2. When they start talking about tests and what weeks what happens and baby registries...I feel like the woman in the group who hasn't had a kid. I know I was pregnant. I have the marks on my a** to prove it. I think I mind-blocked at least 10 months of my life.
3. That doesn't make me sad. (That I don't remember at which week they learned which thing after making me pee in a cup for the 73rd time...that day.)
4. Sometimes if the plastic container is too dirty or if I don't remember what year I put it in the fridge or if I'm afraid the smell of opening it might send the dog into shock, I don't clean it. I just throw it away.
5. I let her do this for hours even though I knew it wasn't going to end well. (And it didn't...end well.)
ps...of all the things I just mentioned, I'm most afraid of the follow up call from my mom about the Tupperware. She's cringing right now thinking "I know I raised her better than that!"
Oct 6, 2012
Home Project: Wall of Art
I've had this idea for awhile, and this weekend my sweet husband helped make it a reality. (He's required both for heavy lifting and precise measurements. I get distracted, start "eyeballing"...it spirals out of control. But I digress.) I wanted to frame some of Brynna's artwork in our entry hall. I thought it'd be a cute idea. It turned out to be way more than that.
I bought frames especially designed for kids' artwork so you can easily add more, replace, etc. They are advertised as being a way to keep their masterpieces over time and "build self esteem." I thought that an interesting marketing technique, and as the day has gone on, I couldn't agree more. I love the way it looks. I love that we will be able to see and enjoy Brynna's art as she grows and develops. Most importantly, though, I love the way her face lit up when she walked downstairs and it was completed. I love that she will never doubt how much we believe in her. When I say she is capable and creative she'll need only look as far as that wall for reassurance. She will have a tangible reminder that I love what she does and who she is enough to display it for all to see.
I caught myself staring into the hall all day today. How often do we do that? How often do they bring something home that - let's be honest - we have no idea what it's supposed to be? We look at it, praise them and then as soon as they are distracted, we shove it in a drawer (or worse. Don't feel bad. More than one of BG's masterpieces has met File 13.). But how often do we sit and stare at what they've done? How often do we take a moment of quiet and contemplate that the tiny little being that couldn't hold her head up, can write letters and paint with a paintbrush?
This began as a cute project idea but has become so much more. It is my silent nod of encouragement when Brynna wonders if what she does is good enough. It is my place to watch my baby grow into a big girl. It is more than a wall of art. It is a wall where I can remember and be grateful.
I bought frames especially designed for kids' artwork so you can easily add more, replace, etc. They are advertised as being a way to keep their masterpieces over time and "build self esteem." I thought that an interesting marketing technique, and as the day has gone on, I couldn't agree more. I love the way it looks. I love that we will be able to see and enjoy Brynna's art as she grows and develops. Most importantly, though, I love the way her face lit up when she walked downstairs and it was completed. I love that she will never doubt how much we believe in her. When I say she is capable and creative she'll need only look as far as that wall for reassurance. She will have a tangible reminder that I love what she does and who she is enough to display it for all to see.I caught myself staring into the hall all day today. How often do we do that? How often do they bring something home that - let's be honest - we have no idea what it's supposed to be? We look at it, praise them and then as soon as they are distracted, we shove it in a drawer (or worse. Don't feel bad. More than one of BG's masterpieces has met File 13.). But how often do we sit and stare at what they've done? How often do we take a moment of quiet and contemplate that the tiny little being that couldn't hold her head up, can write letters and paint with a paintbrush?
This began as a cute project idea but has become so much more. It is my silent nod of encouragement when Brynna wonders if what she does is good enough. It is my place to watch my baby grow into a big girl. It is more than a wall of art. It is a wall where I can remember and be grateful.
Oct 4, 2012
What Depression Taught Me I'm NOT: Part 3
Every time I talk about this, I inevitably get an email, comment or facebook message. Someone, somewhere is struggling with the same thing and my talking about it lets her know she's not alone. I'm so glad. It would suck if all this wasn't used to bless someone.
So I had to go to the doctor yesterday. No biggie, just the dermatologist. But it was a new doctor, so I had to fill out the customary paperwork. I love filling those things out. It agrees with my sense of order that each blank has an answer. It's not ambiguous - either my name is Regina or it's not. At the bottom of the page, there is a sense of completion.
This time it wasn't so fun, though. I got to page 2 and it asked what medications you are currently taking. Not an uncommon requirement, but the way this form was designed, you had to write the medication, the dosage and the "reason for taking the medication." I happily filled in line 1 - Orthocyclen, 28 day pack, SO I DON'T GET PREGNANT. (And I said a little prayer, just in case the capital letters didn't prove my point.) Line 2 was harder. I take Wellbutrin, 300 mg, for.......well.....ugh, fine....for depression. Maybe I should have written "because sometimes I don't want to get out of bed." Or maybe "so I don't throw things at the people I love." Either way, I hated it.
That’s how depression works. Somedays you’re up and somedays you’re down. Somedays you get to carry on as normal and other days, due to a minor breakdown or a medical form (or a breakdown caused by a medical form), you have to face reality. You have to be honest about how you feel so you can decide how to keep going.
So today, I hate it. There. I said it.
I hate having to take the medicine.
I hate having to tell people I take the medicine.
I hate that the medicine keeps me from becoming a permanent resident of Crazyville so I have to continue taking the medicine.
I hate that somedays I have to tell Brynna I don't feel good sometimes because it's taking all my fortitude to work a puzzle, so riding bikes is out of the question.
I hate that there's no food in the house because I can't muster the strength to go grocery shopping.
I hate that this isn't something I can fight my way through. ('Cause I'm tough. And I can fight. Just ask me.)
I hate that I can no longer call it Postpartum Depression. (Or can I? She isn't into her teens yet. And even if I could..why is that somehow better? A duck is a duck is a duck. Depression is depression no matter what you call it.)
And no matter what you call it, I hate it.
But if I hate it and I still get up, I won that day.
If I hate it and I keep going, I’m doing better than I once was.
If I hate it and believe one day I won't have to, then I'm one step closer to that day.
Depression taught me that I’m not broken. Being hurt doesn’t mean you’ll never be well again. It means that for this moment, you’re a little bruised and battered.
If you’re bruised with me, know that you aren’t broken. It's ok if you hate it, too. We can hate it together. Just don't stop taking the medicine. I don't want you throwing a toaster at me.
I hate having to take the medicine.
I hate having to tell people I take the medicine.
I hate that the medicine keeps me from becoming a permanent resident of Crazyville so I have to continue taking the medicine.
I hate that somedays I have to tell Brynna I don't feel good sometimes because it's taking all my fortitude to work a puzzle, so riding bikes is out of the question.
I hate that there's no food in the house because I can't muster the strength to go grocery shopping.
I hate that this isn't something I can fight my way through. ('Cause I'm tough. And I can fight. Just ask me.)
I hate that I can no longer call it Postpartum Depression. (Or can I? She isn't into her teens yet. And even if I could..why is that somehow better? A duck is a duck is a duck. Depression is depression no matter what you call it.)
And no matter what you call it, I hate it.
If I hate it and I keep going, I’m doing better than I once was.
If I hate it and believe one day I won't have to, then I'm one step closer to that day.
If you’re bruised with me, know that you aren’t broken. It's ok if you hate it, too. We can hate it together. Just don't stop taking the medicine. I don't want you throwing a toaster at me.
Oct 3, 2012
Because I Said So
You know that moment. The one where you hear yourself say something and instead of your voice it's your mom's. Unlike most people, I never said I wouldn't use the phrase "because I said so." And it's a good thing. Because the older Brynna gets, the more I use it. And I use it. A lot.
Sometimes it's because I can't bear to go down the "Why?" rabbit trail.
Me: Brynna, don't belly flop off the sofa.
BG: Why?
Me: Because it's dangerous.
BG: Why?
Me: Because you could bust your head open.
BG: Why?
Me: Because you are landing 2 centimeters from a brick fireplace. Don't jump.
BG: Why?
Me: Because I said so.
Sometimes it's because I don't have another answer.
Me: Brynna, don't sing the high-pitched song with no words for the 17th time today.
BG: Why?
Me: Because I said so.
Sometimes it's because she can't yet grasp the bigger concept.
Me: Brynna, always stay where I can see you in the mall.
BG: Why?
Me: Because I said so.
Sometimes it's because IT IS the bigger concept.
BG: How do I know I'm safe when it's dark?
Me: Because I said so.
We all come to places in life where there isn't an answer we can fully comprehend. And in those moments, we have to have Someone we've learned to trust. We have to know Someone loves us and has proven over time that even if we don't understand, we can do what He said just because He said so. When Brynna gets to the hard(er) stuff, she won't have to wonder when I steer her safely away from certain pitfalls. She will have learned that there are times you get to ask all your questions and fully understand the answer and there are times when you obey not because you understand but because you trust the one who gave the directive. If she can learn to obey simply because I said so, then she can trust God enough to obey simply because He said so.
And maybe along the way, we can all learn with her...
Sometimes it's because I can't bear to go down the "Why?" rabbit trail.
Me: Brynna, don't belly flop off the sofa.
BG: Why?
Me: Because it's dangerous.
BG: Why?
Me: Because you could bust your head open.
BG: Why?
Me: Because you are landing 2 centimeters from a brick fireplace. Don't jump.
BG: Why?
Me: Because I said so.
Sometimes it's because I don't have another answer.
Me: Brynna, don't sing the high-pitched song with no words for the 17th time today.
BG: Why?
Me: Because I said so.
Sometimes it's because she can't yet grasp the bigger concept.
Me: Brynna, always stay where I can see you in the mall.
BG: Why?
Me: Because I said so.
Sometimes it's because IT IS the bigger concept.
BG: How do I know I'm safe when it's dark?
Me: Because I said so.
We all come to places in life where there isn't an answer we can fully comprehend. And in those moments, we have to have Someone we've learned to trust. We have to know Someone loves us and has proven over time that even if we don't understand, we can do what He said just because He said so. When Brynna gets to the hard(er) stuff, she won't have to wonder when I steer her safely away from certain pitfalls. She will have learned that there are times you get to ask all your questions and fully understand the answer and there are times when you obey not because you understand but because you trust the one who gave the directive. If she can learn to obey simply because I said so, then she can trust God enough to obey simply because He said so.
And maybe along the way, we can all learn with her...
Oct 1, 2012
Punishing the Punisher
BG slammed a door.
I told her we don't slam doors.
She said ok and as she walked away, she slammed the door.
She went to Time Out and then we discussed why we don't slam doors. I explained that if it happened again, she would not get to go to ballet.
As I walked away, BG went into her bedroom and slammed a door. It wasn't one of those blatant slams but the testing kind - the kind that's just hard enough to see how serious you are about the threat of punishment.
Unfortunately for her (and me), I'm serious.
We are now at home instead of at ballet. There has been crying, flailing, wailing and maybe even the gnashing of teeth. (I'm not 100% sure; I walked away.) She's asked 12 times what her class will do without her and what she will do if she misses a class. She has run through the house naked (not kidding) and spent a good 10 minutes curled up in a ball under a blanket.
Who exactly is being punished here?
I told her we don't slam doors.
She said ok and as she walked away, she slammed the door.
She went to Time Out and then we discussed why we don't slam doors. I explained that if it happened again, she would not get to go to ballet.
As I walked away, BG went into her bedroom and slammed a door. It wasn't one of those blatant slams but the testing kind - the kind that's just hard enough to see how serious you are about the threat of punishment.
Unfortunately for her (and me), I'm serious.
We are now at home instead of at ballet. There has been crying, flailing, wailing and maybe even the gnashing of teeth. (I'm not 100% sure; I walked away.) She's asked 12 times what her class will do without her and what she will do if she misses a class. She has run through the house naked (not kidding) and spent a good 10 minutes curled up in a ball under a blanket.
Who exactly is being punished here?
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