The Good Word Wednesday I've Been Afraid to Write

There's a book I've been scared to publicly recommend. Not because I don't believe in it. On the contrary, I've always been afraid I won't do it justice. I tell parents about it all the time, but in person, I can use my hands (because hands are necessary to prove a point). They can hear the passion in my voice, and I can physically shake them if it comes to that. 

But yesterday I realized I have to tell you. 

A little backstory...
Brynna loves church. Really, she loves anywhere with people. She is a firm believer in "the more the merrier." In addition to just the general opportunity for an audience, she LOVES her teacher on Sundays. Miss Kimberly babysat recently and BG cried for 10 minutes when she left. So you can imagine our surprise when she told us a few weeks ago that she didn't want to go to church. We still went to church (because church is not negotiable, because she's 5 and changes her mind more often than her underwear, because she's the child and we're the parents). And before you call CPS, she had fun as she always does. (Again. She's 5.) Fast forward a month or so. We weren't able to be at church this weekend but on Monday while David gave her a bath, Brynna started asking when we go to church next. David explained that we would go on Wednesday, and her response was that she likes her class on Wednesday but just doesn't want to go on Sundays. 

Please note: Brynna thinks our trip to Disney World last August happened "last night" and she's going to have a new sister "in two weeks." (No, I am not pregnant. She decided this unilaterally.) The fact that she understands what day it is is noteworthy. The fact that she was so concerned yet hadn't been to church in several days is alarming. Not take-immediate-action, blame-the-staff, cause-a-scene alarming. Just alarming. 

The underlying issue is that 2 boys in Brynna's class have severe behavioral issues. After asking more questions, I realized this: Brynna knows Miss Kimberly has to give special attention to the boys and that their behavior is not what it should be. In her 5-year-old way of processing information, if the teacher says "Do X" and a boy disobeys consistently, the teacher doesn't have control. If the teacher doesn't have control, Brynna can't trust her. If Brynna can't trust her, she's not safe and all kinds of warnings start going off in her head - namely, "I need to take control because these people have no idea what they are doing."

So yesterday I called the preschool director, and we discussed the situation. There's rarely an easy answer, so we talked through options. But in addition to anything else we do, one thing is definite. I am Brynna's mom. My job is to assure Brynna she's safe, she can trust Miss Kimberly, Mrs. Cherry, Mommy and Daddy.

I tell the whole story to say this:
Had I taken things at face value, I might have been tempted to call and complain to the church rather than discuss what we can do together. I might have wanted to pull Brynna out of the class immediately or demand that other arrangements be made for kids with behavioral issues. I would have responded to the SYMPTON (her fear that a boy might hurt her) rather than the PROBLEM (she feels like the authority isn't in control, so the environment is unsafe).

I know this is what Brynna feels because Brynna is a strong-willed child. I understand how she processes information because of the book that changed my life - as a parent and really, just in general.

Strong-willed kids are not difficult. They are not rebellious for the sake of driving their parents insane (although some days it feels that way). They are smart. They are leaders and if you harness that good, the person they will become is unstoppable. But if you respond to their behaviors without understanding what's behind them, you will at best crush their spirit and at worst, push them to complete defiance of authority.

This is not a book review. This is a plea to go buy this book (like now...click the picture). And when it arrives, read it. Highlight it, put it into practice in as many ways as you can. If your child isn't strong-willed, that doesn't mean it doesn't apply. Much is discussed about compliant children and the differences in parenting the two.

Don't spend another second forcing her to do her homework or grounding him from video games until you understand WHY she's acting out and WHY he defiantly disobeys. Those are precious minutes and brain cells you can't get back. 

Brynna will go to church tonight and on Sunday. Depending on what we decide, she may need to stay in the same class for a few more weeks. That doesn't mean she gets to have different rules or consequences. It doesn't mean she gets away with misbehaving "because she just doesn't like her class." It means that I work harder. I assure her she's safe, I show her that even when something feels out of control, she can trust that I always have her best interest in mind. 

And those lessons...those won't just affect today. Those will make her a better person.

Dressing Room Decorum

I explained yesterday that before we went to the ballet last month, I let Brynna get a new dress. While I did tell you the steps of choosing the dress (Try on dress. Twirl. Repeat.), I really gave you the abridged version. The cliff notes, if you will. There's so much more that goes into proper dressing room decorum.

Normally, if we are in a dressing room it's because I'm trying something on, not Brynna. In this instance, the protocol is different. In the event that she's "visiting" the dressing room, Brynna firmly believes it exists as a staging area for her performances. While I try on clothes, she tries on my clothes. Don't get me started on how many times I've been ready to go but couldn't because a three-year old was dancing on the alteration platform, claiming my shirt was a princess dress. The alteration platform. That's what most of us call it. You know...it's the place where you step up and allow a seamstress to mark the dress or pants to be properly altered. Brynna refers to this as The Stage. (In her defense, it's elevated, there are mirrors and usually a pair or two of high heels laying around...?) Many a performance has taken place on The Stage - with or without an audience. In the event that an audience is not present, the show has been known to go on the road. A few weeks ago, I came out to ask the salesperson her opinion and found Brynna doing twirls, kicks and grand jetes for all the girls working at Nordstrom. When she did stop, she turned, grabbed her heels and told me she was going to change for her next show.

Sidenote: I know you think I make this stuff up. I promise I do not.

But the day before the ballet we weren't in a dressing room for me. We were in the children's department. So this time, I put on a show on the alterations platform, and I strutted around Dillard's in Brynna's shoes. No. No, I didn't. What I did was manage the crazy. As I said yesterday, the entire focus of our shopping experience was to find maximum twirl capability. If the dress wasn't flowy on the hanger, it didn't make the cut. We covered what's necessary to find the twirl rating of each dress (Try on. Twirl. Repeat.). What we didn't get to was what you do in between dresses. See, there are a few moments after I get one dress over her head and the next on. There are precious seconds that it takes me to get one dress back on the hanger and another one off. These are the moments where decorum is necessary. This is the free time begging to be filled.

There are your standard choices for how to fill time in a dressing room:
Make faces at yourself in the mirror
Pose and smile at yourself in the mirror
Compliment yourself while talking to yourself in the mirror
Dance in front of the mirror
Curtsy to yourself in the mirror

But if you're an overachiever, there are other activities totally normal and acceptable in a dressing room:
Teach yourself to do a back walkover
Twirl naked "to see what it looks like under your dress"
Talk to the dresses
Calisthenics - jumping jacks, sit ups, running in place
Handstands
Close your eyes and dramatically act out scenes from an imaginary movie playing in your head

Two important notes:
If you aren't sweating, you're doing it wrong
If your hair isn't falling down, you're doing it wrong

I must caution you. While Brynna did all of these in the span of an hour, I would take it slowly. She's a professional.

Sunday at the ballet

My in-laws are the hardest people to buy gifts for. They have everything. Literally. Maybe even two. So last year for Christmas we came to the same point on the list we come to every year.
"What are we going to get your parents?"
"I don't know."
It's a good thing he's cute because that's not helpful AT ALL.

As we discussed what they like, the thing we kept coming back to was Brynna. She is their only grandchild, and we lived on the other side of the country for most of her life up to this point. So we decided to give the gift of time with her. We started looking for things we could all do together. David found info that the Houston Ballet was doing a production of Aladdin. Uh...dancing and a princess? Brynna is hooked. If she's happy, Pops and Honey K are happy. Done and done.
The man gets stuff done! All is forgiven.

So a few weeks ago we all 5 went to the ballet. A few days before "the big day" I took Brynna to the mall and let her get a new "fancy" dress (her favorite kind). This was a multi-faceted move. Allow me to explain:
1) Fancy dress means you can't do cartwheels
2) To wear a fancy dress, you must be on your best behavior
3) Being allowed to wear said fancy dress is an EXCELLENT bargaining tool if consequences are needed for compliance
4) Fancy dress means I shouldn't see your panties. Ever. (I know we covered cartwheels, but thoroughness is necessary)

I'll spare you the details of how many dresses we had to try on to find "just the right one" but I will tell you how to go about finding the right one (in the event you are in need of a fancy dress in the near future).
Step 1: Try on a dress.
Step 2: Twirl.
Step 3: Repeat as many times as necessary until maximum twirling height is attained.

The day of the ballet, she twirled to the car, twirled in to church and twirled back out. She twirled at the restaurant and twirled for a man in the elevator of the theatre parking garage. But when the curtain went up, the twirling ceased and my little person who can't sit still the length of a Berenstain Bears book sat enthralled. For two and a half hours, she watched some of the most intricate choreography and story-telling I've ever seen. At the end of the day she even got to meet some of the dancers.

I know what you're thinking. You're remembering that I started this post about a gift for my in-laws and you're right. That was the intent. But as they do, kids have a way of turning anything into more of an event than you planned. We went to spend the afternoon together. We went to see a performance by phenomenal dancers of award-winning choreography. We got that but what we will all remember is the way Brynna's face lit up every time she twirled. We still talk about how she danced and curtsied through each intermission and had dance teachers applauding her in the hall. We remember how she sat so still and took in story elements I assumed were over her head. We laugh at how Brynna stole the show from some of the greatest talent we've ever seen.

 

Confessions

I don't want to watch Barbie. Like, ever. Like, you know?

It's easier to go along with Brynna's belief that she is "the real Elsa" than it is to explain that Frozen is a movie, and animated and even Elsa is not "the real" Elsa.

I'm seriously considering leaving all the laundry that needs to be folded because my mom's coming this evening, and moms like laundry, right? Wait...I'm a mom...that logic might be faulty.

Most annoying thing about yesterday (and the day before that and the day before that):
"Mommy. Mommy? Mommy. Mommy... Mommy... Mommy?"

I drank 3 Dr. Peppers yesterday. Even I know that's not okay. And when the dentist asks today I already plan, hours in advance, to lie straight through my sugar-coated teeth.

I don't want to wait 2 hours to finish the last half of Criminal Minds.

But I will. I will wait because it's not something Brynna needs to see, even in passing. It's not the language she needs to hear or the pictures she needs in her mind. Because what she needs is more important than what's convenient or comfortable.

And that's why I'll answer every time I hear "Mommy. Mommy? Mommy..."

And why I'll watch another Barbie movie. Like, maybe today.

Dear Brynna,

I remember the day you were born like it was yesterday. I remember I woke up and knew that you were coming that day. I didn't feel any different, but I knew in my heart it would be the day I got to see your face. I got ready that morning knowing we would go to the hospital at some point. I had our bags packed and my hair done and our cute going-home clothes all ready. But this would be my first lesson in many that no matter how prepared you are as a mom, you aren't prepared for everything.

I remember the contractions started at the mall. We all thought that was funny because we love the mall. They weren't strong at first, so of course, I kept shopping. I remember Papa needed new shoes and while he tried them on, Yaya noted times on a pad of paper. I remember when they started getting stronger. I remember when Daddy got home and was so excited to leave for the hospital, but Yaya said it wasn't time. Daddy asked Yaya to see her medical degree and she pointed to me. She didn't need a medical degree. She's a mom. Moms know stuff. I remember how the contractions hurt worse when I laughed but I couldn't stop.

I remember driving to the hospital. I remember when the nurse said it could be awhile and Daddy told her we weren't going anywhere. He's been protecting us long before you were born. I remember when the pain was really bad. I remember when it was even worse. I remember when they said it wouldn't be long. I couldn't wait to hold you.

I remember their faces when they said you couldn't breathe, so I breathed extra air for both of us. I remember when they said my heart rate was dropping and the doctor gave me medicine. I remember Daddy's face being scared but all I could think about was you. My heart knew even then I would always take care of you before me.  I remember how many people were suddenly in the room. I remember talking and pushing and pulling and serious faces.

And then I remember silence. I remember wanting to hear you cry but not hearing anything. I remember seeing you across the room. I remember how you were purple and blue, and I just wanted you to be pink and wrapped up in my arms. I remember telling Daddy to go with you. I remember how torn he was to have to leave one of us. I remember how empty it felt without you. I remember laying face down and praying for God to do for you what I couldn't.

I remember visiting you in the NICU. I remember really bad times and really good ones. I remember watching Daddy hold you and just stare. I remember you looking back at him, memorizing parts of his face. I remember walking away from the hospital without you. I remember sitting in your room at home, praying for you to fight like the strong person we know you are. And you did.

I remember pieces of every day since that day. I remember days when I wish I'd been a better mom and days when I felt like we were getting this right, you and me. I remember you crawling backwards first and getting stuck in corners. I remember the day you slept on your bear on the floor next to TayTay as she painted you a picture. I remember Daddy sneaking in to your room to let you sleep on his chest.

Five years later...
Daddy still sneaks in to let you sleep on his chest. I'm still willing to give you all my air and heartbeats. I can't describe the ways God has changed me by letting me be your mom. I can't explain how proud I am of your love for people, your energy and your confidence. I'm grateful I remember that day. It makes me all the more grateful for this day.

Happy 5th Birthday, Brynna Grace!

I love you from the east to the west...

Rain, Rain, Go...Oh Forget It

I am a planner. I'm very logistical. You know that mom who always seem to be calm? She stands on the playground watching her 18-month old roll in the sandbox and smiles at how cute he is. (Meanwhile I'm about to hyperventilate calculating how long it's going to take her to get sand out of her car, the clothes and anything else he breathes near.) You know her. Maybe you are her.

I'm not that mom.

That doesn't mean I'm not up for being carefree and fun. I love that, too. That's why I call myself an "organized free-spirit." Both of those things usually operate side-by-side in harmony in my head. Keyword: usually. Usually I am one or the other. Usually I am working OR playing. I am writing OR dominating at Candy Land. I am in impromptu mode OR strategic mode. Usually I switch pretty seamlessly from one to the other.

But then it rains.
And all hell breaks lose.

So let me go back...
Brynna went to her grandparents' house for spring break last week, and I was in Dallas Monday-Thursday working on some writing projects. When I returned, I spent all day Friday cramming a weeks' worth of "stuff" into 8 hours. You know...birthday stuff. Party favors, cookies, food, where will things go, what all the kids will do. Stuff. This would have been a walk in the park if it had been any other year. Every other year Brynna's birthday has been inside - at home or a gymnastics gym. This year, though, I had to get tricky and have a bounce house. Outside.

While doing all that running Friday, I checked the weather app on my phone approximately 1,796 times. And do you know what that app had the nerve to tell me? Rain. Every time I checked.

When it started sprinkling Saturday morning, David assured me the showers were isolated and this was probably the end. (God bless him for trying. I'm sure he could see the panic visibly manifesting on my face.) A mom called to see if we were still planning on the party, and I calmly joked and said, "the bounce house is here. It may just be a water slide!" We laughed, ha ha! and she hung up. (All an act. I should win an Academy Award. Cue me silently freaking out in my head.)

When the rain started about 10 minutes before party time, my mom and Janay went in to "control the crazy" mode. (The crazy being me. Praise God for family who know you best and love you still.) My mom said it was no biggie, we would just bring the food in to the kitchen. Janay said there was plenty we could do with the kids inside, so I gathered up a stack of puzzles. As people started arriving, Janay took umbrellas while I greeted people. A couple of boys arrived first, so they went out to play hockey with Brynna and her dad in the garage. As more people arrived, they headed to the garage, too. I thought it had to be getting crowded and wondered what they could all be doing out there.

I walked outside to find a garage full of adults laughing at a bounce house full of soaking wet kids. Did you know that water pools at the end of a bounce house slide? Did you know if you slide down into the puddle, you make a "really cool splash"? Me neither. But I do now.

Those kids jumped for hours. And those parents were the sweetest things ever. After a couple of hours and lots of sugar, they carried their little soaked people to the car, smiling as the kids talked about how fun the water slide was. Not one of them complained. Even the family headed to another party simply asked where the nearest kids' store was to go buy a change of clothes for their deliriously happy 4 year old.

The rain was not my plan. At all. I would much rather report that it was a fun, sunny day and I took lots of pictures of happy faces. Instead, I spent the day laughing with parents about how much fun the kids were having playing in the rain. I dried off little feet and cheered for the on-going hockey game in the back half of the garage. In what has become Brynna's tradition, I handed out cookies and watched them all blow out their candles. (She loves to blow out candles, so in her mind, it stands to reason her friends do to. Makes perfect sense to me.)

The rain wasn't my plan. I didn't have time to mentally prepare myself for "impromptu" mode but I guess that's kind of the point. (literally...that's the definition of impromptu)

I only have 3 pictures from Brynna's 5th birthday party. But I have memories that can't be replaced. And I had the happiest little girl on the block as she bounced and played with her friends in the rain. And while I still don't like being outside in the rain, I'll never forget the day I said "oh, forget it."

The only thing more fun than bouncing in the rain is frosting on your face!

The Secret to Motherhood Extra Credit

Did you ever do extra credit in school? Bonus questions were my favorite. They were like an insurance policy for Geometry. (Math. Ugh. Anything with numbers and I don't get along well.) I can't say the bonus questions got me an A. But I can say that the extra credit pushed me juuuust over that passing C. (In my good-girl defense, that was my only C in high school. Math. Ugh.)

Did you know there's extra credit in the mom world, too? I bet you didn't. This extra credit is a little different than in school. In Geometry, there was an assignment and then there were a few bonus questions. If I messed up on the real questions, the extra credit was there to help make up a little bit of the deficit. In Geometry, after the teacher graded, the bonus questions could only help if you answered them. Correctly. (Did I mention? Math. Ugh.) In the wide world of Mom the difference is that the bonus points only count if you acknowledge them. Not the teacher. Not your neighbor. Not your mom or sister. Not the lady looking at you crazy at the grocery store. You.

You do the assignment every day. You wake them up, you feed them, you make sure they are breathing and clothed. You drive them here, there and everywhere. You provide a roof over their heads. You feed them again, you play with them, you bathe them. And then...you do the whole thing again the next day! And the next... It's easy to get overwhelmed by the real assignment (you know...sustaining the life of another human), let alone think about extra credit (playing Barbies. Again. Ugh.).

But, mom, I have good news. You already did the bonus questions! You just have to take credit for them. Ok, so you got #3 wrong when you yelled about the sand all over the kitchen floor. But you later admitted mommy shouldn't have yelled, which takes way more guts than anyone who ever competed on American Gladiators. You may have messed up on #6 when you played on your phone instead of listening to her story about the kid on the playground. You also read her a book before bed. You didn't show your work on #10 when you got her to school but didn't tell anyone that it was a fight to the death to get those sneakers on her when she was dead-set on the princess shoes. But she's wearing them. And no one died.

Being a mom is hard. And being real means admitting that sometimes it isn't fun or easy. Every single day, we could improve on our grade. There has yet to be a day when I didn't wish for a redo on something I said or did. I've yet to go to bed without at least one "man that was dumb!" thought in my head. But being real also means acknowledging that you were pretty great at times. You listened when you really wanted to get your work done. You didn't lose your whole mind when she colored pink marker on your brand new lightly-colored rug (true story). You let her get in and out of the car unassisted although it took for-ev-er. You tickled and hugged. You held and laughed.

You weren't perfect but you made it through the day. You didn't get it right 100% of the time, but you love that little person like no one else can. You're a real mom. And for that, you deserve extra credit. But it only counts if you let yourself accept it.

Give yourself a little extra credit. No matter how small, what did you do right yesterday?