While it's not hugely popular in today's society, I have never made apologies for the fact that I believe in spanking. I absolutely do not believe in any form of abuse, but I most certainly believe in discipline. The funny thing is that as strong-willed, often defiant and extremely stubborn as she is, we rarely ever spank Brynna. Because of her personality, she needs to know that she made a choice, so that's what she gets. She can discontinue her inappropriate behavior (throwing toys, blowing bubbles on my sofa or practicing her spitting in the kitchen) or she can go sit on the step. It's her choice. Often she tries not to choose, but she's learned after months of consistent discipline that no decision (and the continuation of said bubbles on my sofa) is the same as deciding to go to Time Out. She's spent a lot of her two-and-a-half years on the step (my step, Yaya's step, Tania's step, Honey K's step and even once at the entrance of Steve Madden). On rare occasions that she chooses to continue disobeying even after time on the step, the punishment has to increase so that she learns that every action has a consequence.
Our most recent battles have been waged in the arena of whining. I'm not sure how every toddler has perfected the exact pitch of voice that sends his/her mother into hysteria, but they are skilled artisans. How they can say something perfectly normal in a voice that shatters glass in three counties, I'm not sure, but they can. And they do. Brynna is no exception. I'm convinced she sometimes doesn't even know that she's doing it. It's like she zones out into another dimension where apparently people speak at 140 decibels. Needless to say, we've spent a lot of time on the step. After she has a few minutes to calm down, I sit beside her so we can talk about it. (Side note: As a general rule, if you send a little one to time out, have the decency to GO TO THEM, talk ON THEIR LEVEL about why and LOVINGLY reassure them of your love. If you send them away and then forget or call them back in to you, you've made no effort to parent and therefore, why would they make an effort to obey? Sorry. I just felt someone's toes. I'll get off the soapbox.) This weekend, as I sat next to Brynna at the bottom of the staircase in my parents' house, I asked if she knew why she had to go to Time Out. She said she did. She said, "Because I was whining and not talking like a big girl." I asked if she could speak politely and tell me what she wanted. Her response has stuck with me for days. She said, "Yes. Because I want to come be with you."
I had to acknowledge quite some time ago that Brynna did not get her temperament from her father, but instead from her strong-willed, often defiant and extremely stubborn mama. And like my little bear cub, God lets me make choices and then consistently reminds me that every action has a consequence. I have recently found myself whining - crying to God in a voice that I'm sure sends Him into parental hysteria at a decibel I'm sure all Heaven would like to tone down. I have been lamenting my situation, recounting all the things I'm sad about. Rather than making me feel better, though, all that whining made me feel worse. The longer I cried, the more lonely I felt. The louder I yelled, the angrier I became. And when I had nothing left to say, I sat quietly and realized...God had put me in Time Out. Of course I felt worse instead of better - He left the room. Of course I didn't feel comfort - I chose to sit myself on the step, away from the presence of Someone who loves me. And today my little girl's words are ringing in my ears. She said she would learn to speak more appropriately because she wanted to be with me. She realized that her choice was the only thing that separated her from me. And the same is true for me.
As soon as she chose to obey, I was waiting with all the love her little self could contain. I'm so grateful my Father waits for me...and you. What are you whining about? When you're ready, He's waiting with all the love your little self can contain.
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 10, 2011
My Sisters' Mother
She's all the things I want to be when I grow up - refined, poised, proper, wise and discerning.
She's the kind of mother I aspire to be - nurturing, unwavering, steady and strong.
She's a friend to those in need.
She's a comfort to those who mourn.
She has a way of drawing out the better person in you without making you feel small.
She won't gossip with you; she won't get all your references about pop culture.
She won't be your buddy because she knows what you need is more than that.
She won't compromise or change who she is.
Her presence is calming even if only felt through a phone call.
Her voice is solace; her faith is contagious.
She is not mine because I was born of her.
She is mine because she was shared.
She is my sisters' mother, and I am forever grateful to Tonya and Janay for sharing her with me.
She's the kind of mother I aspire to be - nurturing, unwavering, steady and strong.
She's a friend to those in need.
She's a comfort to those who mourn.
She has a way of drawing out the better person in you without making you feel small.
She won't gossip with you; she won't get all your references about pop culture.
She won't be your buddy because she knows what you need is more than that.
She won't compromise or change who she is.
Her presence is calming even if only felt through a phone call.
Her voice is solace; her faith is contagious.
She is not mine because I was born of her.
She is mine because she was shared.
She is my sisters' mother, and I am forever grateful to Tonya and Janay for sharing her with me.
Nov 7, 2011
Signs a toddler lives at your house
- You have abandoned paper towels, napkins, kleenex and other paper products and instead, just use Clorox wipes for everything
- You forget what you were going to say at least 3 times a day
- You mention, discuss or ask a question about bodily excrements at least once a day despite your most valiant efforts to avoid the subject
- You're tired
- You repeat yourself so often you start wondering if people really "didn't hear you"
- You have walked into a room recently and said, "What happened here?"
- You can hear through walls, up stairs and behind doors
- You're tired
- You sometimes wear a dirty article of clothing just so it's one less thing you have to wash
- You sometimes wear a dirty article of clothing because you didn't realize it was dirty until halfway through the day
- You sometimes wear a dirty article of clothing because even though you knew it was dirty, you didn't have the energy to change
- You wake up with the theme song to the Backyardigans stuck in your head
- You have found a sippy cup recently in your purse, car, briefcase and bathroom
- You're tired
- You sing the ABC's while you wash your hands
- You find yourself smiling when everyone else around you is frowning...because even in the worst of times you need only remember the night before to have something funny to laugh about
Nov 3, 2011
I asked...He answered
I moved to a new place and found myself feeling alone. Without the friends who have come to know me better than I know myself, I had no one. So I asked God…
I asked God to give me friends…and He didn’t.
So I joined a book club.
I asked God to give me friends…and He didn’t.
So I spent an entire afternoon with Him.
I asked God to give me friends…and He didn’t
So I planned social events for my neighbors.
I asked God to give me friends…and He didn’t.
So I had a conversation with a stranger.
I asked God to give me friends…and He didn’t.
He gave me a reason to trust Him more.
He gave me the space to look beyond myself.
He gave me the motivation to meet new people.
He gave me the time to listen.
He gave me a perspective I never would have had otherwise.
I asked God to give me friends…and He didn’t in the way I wanted Him to. Instead, He gave me more.
What are you asking God for? What did He give you instead? Have you even noticed?
Oct 6, 2011
Who She Is
I had a profound conversation yesterday. I spoke to Sailini, who owns/operates the montessori school Brynna attends. The crux of our conversation was this: So often, kids spend 18 years reacting to the stimuli placed in front of them and then another 10 years trying to figure out who they are when someone stops giving them something to react to. I know that's kind of randomly deep for a Thursday afternoon, but here's why it's stuck with me. It's true! From the toys we give them to the songs we sing to the parks we take them to...we are trying to get that giggle of laughter that only comes from a happy child. But what we miss when we don't turn down the noise is the quiet moments.
When Brynna walks into her montessori classroom there is no welcome wagon. There is no morning cheer or loud music. She has learned, along with her classmates, the routine of putting away her lunchbox, hanging up her coat (yes, it's already coat weather in DC) and changing into her inside shoes. There is a group time where they sing and interact but then it's time to choose their work. With not fanfare, she does just that. No one says, "Brynna, we are going to read. Brynna, now it's time to sing." She decides. What it's produced in my tiny two-year old is amazing. Parents, brace yourself. This is going to hurt. She's her own person! Brynna doesn't choose the "work" I would choose. (I know. I was as shocked as you.)
The quiet moments often don't come until we are out of high school, sitting at a job or on a college campus when we suddenly realize...Who Am I? Really. Aside from what I've done or where I've been. What Am I? When no one is there to grab my attention and focus it on a particular thing, what will I choose? Each day, Brynna is learning to make choices and the result is that we see who she is aside from what we want her to be. (...or is it just me? Maybe I'm the only parent who has a picture in my mind of who my child is or should be. Maybe I'm the only one who tries to sway her to like the teams I do or the colors I prefer or the songs I sing or the stores where I shop. Maybe it's just me...)
At two years old, Brynna has learned what it took me almost 30 years to discover. She knows who she is. And I have to say...who she is is pretty fantastic.
Please note: This is not an attempt to "plug" montessori education or imply that something different is wrong. I was a public school teacher and I often built into my classes a time of just being quiet for a moment. Many teachers do. It's not a matter of private vs. public education. It's not a matter of right or wrong parenting. It's a matter of allowing kids the space to be just that - kids. Giving them room to learn who they are and cheering that person on to greatness. (Even when that person is different than we imagined.)
When Brynna walks into her montessori classroom there is no welcome wagon. There is no morning cheer or loud music. She has learned, along with her classmates, the routine of putting away her lunchbox, hanging up her coat (yes, it's already coat weather in DC) and changing into her inside shoes. There is a group time where they sing and interact but then it's time to choose their work. With not fanfare, she does just that. No one says, "Brynna, we are going to read. Brynna, now it's time to sing." She decides. What it's produced in my tiny two-year old is amazing. Parents, brace yourself. This is going to hurt. She's her own person! Brynna doesn't choose the "work" I would choose. (I know. I was as shocked as you.)
The quiet moments often don't come until we are out of high school, sitting at a job or on a college campus when we suddenly realize...Who Am I? Really. Aside from what I've done or where I've been. What Am I? When no one is there to grab my attention and focus it on a particular thing, what will I choose? Each day, Brynna is learning to make choices and the result is that we see who she is aside from what we want her to be. (...or is it just me? Maybe I'm the only parent who has a picture in my mind of who my child is or should be. Maybe I'm the only one who tries to sway her to like the teams I do or the colors I prefer or the songs I sing or the stores where I shop. Maybe it's just me...)
At two years old, Brynna has learned what it took me almost 30 years to discover. She knows who she is. And I have to say...who she is is pretty fantastic.
Please note: This is not an attempt to "plug" montessori education or imply that something different is wrong. I was a public school teacher and I often built into my classes a time of just being quiet for a moment. Many teachers do. It's not a matter of private vs. public education. It's not a matter of right or wrong parenting. It's a matter of allowing kids the space to be just that - kids. Giving them room to learn who they are and cheering that person on to greatness. (Even when that person is different than we imagined.)
Sep 17, 2011
Confessions of a Tired Toddler's Mom
Here's the deal. People talk about the "terrible twos." I'm convinced those people are the same ones who told me pregnancy lasted 9 months. They've clearly never done it. They didn't factor the extra month into pregnancy or the two years where you forget what it was like to remember your own name. And they certainly don't account for the "terrible" phase that begins at 1 and ends at...I have no idea. I'll get back to you. But since I'm in the midst of this thing they call parenting, I'm an expert, right? (wrong!) What I know from experience is that it's not a terrible phase. It's one filled with learning new things and being silly for the pure sake of silliness. It's overwhelmingly, breath-takingly fun. But it's also EXHAUSTING! That's the problem. It's not terrible. Everyone is just tired. Mommy's tired, Daddy's tired, Brynna's tired (although she would NEVER admit that and don't dare let her know I told her secret).
So the "terrible twos" are more appropriately called the "tired toddlers." And here's a day in the life of our house during this phase that (while very cute) has worn out it's welcome in my book.
7:00am (if we're lucky) - From across the hall, we hear one of two things: either screaming that sounds more like a dying cat than a child in need or "Mooooommmy. I'm awake. Oh, Moooommmy." The "Moooommmy" sounds frighteningly like a scary movie. It's the sound the bad guy makes when he's not ready to actually hurt you but is just trying to make the hair on the back of your neck stand up.
7:01am - We need chocolate milk and we need it fast. It's the first thing out of her mouth as if she spent the entire night dreaming of Carnation Instant Breakfast. That's what the chocolate is. Brynna still doesn't eat much, (and don't you dare try to get her to eat meat. She is a two-year-old self-professed vegetarian.) so we have to give her Carnation each morning to ensure she gets enough balanced calories. Why the morning, you ask? Because apparently it has enough sugar and B12 to fuel a plane. I once made the mistake of giving her some after dinner. We were up til 4am.
9:00am - By this point we have picked out clothes, changed our mind about clothes, gotten dressed, combed hair, picked out bows for hair (so many opinions for such a small person), made lunch, said 'goodbye' to Daddy from the window, watched Backyardigans while Mommy frantically tries to comb her own hair and gotten in the car (with no help from anyone, thank you very much). We pull in to the drop off line at school, praying we made it before the cut-off when Mommy has to walk inside and sign the sheet admitting her tardiness to the world.
9:01am - We need Dr. Pepper and we need it fast. Seriously. I know it's bad and I try to avoid it. But the options are caffeine or falling asleep while showing houses. And the latter is a liability.
2:45pm - I rush to finish one last work task before I head to school b/c once I change from the "Realtor Hat" to the "Mommy Hat" there's no double-duty.
3:04pm - I pull into the parking lot hoping my clock is fast and they'll still be at the door for pick-up. Sometimes I get lucky; sometimes I have to park for the walk of parental shame because I was late.
6:00pm (if i'm lucky) - After coloring, painting, building Lego towers, walking baby doll, going to the park, going to the other park, riding bikes with friends across the street and watching the same episode of Yo, Gabba Gabba three times (it's the Baby episode; have you seen it? No worries, I can quote it for you.), Daddy walks through the door. Poor guy. I'm sure he says a prayer from the other side of that door every day, not sure what he'll find when he crosses the threshold.
7:00pm - We announce it's time to go up for bath and get a varying form of resistance - flailing on the floor, defiant shouts of "no" or silence (as though ignoring us will make us forget). We then pull out the bath time piece de resistance - Bath Colorz. For some reason, by adding a small tablet of color to the bath water, it makes it far more enjoyable. I don't ask questions. I just use what I've got. (And I've got 9 containers of Bath Colorz stocked up in the cabinet.)
7:20pm - Clean, lathered in lotion and smelling like a little piece of Heaven, Brynna bounds into her room to read books. One of us joins her while the other collapses into a heap on the floor.
7:30pm - Brynna needs to potty. You have to allow this final bathroom visit of the night or you will spend the next 3 hours going back and forth to the toilet. After climbing up (all by herself, of course, even though it takes 17 minutes), Brynna proceeds to put on her nightly show. If you've never gotten tickets to the Brynna Potty Party, it's probably because it was sold out. Keep trying. Sometimes Ticketmaster gets overwhelmed. To clue you in, the Potty Party includes singing, semi-dancing (until she's told she's going to fall in or get a spanking for playing around), more singing, comedy and finally, pooping. Yes. Somehow, every night she sits her tiny toosh there long enough until she makes something happen. (Another reason why you have to allow the final visit.)
8:00pm - The show doesn't always last that long, but there have been encore performances (at the request of the actor herself). Once she's exhausted all her comedic material and the parent of choice, she crawls into bed, looks at you like an angel and says, "Night night. I love you so much, Mommy."
And after thanking God for this season of life and asking Him to help me never take a moment of it for granted, I collapse into a heap until the siren sounds to begin again tomorrow.
So the "terrible twos" are more appropriately called the "tired toddlers." And here's a day in the life of our house during this phase that (while very cute) has worn out it's welcome in my book.
7:00am (if we're lucky) - From across the hall, we hear one of two things: either screaming that sounds more like a dying cat than a child in need or "Mooooommmy. I'm awake. Oh, Moooommmy." The "Moooommmy" sounds frighteningly like a scary movie. It's the sound the bad guy makes when he's not ready to actually hurt you but is just trying to make the hair on the back of your neck stand up.
7:01am - We need chocolate milk and we need it fast. It's the first thing out of her mouth as if she spent the entire night dreaming of Carnation Instant Breakfast. That's what the chocolate is. Brynna still doesn't eat much, (and don't you dare try to get her to eat meat. She is a two-year-old self-professed vegetarian.) so we have to give her Carnation each morning to ensure she gets enough balanced calories. Why the morning, you ask? Because apparently it has enough sugar and B12 to fuel a plane. I once made the mistake of giving her some after dinner. We were up til 4am.
9:00am - By this point we have picked out clothes, changed our mind about clothes, gotten dressed, combed hair, picked out bows for hair (so many opinions for such a small person), made lunch, said 'goodbye' to Daddy from the window, watched Backyardigans while Mommy frantically tries to comb her own hair and gotten in the car (with no help from anyone, thank you very much). We pull in to the drop off line at school, praying we made it before the cut-off when Mommy has to walk inside and sign the sheet admitting her tardiness to the world.
9:01am - We need Dr. Pepper and we need it fast. Seriously. I know it's bad and I try to avoid it. But the options are caffeine or falling asleep while showing houses. And the latter is a liability.
2:45pm - I rush to finish one last work task before I head to school b/c once I change from the "Realtor Hat" to the "Mommy Hat" there's no double-duty.
3:04pm - I pull into the parking lot hoping my clock is fast and they'll still be at the door for pick-up. Sometimes I get lucky; sometimes I have to park for the walk of parental shame because I was late.
6:00pm (if i'm lucky) - After coloring, painting, building Lego towers, walking baby doll, going to the park, going to the other park, riding bikes with friends across the street and watching the same episode of Yo, Gabba Gabba three times (it's the Baby episode; have you seen it? No worries, I can quote it for you.), Daddy walks through the door. Poor guy. I'm sure he says a prayer from the other side of that door every day, not sure what he'll find when he crosses the threshold.
7:00pm - We announce it's time to go up for bath and get a varying form of resistance - flailing on the floor, defiant shouts of "no" or silence (as though ignoring us will make us forget). We then pull out the bath time piece de resistance - Bath Colorz. For some reason, by adding a small tablet of color to the bath water, it makes it far more enjoyable. I don't ask questions. I just use what I've got. (And I've got 9 containers of Bath Colorz stocked up in the cabinet.)
7:20pm - Clean, lathered in lotion and smelling like a little piece of Heaven, Brynna bounds into her room to read books. One of us joins her while the other collapses into a heap on the floor.
7:30pm - Brynna needs to potty. You have to allow this final bathroom visit of the night or you will spend the next 3 hours going back and forth to the toilet. After climbing up (all by herself, of course, even though it takes 17 minutes), Brynna proceeds to put on her nightly show. If you've never gotten tickets to the Brynna Potty Party, it's probably because it was sold out. Keep trying. Sometimes Ticketmaster gets overwhelmed. To clue you in, the Potty Party includes singing, semi-dancing (until she's told she's going to fall in or get a spanking for playing around), more singing, comedy and finally, pooping. Yes. Somehow, every night she sits her tiny toosh there long enough until she makes something happen. (Another reason why you have to allow the final visit.)
8:00pm - The show doesn't always last that long, but there have been encore performances (at the request of the actor herself). Once she's exhausted all her comedic material and the parent of choice, she crawls into bed, looks at you like an angel and says, "Night night. I love you so much, Mommy."
And after thanking God for this season of life and asking Him to help me never take a moment of it for granted, I collapse into a heap until the siren sounds to begin again tomorrow.
Aug 10, 2011
Lesson Learned
I once heard that your greatest strength will always have the tendency to be your greatest weakness. I immediately connected that sentiment to my words, and it's held true. While I can say some brilliant things, I also have the ability to stick both feet all the way in my mouth. And here's the thing - when the dumb, hurtful or negative remarks leave my lips, more happens than just a slap of my hand to my head. I shut down. I feel guilty and ashamed. I replay the scene over and over in my mind like a courtroom where I am defendant, prosecutor, judge and jury. And let me tell you...I'm a brutal litigator. Prosecution wins every time, and I sentence myself to hard time.
This exact scenario played out this week when I made a comment at the office. I won't tell you what I said because that's not the important part. The important part is this - until 4pm Monday afternoon, I was convinced that God called me to real estate to shine His light to those around me. I was sure of my calling and confident in my position. After my mistake, though, I was anything but the picture of confidence. I was overrun with questions, confusion and doubt. Surely God didn't call me to be an example of Him when I can so quickly offend someone with my words. Surely He would be better off if I say nothing - ever - to anyone. Surely those around me would be better, too. And in that brief moment, Satan won.
We read in the Bible about "the destroyer" - this evil being that we picture with a pitchfork and horns. We hear him described as a lion roaming around, seeking those to devour. But it's much less cheesy and cartoonish than that. Satan doesn't need a pitchfork or a lion costume. All he needs is for me to beat myself up just enough that I'll do what I did on Monday. If I convince myself that God can't use me, then the people around me never have the hope of seeing how much He loves them. If I hide behind my faults and fears, I've done nothing. And really, that's all Satan needs. He just doesn't want people to know Jesus. That's all.
It's two days later, and I'm still thinking about my mistake. But today my thoughts are a little different. Instead of guilt and shame, I feel repentant. Lesson learned, point taken. I am not perfect (not a shocker). I messed up because that's who I am - I'm human and fallible. I was imperfect when God first loved me and I'll continue to be imperfect. But instead of this being about me, it's always been about Him. And that's why I decided to write this morning. I was talking to God and He assured me that I'm not alone. That you, too, feel like you aren't quite good enough, smart enough or whatever enough. Don't stay in that place, though. I'm a much better example of His love if people know I'm just as messed up as they are. He can use me so much more if I'm real. And the same is true for you. People don't need a sermon. They don't need to be yelled at. They need to watch me live life, make mistakes and keep looking to God.
I apologized to my friend at work. I asked God to forgive me. The only thing left to do is pick up my pride and keep going. Wanna join me?
This exact scenario played out this week when I made a comment at the office. I won't tell you what I said because that's not the important part. The important part is this - until 4pm Monday afternoon, I was convinced that God called me to real estate to shine His light to those around me. I was sure of my calling and confident in my position. After my mistake, though, I was anything but the picture of confidence. I was overrun with questions, confusion and doubt. Surely God didn't call me to be an example of Him when I can so quickly offend someone with my words. Surely He would be better off if I say nothing - ever - to anyone. Surely those around me would be better, too. And in that brief moment, Satan won.
We read in the Bible about "the destroyer" - this evil being that we picture with a pitchfork and horns. We hear him described as a lion roaming around, seeking those to devour. But it's much less cheesy and cartoonish than that. Satan doesn't need a pitchfork or a lion costume. All he needs is for me to beat myself up just enough that I'll do what I did on Monday. If I convince myself that God can't use me, then the people around me never have the hope of seeing how much He loves them. If I hide behind my faults and fears, I've done nothing. And really, that's all Satan needs. He just doesn't want people to know Jesus. That's all.
It's two days later, and I'm still thinking about my mistake. But today my thoughts are a little different. Instead of guilt and shame, I feel repentant. Lesson learned, point taken. I am not perfect (not a shocker). I messed up because that's who I am - I'm human and fallible. I was imperfect when God first loved me and I'll continue to be imperfect. But instead of this being about me, it's always been about Him. And that's why I decided to write this morning. I was talking to God and He assured me that I'm not alone. That you, too, feel like you aren't quite good enough, smart enough or whatever enough. Don't stay in that place, though. I'm a much better example of His love if people know I'm just as messed up as they are. He can use me so much more if I'm real. And the same is true for you. People don't need a sermon. They don't need to be yelled at. They need to watch me live life, make mistakes and keep looking to God.
I apologized to my friend at work. I asked God to forgive me. The only thing left to do is pick up my pride and keep going. Wanna join me?
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