How many of you parents have a very active guilt button? I do. I always worry about the choices I make for my boys. If I choose to ignore a behavior and it gets worse, is he going to end up in jail? If I ignore a tummy ache and it's really appendicitis, will it rupture and cause massive infection or death? If I take the training wheels off too soon and he falls, will he break every bone in his body? You know, the "normal" parent concerns.
A few days ago, my 5 year old told me his mouth hurt, I assumed (never assume!) that it was a molar coming in because I vaguely remembered the dentist commenting at last checkup about his molar coming in early. I put topical pain medicine on it. This went on for several days. Then he woke me up every hour night before last. I got irritated, thinking he was being a drama king. (Guilt button activated in 10,9,8, ...) I phoned the dentist the next morning, swearing to my child if he was faking he would be minus several dozen toys. (Guilt button countdown continues 7, 6, 5...) I took him into the dentist, driving about an hour to get there, with three fighting boys, almost hitting a deer. I reminded him he better not be faking. (Guilt button countdown 4, 3....) We arrive at the dentist office, the boys go back to play video games (we have a really cool dentist). Then the assistant comes out to get me. I walk back and hear the dentist mutter under his breath "we have a real problem here". Oh, shit. He looks at me and smiles, says "No wonder his tooth hurt, he has a broken molar." (guilt button countdown 2, 1.....WARNING WARNING! MASSIVE GUILT ATTACK!) No infection shows up on the xray. This is good. Filling or pulpotomy (baby root canal) and crown. (Pony? Dog? Anything you want, sweetie.) It ends up being a pulpotomy and crown and massive infection in the tooth. Prescribed two rounds of antibiotics.
My baby cried all the way home, all through the drugstore, and the old guilt button was pinging like crazy. If he'd asked for the dog, rabbit, cat, bird, fish tank, gerbil, guinea pig, etc. that he's asked for time again, he'd have gotten it. Good thing he didn't know that!
I know many parents who've done similar things, but it never makes it feel any better when I'm the one who did it. So, do I vow to never doubt my child when he tells me he's in pain, do I bubble wrap him and refuse to let him play with other children? No, I'll do what every other parent does. I'll keep doing what I can to protect him and try not to screw up. (Guilt button reset.)
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Friday, January 14, 2011
My Perspective on Creativity
I started getting more interested in creative nonfiction after a writing group a couple of months ago. A group member shared a story about her life and it touched me. One of the other members started talking about a recent conference he'd attended and mentioned creative nonfiction. I'd always wondered what you'd call my writings about my boys and my life. Creative nonfiction.
Isn't that a great way to describe one's life? I'd never thought about it, but it makes sense. When I tell a story about my boys, my quirky sense of humor kicks in. The way I talk about the escapades is completely different than what I was thinking and feeling at the time. Okay, most of the time anyway. But I think you get my point. Each of us has a point of view. It's not right or wrong, it just IS. My writings are simply MY perspective on life.
I've been reading memoirs lately. It's so amazing how these people put themselves out there. I read one about a poet's struggle with alcoholism; a former football player who went out for a fishing trip with three friends and was the only one who survived when the boat capsized; a man who was sentenced to prison at a leper colony not too long ago (I had no idea such things still existed in the United States). All of these people, from different walks of life, told their stories. Is that courage, or what?
The creative soul is fragile. Each time you put your work out there, no matter what your niche is, it takes courage. You know someone won't understand your quirky sense of humor, or your cynical perspective, or (fill in the blank). But does it really matter if some people don't get you? Don't like you? Probably not. Does it still feel "wrong"? Maybe. Do you stop creating? No more than you can stop breathing. I tried. (to stop creating, not breathing) I was miserable. I'm happy when I create. I'm at peace with myself.
For the first time, I put my occupation as a writer on a form at the doctor's office. Now, that may not seem like a big deal to some people, but for those of you who've struggled with who or what you are, it is a HUGE deal. Go, me!
Until next time, blessings.
Isn't that a great way to describe one's life? I'd never thought about it, but it makes sense. When I tell a story about my boys, my quirky sense of humor kicks in. The way I talk about the escapades is completely different than what I was thinking and feeling at the time. Okay, most of the time anyway. But I think you get my point. Each of us has a point of view. It's not right or wrong, it just IS. My writings are simply MY perspective on life.
I've been reading memoirs lately. It's so amazing how these people put themselves out there. I read one about a poet's struggle with alcoholism; a former football player who went out for a fishing trip with three friends and was the only one who survived when the boat capsized; a man who was sentenced to prison at a leper colony not too long ago (I had no idea such things still existed in the United States). All of these people, from different walks of life, told their stories. Is that courage, or what?
The creative soul is fragile. Each time you put your work out there, no matter what your niche is, it takes courage. You know someone won't understand your quirky sense of humor, or your cynical perspective, or (fill in the blank). But does it really matter if some people don't get you? Don't like you? Probably not. Does it still feel "wrong"? Maybe. Do you stop creating? No more than you can stop breathing. I tried. (to stop creating, not breathing) I was miserable. I'm happy when I create. I'm at peace with myself.
For the first time, I put my occupation as a writer on a form at the doctor's office. Now, that may not seem like a big deal to some people, but for those of you who've struggled with who or what you are, it is a HUGE deal. Go, me!
Until next time, blessings.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Who Says Dragons Don't Exist Anymore
The evening was as still as a hunter waiting for his prey. The wind wasn’t stirring. The animals were quiet. As I walked to the door, I sensed an evil presence. I took a deep, calming breath and pushed open the door. Immediately, I felt the penetrating gaze. I searched the room for the source. It was hiding in the shadows. I could smell the decay. I could feel the fire of its anger. I could taste the bitterness, like that of a quince picked from the tree in my backyard. My awareness heightened, as I slowly moved through the thick swamp. Dread slowing my steps even more, I turned and saw it. It was cleverly disguised, but I knew. It’s gaze briefly brushed over me as I continued to watch. It was waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.
I watched as it mesmerized the others with its words. It had them in a trance. I knew not to fall into that trap. I’d done that too many times in the past. Wisdom, it seems, does come with age and experience. I wondered what it hoped to accomplish. It certainly knew that most of those present were of little consequence. At least to it, they were. Then again, it enjoyed the torture process so much that it didn’t care who the victim was.
I walked towards it slowly, so as not to frighten it away or give it reason to attack. As I came closer, it set its sights on me. Cold eyes, burning like frostbite. A flash of fangs before it reigned in its anger. Knowing I’d done nothing to rouse the beast, I stopped in front of it. I spoke to it.
“Are you avoiding me?” I asked.
“I’m trying,” it said.
As it walked away, I pondered this creature. Who says dragons don’t exist any more?
I watched as it mesmerized the others with its words. It had them in a trance. I knew not to fall into that trap. I’d done that too many times in the past. Wisdom, it seems, does come with age and experience. I wondered what it hoped to accomplish. It certainly knew that most of those present were of little consequence. At least to it, they were. Then again, it enjoyed the torture process so much that it didn’t care who the victim was.
I walked towards it slowly, so as not to frighten it away or give it reason to attack. As I came closer, it set its sights on me. Cold eyes, burning like frostbite. A flash of fangs before it reigned in its anger. Knowing I’d done nothing to rouse the beast, I stopped in front of it. I spoke to it.
“Are you avoiding me?” I asked.
“I’m trying,” it said.
As it walked away, I pondered this creature. Who says dragons don’t exist any more?
Friday, September 24, 2010
School Days
School has been in session for a little over a month for one of mine and a couple of weeks for the other two. So far we've spent almost $200 on fundraiser items so my little guy can go to a magic show and get VIP treatment. We've bought almost $150 worth of books from one and had to ignore the order forms for the other two. We've had notes sent home from school at least once a week due to inattentive or overactive behavior from one, but the other two are doing well. (knock wood) We have homework every night that takes twice as long as it should due to noncompliance. We've had parents' nights, open houses, and we have parties coming up soon.
I'm glad school has started back up so I have some down time! I have around two hours in the mornings when the youngest ones are at preschool. I do my shopping, errands, and all that fun stuff then. I'm still trying to organize my time so I can get the grunt work done and have time for my writing and jewelry-making while everyone is gone. Hoping to get it all ironed out so that I can post on a more regular basis. Until next time, stay safe and be blessed!
I'm glad school has started back up so I have some down time! I have around two hours in the mornings when the youngest ones are at preschool. I do my shopping, errands, and all that fun stuff then. I'm still trying to organize my time so I can get the grunt work done and have time for my writing and jewelry-making while everyone is gone. Hoping to get it all ironed out so that I can post on a more regular basis. Until next time, stay safe and be blessed!
Friday, September 10, 2010
Storms, Vampires and Things That Go Bump In the Night
I got off the bus at a neighborhood daycare when I was in first grade. I was a chubby, clumsy little girl. I was afraid of the big kids on the bus, but never told my parents that. I stayed with a lady in our neighborhood who had a dozen or so kids she took care of. She watched a soap about vampires. The kids all were allowed to watch it too--by her, not our parents. I had nightmares about vampires quite often which confused my parents, I'm sure. I was also terrified of storms. Every time there was a hurricane, my grandparents would come up from Louisiana -- just outside New Orleans. The adults would always watch the weather and talk about hurricanes and the tornadoes that we would get as a result of the Gulf storms.
I was so afraid that I would get a box, fill it with my favorite canned goods, gather my dolls and my box of treasures, and hide in my closet. I remember sitting in there for hours terrified that we'd all die. Or that my parents would die and leave me alone.
I recently went in to check on my six year old and found him under his train table. It was stormy and he woke up afraid. I crawled under the table and put my arms around him. As I held him in my arms, I told him everything would be okay. I assured him we were safe and the storm was only a lot of noise and lights, kind of like fireworks. We climbed out from under the table. I sat on him bed and held him in my lap, all too conscious that in a few years he wouldn't want me to hold him. As I looked down at his sweet little face, I was overcome with love. I hoped that he was comforted by my words. I hoped that 40 years from now he wouldn't remember the fear, only the comfort. I laid him down and covered him up. As I leaned down to kiss him softly on the forehead, he smiled. What a beautiful child.
I was so afraid that I would get a box, fill it with my favorite canned goods, gather my dolls and my box of treasures, and hide in my closet. I remember sitting in there for hours terrified that we'd all die. Or that my parents would die and leave me alone.
I recently went in to check on my six year old and found him under his train table. It was stormy and he woke up afraid. I crawled under the table and put my arms around him. As I held him in my arms, I told him everything would be okay. I assured him we were safe and the storm was only a lot of noise and lights, kind of like fireworks. We climbed out from under the table. I sat on him bed and held him in my lap, all too conscious that in a few years he wouldn't want me to hold him. As I looked down at his sweet little face, I was overcome with love. I hoped that he was comforted by my words. I hoped that 40 years from now he wouldn't remember the fear, only the comfort. I laid him down and covered him up. As I leaned down to kiss him softly on the forehead, he smiled. What a beautiful child.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Thunder, Lightening, and Earthquake: AKA My Children
One of my twins is notorious for having tantrums. And I don't mean crying, begging, whining tantrums. His tantrums are legendary. Kicking, screaming, biting, scratching, foaming-at-the-mouth tantrums are his specialty. He can bring down an entire building. People come from miles around to see him. Get the picture?
Let me say, this child is beautiful-- as are his brothers-- but when these tantrums start, he turns into Linda Blair in The Exorcist. I have never seen such a transformation. His big blue eyes glow, his lips poke out, his cheeks puff up, and he opens his mouth as wide as he can and lets out the loudest, blood curdling scream he can. He could shatter glass with this scream. He reaches volumes that you can't believe are coming from a 49 pound body.
The most recent tantrum occurred in the grocery store. He wasn't especially tired or cranky at the start. I have learned to be wary of that. But he went from angel to full-blown hellion in a matter of seconds. It all started with the word no.
He and his twin asked if they could both push the cart. I said yes. Then they proceeded to push the cart straight toward a display of expensive liquor. Now, I may have wanted this liquor by the end of the grocery shopping fiasco, but at this point I was still in denial. I very quietly, but firmly said, "No, we can't do that. Let's just step aside and let Mom push the cart, please." I know you're thinking I couldn't have been that calm or the tantrum wouldn't have started. But I kid you not, I was.
It began. They both refused to let go of the cart. Then they started fighting against me, getting closer and closer to the display. The liquor was starting to look much more appealing to me now. I pried fingers off the cart and let them know we were done. We were leaving without groceries. Then the madness truly began.
Twin 2, whom I shall refer to as Lightening, because he causes the most damage, threw himself to the floor and started screaming. I attemped to talk to him. That was SO not happening. I picked him up and called to the other two to follow me. Twin 1, whom I shall refer to as Thunder ( because he's loud but is, for the most part, just a lot of noise) started crying and saying he wanted to stay in the store. My oldest child, Earthquake got "that look" in his eyes. I stopped, looked him in the eyes and reminded him he wasn't in trouble YET. Thankfully, he backed down. Thunder continued to cry, but followed me out of the store. In the meantime, Lightening was kicking, screaming, slapping me, and calling me names. I had him in a tight grip and continued out of the store and into the parking lot.
Keep in mind, that no less than a thousand or so people were witnessing this (okay, a slight exaggeration), including some people who knew us, and NO ONE offered to help. (And in all fairness, I didn't really expect them to. I mean, Linda Blair was scary in this role, but Lightening is pure horror.) I was trying to decide if I REALLY want to be a mother at this point. I mean, they have that law so you can return them to the hospital, right?
I finally got them to the car and ordered, yes ordered, the other two to get in their seats. By this point, I was so NOT calm and reasonable. I'm not even sure I remembered what those words meant. I was angry. No, not angry. I was MAD!! I fought with Lightening for around 30 minutes, trying to get him into his seat and strapped in to no avail. I finally resorted to a pretend call to the police to assist me with this deliquent child. (I know, not the best move, but at this point I was mentally, physically, and emotionally done.) It worked. He stopped fighting, got in his seat and strapped in.
My clothes were soaking wet, my arms and legs shaking, and THEN these lovely children wanted to know if we could go get a milkshake for a treat. They HAD to be joking, tight? We went straight home. I know, you're shocked. Milk shake, my eye.
On the way home, Lightening started to amp up again. When I pulled into the garage, my husband heard the screaming all the way in the house --the child, not me. I was on my way around to get the little DARLING out of the van, not sure if I'd bother with the door or just aim him out the window, and Dad came out and offered to get him out. Good idea, VERY good idea.
We got all three boys inside and two of the three settled down. Lightening, on the other hand, was still going strong. He was put in his room and calmed down after about 30 minutes. Tantrum done and so was I.
(Copyright 2010, Linda Rosendale)
Let me say, this child is beautiful-- as are his brothers-- but when these tantrums start, he turns into Linda Blair in The Exorcist. I have never seen such a transformation. His big blue eyes glow, his lips poke out, his cheeks puff up, and he opens his mouth as wide as he can and lets out the loudest, blood curdling scream he can. He could shatter glass with this scream. He reaches volumes that you can't believe are coming from a 49 pound body.
The most recent tantrum occurred in the grocery store. He wasn't especially tired or cranky at the start. I have learned to be wary of that. But he went from angel to full-blown hellion in a matter of seconds. It all started with the word no.
He and his twin asked if they could both push the cart. I said yes. Then they proceeded to push the cart straight toward a display of expensive liquor. Now, I may have wanted this liquor by the end of the grocery shopping fiasco, but at this point I was still in denial. I very quietly, but firmly said, "No, we can't do that. Let's just step aside and let Mom push the cart, please." I know you're thinking I couldn't have been that calm or the tantrum wouldn't have started. But I kid you not, I was.
It began. They both refused to let go of the cart. Then they started fighting against me, getting closer and closer to the display. The liquor was starting to look much more appealing to me now. I pried fingers off the cart and let them know we were done. We were leaving without groceries. Then the madness truly began.
Twin 2, whom I shall refer to as Lightening, because he causes the most damage, threw himself to the floor and started screaming. I attemped to talk to him. That was SO not happening. I picked him up and called to the other two to follow me. Twin 1, whom I shall refer to as Thunder ( because he's loud but is, for the most part, just a lot of noise) started crying and saying he wanted to stay in the store. My oldest child, Earthquake got "that look" in his eyes. I stopped, looked him in the eyes and reminded him he wasn't in trouble YET. Thankfully, he backed down. Thunder continued to cry, but followed me out of the store. In the meantime, Lightening was kicking, screaming, slapping me, and calling me names. I had him in a tight grip and continued out of the store and into the parking lot.
Keep in mind, that no less than a thousand or so people were witnessing this (okay, a slight exaggeration), including some people who knew us, and NO ONE offered to help. (And in all fairness, I didn't really expect them to. I mean, Linda Blair was scary in this role, but Lightening is pure horror.) I was trying to decide if I REALLY want to be a mother at this point. I mean, they have that law so you can return them to the hospital, right?
I finally got them to the car and ordered, yes ordered, the other two to get in their seats. By this point, I was so NOT calm and reasonable. I'm not even sure I remembered what those words meant. I was angry. No, not angry. I was MAD!! I fought with Lightening for around 30 minutes, trying to get him into his seat and strapped in to no avail. I finally resorted to a pretend call to the police to assist me with this deliquent child. (I know, not the best move, but at this point I was mentally, physically, and emotionally done.) It worked. He stopped fighting, got in his seat and strapped in.
My clothes were soaking wet, my arms and legs shaking, and THEN these lovely children wanted to know if we could go get a milkshake for a treat. They HAD to be joking, tight? We went straight home. I know, you're shocked. Milk shake, my eye.
On the way home, Lightening started to amp up again. When I pulled into the garage, my husband heard the screaming all the way in the house --the child, not me. I was on my way around to get the little DARLING out of the van, not sure if I'd bother with the door or just aim him out the window, and Dad came out and offered to get him out. Good idea, VERY good idea.
We got all three boys inside and two of the three settled down. Lightening, on the other hand, was still going strong. He was put in his room and calmed down after about 30 minutes. Tantrum done and so was I.
(Copyright 2010, Linda Rosendale)
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Dad
My dad is one of the strongest men I've ever known. As a young child I remember following him around like a shadow. He hunted and fished and I loved to "help" him dress dove ("peel birds" ) and was fascinated with touching fish. I thought the eyes were especially cool. (ick!) As I got older, he taught me how to do minor repairs on the car and the house.
He and I also share a love for woodworking. We made countless things together. I still have some of the first pieces he made. I developed that talent and for years I worked on dollhouses, both from kits and from "scratch". Each time I made a cut or painted a wall, I thought of Dad.
As a teenager, I struggled with independence, finding my place in the world and succeeded in driving my parents crazy. I wasn't a lot better as a young adult, but we made it through. Dad has always been protective of his girls, but the older I get the more I realize it's because of his love for us.
When I got married and moved away from family, I was grateful for all I learned from my parents. And as a mom, I realize how hard it is to let go. As your children grow, you have to let them learn to crawl, walk, and climb. And it never stops. You want to keep them from being hurt, from making mistakes. But that wouldn't teach them anything. By our mistakes, we learn and grow.
Now my dad is facing some serious health problems. And I want him to know how much I love and respect him. A part of that love involves understanding his pain and subsequent choices he is struggling with. The little girl in me wants to tell him to keep fighting and NEVER give up. But the adult daughter knows when my dad talks about the pain he feels and how his quality of life is suffering, that I cannot ask him to do anything for me. I love my dad enough to respect his decisions, whatever they may be. And I cherish him for the man he was then and the man he is now. Whatever his decision, it will be one he has thought about, prayed about.
I find wanting to help but knowing I can't. As he once did with me, I have to let go. I have to trust in my dad's ability to decide what he needs. I have to trust in God to lead him in his decisions. I pray for him daily, several times a day.
I owe my dad a thank you. A thank you for everything he has done and continues to do. He has such a strength of character, such a love of life. He taught me so much as I grew up. He continues to do so. I understand those life-lessons he taught me. I want to teach my boys those lessons. I only hope I can do half as well as he has and still does.
We may not live close to each other, but he IS here with me. I carry him in my heart, always.
(Copyright 2010, Linda Rosendale)
He and I also share a love for woodworking. We made countless things together. I still have some of the first pieces he made. I developed that talent and for years I worked on dollhouses, both from kits and from "scratch". Each time I made a cut or painted a wall, I thought of Dad.
As a teenager, I struggled with independence, finding my place in the world and succeeded in driving my parents crazy. I wasn't a lot better as a young adult, but we made it through. Dad has always been protective of his girls, but the older I get the more I realize it's because of his love for us.
When I got married and moved away from family, I was grateful for all I learned from my parents. And as a mom, I realize how hard it is to let go. As your children grow, you have to let them learn to crawl, walk, and climb. And it never stops. You want to keep them from being hurt, from making mistakes. But that wouldn't teach them anything. By our mistakes, we learn and grow.
Now my dad is facing some serious health problems. And I want him to know how much I love and respect him. A part of that love involves understanding his pain and subsequent choices he is struggling with. The little girl in me wants to tell him to keep fighting and NEVER give up. But the adult daughter knows when my dad talks about the pain he feels and how his quality of life is suffering, that I cannot ask him to do anything for me. I love my dad enough to respect his decisions, whatever they may be. And I cherish him for the man he was then and the man he is now. Whatever his decision, it will be one he has thought about, prayed about.
I find wanting to help but knowing I can't. As he once did with me, I have to let go. I have to trust in my dad's ability to decide what he needs. I have to trust in God to lead him in his decisions. I pray for him daily, several times a day.
I owe my dad a thank you. A thank you for everything he has done and continues to do. He has such a strength of character, such a love of life. He taught me so much as I grew up. He continues to do so. I understand those life-lessons he taught me. I want to teach my boys those lessons. I only hope I can do half as well as he has and still does.
We may not live close to each other, but he IS here with me. I carry him in my heart, always.
(Copyright 2010, Linda Rosendale)
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