If you haven't watched Netflix's recent movie "Dumplin'", do yourself a favor and do. The most negative feedback I've read is that it's not as good as the book, and movies never are, so I waited to read it until I'd seen the film.
There is a lot to love about it. For me, the lion's share involved the portrayal of female friendships (mostly among high-schoolers). In almost every movie where you have an "outcast" (fat, nerd, jock girl, etc.) and then "normals," one or the other will be framed as basically evil, and one or the other will spend much of the movie plotting revenge or hating the other.
None of that in this movie. The main tension is between the title character and her mom, though there is some cursory idiot teen guy bullying (there are plenty of great guys in the movie, though; the jerks don't get much screen time or character development).
The young women in this movie are kind and supportive of each other. They might disagree, and even argue, but there is an underlying good will that pervades. I feel like this is a much more genuine picture of my experience with girlfriends.
But here is one thing that really struck me about the movie:
One of the story lines (not the main one) is of a male co-worker who is interested in the title character. He is conventionally good-looking, and straight-sized. The main character is also attractive, and is fat.
When it becomes obvious that he likes her and she sees a beauty-queen-type flirting with him, she becomes upset and tells him that they don't work "in the real world." She tells him that he should reasonably be with someone like the pageant staple girl (who, by the way, is an absolutely guileless character; not demonized at all, which, have I mentioned, I LOVE?!).
This was NOT my experience in high school.
I blame my lack of a real high school boyfriend on two things: I was fat (and, really, I wasn't *that* fat). I was not having sex. Maybe also that I'm a dork, but whatever.
I was never flummoxed when a guy liked me. I was always thrown off when a guy DIDN'T. No matter how many times it happened. No matter how consistent it was, and how much self-esteem-damage I had, and how much I hated my body. I was repeatedly crushed and incredulous when a guy in whom I was interested wasn't having it.
I seriously thought, "Do you KNOW me?! I'm super cool, and fun, and funny, and smart, and you'd love hanging out with me!" I might have felt like a flabby monster compared to my closest friends, but I KNEW I could hold my own in terms of personality and having so much to offer a relationship.
I am sure there are plenty of people who feel like Willowdean did: That if you look a certain way, you don't get the "Patriarchy Prizes" (h/t to Virgie Tovar). I'm very sad for those people, and am ready to build a world where this isn't the case. But for me, it never was. I always assumed I was worthy of love and respect and companionship. I'm going to credit my parents for that.
I've still spend a stupid amount of time in my life trying to diminish my body to fit into the ridiculously tiny box considered "desirable" by people who truly don't deserve my efforts. But somehow I've always seen that part of my struggle as separate from the person I am, who deserves good things just as much as my birthday twin, Cameron Diaz.
Showing posts with label teenager. Show all posts
Showing posts with label teenager. Show all posts
Sunday, December 9, 2018
Sunday, October 28, 2018
Dear 15-year-old me...
Hey, you. I know you're upset right now. Your first experience with a boyfriend just ended, and you're disappointed. I'm sorry. It really does suck. But before you start high school and before you begin a journey that will eat up so much of the next three decades of your life, I want to intervene. I want to assure you that there is another way. And, mostly, I want you to understand how much you can accomplish if you are willing to try to throw off the false messages with which our culture has been bombarding you since the day you were born.
I know something about you that maybe no one else knows. You hate your body. You feel monstrous and huge, completely "other" from even your closest friends. When you sit on the floor, cross-legged, reading notes at a sleepover, you notice how the flesh on your friend's leg doesn't round up at the calves like yours does. You see another friend wearing clothes that you think would look like a clown costume on you, and you're jealous that she can get away with picking anything from the thrift store shelves and it will look nice. You stand in front of your parents' vanity mirror and extend your belly as far as it will go. "I hate you," you tell yourself. "You're disgusting."
That, you will learn, many, MANY years from now, is called "internalized fatphobia." You have bought into the idea that fat people are lazy and gross. You are neither. Your self-talk is making it worse. First of all, isn't true; your future self will look at pictures of you at this time and be shocked at how someone so beautiful could feel so ugly. Secondly, even if it were true that you were exceptionally corpulent, science will bear out that genetics and puberty are the culprits and not your lack of motivation or appreciation of good food or any moral failure on your own part.
But every time you reinforce to yourself the message that you are somehow "less" because you do not meet some arbitrary standard of beauty, you make life worse for yourself.
You do not owe thinness to anyone. Not even yourself. You have believed a lie, and you will waste so much time and emotional energy powering this machine. Please don't. Please try to find the better way.
You don't realize it, but every time you indulge in self-hating fatphobia, you also make life worse for other women. Every time you judge yourself, you judge them, too. Either they're "thinner" than you and therefore an object of envy and resentment, or they're "fatter" than you and a source of judgmental feelings of relief and maybe even superiority.
Other women are not your competition. You don't have competition. This isn't a race or a game to be won. Living that way is isolating. Other women are your comrades. Don't you see how damaging this is to you all? You should all be on the same side. You should be about dismantling this world view, not continuing to prop it up.
Let me give this to you straight: Purposeful weight loss (through dieting and/or exercise) does not work in the long-term. Science has borne this out time and time again. Any program or study that promises or shows weight-loss only follows participants for two years. Within 5 years, 95% of people who lose weight have gained most if not all of it back. I'd cite multiple sources, but you do not have the internet like we do yet. Trust me, the future is great in this regard. You'll have access to so much information and so much validation. I just wish you could believe me in 1987.
Not only does purposeful weight loss not work, it backfires. Your body's metabolism slows down when you lose weight, and it stays slower. This means that the ultra-low-fat diet you will engage in from the time you're 20 until you're 23 will affect your ability to manage weight for the rest of your life. And again when you're 30 and lose weight "healthier." And 33. Every time, it will be harder. Every time, it will require more work. Every time, you'll have to expend more energy to work out and eat fewer and fewer calories. And you'll always gain it back. Always. Even when you keep it off for almost 7 years.
Health-wise, weight cycling like this puts a huge burden on your cardiovascular system. And repeated dieting interferes with your ability to listen to your body's hunger and satiety signals. It will further separate you from your social contacts, when you don't allow yourself to eat after a certain time of day, or when you check out of a conversation early because you cannot miss a workout or terror will ensue.
You're not going to believe this, but this is the most important thing: The best thing you can do for yourself at 15 is to rid yourself of the fatphobic attitudes the culture has given you, and then work on helping everyone else do it, too.
This is actually easier, and much more fulfilling, than hating and berating yourself. It's more productive than engaging in a mental and physical illness to make your body more appealing to yourself and others.
So... what if you do it? What if you manage to chip away at every lie you've ever believed about yourself and your body and decide to dedicate your energy to things like pursuing your passions? There is a two-pronged problem here, and you'll have addressed only one.
The second part is that, yeah, pretty much everyone in our culture has co-opted bigotry toward fat people. This will include men in whom you are interested, and who you want to be interested in you.
I wish you could just forget about dating for the next ten years, but I know you won't, so maybe you'll just take this to heart:
If any man claims to care about you but shows disdain toward your body, HE DOES NOT LOVE YOU. Love is not conditional. He might like your personality. He might find you humorous or think you have a beautiful face or feel like you might make a good partner. However, ultimately, he is selfish and foolish.
Your body is not a shell that holds you. Your body IS you. You are your body. Everything you do -- sleeping, talking, walking, laughing, watching a movie, singing -- EVERYTHING you do is enabled by your amazing body. It's not a shirt you can change to please someone else (though, for what it's worth, if someone doesn't like your shirt and thinks he can tell you to change it, he's probably not great for you, either).
If someone shows disdain for your body, END THE RELATIONSHIP. That might sound drastic, but it is absolutely necessary. There is no getting around or over it. If someone's feelings of affection for you are predicated on your body looking a certain way, that is not unconditional love, and you need to remove yourself from it.
I heard a podcast once (kind of like a radio program) where a woman was saying that she'd realized something about a man she was living with when she was engaging in disordered eating and exercise: He was probably the only person who knew how unraveled her life was, and not only did he not stop it, he encouraged her. He encouraged a woman he alleged to love to continually sacrifice her pleasure and ease (by passing up food she liked, by spending hours doing work-outs she hated, etc.) because her thinness was social currency to him. To put a finer point on it: He shows up with a hottie on his arm, and it make him look like a big deal. So she's doing all of this horrible labor just for him to glean the benefits. That's definitely not love. It's dysfunctional.
And if any man says, "I can't help it; I'm just not attracted to bigger women," then whatever. Good luck to him. He is a bigot, and you don't need that kind of person in your life.
Not at all incidentally, you, too, have that bigotry. It is death, and you need to cut it out immediately. Everyone, including yourself, yes, but EVERY SINGLE PERSON, deserves respect and the freedom to move and exist in the world without harassment regardless of how they look, of their size, of their abilities, of their health, or of anything. Every single person deserves to eat what they want, go where they want, wear what they want, and be who they are without anyone else's opinions being foisted on them. You have to take your thoughts captive and excise them. The phrase, "Do they even own a mirror?" should die on the vine long before it becomes a conscious thought. No one should do this to you. You cannot do it to others. Or yourself.
I'm writing you because I don't want you to look around at the great life you have 30 years from now and wonder how much further along you might be if you could trade those 300,000+ minutes (that's more than half a year!) you spent working out and the countless hours you meal-planned and obsessed over what you were going to eat, and how many calories it had, and how much fat, and when was your next free day, and how many candy corn could you manage in one day when you otherwise ate only dry spinach for doing something that would have made your life or the world at large a better place.
You will get to this place of freedom. It will be a hard-won battle, and, actually, it will be ongoing, as some of these dogmas die more slowly than others. But if you could just start on it now instead of after your second divorce (*wince* I KNOW), you could save yourself a lot of heartache and wasted time.
I know you don't cuss. I wish, just a little bit, that you did. Because instead of responding with silent and hidden hurt when someone judges you as unworthy due to your body type, I really wish you could just happily respond, "F*(4 that" and get on with your life without a second thought. Before you're middle-aged.
In retrospect,
46-year-old me
I know something about you that maybe no one else knows. You hate your body. You feel monstrous and huge, completely "other" from even your closest friends. When you sit on the floor, cross-legged, reading notes at a sleepover, you notice how the flesh on your friend's leg doesn't round up at the calves like yours does. You see another friend wearing clothes that you think would look like a clown costume on you, and you're jealous that she can get away with picking anything from the thrift store shelves and it will look nice. You stand in front of your parents' vanity mirror and extend your belly as far as it will go. "I hate you," you tell yourself. "You're disgusting."
That, you will learn, many, MANY years from now, is called "internalized fatphobia." You have bought into the idea that fat people are lazy and gross. You are neither. Your self-talk is making it worse. First of all, isn't true; your future self will look at pictures of you at this time and be shocked at how someone so beautiful could feel so ugly. Secondly, even if it were true that you were exceptionally corpulent, science will bear out that genetics and puberty are the culprits and not your lack of motivation or appreciation of good food or any moral failure on your own part.
But every time you reinforce to yourself the message that you are somehow "less" because you do not meet some arbitrary standard of beauty, you make life worse for yourself.
You do not owe thinness to anyone. Not even yourself. You have believed a lie, and you will waste so much time and emotional energy powering this machine. Please don't. Please try to find the better way.
You don't realize it, but every time you indulge in self-hating fatphobia, you also make life worse for other women. Every time you judge yourself, you judge them, too. Either they're "thinner" than you and therefore an object of envy and resentment, or they're "fatter" than you and a source of judgmental feelings of relief and maybe even superiority.
Other women are not your competition. You don't have competition. This isn't a race or a game to be won. Living that way is isolating. Other women are your comrades. Don't you see how damaging this is to you all? You should all be on the same side. You should be about dismantling this world view, not continuing to prop it up.
Let me give this to you straight: Purposeful weight loss (through dieting and/or exercise) does not work in the long-term. Science has borne this out time and time again. Any program or study that promises or shows weight-loss only follows participants for two years. Within 5 years, 95% of people who lose weight have gained most if not all of it back. I'd cite multiple sources, but you do not have the internet like we do yet. Trust me, the future is great in this regard. You'll have access to so much information and so much validation. I just wish you could believe me in 1987.
Not only does purposeful weight loss not work, it backfires. Your body's metabolism slows down when you lose weight, and it stays slower. This means that the ultra-low-fat diet you will engage in from the time you're 20 until you're 23 will affect your ability to manage weight for the rest of your life. And again when you're 30 and lose weight "healthier." And 33. Every time, it will be harder. Every time, it will require more work. Every time, you'll have to expend more energy to work out and eat fewer and fewer calories. And you'll always gain it back. Always. Even when you keep it off for almost 7 years.
Health-wise, weight cycling like this puts a huge burden on your cardiovascular system. And repeated dieting interferes with your ability to listen to your body's hunger and satiety signals. It will further separate you from your social contacts, when you don't allow yourself to eat after a certain time of day, or when you check out of a conversation early because you cannot miss a workout or terror will ensue.
You're not going to believe this, but this is the most important thing: The best thing you can do for yourself at 15 is to rid yourself of the fatphobic attitudes the culture has given you, and then work on helping everyone else do it, too.
This is actually easier, and much more fulfilling, than hating and berating yourself. It's more productive than engaging in a mental and physical illness to make your body more appealing to yourself and others.
So... what if you do it? What if you manage to chip away at every lie you've ever believed about yourself and your body and decide to dedicate your energy to things like pursuing your passions? There is a two-pronged problem here, and you'll have addressed only one.
The second part is that, yeah, pretty much everyone in our culture has co-opted bigotry toward fat people. This will include men in whom you are interested, and who you want to be interested in you.
I wish you could just forget about dating for the next ten years, but I know you won't, so maybe you'll just take this to heart:
If any man claims to care about you but shows disdain toward your body, HE DOES NOT LOVE YOU. Love is not conditional. He might like your personality. He might find you humorous or think you have a beautiful face or feel like you might make a good partner. However, ultimately, he is selfish and foolish.
Your body is not a shell that holds you. Your body IS you. You are your body. Everything you do -- sleeping, talking, walking, laughing, watching a movie, singing -- EVERYTHING you do is enabled by your amazing body. It's not a shirt you can change to please someone else (though, for what it's worth, if someone doesn't like your shirt and thinks he can tell you to change it, he's probably not great for you, either).
If someone shows disdain for your body, END THE RELATIONSHIP. That might sound drastic, but it is absolutely necessary. There is no getting around or over it. If someone's feelings of affection for you are predicated on your body looking a certain way, that is not unconditional love, and you need to remove yourself from it.
I heard a podcast once (kind of like a radio program) where a woman was saying that she'd realized something about a man she was living with when she was engaging in disordered eating and exercise: He was probably the only person who knew how unraveled her life was, and not only did he not stop it, he encouraged her. He encouraged a woman he alleged to love to continually sacrifice her pleasure and ease (by passing up food she liked, by spending hours doing work-outs she hated, etc.) because her thinness was social currency to him. To put a finer point on it: He shows up with a hottie on his arm, and it make him look like a big deal. So she's doing all of this horrible labor just for him to glean the benefits. That's definitely not love. It's dysfunctional.
And if any man says, "I can't help it; I'm just not attracted to bigger women," then whatever. Good luck to him. He is a bigot, and you don't need that kind of person in your life.
Not at all incidentally, you, too, have that bigotry. It is death, and you need to cut it out immediately. Everyone, including yourself, yes, but EVERY SINGLE PERSON, deserves respect and the freedom to move and exist in the world without harassment regardless of how they look, of their size, of their abilities, of their health, or of anything. Every single person deserves to eat what they want, go where they want, wear what they want, and be who they are without anyone else's opinions being foisted on them. You have to take your thoughts captive and excise them. The phrase, "Do they even own a mirror?" should die on the vine long before it becomes a conscious thought. No one should do this to you. You cannot do it to others. Or yourself.
I'm writing you because I don't want you to look around at the great life you have 30 years from now and wonder how much further along you might be if you could trade those 300,000+ minutes (that's more than half a year!) you spent working out and the countless hours you meal-planned and obsessed over what you were going to eat, and how many calories it had, and how much fat, and when was your next free day, and how many candy corn could you manage in one day when you otherwise ate only dry spinach for doing something that would have made your life or the world at large a better place.
You will get to this place of freedom. It will be a hard-won battle, and, actually, it will be ongoing, as some of these dogmas die more slowly than others. But if you could just start on it now instead of after your second divorce (*wince* I KNOW), you could save yourself a lot of heartache and wasted time.
I know you don't cuss. I wish, just a little bit, that you did. Because instead of responding with silent and hidden hurt when someone judges you as unworthy due to your body type, I really wish you could just happily respond, "F*(4 that" and get on with your life without a second thought. Before you're middle-aged.
In retrospect,
46-year-old me
Monday, March 12, 2018
When Your Kid Makes You Grow Up
Friday, I was in the car on the way home from a movie with both kids. A song came on the radio to which Mal reacted positively.
D asked, "Can I change this?"
I said, "No, Mal and I like it."
D waited a moment, and said, "The reason I want to is that they use a slur at the beginning of the song."
"What did they say?"
"'Gypsies.'"
I thought about it for a moment, about how "gypped" is definitely a racially-insensitive word, but, in this case, "She says 'travel like gypsies.' I think that nomadic aspect is literally the definition of a gypsy."
D visibly hardened and requested, "Can you not argue with me about slurs? Neither of us gets the last word about that, anyway."
It stuck with me, so later in the day, I asked James about it as I hadn't had the chance to research yet. And then I had time to I look it up. We both found article after story after encyclopedia entry that confirm D's assertion. The first one James found is here.
Well, dang.
The next time I saw D (who's nocturnal, so it's not always a given), I apologized. I said, "You were right and I was wrong. You were being thoughtful, and I'm sorry I shut you down instead of listening."
I could see a loosening this time. "I understand; it's easy to get defensive about that kind of thing. Thank you."
This kid. There are so many things I might never think about if not called out by my older child. It's often uncomfortable, but I'm grateful for the opportunity to examine what I think and why, and how frequently this results in a change.
I hope, and am pretty confident, that D will carry into the world this obstinate refusal to quarter nonsense or to allow people to speak in a way that hurts others. Pretty proud.
D asked, "Can I change this?"
I said, "No, Mal and I like it."
D waited a moment, and said, "The reason I want to is that they use a slur at the beginning of the song."
"What did they say?"
"'Gypsies.'"
I thought about it for a moment, about how "gypped" is definitely a racially-insensitive word, but, in this case, "She says 'travel like gypsies.' I think that nomadic aspect is literally the definition of a gypsy."
D visibly hardened and requested, "Can you not argue with me about slurs? Neither of us gets the last word about that, anyway."
It stuck with me, so later in the day, I asked James about it as I hadn't had the chance to research yet. And then I had time to I look it up. We both found article after story after encyclopedia entry that confirm D's assertion. The first one James found is here.
Well, dang.
The next time I saw D (who's nocturnal, so it's not always a given), I apologized. I said, "You were right and I was wrong. You were being thoughtful, and I'm sorry I shut you down instead of listening."
I could see a loosening this time. "I understand; it's easy to get defensive about that kind of thing. Thank you."
This kid. There are so many things I might never think about if not called out by my older child. It's often uncomfortable, but I'm grateful for the opportunity to examine what I think and why, and how frequently this results in a change.
I hope, and am pretty confident, that D will carry into the world this obstinate refusal to quarter nonsense or to allow people to speak in a way that hurts others. Pretty proud.
Thursday, March 2, 2017
An Unflattering Admission
Yesterday, my little guy wanted to video chat with someone. One set of grandparents was moving, and the other set had a special visitor (new great grandbaby!). We called Aunt Sister. She was in the car, but opened the call and left the phone sitting in its mount so Mal could see his cousins and chat for a bit.
Sarah was taking the three teenagers to their Wednesday night activities, and it was a little chaotic. There was apparently a crane fly in their car, and TJ, sitting behind Hannah, was messing with her, making her freak out that she was under attack by the insect. The kids were giving Sarah a hard time about her poor driving skills, and saying that 17-year-old permitted driver Hannah is a better driver than their mom.
After a few minutes, I started getting... what? Irritated? I thought, "They're obviously busy; this is an unnecessary call. I'm going to hang up."
But why was is chafing me?
I thought a bit and realized: I was jealous.
This sneaks up on me every once in a while, and I hate it. But it's true: When I see parents, and especially my contemporaries who have kids I've watched grow up alongside mine, having fun with their teen kids, sometimes, just sometimes, it stings. And I wish it didn't.
I've written about D's anxiety before, and how I don't think my child is "broken" or needs "fixing." It's true that I never had a mental picture of life in the future, in terms of a wedding or children or career... But, to be perfectly transparent, I also never foresaw a time when we would not be close.
Okay, we're close in the sense that I'm literally the only person to whom D talks. But anxiety has made my child a ghost, only appearing when necessary. We don't "hang out." D is very easily distracted by stressors, so when Mal is awake, it's pretty much a non-starter. James and I have gotten used to talking (and listening) over him; D can't do it. D has explained that this is one reason for the nocturnalism. If there is too much noise or light or stimuli, there is no focus.
So we're learning to accommodate these things, and usually, and especially with a toddler, most of the time, I can just deal without becoming morose. But then...
One of the ways my family of origin shows affection is teasing. And we laugh. A lot.
But it's been more than three years since I've been able to joke around with D. The book "The Highly Sensitive Child" helped me understand this better, but it's been a learning curve. Things I could have said half a decade ago now bring tears, and I am always thrown off by what is upsetting that I just did not anticipate.
It's very difficult to maintain a real relationship that doesn't include some jocularity. It's easy, in my self-focus, to be personally offended by the cringing away from hugs or touches. And although I wouldn't want my kid to be anything "different," I suppose that, also in my selfishness, I would love for our relationship to be more... friendly? Warm? Open?
In fact, the other day, D made a Wod-Fam-Choc-Sod, a vestige from our "Adventures in Odyssey" days. It was legit; looked like something that would be served at a commercial establishment. So I asked if I could take a picture of it (in D's presence, as opposed to the cake-things I've photographed and posted before). "Are you going to post it online?" "I might. Unless you'd rather that I didn't." "I do. I don't know why, but..."
So. It could be a lot worse. There could be rebellion, acting out, disrespect, or self-harm. I can't be angry with D, because it's not intentional. But I'm sad enough at times to be mad, so I guess I turn that into a sour-grapey "well, great for you and your freaking happy family." Which is not how I feel, for real. I don't wish anxiety or paranoia or any of those things on anyone else. I do realize that I have a precious soul to help try to protect until it can go out into the world on its own... And thank goodness we're still years away from that because... we're YEARS away from that.
Again, one might wonder why I'm even writing about this. First, because it helps me. I need it to be out there. If I am ever less than charming with you, maybe it'll help you understand why. Second, because it might help someone else? Give someone a little encouragement that they're not alone? Help some parent to realize that even a mouthy kid... well, at least they're talking to you? I'm grateful that my kid trusts me. I might mourn circumstance, but I rejoice that the children I have are mine.
Wednesday, August 17, 2016
Growing Kids
Hello, Internets!
As you might remember, we have not one, but two children. I wish I could give you loads of updates on both, but one of them is a teenager who is very private, very introverted, and wisely wary of what ends up on the internet in regards to herself (this she did not get from me). I will say that, while she might not recognize this, having her as a child has made me and is making me a better parent and a better person, slowly and painfully, but we're getting there.
One big thing is that it's cured me forever of ever even thinking, "Gosh, if that were my kid, here's what I'd do..." You don't know. You never know. And things might not make sense to anyone looking in, but really, I'm learning that the best support you can be for another parent is to listen, only throwing in tips if they're requested, and even then being very aware of the other family's parenting style, and being totally prepared for them not to take your advice at all. In order to be the best support, though, I think that you have to keep listening and sympathizing without being frustrated that the other parents are not doing it "right" or "different" or "better." I hope I can be this kind of friend to everyone else. Feel free to spill if you need an ear.
Now, the other kid. I try to be cautious of what I put online regarding him, so it's not too intrusive. There are things that crack me up that I won't share here because they cross a line. But I don't think this does, so here.
Mal is growing up so much, and parenting him is in many ways so much easier than it was. But his opinions are strengthening, and he is very very determined to make us understand him and to bend us to his will that he will often cry over an issue for an hour or more, over and over, re-upsetting himself after calming down -- and these are things we cannot fix for him, like the fact that it's after 6 PM and the apartment office is closed (they have marshmallows), or that we don't have McDonald's French fries, we only have frozen ones that we have to cook (and, yes, one weekend, James and I each took him through the drive-through at McD's on a Saturday, and this might have ruined him!).
This next thing I'm hesitant to mention, because I truly don't find it important in terms of development or indication of future mental prowess or success, but I'm still going to note it so that I'll remember and because it so well illustrates that unschooling works in that kids learn whether you sit them down and force feed them or not.
Mal knows some letters. Some by name, and some phonetically. He knows "b" and sometimes "d" but also sometimes says "b" for "d." "B" he gets right every time. He knows "i" and "y" (he says "by"). He says "ssss" for "x" and "mum" for "m." Sometimes, he'll just surprise us by pointing to something with a letter on it and saying the letter or its sound. Did we teach him this? Um, no. He has picked it up from watching his favorite videos over and over again.
I reiterate: this is apropos of nothing, but just kind of funny.
Regarding "mum," this is also what he calls the moon. We'll be outside and he'll point up, saying, "Mum! Mum!" He will also point at the Death Star decal on his wall and say, "mum" while shaking his head "no." In other words: "That's no moon."
He will know all of the Star Wars memes before he ever sees the movie. In the book "Epic Yarns: A New Hope" that some friends gave Mal, he does several things: He breathes asthmatically when we see Darth Vader. He points to Greedo on the page introducing Han Solo and says, "Die!" And when we get to the garbage scene, he says, "waycanebeee," which, of course, is translated, "3PO! 3PO! Where can he be??"
Back to his videos: He usually watches compilations that are a half hour to an hour long. Lately, though, he will pick out a particular song and ask for us to "rewind" it so he can watch it over and over and over. Later, we'll often catch him acting out parts of the videos. James is sure when we were on the train that he was doing a cadence from "Walking in the Jungle" by Super Simple Songs.
Thing is, the next day, or even later that day, the video he watched 40 times in a row is repugnant to him, and the one he insisted we skip is the one upon which he lavishes his attention.
I'm going to treat you to something special. It's the freaking weirdest video on the definitely weirdest channel he likes (that I let him watch; Videogyan would be one in the rotation, but I have my limits).
Yeah. Explain that to me, if you will. On second thought, don't. Some things are better left a mystery. (P.S. These are the dudes behind these videos, if you can believe that. Not a bunch of Einstein-baby-moms, huh?)
When I bought Mal's car seat, I didn't realize it had an upper weight limit of 40, something he is approaching rapidly. I went ahead and got him a replacement seat, and yesterday we received it. I had not anticipated how sad this would make him. He cried and cried when he saw it, begging to go see his old car seat. We went down to the van and I put the new seat in the captain's chair beside the old one, asking him if he wanted to get in the new seat. He didn't. He sat in the old one, wanting to be strapped in (we were only going to the mailbox, but I did it). He kept crying and saying, "Bye bye... bye bye." So I guess we'll use the old one until he's definitely 40 pounds. He still has a few pounds to go. I'm going to keep the new seat in the car so he gets used to it and maybe that will help the transition.
Mal continues to be really interested in music and instruments. He has his ukulele as well as an "air piano" (like a recorder, but with keys, so it sounds a lot like a harmonica) and a little novelty keyboard with about 8 notes on it. He will pull out James' guitar and whatever other instruments he wants to use and have us all pitch in to make really horrible music while he strums his ukulele ("la la") and sings happily. He gets really upset with me when he hands me James' guitar and I try to coax something vaguely musical out of it, one string at a time. So I just strum randomly with him and that usually placates him.
James can really play, though. Mal's interest has sort of forced/accommodated James' practice almost every day (some work days are just too long, though). I love hearing him play. He's really good, and classical guitar is just lovely.
It will be interesting to see whether Mal ends up playing one or many instruments. I think he'd love a drum set, but we'll probably have to wait until he understands earphones and get him an electric kit or else his big sister, the day sleeper, might just have a conniption. Incidentally, she had a little drum kit when she was 5ish, but there were no other kids to complain about the noise.
I can tell nap time is wrapping up, so until next time... (as they say in that video) Bye byeeeeeee!
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| This pleasingly dichromatic picture brought to you by my letting the boy hang out diaperless on the bed too long. |
As you might remember, we have not one, but two children. I wish I could give you loads of updates on both, but one of them is a teenager who is very private, very introverted, and wisely wary of what ends up on the internet in regards to herself (this she did not get from me). I will say that, while she might not recognize this, having her as a child has made me and is making me a better parent and a better person, slowly and painfully, but we're getting there.
One big thing is that it's cured me forever of ever even thinking, "Gosh, if that were my kid, here's what I'd do..." You don't know. You never know. And things might not make sense to anyone looking in, but really, I'm learning that the best support you can be for another parent is to listen, only throwing in tips if they're requested, and even then being very aware of the other family's parenting style, and being totally prepared for them not to take your advice at all. In order to be the best support, though, I think that you have to keep listening and sympathizing without being frustrated that the other parents are not doing it "right" or "different" or "better." I hope I can be this kind of friend to everyone else. Feel free to spill if you need an ear.
Now, the other kid. I try to be cautious of what I put online regarding him, so it's not too intrusive. There are things that crack me up that I won't share here because they cross a line. But I don't think this does, so here.
 |
| Because why wouldn't you? |
This next thing I'm hesitant to mention, because I truly don't find it important in terms of development or indication of future mental prowess or success, but I'm still going to note it so that I'll remember and because it so well illustrates that unschooling works in that kids learn whether you sit them down and force feed them or not.
Mal knows some letters. Some by name, and some phonetically. He knows "b" and sometimes "d" but also sometimes says "b" for "d." "B" he gets right every time. He knows "i" and "y" (he says "by"). He says "ssss" for "x" and "mum" for "m." Sometimes, he'll just surprise us by pointing to something with a letter on it and saying the letter or its sound. Did we teach him this? Um, no. He has picked it up from watching his favorite videos over and over again.
I reiterate: this is apropos of nothing, but just kind of funny.
Regarding "mum," this is also what he calls the moon. We'll be outside and he'll point up, saying, "Mum! Mum!" He will also point at the Death Star decal on his wall and say, "mum" while shaking his head "no." In other words: "That's no moon."
He will know all of the Star Wars memes before he ever sees the movie. In the book "Epic Yarns: A New Hope" that some friends gave Mal, he does several things: He breathes asthmatically when we see Darth Vader. He points to Greedo on the page introducing Han Solo and says, "Die!" And when we get to the garbage scene, he says, "waycanebeee," which, of course, is translated, "3PO! 3PO! Where can he be??"
Back to his videos: He usually watches compilations that are a half hour to an hour long. Lately, though, he will pick out a particular song and ask for us to "rewind" it so he can watch it over and over and over. Later, we'll often catch him acting out parts of the videos. James is sure when we were on the train that he was doing a cadence from "Walking in the Jungle" by Super Simple Songs.
Thing is, the next day, or even later that day, the video he watched 40 times in a row is repugnant to him, and the one he insisted we skip is the one upon which he lavishes his attention.
I'm going to treat you to something special. It's the freaking weirdest video on the definitely weirdest channel he likes (that I let him watch; Videogyan would be one in the rotation, but I have my limits).
Yeah. Explain that to me, if you will. On second thought, don't. Some things are better left a mystery. (P.S. These are the dudes behind these videos, if you can believe that. Not a bunch of Einstein-baby-moms, huh?)
When I bought Mal's car seat, I didn't realize it had an upper weight limit of 40, something he is approaching rapidly. I went ahead and got him a replacement seat, and yesterday we received it. I had not anticipated how sad this would make him. He cried and cried when he saw it, begging to go see his old car seat. We went down to the van and I put the new seat in the captain's chair beside the old one, asking him if he wanted to get in the new seat. He didn't. He sat in the old one, wanting to be strapped in (we were only going to the mailbox, but I did it). He kept crying and saying, "Bye bye... bye bye." So I guess we'll use the old one until he's definitely 40 pounds. He still has a few pounds to go. I'm going to keep the new seat in the car so he gets used to it and maybe that will help the transition.
Mal continues to be really interested in music and instruments. He has his ukulele as well as an "air piano" (like a recorder, but with keys, so it sounds a lot like a harmonica) and a little novelty keyboard with about 8 notes on it. He will pull out James' guitar and whatever other instruments he wants to use and have us all pitch in to make really horrible music while he strums his ukulele ("la la") and sings happily. He gets really upset with me when he hands me James' guitar and I try to coax something vaguely musical out of it, one string at a time. So I just strum randomly with him and that usually placates him.
James can really play, though. Mal's interest has sort of forced/accommodated James' practice almost every day (some work days are just too long, though). I love hearing him play. He's really good, and classical guitar is just lovely.
It will be interesting to see whether Mal ends up playing one or many instruments. I think he'd love a drum set, but we'll probably have to wait until he understands earphones and get him an electric kit or else his big sister, the day sleeper, might just have a conniption. Incidentally, she had a little drum kit when she was 5ish, but there were no other kids to complain about the noise.
I can tell nap time is wrapping up, so until next time... (as they say in that video) Bye byeeeeeee!
Tuesday, November 3, 2015
Daphne Turns 14!
Yesterday, my daughter turned fourteen! Why does that sound so much older than thirteen?
On Sunday afternoon, 4/5 of her Austin cousins came over to help her celebrate. They brought a care package of some of her favorite foods: Promised Land chocolate milk (if she can't have that, she makes it herself because she detests all over chocolate milks... so she makes it a lot, because $$$), mini peanut butter Ritz crackers, Velveeta shells and cheese... Goodness, do they know her or what?
TJ stayed after everyone else left, and he and Daphne had fun playing games, watching videos, and then messing around with Mal's toys. They're fun! They played made up ball games about the last hour and a half, and I'm so glad Mal was able to go to sleep even with balls hitting the wall and door of our room; I didn't want to have to tell them to stop.
In honor of her birthday, I wanted to share a story about Daphne from about nine years ago. It's poignant to me on several levels, which I'll explain in a minute.
For now, let's go back in time to August 2006, when Daphne was 4 (almost 5) years old....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was Sunday night and we'd had small group at our house. Before everyone left, the parents always had their kids "straighten" Daphne's room, which basically amounts to getting things out of the middle of the floor, since when it's not your room, you don't really know where stuff goes. At the time, we were in a group with seven or so kids besides Daphne, and they'd really gone to town. When the house was empty, I changed into my pajamas and went into D's room to put things where they belonged and to help her get ready for bed.
I literally cried. Someone had taken the Lite Brite onto her top bunk and had poured all of the pegs out, so that they were all in the bed, around the mattress, having fallen into the parts of the bed I couldn't access due to its construction, etc.
The kids liked to use the back part of Daphne's bed as a fort or hiding place, which was great because half of it was empty and there were doors on both sides. However, one side had all of her board games in storage. Although technically you *could* crawl in one side and out the other, neither Daphne nor her other friends had ever done it because: wall of games. But apparently it was tried this night. Boxes that had previously been pristine were crushed, and pieces from Monopoly and Don't Spill the Beans and Hi Ho Cherry-o were everywhere, along with Matchbox cars and cards and play money, and just a huge mess of busted boxes.
Someone had decided to have a "real" tea party with Daphne's tea set. She had a table and chairs in her room, and an en suite bathroom. They'd gotten water and had spilled it all over the place, which would have been okay if it had just been on the table and carpet. But there were books, probably a dozen, that were water-logged and bloated.
Literally everything that was not "normal" clothes had been pulled out of her closet (dress-up, jewelry, toys, etc.)
I have always wished I had the gift of hospitality, but it was clear in that moment that I didn't. I was so miffed by what I perceived as disrespect of our stuff (really normal kid stuff, but, gosh, what a mess) that I just wept during the almost hour it took me to right her room, put game pieces together, tape boxes, etc.
When we were done, I realized that Daphne was up past her bedtime. Also, that I was hungry. And I had no energy to make anything.
So I asked Daphne if she wanted to go to Taco Bell with me, and she did.
Daphne, rocking her Faith Weaver Friends t-shirt and Dora the Explorer house shoes.
Bonus adorbs picture.
Obviously, we giggled a lot during that meal, and by the time we left, I wasn't even mad anymore. It was a stressful night turned fun because we made fun of it. It's one of my sweetest quirky memories of Daphne's growing up.
The pictures are bittersweet to me. I really do miss the days when Daphne wanted to go places with me. It didn't matter if I wanted to take her for a bean burrito at 9:30 or just run to the grocery store. She even enjoyed driving around all day to hit 8 mystery shops and put 200 miles on the van while we listened to Harry Potter on audiobook. (I'll never forget coming back to the car after a reveal portion of a shop and her telling me that the headmaster was dead. What?? And then who killed him. WHAT?! I had to back it up and listen to it myself.)
 |
| Heh... she blew the candles out in James' face! :) Yes, it's a cake surrounded by KitKats and covered with candy corn. |
TJ stayed after everyone else left, and he and Daphne had fun playing games, watching videos, and then messing around with Mal's toys. They're fun! They played made up ball games about the last hour and a half, and I'm so glad Mal was able to go to sleep even with balls hitting the wall and door of our room; I didn't want to have to tell them to stop.
In honor of her birthday, I wanted to share a story about Daphne from about nine years ago. It's poignant to me on several levels, which I'll explain in a minute.
For now, let's go back in time to August 2006, when Daphne was 4 (almost 5) years old....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was Sunday night and we'd had small group at our house. Before everyone left, the parents always had their kids "straighten" Daphne's room, which basically amounts to getting things out of the middle of the floor, since when it's not your room, you don't really know where stuff goes. At the time, we were in a group with seven or so kids besides Daphne, and they'd really gone to town. When the house was empty, I changed into my pajamas and went into D's room to put things where they belonged and to help her get ready for bed.
I literally cried. Someone had taken the Lite Brite onto her top bunk and had poured all of the pegs out, so that they were all in the bed, around the mattress, having fallen into the parts of the bed I couldn't access due to its construction, etc.
The kids liked to use the back part of Daphne's bed as a fort or hiding place, which was great because half of it was empty and there were doors on both sides. However, one side had all of her board games in storage. Although technically you *could* crawl in one side and out the other, neither Daphne nor her other friends had ever done it because: wall of games. But apparently it was tried this night. Boxes that had previously been pristine were crushed, and pieces from Monopoly and Don't Spill the Beans and Hi Ho Cherry-o were everywhere, along with Matchbox cars and cards and play money, and just a huge mess of busted boxes.
Someone had decided to have a "real" tea party with Daphne's tea set. She had a table and chairs in her room, and an en suite bathroom. They'd gotten water and had spilled it all over the place, which would have been okay if it had just been on the table and carpet. But there were books, probably a dozen, that were water-logged and bloated.
Literally everything that was not "normal" clothes had been pulled out of her closet (dress-up, jewelry, toys, etc.)
I have always wished I had the gift of hospitality, but it was clear in that moment that I didn't. I was so miffed by what I perceived as disrespect of our stuff (really normal kid stuff, but, gosh, what a mess) that I just wept during the almost hour it took me to right her room, put game pieces together, tape boxes, etc.
When we were done, I realized that Daphne was up past her bedtime. Also, that I was hungry. And I had no energy to make anything.
So I asked Daphne if she wanted to go to Taco Bell with me, and she did.
Me, in the pajamas I just wore two nights ago (I keep clothes forever) and my Mickey Mouse house shoes (sadly, trashed). I love and miss my dog purse.
We decided to entertain ourselves by taking pictures making stupid faces while we ate. Here they are.
Bonus adorbs picture.
Obviously, we giggled a lot during that meal, and by the time we left, I wasn't even mad anymore. It was a stressful night turned fun because we made fun of it. It's one of my sweetest quirky memories of Daphne's growing up.
::::HARRY POTTER SPOILER IN THE PARAGRAPH BELOW::::
The pictures are bittersweet to me. I really do miss the days when Daphne wanted to go places with me. It didn't matter if I wanted to take her for a bean burrito at 9:30 or just run to the grocery store. She even enjoyed driving around all day to hit 8 mystery shops and put 200 miles on the van while we listened to Harry Potter on audiobook. (I'll never forget coming back to the car after a reveal portion of a shop and her telling me that the headmaster was dead. What?? And then who killed him. WHAT?! I had to back it up and listen to it myself.)
::::SAFE TO RESUME::::
So that part stings a little, but I know this is a season, and when she grows up a little bit, she'll want to go out to eat with me or do other things. Maybe not until she's out and on her own and the whole away-from-home dining thing isn't so readily available, but I'll take whatever I can get!
However, these memories also fueled my flagging energy during the first year of Mal's life. As tired and spent as I ever was, I knew from experience that better days were coming. Fun days. Days of silliness and friendship. Days of mutual support and making each other smile. And I knew it because of my sweet girl's childhood.
I am grateful to have been chosen to be Daphne's mom. In every stage. It's an honor and a privilege and I'm glad we get to share a roof for the next few years. <3
Friday, August 14, 2015
The Thing About Parenting a Teenager...
There's something that I have come up against several times since I had a child nearly fourteen years (!!) ago, and at first, it comforted me. Now, I mentally flip off whomever is saying it or has written it. It has various iterations, but goes a little something like this:
"There is no reason that kids need to rebel when they're teenagers."
Now, granted, my reaction might be a little immature, but it's coming from a tender place and so this statement rubs me the wrong way.
A caveat: If the intention of saying this means, "Please don't expect the worst of your kids," then I'm totally down with it.
But mostly, I hear it used with a parenting philosophy, practically "guaranteeing" that if you just do what these people say, then you and your child will have a charming, laid-back relationship with few, if any, bumps.
The people who say and believe this, and whose kids just got along with them like gangbusters straight through until they moved out... Well, those folks are LUCKY. Just like the people who swear by a certain sleep technique because "all three of my babies slept through the night when they were still in the womb, so it works!" are LUCKY.
And I don't resent that (much), but I also don't think it's cause to believe that you have the parenting thing down pat as much as it is cause for you to thank the good Lord above that he gave you the kind of kid you have. And then, maybe, try to be empathetic or at least tolerant with some liberal benefit-of-the-doubt extension to those whose kids buck against the system, and would buck against ANY system, regardless of how lenient, strict, compassionate, distant, appropriate, etc. it is.
Anyone who has raised more than one child through to adulthood knows that kids are just different. What worked with one might not work with the other, and even when you tailor the approaches, some kids are just going to have a little messier time traversing the road to independence than others. We all know brothers and/or sisters who turned out COMPLETELY different, and have had the most divergent lives, despite being raised at roughly the same time by the same parents.
If you're a parent whose kid is questioning you, or Jesus, or his or her sexuality, or whether Braum's is really better than Dairy Queen; or who is experimenting with (or an expert at) drugs, promiscuity, smoking; or who disappears for hours and upon returning won't communicate with you; or who has attempted suicide; or who might sit at the table for dinner but will not talk; or who might talk, but loudly and with choice swears thrown in for nuance; or who just can't seem to get it together; or who seems not to like you very much, or respect you at all... If you're doing the best that you can, you're doing the best that you can. And that's all that you can do.
I'm learning that the measure of successful parenting cannot be attached to an outcome.
I mean, sure, ideally, my daughter would both respect me and think of me as a friend. She would choose to hang out with me. A trip to the grocery store with mom? Fun! She would grow up under my loving guidance, adroitly circumnavigating the missteps I took because she's heeded my advice. She would know her worth and love God and be an ambassador to people. She would be secure and hard-working and pleasant and have real, good friends. I think we all want that kind of thing for our kids.
But we can't judge whether or not we did our jobs well by marking off a checklist of things our kid does or is. There are too many other factors, the biggest of which... well, is the kid his- or herself!
I have not parented perfectly. God knows I've made some huge mistakes, and I regret those terribly. But I can say I've always loved my teenager, and have always made long-term decisions with her best interest in mind. (I have had plenty of short-term gaffes... times when anger surfaced in a loud way, or when I was operating out of my own personal pain that had nothing to do with her, etc.)
So, I don't know about you, but I need to remind myself often that any discomfort I feel between my teenager and me isn't solely due to my inadequate parenting. It's normal.
I also need to remind myself, maybe even more often, that my daughter isn't actually in any kind of rebellion against me. I think I might be in rebellion against her. Against the changes that take place as she ages and pushes away from me. Against the more introspective and quiet nature she's adopting as she matures, because I miss the bubbly, carefree elementary-aged crazy who always always wanted to be with me no matter what. Against maybe what I thought her teen years would look like. And it's not fair to her.
Although sometimes I feel like we never talk, but the truth is that my daughter talks to me. A lot. When she wants to, though. If I try to strike up a conversation, it's awkward and painful. If she has something on her mind, she can talk to me for hours on end. Literally.
True, she doesn't love any excuse to get out of the house with me anymore, but I remember being the same way when I was her age. My mom says I'd go shopping, say for back-to-school clothes, and want the first thing I tried on that fit, then make her miserable the rest of the time because I wanted to leave and she wanted to look around.
But the truth is that I have a very bright, very opinionated, very self-assured young woman who knows what she wants and who lets us know, too. She is funny, and she is interesting, and even when I don't agree with her, I'm fascinated by and respect her views. I love to hear her singing when she doesn't know anyone can hear her. I love her laugh when a video amuses her, even when it's 2:30 AM and the authoritarian mom in me thinks (but doesn't say), "She should be asleep!"
(And before you get onto me about that, I would ask you: WHY "should" she be asleep? Yup. No reason. Except that kids aren't "supposed" to stay awake all night. Well, mine does and that's okay with me. Even though I have never been able to pull off that kind of thing.)
Anyway, I've just been thinking about my teenager and feeling very emotional as I realize that the time is short. I love this kid, and sometimes feel very protective of her, but so glad that we're in Austin where her brand of "self" is accepted in a way I don't feel it might be in smaller or narrower places.
I wanted to put all of this in writing, too, in case anyone else is experiencing growing pains by proxy, so you'll know you're not alone.
Also, would you pray for us that my daughter would find a place in our new church quickly? She just needs one "bosom friend," as Anne Shirley would say. We have missed Kylie and Emma so much since we moved (three years ago! but Emma moved, too, so staying wouldn't have saved that friendship); I long for her to have just one sympatico buddy.
Have a great weekend, friends!
"There is no reason that kids need to rebel when they're teenagers."
Now, granted, my reaction might be a little immature, but it's coming from a tender place and so this statement rubs me the wrong way.
A caveat: If the intention of saying this means, "Please don't expect the worst of your kids," then I'm totally down with it.
But mostly, I hear it used with a parenting philosophy, practically "guaranteeing" that if you just do what these people say, then you and your child will have a charming, laid-back relationship with few, if any, bumps.
The people who say and believe this, and whose kids just got along with them like gangbusters straight through until they moved out... Well, those folks are LUCKY. Just like the people who swear by a certain sleep technique because "all three of my babies slept through the night when they were still in the womb, so it works!" are LUCKY.
And I don't resent that (much), but I also don't think it's cause to believe that you have the parenting thing down pat as much as it is cause for you to thank the good Lord above that he gave you the kind of kid you have. And then, maybe, try to be empathetic or at least tolerant with some liberal benefit-of-the-doubt extension to those whose kids buck against the system, and would buck against ANY system, regardless of how lenient, strict, compassionate, distant, appropriate, etc. it is.
Anyone who has raised more than one child through to adulthood knows that kids are just different. What worked with one might not work with the other, and even when you tailor the approaches, some kids are just going to have a little messier time traversing the road to independence than others. We all know brothers and/or sisters who turned out COMPLETELY different, and have had the most divergent lives, despite being raised at roughly the same time by the same parents.
If you're a parent whose kid is questioning you, or Jesus, or his or her sexuality, or whether Braum's is really better than Dairy Queen; or who is experimenting with (or an expert at) drugs, promiscuity, smoking; or who disappears for hours and upon returning won't communicate with you; or who has attempted suicide; or who might sit at the table for dinner but will not talk; or who might talk, but loudly and with choice swears thrown in for nuance; or who just can't seem to get it together; or who seems not to like you very much, or respect you at all... If you're doing the best that you can, you're doing the best that you can. And that's all that you can do.
I'm learning that the measure of successful parenting cannot be attached to an outcome.
I mean, sure, ideally, my daughter would both respect me and think of me as a friend. She would choose to hang out with me. A trip to the grocery store with mom? Fun! She would grow up under my loving guidance, adroitly circumnavigating the missteps I took because she's heeded my advice. She would know her worth and love God and be an ambassador to people. She would be secure and hard-working and pleasant and have real, good friends. I think we all want that kind of thing for our kids.
But we can't judge whether or not we did our jobs well by marking off a checklist of things our kid does or is. There are too many other factors, the biggest of which... well, is the kid his- or herself!
I have not parented perfectly. God knows I've made some huge mistakes, and I regret those terribly. But I can say I've always loved my teenager, and have always made long-term decisions with her best interest in mind. (I have had plenty of short-term gaffes... times when anger surfaced in a loud way, or when I was operating out of my own personal pain that had nothing to do with her, etc.)
So, I don't know about you, but I need to remind myself often that any discomfort I feel between my teenager and me isn't solely due to my inadequate parenting. It's normal.
I also need to remind myself, maybe even more often, that my daughter isn't actually in any kind of rebellion against me. I think I might be in rebellion against her. Against the changes that take place as she ages and pushes away from me. Against the more introspective and quiet nature she's adopting as she matures, because I miss the bubbly, carefree elementary-aged crazy who always always wanted to be with me no matter what. Against maybe what I thought her teen years would look like. And it's not fair to her.
Although sometimes I feel like we never talk, but the truth is that my daughter talks to me. A lot. When she wants to, though. If I try to strike up a conversation, it's awkward and painful. If she has something on her mind, she can talk to me for hours on end. Literally.
True, she doesn't love any excuse to get out of the house with me anymore, but I remember being the same way when I was her age. My mom says I'd go shopping, say for back-to-school clothes, and want the first thing I tried on that fit, then make her miserable the rest of the time because I wanted to leave and she wanted to look around.
But the truth is that I have a very bright, very opinionated, very self-assured young woman who knows what she wants and who lets us know, too. She is funny, and she is interesting, and even when I don't agree with her, I'm fascinated by and respect her views. I love to hear her singing when she doesn't know anyone can hear her. I love her laugh when a video amuses her, even when it's 2:30 AM and the authoritarian mom in me thinks (but doesn't say), "She should be asleep!"
(And before you get onto me about that, I would ask you: WHY "should" she be asleep? Yup. No reason. Except that kids aren't "supposed" to stay awake all night. Well, mine does and that's okay with me. Even though I have never been able to pull off that kind of thing.)
Anyway, I've just been thinking about my teenager and feeling very emotional as I realize that the time is short. I love this kid, and sometimes feel very protective of her, but so glad that we're in Austin where her brand of "self" is accepted in a way I don't feel it might be in smaller or narrower places.
I wanted to put all of this in writing, too, in case anyone else is experiencing growing pains by proxy, so you'll know you're not alone.
Also, would you pray for us that my daughter would find a place in our new church quickly? She just needs one "bosom friend," as Anne Shirley would say. We have missed Kylie and Emma so much since we moved (three years ago! but Emma moved, too, so staying wouldn't have saved that friendship); I long for her to have just one sympatico buddy.
Have a great weekend, friends!
 |
| Daphne, enjoying a book and a drink on the patio. |
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