I've been waiting for this a long, long time. About an hour ago I was scuffling around on the floor with my daughter, tickling and giggling and hugging and making silly noises. I grabbed her in a big cuddle, with lots of kisses, and said, "I love you!"
She finally answered. "I yuv you."
Sweet, sweet sounds.
The irony in all of this? Now I am ready to wring her beautiful little neck. Dr. Jekyll has instantaneously morphed into Mr. Hyde in front of my eyes. This sweet girl is now screaming this horrible "I-am-officially-in-the-terrible-twos" kind of scream, she's blatantly disobeying and knows it (offering us a cute little smile and giggle, thinking it will pacify us), she's trying to climb up the ladder to their new bunk bed (knowing full well that's off limits to her) and thrashes her strong little body when we take her down. Those words I had longed to hear have been wiped away with one quick swoop as my blood pressure rises. Her screams are predictable, and the sound grates on my nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard. Being a parent is truly the most complex job on the planet, with emotions simultaneously including sheer love and intense dislike -- a combination that is absolutely impossible yet completely expected. I guess God feels this way too -- loving us completely, desiring to hear those longed-for words, "I yuv you," but feeling that same slap in the face when in that same breath we scream our little lungs out because we're not getting our way. Multiplied by 5,000. Interesting.
Now she's standing on top of the overturned laundry basket, wearing the sweetest little pink gingham seersucker dress, with a big watermelon collar across her neckline, eating raisins out of a cup. Yes, no matter what, "I yuv you too," baby Grace.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Saturday, June 2, 2007
Best Laid Plans (Why bother)
Confucius had it wrong when he said, "Plan ahead, or find trouble on the doorstep." I planned ahead. I am a planner. But lately my carefully planned schemes end up bombing. I'm not even talking "life plans" or anything big like that -- if I've learned anything on this insane journey, it's to bag any of those plans right away. No, I'm talking something much simpler, much less complicated. First, we decided to buy a ceiling fan a little while back, and what should have been installed in about 20 minutes took an entire stinking day! This was followed by my painting plans from the other week: my children's bedroom is now neon lime, rather than the pleasant softer shade I had imagined. I should have stopped there, but noooooo ... I planned to put bunk beds in their room, and the plan became very specific: set up the bunk beds, take out the bottom bunk, slide Grace's crib underneath, and voila! Yes, Mr. C., I planned ahead. But trouble found my doorstep anyway. Again.
It didn't work. My plan for the bunk bed, that is. How the bunk bed came into our possession was miraculous. I told my friend Jacie of my plan, she called over the fence to her neighbor, who was trying to get rid of her bunk bed, and another voila! They even delivered it the other night to our house, and it was exactly the kind of bed that I wanted. Man, I am on a roll here! On Saturday morning Don cleaned it, and our first plan was to bring it into the house as two separate twin beds (as it came delivered), and then simply pop one on top of the other. I guess there was just way too much hubris action on my part. That plan failed, since we have small rooms and a few twists and turns to get there. We ended up taking a good deal of it apart, and a quick half hour plan turned into a two hour ordeal.
Finally we got the beds in place and it looked great in the room. But here's the problem: it's a shorter version (which is good), but Grace's crib wouldn't fit underneath. Their little 8' x 9' bedroom (or something like that) is now more cluttered than ever, with a bunk bed and a crib. They were cramped before -- now it's ridiculous. Both Don and Aidan wanted to leave it up. Can I morph into MacGuyver and create something to solve the problem? My mind went into frantic overdrive, trying to find some way to raise the bed, giving us enough room to slide the crib underneath. I was completely stumped.
Thankfully the problem has been solved. After a visit to Bed Bath & Beyond yesterday, we bought a package of hefty plastic cones -- bed lifts -- which raised the structure a good 7 inches. Grace's crib slides under just fine, although unfortunately she cannot stand up without bumping her head. Oops. Last night they slept that way for the first time, and for about an hour and a half I heard lots of giggles. At least no one was crying, so that's a good sign. But our entire day was spent dealing with this simple, uncomplicated plan!
My next "planned project" is outdoors, chopping away at the grass to extend our longest flower bed. I'm a little afraid. But at least the kids' room is completely finished ... finally.
It didn't work. My plan for the bunk bed, that is. How the bunk bed came into our possession was miraculous. I told my friend Jacie of my plan, she called over the fence to her neighbor, who was trying to get rid of her bunk bed, and another voila! They even delivered it the other night to our house, and it was exactly the kind of bed that I wanted. Man, I am on a roll here! On Saturday morning Don cleaned it, and our first plan was to bring it into the house as two separate twin beds (as it came delivered), and then simply pop one on top of the other. I guess there was just way too much hubris action on my part. That plan failed, since we have small rooms and a few twists and turns to get there. We ended up taking a good deal of it apart, and a quick half hour plan turned into a two hour ordeal.
Finally we got the beds in place and it looked great in the room. But here's the problem: it's a shorter version (which is good), but Grace's crib wouldn't fit underneath. Their little 8' x 9' bedroom (or something like that) is now more cluttered than ever, with a bunk bed and a crib. They were cramped before -- now it's ridiculous. Both Don and Aidan wanted to leave it up. Can I morph into MacGuyver and create something to solve the problem? My mind went into frantic overdrive, trying to find some way to raise the bed, giving us enough room to slide the crib underneath. I was completely stumped.
Thankfully the problem has been solved. After a visit to Bed Bath & Beyond yesterday, we bought a package of hefty plastic cones -- bed lifts -- which raised the structure a good 7 inches. Grace's crib slides under just fine, although unfortunately she cannot stand up without bumping her head. Oops. Last night they slept that way for the first time, and for about an hour and a half I heard lots of giggles. At least no one was crying, so that's a good sign. But our entire day was spent dealing with this simple, uncomplicated plan!
FAILED!
We bought our first new car in October. Up until then we always had used cars, the latest having been a 1997 Volvo wagon which served us very, very well. However, it was in the process of biting the dust and we had no choice but to dive into a big purchase. We decided to go with something brand new because used "family cars" really weren't an
y cheaper. Plus, we were in a strange dilemma: we did not want a mini-van, nor did we want an SUV. So ... what's left? Not much. Enter the Ford Freestyle, one of the first "cross-overs" -- a van, an SUV, and a wagon all rolled into one. It was perfect. But I have to admit I was incredibly leery about purchasing a Ford. I had heard way too many negatives that outweighed the positives. But beggars can't be choosers. We got a phenomenal deal, and the car was ours. We absolutely love it.
Fast forward half a year, a measly 7 months: today. Don had to get the car inspected (part of our induction into becoming NJ residents) and he just called me, laughing. "Guess what?" he said. Somehow, I just knew in my gut what he was going to say. "The car failed inspection!"
Unbelievable. It's brand-stinking-new! It was some data converter that not only isn't working, it just doesn't work -- period. Never did, apparently. The upside to this -- having a brand new car failing -- is that we have to take it to the dealer, get the thing fixed (for free, under warranty) and then bring it back for re-inspection within 45 days.
But still ... come on! Thank you, Ford, for your outstanding craftsmanship. I'll scuff my feet on the ground for a while, but in the end ... I really do love my car. (Oh, but still!!!!)
y cheaper. Plus, we were in a strange dilemma: we did not want a mini-van, nor did we want an SUV. So ... what's left? Not much. Enter the Ford Freestyle, one of the first "cross-overs" -- a van, an SUV, and a wagon all rolled into one. It was perfect. But I have to admit I was incredibly leery about purchasing a Ford. I had heard way too many negatives that outweighed the positives. But beggars can't be choosers. We got a phenomenal deal, and the car was ours. We absolutely love it.Fast forward half a year, a measly 7 months: today. Don had to get the car inspected (part of our induction into becoming NJ residents) and he just called me, laughing. "Guess what?" he said. Somehow, I just knew in my gut what he was going to say. "The car failed inspection!"
Unbelievable. It's brand-stinking-new! It was some data converter that not only isn't working, it just doesn't work -- period. Never did, apparently. The upside to this -- having a brand new car failing -- is that we have to take it to the dealer, get the thing fixed (for free, under warranty) and then bring it back for re-inspection within 45 days.
But still ... come on! Thank you, Ford, for your outstanding craftsmanship. I'll scuff my feet on the ground for a while, but in the end ... I really do love my car. (Oh, but still!!!!)
School Woes (Mine)
I believe I am turning into one of those pesky parents that call their child's school constantly over every issue imaginable. My big hang-up is (as usual) money -- the school's need of it and my lack of it. Well, not lack ... just a need to hang on to it, as every proverbial penny does indeed count. When we moved here on the first of February, I scrambled to find Aidan a new school, since he was abruptly torn from his other one (trigger, trigger). I was very thankful that I was able to find one, mid-year -- a good preschool at my youngest brother's church. They sent their kids there, and my sister-in-law arranged everything for me. He now attends three days a week (W-F) in the afternoon. While to me it seems rather expensive, I have discovered that it's clearly an average expectation around these parts.
Here's my dilemma: I feel gypped. Aidan started class during the latter half of February. However, with several snow days and a holiday thrown in there, he was actually in the classroom for a measly 4 days. $193 for 4 days. Ouch. I paid the bill and didn't say anything.
Now we're into June and I'm facing a similar dilemma. His last day of class is Thursday, June 7 which means, again, this is only a 3-day month for him. $193 for 3 days. Again, ouch. My sister-in-law encouraged me to call the director, believing that she would waive this last payment considering the situation. But I've been so hesitant to do it -- I hate calling. I've called the director about 4 or 5 times already over various other money issues -- all of which were cleared up easily in a conversation -- but still ... I don't want to be a nit-picky parent who rings up every time I get an invoice. I just get incredibly uncomfortable when I talk about stuff like this. I mean, every other parent has to pay June' s tuition, and it's not their fault my son had to start mid-year, so why do I feel I should be exempt? Ugh. I don't like this at all. But I also don't like my meager bank account to be emptied of $386 for 7 days (or rather, about 17 hours) of kiddie school. Aidan has a potential two more years at this school -- I don't want to blow it so early in the game. And yet my questions are valid, they are mine. Ugh - talk about a fork in the road!
Here's my dilemma: I feel gypped. Aidan started class during the latter half of February. However, with several snow days and a holiday thrown in there, he was actually in the classroom for a measly 4 days. $193 for 4 days. Ouch. I paid the bill and didn't say anything.
Now we're into June and I'm facing a similar dilemma. His last day of class is Thursday, June 7 which means, again, this is only a 3-day month for him. $193 for 3 days. Again, ouch. My sister-in-law encouraged me to call the director, believing that she would waive this last payment considering the situation. But I've been so hesitant to do it -- I hate calling. I've called the director about 4 or 5 times already over various other money issues -- all of which were cleared up easily in a conversation -- but still ... I don't want to be a nit-picky parent who rings up every time I get an invoice. I just get incredibly uncomfortable when I talk about stuff like this. I mean, every other parent has to pay June' s tuition, and it's not their fault my son had to start mid-year, so why do I feel I should be exempt? Ugh. I don't like this at all. But I also don't like my meager bank account to be emptied of $386 for 7 days (or rather, about 17 hours) of kiddie school. Aidan has a potential two more years at this school -- I don't want to blow it so early in the game. And yet my questions are valid, they are mine. Ugh - talk about a fork in the road!
Friday, June 1, 2007
Forgiveness, Cont'd
Oh, oh, oh! Another amazing chapter in "The Art of Forgiving" -- so good, in fact, that I couldn't put the book down and have now finished the entire thing. The final chapter is called "Forgive and Remember," stating the obvious -- that while forgiving is imperative to healing, it does not erase the past. But the hope is this: "forgiving what we cannot forget creates a new way to remember. We change the memory of our past into a hope for our future." The author then listed some guidelines about how this all works, two of which jumped out at me:
- We remember the good parts of the bad past. We start to view the past through the lenses of the good that has come out of it. We see the past with healed eyes. He recalled the Biblical story of Joseph, mistreated by his brothers and sold as a slave. Years went by, he was finally reunited with his brothers who indeed bowed down to him, and Joseph said, "You meant it for evil, but God meant it for good." Forgiveness didn't wipe out what they did to him, or negate the severity of their abuse. They weren't let off the hook (this is where I keep getting stuck). But rather Joseph chose to remember the good that came from it. "Forgiving only helps us to remember the positive things that follow it." This is very good to know and recognize, but I'm not there yet. I still feel my heart break when I even hear the name of the town mentioned. I still feel nauseous when I hear the name of the church. There are just too many losses right now, too much grieving, too many dear, dear friends left behind. But at least now I have hope that I'll get there, some day ...
- We remember with sadness. Forgiveness doesn't remove the scars completely, and sometimes thinking about what happened feels like those scars are being ripped open again and again. "It is so when a person forgives and the stitches are torn open by a remembrance of past wrongs. She can feel the healed pain again and be glad for the moment's connection with the past; it reminds her how good it is to be healed." I'm not there yet either, but again -- I pray that I'll get there.
Backing up a bit, the previous chapter was equally helpful, "When We Are Not Sure We Have Done It," basically cutting you some slack, taking the pressure off. You believe you have forgiven the person who has wounded you, yet you still feel anger, you still feel some satisfaction when you hear of something bad happening to them, you still feel pain when you recall the past. His advice:
- Be patient. Forgiving is a journey, a process -- it doesn't happen like flicking a light switch. Clearly.
- Expect some relapses. Yep -- check.
- Stay angry. This was for me. It's OK to still feel anger after you've forgiven. "Forgiving is not anti-anger ... The enemy of forgiving is hate, not anger. Anger is aimed at what persons do. Hate is aimed at persons. Anger keeps bad things from happening again to you. Hate wants bad things to happen to him. Anger is the positive power that pushes toward justice. Hate, by that token, is the negative force that pushes us toward vengeance." I'm glad there's a fine line there, something to keep in mind.
I have to recognize, too, that there's a great chance this will all be one-sided. When we left back in January, only one person had the courage to meet with us (separately) and ask for our forgiveness. One person. It was very, very difficult to meet with him but I'm glad I did. I do believe I was able to forgive him. But I'm not expecting any thing more, and I have to be OK with that.
Thank you, Judy, for this powerful book. I couldn't have read this a few months ago. I'm glad I can read it now. I do feel the journey has commenced, but there are definitely parts of it that I am not yet ready to embrace. I wonder if I will even know it when the time comes.
- We remember the good parts of the bad past. We start to view the past through the lenses of the good that has come out of it. We see the past with healed eyes. He recalled the Biblical story of Joseph, mistreated by his brothers and sold as a slave. Years went by, he was finally reunited with his brothers who indeed bowed down to him, and Joseph said, "You meant it for evil, but God meant it for good." Forgiveness didn't wipe out what they did to him, or negate the severity of their abuse. They weren't let off the hook (this is where I keep getting stuck). But rather Joseph chose to remember the good that came from it. "Forgiving only helps us to remember the positive things that follow it." This is very good to know and recognize, but I'm not there yet. I still feel my heart break when I even hear the name of the town mentioned. I still feel nauseous when I hear the name of the church. There are just too many losses right now, too much grieving, too many dear, dear friends left behind. But at least now I have hope that I'll get there, some day ...
- We remember with sadness. Forgiveness doesn't remove the scars completely, and sometimes thinking about what happened feels like those scars are being ripped open again and again. "It is so when a person forgives and the stitches are torn open by a remembrance of past wrongs. She can feel the healed pain again and be glad for the moment's connection with the past; it reminds her how good it is to be healed." I'm not there yet either, but again -- I pray that I'll get there.
Backing up a bit, the previous chapter was equally helpful, "When We Are Not Sure We Have Done It," basically cutting you some slack, taking the pressure off. You believe you have forgiven the person who has wounded you, yet you still feel anger, you still feel some satisfaction when you hear of something bad happening to them, you still feel pain when you recall the past. His advice:
- Be patient. Forgiving is a journey, a process -- it doesn't happen like flicking a light switch. Clearly.
- Expect some relapses. Yep -- check.
- Stay angry. This was for me. It's OK to still feel anger after you've forgiven. "Forgiving is not anti-anger ... The enemy of forgiving is hate, not anger. Anger is aimed at what persons do. Hate is aimed at persons. Anger keeps bad things from happening again to you. Hate wants bad things to happen to him. Anger is the positive power that pushes toward justice. Hate, by that token, is the negative force that pushes us toward vengeance." I'm glad there's a fine line there, something to keep in mind.
I have to recognize, too, that there's a great chance this will all be one-sided. When we left back in January, only one person had the courage to meet with us (separately) and ask for our forgiveness. One person. It was very, very difficult to meet with him but I'm glad I did. I do believe I was able to forgive him. But I'm not expecting any thing more, and I have to be OK with that.
Thank you, Judy, for this powerful book. I couldn't have read this a few months ago. I'm glad I can read it now. I do feel the journey has commenced, but there are definitely parts of it that I am not yet ready to embrace. I wonder if I will even know it when the time comes.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Law-abiding citizen
I got pulled over by a cop this morning on my way home from having coffee at a friend's house (insert label: my pastor's wife). I was on a great high, feeling splendid:
- fabulous coffee (she too is a connoisseur)
- great conversation with this new-found friend who really gets it ... some fun stuff, some heavy topics, plus the "pastor's wife" connection
- my kids (well, Aidan) are making friends (they have two kids as well) and they play really well together.
- a quick comment to her that I'm searching for bunk beds, resulting in an immediate call over her fence to her neighbor, who just happens to be getting rid of her bunk beds ... a quick chat to the neighbor and a planned visit tonight to pick them up
So I'm driving home and I get pulled over. I know I wasn't speeding -- I was way below the speed limit, having just turned the corner at the stop street. This eagle-eyed officer noticed that I had NJ plates but a PA inspection sticker. Sheesh. I explained our situation -- we just moved here, we had gone to the DMV, we're just waiting for our appointment to get the car inspected on Saturday (we had 14 days to get that done to get new stickers). He said, "You know you don't have to make an appointment -- you can just go and get it done quickly." I hope my answer wasn't too obnoxious when I said, "With these kids, I need to make an appointment. I can't go anywhere with them. My husband will do it." He said I was supposed to have a pink card in the windshield as proof of this (what pink card? Don went to the DMV, not me). Thankfully, as I was rummaging around in the glove box looking for the registration, I saw that Don put the pink card in there so I produced that as well. Phew. No harm done, no problem.
Thanks for deflating my balloon. At least he wished me a good and safe day. He could have been a little cheerier, though.
- fabulous coffee (she too is a connoisseur)
- great conversation with this new-found friend who really gets it ... some fun stuff, some heavy topics, plus the "pastor's wife" connection
- my kids (well, Aidan) are making friends (they have two kids as well) and they play really well together.
- a quick comment to her that I'm searching for bunk beds, resulting in an immediate call over her fence to her neighbor, who just happens to be getting rid of her bunk beds ... a quick chat to the neighbor and a planned visit tonight to pick them up
So I'm driving home and I get pulled over. I know I wasn't speeding -- I was way below the speed limit, having just turned the corner at the stop street. This eagle-eyed officer noticed that I had NJ plates but a PA inspection sticker. Sheesh. I explained our situation -- we just moved here, we had gone to the DMV, we're just waiting for our appointment to get the car inspected on Saturday (we had 14 days to get that done to get new stickers). He said, "You know you don't have to make an appointment -- you can just go and get it done quickly." I hope my answer wasn't too obnoxious when I said, "With these kids, I need to make an appointment. I can't go anywhere with them. My husband will do it." He said I was supposed to have a pink card in the windshield as proof of this (what pink card? Don went to the DMV, not me). Thankfully, as I was rummaging around in the glove box looking for the registration, I saw that Don put the pink card in there so I produced that as well. Phew. No harm done, no problem.
Thanks for deflating my balloon. At least he wished me a good and safe day. He could have been a little cheerier, though.
Laugh Lines for the Week 5
There's just something about holidays ...
- On the way to the Memorial Day Parade, Aidan exclaimed as we were driving down our hill, "I see Nick Wert City!" (His way of saying New York City, which you can clearly see from our home). My dad, who was sitting in the back seat between the kids, disagreed with him, saying that he was looking at another city closer to us, and that it was too hazy to see the NYC skyline clearly. Aidan wouldn't give up. "Nooooo, I can see it. I have extra special reflective eyes." My dad responded, "Oh? Where did you get those?" Aidan said, "God gave them to me. That's why I can see so great."
- Before leaving for the Memorial Day parade, I smeared lots of sunblock on my kids, the first slathering of the year. Aidan said, "Mmmmmmm! That's smells good! It smells like carrots!" (carrots?!?!). Later that day we were hanging out in the yard, and Aidan went around smelling the different flowers (roses, peonies, etc.). In the pots on the patio I have a combination of vinca, ageratum, and a super-mini daisy-like flower called "snowland." Upon taking a whiff of the snowland, Aidan declared, "Mommy! This smells like macaroni!" I think I need to get his nose checked.
- Memorial Day: I broke my toe. The littlest one on my left foot. I had intended to peek my head out of the kitchen area to see what the kids were up to, but I walked too far to my left and smashed it into the door frame of the kids' room. I knew it was broken (I couldn't bend it, and if I tried it hurt like crazy; it's rather multi-colored at the moment) but I also recalled that there wasn't much you can do about it. My brother told me to tape it next to the other one, but since I don't have any of that kind of tape, I am currently wearing an odd conglomeration of band-aids. It's kind of funny, really, which is why it made "Laugh Lines" this week -- I am 35 years old and haven't (until now) broken a single bone in my body. Thank goodness I'm starting small!
- Aidan is still fascinated with butts, and anything having to do with butts. His latest source of amusement is hearing something with the word "butt" in it. Grace had on a cute pair of red shorts with a blue star smack in the middle of her rear end, which sent Aidan into a peel of giggles -- "Starbutt! Starbutt! You know, like the coffee store. Starbutt!" The other evening we were talking about a possible visit to the graveyard where Don's family is buried (he hasn't been back there in about ten years), and -- of course -- the graveyard is in the town of Butler. All we've been hearing, in Aidan's silly sing-song voice, is "Butt-ler! Butt-ler! Let's go to Butt-ler!"
- On the way to the Memorial Day Parade, Aidan exclaimed as we were driving down our hill, "I see Nick Wert City!" (His way of saying New York City, which you can clearly see from our home). My dad, who was sitting in the back seat between the kids, disagreed with him, saying that he was looking at another city closer to us, and that it was too hazy to see the NYC skyline clearly. Aidan wouldn't give up. "Nooooo, I can see it. I have extra special reflective eyes." My dad responded, "Oh? Where did you get those?" Aidan said, "God gave them to me. That's why I can see so great."
- Before leaving for the Memorial Day parade, I smeared lots of sunblock on my kids, the first slathering of the year. Aidan said, "Mmmmmmm! That's smells good! It smells like carrots!" (carrots?!?!). Later that day we were hanging out in the yard, and Aidan went around smelling the different flowers (roses, peonies, etc.). In the pots on the patio I have a combination of vinca, ageratum, and a super-mini daisy-like flower called "snowland." Upon taking a whiff of the snowland, Aidan declared, "Mommy! This smells like macaroni!" I think I need to get his nose checked.
- Memorial Day: I broke my toe. The littlest one on my left foot. I had intended to peek my head out of the kitchen area to see what the kids were up to, but I walked too far to my left and smashed it into the door frame of the kids' room. I knew it was broken (I couldn't bend it, and if I tried it hurt like crazy; it's rather multi-colored at the moment) but I also recalled that there wasn't much you can do about it. My brother told me to tape it next to the other one, but since I don't have any of that kind of tape, I am currently wearing an odd conglomeration of band-aids. It's kind of funny, really, which is why it made "Laugh Lines" this week -- I am 35 years old and haven't (until now) broken a single bone in my body. Thank goodness I'm starting small!
- Aidan is still fascinated with butts, and anything having to do with butts. His latest source of amusement is hearing something with the word "butt" in it. Grace had on a cute pair of red shorts with a blue star smack in the middle of her rear end, which sent Aidan into a peel of giggles -- "Starbutt! Starbutt! You know, like the coffee store. Starbutt!" The other evening we were talking about a possible visit to the graveyard where Don's family is buried (he hasn't been back there in about ten years), and -- of course -- the graveyard is in the town of Butler. All we've been hearing, in Aidan's silly sing-song voice, is "Butt-ler! Butt-ler! Let's go to Butt-ler!"
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