Okay, so I took a little *break* and I feel like I have some ‘splainin’ to do.
Sometimes, I have these weird panic attacks.
They start out in the pit of my stomach - where the little butterflies start flittering.
Sometimes the butterflies grow. And grow. And grow.
Until they turn into something different.
When that happens, things start to go awry.
The shame of it is, that nervous, tweaked-out energy usually translates into some of my best material - I’m pretty funny in calamity! But I can’t get it together enough to concentrate on any one thing for longer than a nano-second.
The kids generally don’t realize I’m in mid-crisis; partly because I try not to visibly freak out, if at all possible.
And partly because they make me screamy anyway.
Normally, Derek’s there to talk me down from the imaginary ledge, and I can get back to a place where I can function normally. At least for a little while. At least until the next one happens.
I can’t figure out why they come and go the way they do, and usually I can work through them, but sometimes, they just get a little too big and demand attention.
Kinda like a third child. Or worse, a second husband.
So I do what I can to make it through, until the anxiety decides to retreat back to it’s dark little cave. Although that periodically takes some creativity on my part. This time, I needed something a little crazy to get back to “normal.”
My daughter has a big voice. I don’t mean that her voice is loud. Or screechy.
Just BIG.
Being the mother of a daughter means instilling in her a solid sense of strength. Of not giving up or giving in because people expect less of you.
It means giving her a voice.
Girrrrl Power!
Thing is, sometimes she is under the impression that hers is the only voice that matters.
Peyton has been described as a “dynamic” child. At age 9, she is intense in every emotion - from happiness to anger to sadness - she feels them all with the same fervor.
She huff and puffs and stomps and sulks over the smallest slight. Is the universe playing some kind of cosmic joke on me? Testing my patience? My resolve? Is there a hidden camera somewhere? (and if so, maybe I'd better think twice about throttling her.)
Other moms have told me that this is quite ‘normal’ and are experiencing the same things with their daughters. Kind of a macabre “preview of the teen years” attitude. I just don’t buy that.
When does a big little voice become too big?
When it starts to overtake the entire family.
This always happens when I tell her to clean her room.
Peyton feels entitled to express her opinion about everything and all topics are open to debate. There is one problem with that:
One’s sense of entitlement does not make one entitled.
So, how do you foster good self-esteem and strong character while at the same time asserting parental authority? Good question. My plan is to make sure that she knows she is loved, but not letting her operate under the delusion that she is any more important than any other member of our family.
I think that’s where Dina went all wrong with Lindsay.
My girl has her own opinions and her own sense of self. I think the thing that's missing for me is that her strong personality leaves little room for me to be the "mommy" I want to be.
What she needs is firm guidance and loving approval; what I need is to be "needed" by her a little more.
But for now, I think I can settle for just a little more civility...
When I was younger, I was a tastemaker in cutting edge fashion! In my head, anyway. Much to my mothers’ dismay, I adhered to my own dress code. A typical outfit looked like this:
1 pair - dark colored paisley mens’ boxer shorts (buttoned for modesty, please)
1 pair - black tights
1 replica 70’s punk band concert t-shirt (i.e. The Stooges, Siouxsie & the Banshees, etc.)
1 pair - 8-hole Doc Martens. I had the pointy-toed ones that nobody else had (except Bridget Fonda in the movie Singles.) See? Cutting edge!
Accessorized with Kabuki-white make-up, red lipstick, black nail polish and long purpley-red hair.
I never cared what anyone else thought of this. I was still the same friendly approachable girl I'd always been, just with a different aesthetic. And besides, some of my friends wore the same type of stuff, listened to the same kind of music, and had the same kind of mild contempt for the shiny people (but really, who didn't?)
While I still wear the occasional Bauhaus t-shirt *sigh*Peter Murphy still makes my heart go pitty pat*,
Make sure your volume is looooow...
I find myself far too concerned with what other people think. I’m not sure why that is, but I’ll save that for another post at another time, because this is about Pajama Day.
After I got the kids dressed for school the other day, and went to get myself together, I decided to make a statement (at least to myself) and stay in my pajamas for the day. I felt that I needed this exercise in a “rip the band-aid off” sort of way.
Now, when I say ‘pajamas’ I do not mean a satin nightgown set or a pair of footies. Actually, my pajamas consist of a random t-shirt and, on that particular day, these:
Go Red Sox!
I dropped Peyton off first, but that really only involves me driving up to the front door of the school and slowing down just enough to push her out of the car. No bravery there.
Jack was next. I drove to his pre-school, and along with a handful other parents, walked into school, down the hall, and to his classroom, where I too loudly proclaimed that today was my Pajama Day. Surprisingly, Jack’s teacher said What a great idea! Everybody should have a pajama day!
Huh.
Later in the day, after I got the kids, we ran to the supermarket. A few old ladies kinda gave me the stink-eye, but you know, whatever. Everyone else? Meh. I went largely unnoticed until Peyton asked me why we had to go all the way back to the produce section. I told her that I had forgotten to pick up lemons and announced, in my best ‘Bruce the Shark’ voice (you know, from Finding Nemo?) that We’re havin’ fish tonight!
At this point in the day, I think I was just trying to make my own negative attention.
While I didn’t see anyone I really knew, I did run into a school-mom from a higher grade. She commented on how cute my pajama pants were, and I explained my mission for the day. She said she’d have to try something like that, and maybe, just maybe, we could influence a pajama day movement.
