Big Little Voice

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...

My Post Will Have to Wait

The post I had for today will have to wait.  Sometimes it’s impossible to dismiss the words of another for your own.

As I caught up on some of my favorite blogs, I read the newest post on Wanderlust. Kristen’s post is simply so powerful, it could not be ignored - at least by me.

So please, check out Wanderlust to read The dead woman, and be sure to leave some love for Kristin.

Rock on, baby!

::Comments closed for this post::

Kill the Wabbit

Easter for the disorganized:

So I put off shopping for Easter dinner because of the school holidays.  Who wants to drag two kids through the grocery store unnecessarily? 

Well, apparently I do.  So casual was my attitude toward preparations that I waited until Saturday afternoon to go to the supermarket.  

In the rain.  

With both kids.  

The day before Easter. 

Remember that scene in War of the Worlds when everyone was trying to get on the boat and the angry mob took Tom Cruise’s minivan?

It was kinda like that.

After dinner, it was time to decorate eggs.  I always like to do this about an hour before bedtime, otherwise it turns into a reexamination of each egg in order to add “just one more thing.”

I forgot to cook the eggs.

So needless to say, the kids were psyched that they got to stay up late (by about two hours,) while I tried to figure out how I was going to “flash refrigerate” the eggs so they wouldn’t have to decorate hot little spheres of pain.

Eggs done miraculously with no egg dye being spilled all over the table (this time.)  Put my little zombies to bed - maybe they’ll sleep late!

I sent Derek down to the cellar to get the kids baskets which I had purchased weeks before like an organized and well-planned person.  They were beach-themed: big colorful buckets with things like swim rings, goggles and monogrammed beach towels.  

They were also missing. 

We whisper-argued for a little while before I told him to find those Goddamn buckets or drive down to the 24-hour Walgreen’s for replacement baskets.

After lots of banging around in the basement, he found the buckets.  I am afraid to go down there now.  We arranged them just so, then I added the chocolate bunnies I had stashed.  He hid the eggs and went upstairs to pass out.

About five hours later (WTF?!) the kids woke us up to go downstairs.  We dragged ourselves to the living room while they hunted for eggs.  Success!  They found them all in no time.

All but one.

They looked around again, but still no egg.  Derek tried to re-trace his steps, because really, they were mostly hidden in plain sight.  But he was so blind from exhaustion when he hid them, he couldn’t remember them all.

After mainlining several cups of coffee, I started dinner.  As I was putting together my special sweet potato souffle, I realized that, ironically, we were out of eggs.  Off to find an open grocery store on Easter Sunday.

Dinner turned out lovely, and it was a beautiful spring day.  We never did find that last egg, but I think I have a feeling where it went:

Ozzy looooves eggs!

At least I'm keeping my fingers crossed...