I have a child who has hit puberty with a vengeance. Gone are the sweet, cuddly moments. Gone are the snuggles at bedtime. Gone are the earnest chats about life, problems, etc. In their place, I have a snarling, disrespectful creature that barely resembles the child I birthed.
I'm a talker - from the word "Go". My response to problems is: 1. Talk them out; 2. If that fails, punch out the perpetrator (I still have Irish blood in me). Neither of these solutions work with this child. However, since #2 is definitely out of the question, I have given added attention to my #1 way of dealing with problems.
In an effort recently to help this child understand the emotions he/she is having towards me right now, I explained that puberty causes all children to think their parents are idiots. They will one day wake up, often in their 20's (we all pray it happens much earlier, though), and realize that their parents suddenly got really, really smart. They understand things. When could this possibly have happened? I wanted this child to understand that thinking his/her father and I are stupid is a normal part of puberty, but it's also not the truth and that feeling will go away one day.
This morning, this child smiled at me (boy, is that ever rare) and told me he/she has decided I'm not the dumbest person in the world. Surprised, but cautious, I asked,
"Oh? So is your father the dumbest person in the world?"
"No!" this child said, emphatically. "Daddy's brilliant. And I figure, with him being so smart and all, he wouldn't have chosen a dumb person to marry. So, you MUST be reasonably smart."
Tuesday, February 07, 2012
Monday, February 06, 2012
The Extraordinary Ordinary
To all those stay-at-home Moms who wonder what you're really contributing to the world:
"We seldom notice how each day is a holy place
Where the eucharist of the ordinary happens,
Transforming our broken fragments
Into an eternal continuity that keeps us.
Somewhere in us a dignity presides
That is more gracious than the smallness
That fuels us with fear and force,
A dignity that trusts the form a day takes.
So at the end of this day, we give thanks
For being betrothed to the unknown
And for the secret work
Through which the mind of the day
And wisdom of the soul become one."
Excerpt from "The Inner History of a Day"
by John O'Donohue
"We seldom notice how each day is a holy place
Where the eucharist of the ordinary happens,
Transforming our broken fragments
Into an eternal continuity that keeps us.
Somewhere in us a dignity presides
That is more gracious than the smallness
That fuels us with fear and force,
A dignity that trusts the form a day takes.
So at the end of this day, we give thanks
For being betrothed to the unknown
And for the secret work
Through which the mind of the day
And wisdom of the soul become one."
Excerpt from "The Inner History of a Day"
by John O'Donohue
Friday, February 03, 2012
A Small Reminder
During breakfast yesterday, I glanced through the kitchen windows to the bird feeder on the deck. I LOVE watching the variety of birds that come to visit our feeder. For several years now, it's been a favorite hobby for our family.
I could see one of the male cardinals who live in a tree behind our house waiting in a pecan tree for his turn. But what really attracted my attention was the bird on the feeder. He was brown with reddish markings, but not rust-colored.
"Is that a robin? Look at that bird, kids. What is that? Is it a finch?"
When the kids saw me looking outside, they all turned, as well. At the same moment I said, "Is it a finch?", Daelyn blurted out,
"A PURPLE FINCH! Look, Mom, it's a purple finch!"
As soon as he said it, I realized he was right. My father-in-law has house finches that feed on his feeders quite often, but we don't often get to see purple finches. He was beautiful, although I'm not sure I would have called his color purple, exactly.
What struck me the most about this incident was not the beauty of the finch, although I loved that, but the fact that my 9-yr. old son knew what kind of bird it was. AND - was excited to see a purple finch at our feeder.
There are moments in life when you think you've done something right. They're never often enough, but those little glimmers into the thought that I've made my children's world better carry me through many hard times.
I could see one of the male cardinals who live in a tree behind our house waiting in a pecan tree for his turn. But what really attracted my attention was the bird on the feeder. He was brown with reddish markings, but not rust-colored.
"Is that a robin? Look at that bird, kids. What is that? Is it a finch?"
When the kids saw me looking outside, they all turned, as well. At the same moment I said, "Is it a finch?", Daelyn blurted out,
"A PURPLE FINCH! Look, Mom, it's a purple finch!"
As soon as he said it, I realized he was right. My father-in-law has house finches that feed on his feeders quite often, but we don't often get to see purple finches. He was beautiful, although I'm not sure I would have called his color purple, exactly.
What struck me the most about this incident was not the beauty of the finch, although I loved that, but the fact that my 9-yr. old son knew what kind of bird it was. AND - was excited to see a purple finch at our feeder.
There are moments in life when you think you've done something right. They're never often enough, but those little glimmers into the thought that I've made my children's world better carry me through many hard times.
Wednesday, February 01, 2012
More Technical Knowledge than Me
When Dane has his infrequent check-ups, our doctor always has to dig
stuff out of his ear so he can see the eardrum. He affectionately
refers to them as "potatoes".
While driving home from Atlanta on Saturday, I noticed Deanna had her index finger in her ear and was jiggling it up and down.
"Mama," she asked, "do you get pickles in your ears?"
I chortled then, before bursting into laughter full-tilt, I responded,
"Not very often!"
Turns out, she really asked if I got pimples in my ears, not pickles. But, I assure you, it sounded exactly like pickles. And then it occurred to me.
"You know, honey, we can stop planting gardens. You can just grow pickles and Dane potatoes out of your ears and we can save a lot of money on fertilizer and bedding plants."
Deanna didn't appreciate my humor at all.
Then, on Monday, after school, Daelyn was recanting a story from his day. His teacher's husband (who's also a teacher) had gotten a new Iphone4S (I think that's what they called it) and was asking it questions. First, he asked,
"Where should I put a dead body?"
The iphone answered, "Some suggestions would be a funeral home, a dumpster, or your house."
I cracked up. A phone with a sense of humor. Then Dane asked,
"What's a pilate?"
Daelyn, our little techie, launched into a definition of pilates. Deanna and I looked at each other and she interrupted Daelyn.
"Dane," she explained in her older sister voice, "Daelyn said 'Where should I put a DEAD BODY.' The word pilate was never said!"
Dane and Daelyn responded together.
"Oh."
Apparently, Daelyn hadn't picked up on the fact that Dane had potatoes in his ears and couldn't hear well. He really thought Dane wanted to know what pilates were.
After a short break for laughing, Daelyn continued with the story. The teacher asked the phone if it would marry him. It responded,
"I don't think we know each other well enough."
When the teacher pressed the issue and added the word "please" to his request, the phone responded that his contract didn't include marriage.
I was flabbergasted. How in the world have they been able to program a mini-computer in a phone to have a sense of humor? It couldn't be accidental. Every answer was humorous.
I finally voiced my question aloud.
"How could they possibly have programmed humor into a cell phone?"
Daelyn responded with two words: "Steve Jobs".
See. Our little techie.
While driving home from Atlanta on Saturday, I noticed Deanna had her index finger in her ear and was jiggling it up and down.
"Mama," she asked, "do you get pickles in your ears?"
I chortled then, before bursting into laughter full-tilt, I responded,
"Not very often!"
Turns out, she really asked if I got pimples in my ears, not pickles. But, I assure you, it sounded exactly like pickles. And then it occurred to me.
"You know, honey, we can stop planting gardens. You can just grow pickles and Dane potatoes out of your ears and we can save a lot of money on fertilizer and bedding plants."
Deanna didn't appreciate my humor at all.
Then, on Monday, after school, Daelyn was recanting a story from his day. His teacher's husband (who's also a teacher) had gotten a new Iphone4S (I think that's what they called it) and was asking it questions. First, he asked,
"Where should I put a dead body?"
The iphone answered, "Some suggestions would be a funeral home, a dumpster, or your house."
I cracked up. A phone with a sense of humor. Then Dane asked,
"What's a pilate?"
Daelyn, our little techie, launched into a definition of pilates. Deanna and I looked at each other and she interrupted Daelyn.
"Dane," she explained in her older sister voice, "Daelyn said 'Where should I put a DEAD BODY.' The word pilate was never said!"
Dane and Daelyn responded together.
"Oh."
Apparently, Daelyn hadn't picked up on the fact that Dane had potatoes in his ears and couldn't hear well. He really thought Dane wanted to know what pilates were.
After a short break for laughing, Daelyn continued with the story. The teacher asked the phone if it would marry him. It responded,
"I don't think we know each other well enough."
When the teacher pressed the issue and added the word "please" to his request, the phone responded that his contract didn't include marriage.
I was flabbergasted. How in the world have they been able to program a mini-computer in a phone to have a sense of humor? It couldn't be accidental. Every answer was humorous.
I finally voiced my question aloud.
"How could they possibly have programmed humor into a cell phone?"
Daelyn responded with two words: "Steve Jobs".
See. Our little techie.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)