Raising A Nerdy Girl

When she was 2, the Supergirl believed that she was the human embodiment of the next Avatar. She claimed that she was adopted by us from the water tribe and that someday she would find her people again.

At 3, her attentions turned to witches and ghosts. She rarely went anywhere that she was not dressed in an elaborate costume. Not princesses, but ninjas, vikings, and witches.

By 4, she had become enamored with the idea of potions and magic.

She prefers to have her face painted like characters from the Thundercats and Spider-Man rather than like fairies.

She loves the Chronicles of Narnia, Star Wars, and Harry Potter movie series. Her conversations are peppered with facts of the X-men, zombies, and vampires.

It's finally occurred to me that I am raising a nerdy girl. Having grown up a bit of a sponge of useless information, I can't really fault her for her nerdy tendencies. I know where it comes from.

There are times that I wonder what it would be like to have one of those precious, dainty little girls that love bows and frilly things. Would we be as at odds as we are frequently are? Would she be more amenable to my suggestions of sitting up straight and wearing pants?

I don't know I would be able to parent one of those girls, having never been one myself though and I am not sure that they are nearly as much fun as my quirky funny, nerdy girl.

I am the perfect person to parent this girl, and she is the perfect girl for a nerdy girl like me.

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggety Jog

The Supergirl returned home from her vacation a little earlier than we expected. She just couldn't take more than 8 days away from us (although with the amount of time that she has spent in her room entertaining herself, I have a sneaking suspicion it was more about missing her stuff than really missing us).

At any rate, she is back home, where she belongs and so far I am wondering what has happened to my child. She says "please", "thank you", "excuse me" and has had an overall pleasant demeanor since returning home. She has even been going to bed without incident every night since she came back and last night? She asked me if it was bedtime yet because she was "kinda tired."

Who is this child?

I thought perhaps it has something to do with never wanting to leave us behind again. That somehow this newfound behavior is just a way to make sure that we don't ever send her away again. I suppose that could make sense. She has also been speaking in a super fake "goody-goody" voice that I have a hard time understanding because it tends to sound like a child imitating a baby voice rather than my kid.

As with all acts, I am starting to see some cracks in her performance little by little. There was a short tantrum when I tried to get her up this morning. and crying while brushing her teeth because she claimed that I was being "so mean" to her. So mean = asking her to please get dressed and get ready for school. Apparently, when she was out of town, her aunt and grandmother dressed her and put on her shoes for her. 

That doesn't fly around here.

Anyway, I am super glad to have her home and finally feel like I can breathe again with her here. Or at least I felt that way until 2:30 this morning.

Then this happened.

There is a cat draped across my neck, knees in one kidney and the flash was a tad bit bright for my taste.

Just Another Manic Monday

I sat on the table, paper crinkling under me at every uncomfortable shift, mind racing, unable to focus, unable to stop fidgeting as I regaled to my doctor the exploits and actions of the last few months with words tumbling out of me so fast, so furious that I couldn't tell if they were really all in English, if they were making any sense at all. I started to tear up as I was talking.

This is not me, this couldn't be me, I would never say, do, etc I have to be talking about someone else.I am a boring girl that likes to sew, to knit, to craft.I am telling someone else's story, someone else's life. This is not me.

I told him about the marriage crumbling under my feet, about the friendships that I had irrevocably broken at the mere suggestion that I seek therapy, the job that I nearly lost due to the inability to focus on any one thing at any given time. I told him about the weeks (weeks!) that I stayed awake, that I didn't want to sleep, didn't want to eat, that I was existing solely on caffeine and nicotine.

He looked at me with those dark brown eyes, the same concerned doctor's eyes that I have seen since I was 14 years old, the same eyes that I crushed on my freshmen year, the same eyes that told me I was pregnant - every time I was pregnant. "You are right. You are bi-polar. I messed up. You shouldn't have been on this medication."

I sighed, let the air that I had been holding in for so long that I didn't even know that I was holding my breath, out. "What now?"

He explained the pros and cons of other medications, told me how he thought I would react based on my history, my father's history, told me that it might do me some good to completely detox before jumping in to another prescription. And then he asked me if I wanted a note.

A note? A note that would tell them that I was crazy (temporarily) due to a medication that I should never have been prescribed? A note, addressed to every single person that I had come into contact with in the last few months, so they would know that this was not the usual Me, that the usual Me would never say or do the things that I was willing to do over the last few months?

If only it could be that easy.

For my entire life, I have struggled with the being the One that didn't fit. The One that didn't have the same interests, the same thought patterns, the One that didn't, couldn't belong. I am not sure if the bi-polar is what has caused me to be that One. Or if there is some other piece of me that keeps me from being on the other side of the glass, over there where the normal happy people are. The only time that I didn't feel like the One was when I was manic.

So, explaining away the one time that I truly felt that I was awesome, that I had self-confidence, with a note that I was out of my mind?

That doesn't feel right to me.

An Ode to Miss Mittens

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Oh, Miss Mittens, you are our kitten

And when we got you, we were quite smitten

But now you've grown and gotten wild

And there are claw marks on the legs of the child. 

Miss Mittens, you bite, you claw, and you howl

And most of the time that I deal with you lately I can't help but scowl. 

You climb up our pant legs and knock things off the counters

I don't know where this came from, but you haven't any manners

Things need to change you crazy little beast

before I cook you and have myself a feast 

Just kidding on that

I could never eat cat

But, Miss Mittens, these actions have got to stop

I feel that at raising you, the kid is a flop

We can't let her fail, you have to try harder

All of these claw marks on my arm are making me feel like a martyr.

You used to be cute and we ran to you with glee,

But now, my cat friend, the whole household wants to flee

Poor Oliver, he gets little rest

I am sure that he wishes he were a bird with a nest

'Cause you can't jump that high and the top of the fridge is too crowded

When he's on the floor, it's like he is surrounded 

By a dozen or more kittens

And the look on his face just cries "Damn you, Miss Mittens!"

Damn you, Miss Mittens, damn you, indeed

I want to add Benadryl to your feed 

Although, I can't and I won't do that to you

You have to understand what I am going through

You are driving me crazy, my feline companion

The way that you attack me with such wild abandon.

You're a force to be reckoned with, that much is true

I really wish that you would quit snacking on my shoe

My laces are shredded, there are scratches on my neck

And every day when I come home the house is more of a wreck

You are small and yet mighty, just over a pound

But you make bigger messes than our last hound. 

Please, I beg, please, oh please, give it a rest

Before I have to go find myself a nest. 

I Don't Miss

I don't miss the bedtime debacle.

I don't miss attempting to tame the wild locks that tumble down her back.

I don't miss the farting.

I don't miss the talk of butts and farts and poop. And vulva - always with the vulva.

I don't miss the constant reminder to put down the kitten, leave the kitten alone, and get the kitten out of there.

I don't miss the crazy silence following a trip to the bathroom. No good ever comes from silence in the bathroom.

I don't miss reminding her to put on socks and shoes in the morning.

I don't miss getting her ready for school in the morning. In fact, this morning, I felt like I had hours to prepare myself to go to work.

But I miss her.

I miss her funny, nonsensical jokes. Momma, momma, momma? What has a nose and two ears? The bunny in my butt! (I'm sorry, I just don't get it.)

I miss her snuggling up to me while I read her bedtime stories.

I miss having her around to have dinner with and talk about our day.

I miss the greeting at the door when I come home from work.

I miss her.

13 Must Do's for 2013

I have 13 things that I would like to accomplish by the end of 2013. I know, I know, it's kind of late in the year for "resolutions", but I am not sure that I am even considering them as such. More likely, it's a list of things that I have been wanting to do, saying that I would do, and not getting done.

Here are my 13 things. 

1. Go to clogging class. Even if I only go to one, even if I stop mid-way through that one. This need to clog has only been needling me more and more over the last year, I am pretty sure that it is not gonna go away until I at least try it.
2. Buy a flute and join the community marching band. I never marched in high school, although I was in the band and did play the flute. It looks like fun. 
3. Train the chickens to lay in the same place instead of hiding nests for me to hunt every day. 
4. Plant a spring (and maybe a fall) garden and actually make time to take care of it. 
5. Sleep train the kid whenever she comes back home. Sleep train myself too. I have had a lot of "going-to-sleep-too-late-and-oversleeping-mornings" lately. That has to stop. 
6. Clean, organize, and purge. This really should be my number 1 priority, especially right now with the kid out of town and my evenings free. 
7. Keep it clean. And organized. Live a year in the shoes of a clean freak. I might like it. 
8. Decide if my kid is really gonna be the kid with two bedrooms once and for all. Are we those parents? Is she really the kid that needs to have two rooms and a bathroom all to herself? Are we setting her up for disappointment when she gets her first apartment or dorm? Should we just go all out and get her her own microwave and mini-fridge? She is five - is she gonna take over the master bedroom at 8? Where does this end? 
9. Make more things. Aprons, blankets for new (and not so new) babies, hats, dolls. Just create.
10. Take some writing classes, work on my book, actually try to find my voice and perfect it. 
11. Change my blog layout (again). Time for a new color and some new pictures. 
12. Go to a salon. Just one time. Probably with a Groupon. Get my nails and my hair done. Attempt to feel like a girl. 
13. Set aside some money (just a small amount) for me each month. To do something fun or buy more fabric, or take myself to a movie. Just one small thing - just for me. 

Those chickens will hide eggs anywhere. 

The chef hats and aprons are so easy to make and make me feel like I have actually accomplished something. 

Hold me accountable, dear readers, and make me take this time out for myself. We all know that I will easily ignore my desires and interests for just about anyone else's. The biggest thing I need to work on this year is making sure that I do not do that. 

Also, if you find any classes or meetings that you think I would be interested in attending (preferably free) let me know. 

Out of the Bubble

This morning, I packed a bright pink backpack full of little socks, panties, and clothes. I made sure that there were snacks and gum and activities. I added a picture of the Hubs and myself.

I showered and dressed a little girl that just yesterday couldn't figure out which shoe went on which foot. I kissed her forehead and her nose and I sent her off on her very first Spring Break.

On a plane. With her Grandma.

And I am staying home.

I am excited for her. She is going to do a lot of fun and amazing things with her cousins, aunt, and Grandma. They are going to make memories that will need to last.

I am excited for myself. This is the first time in 5 years that I have had time to myself. Time to read a book, or take a nap, or, Hell, a shower without interruption. I have some plans, not big plans, but plans nonetheless.

I am worried about her. I am pretty sure that I did not breathe fully until the last of their flights touched down and they were safe and sound with family. I worry that she won't be able to go to sleep tonight or any night because of strange surroundings and sounds, because of excitement and too much sugar, I worry that she will drive her Grandma crazy or at least to drink.

But we have established that I am a worrier. It's of no consequence really.

I am going to miss her, I already do, but this is part of it, this is where all of the work starts to become real. When you let them leave that bubble of protection and security, even if it's just a little short journey, even if it's with family, where you are trusting that the things that you have taught them have really sunk in. That the "pleases" and the "thank yous" are second nature and not forced, that stranger danger is not just an in the car hypothetical game, that holding hands in public places and parking lots is just as important as not jumping in the bathtub or not walking on the kitchen counters.

I know that she will do well.

But, until she is back in the bubble, back where I can control a little bit more of the everyday than I can right now?

I am gonna be sitting over here, barely breathing, pretending like I have it all together in between the phone calls and the FaceTime.

Things I Should Have Done When She Was A Baby - Episode I

I have always been under the impression that there were two kinds of people – night people and day people. I have functioned under the idea that while I am a day person that thrives in the morning light but fades quickly as the sun sets, the Hubs and the daughter were night people. I grew up with a day person and a night person for parents and I just thought that that was how people worked. That it was something in the brain, that it was their normal.

9:30 AM - Sleeping soundly. The day is practically gone. 

 As the day approaches that the girl begins kindergarten, I have realized that I have got to get her to a different place in her life. The days of sleeping in while I shower her, clothe her and drive her are quickly ending and I need her to begin to function before 8 AM.

This is not normal.

I have been doing a lot of research on sleep patterns and have discovered that this sleepy tendency that she possesses has less to do with genetics and more to do with the fact that I have never sleep trained her. I got to tell you, it kind of stings to know that you are to blame for things that have gone wrong with your kid, especially when you pride yourself on being able to get your child to do a lot of things pretty easily.

When she was an infant she slept and nursed on command. If the Hubs let her sleep all day, I just dealt with the repercussions the next day. When she started daycare, things at home were still very much the same. Daycare had a schedule, they had discipline, but I was a working momma with very little time with her baby. No schedule! Just sleep when you are tired!

This kid is not sleeping. Not even a little. 

She slept solely in our bed until she was two. She had a crib. It was what we used to hold her stuffed animals. When she moved into her own room, her own bed, things went from bad to worse. She would fight. Every single night she would fight. And it was hard. I used every Super Nanny trick I could find.

No eye contact? Check!

No raised voices? Check!

No extra snuggles, extra love, or extra cups of water? Check! Check! Check!

Eventually she would scream herself to sleep and, yet, within an hour of me lying down in my own bed? There she was, screaming at me about water or potty or the “debil”. And I would scoop her up and toss her between myself and the Hubs in an effort to just get some flippin’ sleep.

Other nights I would give up the fight. I was too tired or I didn't feel well or something and just didn’t want to do it. So, I would give in and lay in her bed next to her only to wake up hours later with a crick in my neck, makeup slathered on my pillow smooshed face, and a wide awake Supergirl smacking me in the face and talking a thousand miles a minute. I would take her to bed with me, knowing that I was setting a bad precedent, knowing that in the long run this, this was the wrong way to go. Or I would just take her to bed with me when it was time to go rather than even begin the fight in the first place. Or the two of us would crash on the couch in front of the TV (cause that’s healthy, right?)

So, here we are at 5 years and 3 months (almost) old and I still cannot get my child to go to sleep at a normal hour. Last night, I had a plan. After a week of research and talking myself into this, I was ready. I had my arsenal prepared.

7 PM: TV off. Sit and talk to Supergirl about her day. Discuss the importance of the letter Z (the class letter of the week). Practice writing the letter Z.

7:30 PM: Shower. Sing silly shower songs and make fun of my vulva and my lumpy butt (cause that never gets old. Never.)

8:00 PM: Brush and braid hair. Put on pajamas. Pick a book.

8:15 PM: Story time.

LOVE these books. Seriously. Order them now. I'll wait.

8:30 PM: Lights out, good night

8:55 PM: “Momma, I gotta potty.”

9:07 PM: “Momma, I need water.”

9:13 PM: “Girl, I know you are behind me, I can hear you breathing. Get in bed.”

9:19 PM: Carry crying child back to bed, no eye contact.

9:36 PM: Carry screaming child back to bed, no eye contact.

9:37 PM: Stand crying in the bathroom because child just stabbed me in the eyeball. Search for signs of internal bleeding. Count to ten.

9:42 PM: Idle threat

9:49 PM: Bigger threat

10:07 PM: Hubs comes home. Child ramps up screaming, this time for “Daddddddy”

10:13 PM: Carry daddy screaming child back to bed. Actually say, “I will give you something to cry…” until I realize what I am saying and storm out of room.

It keeps going like this until 11:45 PM.

11:45 PM.

I knew that this wouldn’t be easy and I am glad that I made the decision to do this 5 months before she is scheduled to start kindergarten, but is it really this hard? Do other people have these issues? Should I shift her back even earlier?

What do you do to get your kid to sleep?

One Random Friday Night

I adore Supergirl and I's standing Friday night dates. When it gets warmer we will be doing outdoor karaoke at a local family restaurant. For now, we are having our very own girl's night in. We get a movie - typically a little '80's number (i.e. Adventures in Babysitting, The Princess Bride, Big Trouble in Little China), we cook up food that only she and I like, eat popcorn and snuggle on the floor with tons of blankets and pillows.

On this particular Friday night, Blade and Scare Bear came over to help us make the most of it.

We sang, we danced, we shot guns...

And realized that some people are growing up too quickly...

And realized that momma is not looking too bad for being 36. Not too bad at all. 

Crazy Is...

What to say?

It seems like there are so many things to say and yet, here I sit, contemplating the right words to string together to make a coherent thought.

It has been 9 days since I last took my anti-depressant. I have received 3 compliments today on my renewed sense of focus, drive, and direction. That makes me happy.

I spoke to my primary care doctor on Monday. He prescribed a mood stabilizer, but after looking at the side effects, I think I would rather look into more holistic methods of controlling this disorder. After all of the trouble and scary situations that I got myself into with the anti-depressant, I am thinking that this is the smarter course of action. Not to mention that the withdrawals from the drug were worse than anything I have ever felt, and that I am still feeling the effects of that 9 days later.

I have to followup with him in two weeks. I hope by then I can come up with a good solid holistic plan that will showcase the mountain of research and commitment that I am making to this.

Crazy is scary. Truly scary.

When I was on the meds, I was so angry, so over everything all of the time that by the time I got home, I didn't care what we had for dinner. I stopped cooking. I was never hungry.

The kid ate a lot of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. And cereal. And steamable bags of vegetables.

It's sad when your 5 year old informs you that it is your 'sponsibility to make food. Not that I cared in that moment, about food, or a 5 year old, or sleep. I just wanted to be left alone.

Crazy is lonely.

Yesterday, we made mud cake and mud stew. We played until it got dark outside. It's been months since I have played with my kid.

Crazy is selfish. 

But now it is March and the sun shines so brightly that it blinds me on the way to work in the morning. The skies are blue, birds sing, and the trees and bushes are all in bloom.

I have officially given up on crazy. I do not want to own it anymore.

I am ready for something new.

I Love My Home

Reasons that I love my home.

This is the view of the sunset on the way home from work. 

This is my road home.

And the azaleas are all in bloom. 

Very soon we will be covered in oppressive heat and humidity, the town will be coated in the neon yellow of pollen, and just walking out of your door will be a struggle - but right now? Right now, Tiny Town is the perfect place to be and this is the time of year to be in it. 

Guess who's new to Instagram? Come follow me! 

The Things She Says...

Upon waking up every morning, the Supergirl routinely lets out a fart the sound, smell, and size of which (genetically speaking) could only have come from her father. This past Friday, she let it go and as I wiped the tears from my eyes and struggled to catch my breath, I asked, "Good God, my child! What has crawled up inside of you and died?"

Without blinking, without even hesitating, she responded, "A tiger."

"Really? A tiger? How did a tiger get in there?"

"He crawled up my butt bagina."

Great.

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Riding in the car, I hear the girl singing, I turn the radio down just in time to hear:

"I love rock n roll, so put another quarter in the juice box baby."

I am pretty sure that's what they meant all along. 

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Upon looking at my c-section scar this morning in the shower, she says to me, "Momma, I was really close to your vulva. Are babies supposed to be down there?"

Um. 

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After eating two helpings of shrimp and veggie stir fry, she says, "It's no wonder that you're so fat, momma. You cook too dang good. I am gonna be fat too."

So sweet. I guess. 

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When asked about her kitten. "She's cute, but who knew that kittens could make so much poop? I need a poop-free kitten, this one is smelling up the place."

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Upon seeing her godfather for the first time since Christmas, "Um, I don't know what your job is here, but I don't ever see you. What do godfathers do anyway?"

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I may also be raising a nerd girl. Her current fascination is with the X-Men movies. This is her synopsis. 

"There is a new villain. Her name is Jean, she is very powerful, but she can't control it and that is really bad. Wolverine can heal himself and has adamantium claws that shoot out of his fists. Storm is my favorite, she can make the weather. Mystique can change form, which is cool, but she is blue and kinda scaly, at least Storm gets to look like a normal human when she's not using her power."

She's definitely paying attention. 

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I got a new phone this week. When I picked her up from school yesterday, she said, "I told the kids about your phone. They added you to the cool moms list."

"Oh, where was I before?"

"You were on the old mom list. You are the oldest mom at my school."

"Really? Are you sure?"

"There aren't any other moms that were born during the '50's in my class." 

Sigh. 

No, I guess there aren't.