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A Worrier’s Daughter

7 Feb

I saw Nia have a minor stress freak out tonight and I felt it. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’ve lived it before. I know exactly what she was going through and I hate it. She’s too young to know that kind of worry yet. Too sweet. Too child.

While I’m glad that she cares, I’m concerned about the amount of worry she showed for such a thing. Misplacing her finished homework sent her on a stress spiral. She actually held the sides of her head in worry that she was going to get in trouble.

Did I do this to my child with all the worry I carry? She’s told me before that I worry too much. She even wrote me reminders that I shouldn’t worry. She knows it’s not a good thing yet it came so naturally and quickly for her. It makes me wonder about people who don’t worry as much. Were they raised by easy-going people? Did they train themselves to say, “Oh well. What can I do?”

I wish I had more of that in me. For me, I have to come up with positive thoughts or a solution to ease my stress. Luckily, it helped Nia. We decided that she would re-do the work, since she remembered it and it would give her something to give to her teacher. I was amazed by how much detail she put into it. She was so relieved to recreate the lost work that when Andrew told her she could go watch Nate play Wii she said, “I’m doing homework first.” Her stress was gone. I hope it stays away. After I finish worrying about her worry, I vow to ease mine to help heal hers.

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Beauty Marked?

5 Feb

I don’t remember being self-conscious about all the moles and freckles that graced my skin growing up. Looking back, I’m sure I was but I think my feelings about them changed because my grandma would always comfort me and boost my esteem by telling me they were beauty marks. Marks that God wanted me to have. I shouldn’t be ashamed of them, my beauty marks.

Through the years, many of them have changed. Cautious that those marks could be a sign of cancer or for appearance’s sake (I was very aware of a few), some were removed. Now, more need to meet that fate.

This is where it becomes difficult because Nia has a very special beauty mark on her forehead. Yet, she hides it beneath her hair because she doesn’t like it. She says she doesn’t want people to make fun of her if they see it. I tell her over and over again that it is special. It’s a sign of beauty. Don’t hide it. It’s part of who you are. But as I say that, I know I’m soon going to hide a few more of mine forever. What is that teaching? They’re beauty marks until you don’t want/need them to be anymore? I suppose beauty really is in the eye of the beholder. I just hope the one on my lip stays the same. I especially love that one…

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Speed Test Stress

29 Jan

It was time. I told myself I knew this stuff. I got it. I stuffed the inside of my Second Grade desk with the books and paper from our last subject. All that remained was my pencil, a sheet of paper with my fat-fonted name across the top and my fidgety hands as I waited for the teacher to slide the cassette into the top of the hand-held tape player and press down the button. I can do this.

The voice began. Math problems were slowly and robotically spoken to us. We had seconds to write the answer. There was no pause, stop or rewind. My palms sweated. My leg shook. I bounced in my seat like I had to go to the restroom. I blanked.

Speed math tests were painful for me. Pain. Full. It wasn’t that I didn’t know math. Me and math were cool. It’s just, when you add the element of time, well, I lost it. I used to study/train just for these tests. My friend, Eleni, would help me practice. Her mom had some speed math tapes and we would play school. I think I was actually being tutored but it was playing school, in my head.

I got through it all ok and actually forgot about the panic I’d feel until Nia started bringing home half sheets of paper with math problems and the words “speed test” on them. I worried for her. Would she stress out like I did?

I’m relieved to say, this picture sums it up:

No Speed Test Troubles

Phew. I can’t help but flashback each time I encounter one in her folder though. I think I’m already stressing for Nate’s.

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“I’m a Girly Tomboy”

21 Jan

Just be you. That’s what I told Nia tonight when she told me she’s a “girly tomboy.” She insisted, that is what she is doing. She is a girly tomboy. Here’s her 7-year-old reasoning:

Because I like dresses but I like pants. And I like to play with my Barbies but I like peace signs.

When I asked her why she considers peace signs a tomboy thing, she said it’s because boys are usually saying things like peace out. I told her that girly girls can say that too and that she doesn’t have to call herself girly or tomboy. She just needs to be Nia. Pink peace sign and all.

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Our Alarm Clock(s)

16 Jan

The following is a rough account of waking up each morning. Since I am mostly still asleep, my accuracy may be off by an alarm or four.

The digital clock lights up 5:20 am and the alarm sounds. It’s mine. The radio talks to us or plays us the latest pop tune. We sleep. I finally hear it at about 5:27 after Andrew nudges me with his leg. Snooze.

The next alarm sounds from Andrew’s side of the bed at 5:35. It is an awful beeping alert that we somehow continue to sleep through until another alarm blares – his cellphone screams some military trumpet call to us. It doesn’t go off until he solves some math problem that unlocks the snooze. I now am awake, but I am cranky. It is 5:50. Ish.

This is the typical week alarm ritual. On weekends, our alarm is much more charming and the snooze button is a little trickier to figure out.

Nate’s little head greets us usually starting at 6:30. He tells us he had a “good sleep” and requests a large breakfast. (Eggs and sausage or ham are his usual menu items.) Today though, it was different. He asked us if the Falcons won the football game last night. Andrew sweetly told him no and Nate gave an “oh man” whine. Then he inquired, “How much did they have? And the other team?”  We assured him it was ok because he’ll still get to see the Steelers play. To that, he left the room and, knowing he was content and going to play cars, mommy and daddy dozed a tad more. It is the weekend, after all. Snooze.

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Surviving the Southern Snow

12 Jan

If you want to make days stuck in the house surrounded by unmelting, unsalted and unplowed snow really awesome, have your birthday during it.

I swear, I never wished for such a thing. Maybe it had something to do with me wishing for more time with the family. Snow made that happen. In fact, I’m so content on my family quality time that I’m pretty sure my next wish will involve a pedicure or massage.

It’s not that it wasn’t nice to be together. It’s just it was really together. For three days. Stuck in the house. For three days.

The first day was my birthday and they surprised me with the cute Jessica Simpson purse I wanted. I woke up last and Nia asked me for something out of my purse. When I went to get it, I saw the new one in the old one’s place. Fun! The rest of the day featured an attempt to explore the snow (it was sleeting so we made a quick exit), Wii hilarity with Nate and Andrew, a 500 piece puzzle completed by all of us (Nate rocked it), some Yahtzee playing and tiny burgers (that Andrew grilled out in the snow) that served as my cake.

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The second and third days can be summed up like this: board games, video games, Barbie school day, iCarly watching, fort building, car playing, help me in the kitchen training (Nia peeled half a potato) and we actually got to get out for a bit and enjoy (risk our bones on) the slippery ice-covered snow:

If I had one regret about the snowed-in time together, I wish I would’ve stopped for longer to see it all through the kids’ eyes. For me (and probably other grown-ups), it was a little bit of wow mixed with stir-craziness, inconvenience and stress. For them, it was five days off from school and carefree spirits. They weren’t “stuck in the snow” or “surviving it”, they were happily “snowed-in!”

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Sleep Time Struggle

4 Jan

After last night’s battle around bedtime, I am now sitting on the steps trying to Super Nanny style Nate to sleep.

So far, he’s ventured out three times. The first time, he said he had to tell us something. I just walked him back to his room, tucked him in and said it’s night-night time. The second time, he acted afraid and said he heard a noise. I walked him back, said nothing and tucked him in. The third time, he came out crying about his finger – telling me to “look at it!” This was harder to not acknowledge. I did it though. Said nothing and tucked him in, again.

I know he is fine because I haven’t heard a peep from him since but I have a feeling he’s not finished with his anti-sleep schemes. This is tough. I hope it works. It’s hurting my heart and my bottom. (The carpet and padding on these steps are worn.) I’d love it right now if someone told me to go to sleep. I know I wouldn’t get out of bed. Mommy sleepy.

*He got out of bed again around 11:00. I think he had fallen asleep and woke up thinking, “I’m supposed to get out of bed again.” We still didn’t speak to him…

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Powerless to the Vomit Ploy

4 Jan

It seems our sweet boy has discovered my weakness and is using it against me. He’s been saying he doesn’t feel well at very opportune times for himself.

  • When he doesn’t want to finish a certain veggie or different kind of dinner.

  • When he doesn’t want to clean up his toys.

  • When he doesn’t want to go to sleep.

Last night, he even got out of bed and actually made hurling sounds into the toilet. I went running to his side and nothing. Not a hint of hurl. Instead, he spills the beans that he just wants me to rest with him and sing. I told him about telling fibs and why it’s wrong but I don’t know if it got through to him.

I am just so powerless against the sickness claim. I mean, what if he really is sick and I ignore it because I think he’s just trying to get out of something? I’m damaged now. I always want to baby them when they say they don’t feel well but now he could be smiling over my shoulder as I hug him to comfort him. I guess I should prefer that to vomit over my shoulder?

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“I’m 5 today!”

27 Dec

He woke me up at 6 am-ish, frantic that I need to call one of his friends to invite her to his party.

This is my first memory of Nate’s 5th birthday. Even as a baby, he was intense. He waited a week past his due date to say hi and when he did, he struggled his way out through an emergency c-section. Now, he’s a wonderful mix of tough and sweet, competitive and sensitive, fighter and lover.

In fact, my second memory of his big 5 day is him running to me (when I actually was awake) for a giant hug and yelling, “I’m 5 today!” He then added with the same excitement, “I can play football now!”

The next memories involve requests for a “big kid breakfast” and two bagels because “that’s what big kids eat.” (He got one but became very happy when he saw it was cut into 5 pieces.)

Nathaniel Robert, you may be 5, but you’ll always be our baby boy and little brother.

 

Loving Little Brother

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Cookies and Health Tip for Santa

24 Dec

When Santa arrives at our house, he’s in store for a plate full of cookies, a glass of eggnog and an important message about his health. Nia’s note to him features a thank you and a fit tip.

 

Um, Santa, I don't mean to be blunt but...

Hope he’s not too offended. We did provide (tempt?) him with ample cookies to sample:

And Nate’s note is full of thanks – without  any round reference:

To Santa, Love Santa

The kids even left reindeer food (oatmeal and glitter) on the front lawn. They wanted to leave cookies too but then something about weight was brought up again.

Now, where are those cookies?

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