Her eyes, still that same incredible piercing blue, catch mine in the rearview mirror. We both look away when they do. I think we each want to watch each other without having to look at one another. I can't speak to her. I know the things I am capable of saying, and I want her to be the only one with regret from this day.
So we're taking the drive I think I've always known would come someday. My only daughter, my first born, needs to go to Gramma's for a couple of days so that I can try to not hate the person she's becoming, and she can hopefully find a way to feel for someone other than herself. I shed tears on the way; I'm pretty sure she did not.
Maybe Gramma can break through. Maybe a break is the best thing. Maybe my daughter can find some answers in the separation.
I hope so. I hope this is the low point for awhile. I hope this dramatic reaction sends the intended message and prompts the desired reaction. I hope those blue eyes open up again soon. I hope we can stop looking away.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Someone to Blame
When my 13-year-old misses out on an after-camp swim session with his buddies, he blames me. It's my fault that I don't accept last minute plans requiring me to take the word of a 12-year-old. It's my fault that I picked him up on time, not allowing for plans to be made. It's my fault I have no interest in being friends with the moms from his football team, that I don't need to rely on anyone to transport my kid to and from camp. It's easier to blame me than to deal with his social awkwardness at this stage of his development.
When my 15-year-old lost texting for the third time in a school year, she knew better at this point than to blame me, so she blamed her French teacher for the C. It's easier to blame him than to figure out how to be a more effective student at this point.
When I lost my teaching position last year, I wanted explanation, I wanted to understand. And I wanted someone to blame. I went with my principal because it felt fair and it made me feel better having somewhere to direct my anger. It was honestly the only way I knew to maintain some sanity in an politically insane situation.
Blame is easy. It feels like action in situations that leave us feeling out of control. It's not, but it feels like it in the moment. It's understanding that we really need. We need to understand why something is happening, what we're supposed to do with it all, what to do with all the hurt and frustration. Sometimes we find those answers, and sometimes we just move on and are able to forget with time. Sometimes we call that acceptance.
I want someone to blame. I want someone to blame for her Lupus. I want someone or something to direct my anger at. I want someone to pay. I'm tired of watching her pain and feeling helpless in it. I am tired of watching her find what seems like relief to have the pain only come washing back over her too soon again. I'm tired of hearing her say she's fine when she's not. It's her way of coping, a way to keep moving so that she doesn't just stop. That word means nothing to me anymore.
Blame would feel like action. It would feel like I was doing something. I wouldn't be, and I am aware enough to understand that, but I'd be okay with fooling myself for awhile.
When my 15-year-old lost texting for the third time in a school year, she knew better at this point than to blame me, so she blamed her French teacher for the C. It's easier to blame him than to figure out how to be a more effective student at this point.
When I lost my teaching position last year, I wanted explanation, I wanted to understand. And I wanted someone to blame. I went with my principal because it felt fair and it made me feel better having somewhere to direct my anger. It was honestly the only way I knew to maintain some sanity in an politically insane situation.
Blame is easy. It feels like action in situations that leave us feeling out of control. It's not, but it feels like it in the moment. It's understanding that we really need. We need to understand why something is happening, what we're supposed to do with it all, what to do with all the hurt and frustration. Sometimes we find those answers, and sometimes we just move on and are able to forget with time. Sometimes we call that acceptance.
I want someone to blame. I want someone to blame for her Lupus. I want someone or something to direct my anger at. I want someone to pay. I'm tired of watching her pain and feeling helpless in it. I am tired of watching her find what seems like relief to have the pain only come washing back over her too soon again. I'm tired of hearing her say she's fine when she's not. It's her way of coping, a way to keep moving so that she doesn't just stop. That word means nothing to me anymore.
Blame would feel like action. It would feel like I was doing something. I wouldn't be, and I am aware enough to understand that, but I'd be okay with fooling myself for awhile.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
15 Down, ? To Go
My baby girl turns 15 today, and it's raining just as much as the morning she was born. That day, I stared in wonder at this baby girl I was certain was a boy up until the doctor announced otherwise (so much for mothers always knowing), awkwardly nursed her for the first time, and wondered how all that reading and preparing was really going to work out. How would I know what this little person needed?
That last part is still a daily challenge. Jordyn's at least two inches taller than I am, but I still wonder what she needs most days. What she wants is not so much the concern because honestly that is often irrelevant. Needs run deeper, and left unmet, can have long lasting consequences. Needs also often directly oppose wants, particularly in the adolescents of a species. It's this differentiating between the two that fills most of my recent parenting moments. It was so much easier when I understood that while she may have wanted a cookie, she merely needed to eat something. Those decisions were relatively easy, and tantrums were short and fairly easy to ignore.
Ignoring still works when it seems to fit the issue at hand, but the tantrums have evolved into hole-in-the-head-boring glares, which have the ability to enrage me more than kicking and screaming ever did. I find myself recalling the signs/cards/email jokes about teenagers being a reminder of why some animals eat their young. What once elicited a laugh now spurs a knowing nod and evil smirk. Funny, yet not.
The 15-year-old cookies come in a variety of flavors: unlimited access to computer, freedom from schoolwork, freedom from household chores, unlimited time locked in bathroom despite brother's needs, unconditional and unlimited cell phone access.
Call me old school, but I believe in earning a privilege and abiding by the rules or conditions attached to said privilege. I recognize that this falls under concepts needing to be learned, not those necessarily wanting to be learned. In our household, cell phone ownership and usage is one such privilege.
Rule #1a: Cell phone is to be kept charged at all times.
Rule #1b: Cell phone charger is to travel between both parents' residence in order to ensure compliance to Rule 1a.
Jordyn's cell phone compliance has been pretty good, but this last weekend when she and Robby were at their father's house, I was unable to reach her on her phone, which was apparently turned off. When I was able to get in touch with them via their father's phone, I inquired about the phone issue, and was met with the typical duh-are-you-stupid-mom? tone in her explanation of the fact that she only had two bars. When asked why she did not charge her phone, she seamlessly switched to her it's-everyone-else's-fault tone as she avoided saying the words, "I forgot my charger at home." I cut her off just before the anticipated and familiar something's-wrong-with-this-phone line of excuses.
The consequence for failing to follow Rules 1a and 1b is that the cell phone is confiscated for the next week.
Back to the fact that today is Jordyn's birthday and to the admission that once in awhile I would just give her the damn cookie. Would I have the strength to withhold the cell phone through her birthday? Had it occurred to Jordyn that she had blown it the week of her birthday, and now she would be without that cherished connection to her friends on her special day?
It did. Last night. But in only that way that Jordyn can, she made it that much easier to say, "no, you may not have a cookie," and tempted me to eat one right in front of her. Instead of sucking up a little and then honestly asking if she could have her phone back, she simply informed me that a friend wanted to call her on her birthday but only had her cell phone number (THE HORROR). And then looked at me with that unspoken, "well?" This is where she expects me to connect all of the dots for her and graciously offer her the phone back early because she is somehow entitled. Had she thought to give this friend the home number when they were together 20 minutes before? Um, no. She then asks when exactly she IS getting her phone back, which sounds more to me like she's asked how long I plan on engaging in the cruel and unusual punishment she has learned in school in unconstitutional. Yeah, that's when it's very easy to take that first bite of cookie and remind her that the week ends Friday. Sucks to be you, sister.
As she bores that hole in my head, I remember that I was feeling a little sorry for her that she wouldn't have her phone today. I got over it. See, that's a want. And the fact that she can act so entitled and bore that hole deep into my forehead because I refuse to comply with her desire illustrates her need to learn discipline and the difference between a right and a privilege.
I did point out that in the future, she may want to pay special attention to the rule book that week before her birthday. Consequences tend to burn a little more this time of year. And as we head into this home stretch of parenting, I'm pretty sure she could end up with more than a cell phone at stake.
I may have taken a little bit of pleasure in withholding what she wanted, but I still got up a little earlier than I have been (okay, I'm unemployed, so A LOT earlier than I have been) in order to wish my birthday girl a happy day and provide a rare weekday hot meal. I also provided the rare ride to school due to the wet weather. And I will soon venture out into the Storm of 2010 to purchase beautiful, delicious, one-of-a-kind cupcakes from our local bakery. The birthday princess wants red velvet. That she can have.
That last part is still a daily challenge. Jordyn's at least two inches taller than I am, but I still wonder what she needs most days. What she wants is not so much the concern because honestly that is often irrelevant. Needs run deeper, and left unmet, can have long lasting consequences. Needs also often directly oppose wants, particularly in the adolescents of a species. It's this differentiating between the two that fills most of my recent parenting moments. It was so much easier when I understood that while she may have wanted a cookie, she merely needed to eat something. Those decisions were relatively easy, and tantrums were short and fairly easy to ignore.
Ignoring still works when it seems to fit the issue at hand, but the tantrums have evolved into hole-in-the-head-boring glares, which have the ability to enrage me more than kicking and screaming ever did. I find myself recalling the signs/cards/email jokes about teenagers being a reminder of why some animals eat their young. What once elicited a laugh now spurs a knowing nod and evil smirk. Funny, yet not.
The 15-year-old cookies come in a variety of flavors: unlimited access to computer, freedom from schoolwork, freedom from household chores, unlimited time locked in bathroom despite brother's needs, unconditional and unlimited cell phone access.
Call me old school, but I believe in earning a privilege and abiding by the rules or conditions attached to said privilege. I recognize that this falls under concepts needing to be learned, not those necessarily wanting to be learned. In our household, cell phone ownership and usage is one such privilege.
Rule #1a: Cell phone is to be kept charged at all times.
Rule #1b: Cell phone charger is to travel between both parents' residence in order to ensure compliance to Rule 1a.
Jordyn's cell phone compliance has been pretty good, but this last weekend when she and Robby were at their father's house, I was unable to reach her on her phone, which was apparently turned off. When I was able to get in touch with them via their father's phone, I inquired about the phone issue, and was met with the typical duh-are-you-stupid-mom? tone in her explanation of the fact that she only had two bars. When asked why she did not charge her phone, she seamlessly switched to her it's-everyone-else's-fault tone as she avoided saying the words, "I forgot my charger at home." I cut her off just before the anticipated and familiar something's-wrong-with-this-phone line of excuses.
The consequence for failing to follow Rules 1a and 1b is that the cell phone is confiscated for the next week.
Back to the fact that today is Jordyn's birthday and to the admission that once in awhile I would just give her the damn cookie. Would I have the strength to withhold the cell phone through her birthday? Had it occurred to Jordyn that she had blown it the week of her birthday, and now she would be without that cherished connection to her friends on her special day?
It did. Last night. But in only that way that Jordyn can, she made it that much easier to say, "no, you may not have a cookie," and tempted me to eat one right in front of her. Instead of sucking up a little and then honestly asking if she could have her phone back, she simply informed me that a friend wanted to call her on her birthday but only had her cell phone number (THE HORROR). And then looked at me with that unspoken, "well?" This is where she expects me to connect all of the dots for her and graciously offer her the phone back early because she is somehow entitled. Had she thought to give this friend the home number when they were together 20 minutes before? Um, no. She then asks when exactly she IS getting her phone back, which sounds more to me like she's asked how long I plan on engaging in the cruel and unusual punishment she has learned in school in unconstitutional. Yeah, that's when it's very easy to take that first bite of cookie and remind her that the week ends Friday. Sucks to be you, sister.
As she bores that hole in my head, I remember that I was feeling a little sorry for her that she wouldn't have her phone today. I got over it. See, that's a want. And the fact that she can act so entitled and bore that hole deep into my forehead because I refuse to comply with her desire illustrates her need to learn discipline and the difference between a right and a privilege.
I did point out that in the future, she may want to pay special attention to the rule book that week before her birthday. Consequences tend to burn a little more this time of year. And as we head into this home stretch of parenting, I'm pretty sure she could end up with more than a cell phone at stake.
I may have taken a little bit of pleasure in withholding what she wanted, but I still got up a little earlier than I have been (okay, I'm unemployed, so A LOT earlier than I have been) in order to wish my birthday girl a happy day and provide a rare weekday hot meal. I also provided the rare ride to school due to the wet weather. And I will soon venture out into the Storm of 2010 to purchase beautiful, delicious, one-of-a-kind cupcakes from our local bakery. The birthday princess wants red velvet. That she can have.
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