I am encouraging A to help her friend Emily clean up their toys when A grabs Emily's shirt and pulls hard. The tug is accompanied by a look that clearly reads, "Back off." "A!" I admonish because using the middle name always means business. "That behavior is unacceptable!" (Right now my brother is saying that using phrases like unacceptable is my first problem.) The nursery worker who'd been keeping both girls also witnesses the interchange and remarks, "She's been doing that all day."
Okay, how exactly do I respond to that? Crawl under the table. Say, "Yup, that's my girl. She's feisty." Smugly shrug it off while responding, "Don't look at me. She takes that from her daddy." Instead, I just sigh, pick up my toddler, and for the hundred millionth time explain that we don't hit, pull hair, or shove. Oh, A.
It seems that lately my daily exchanges with A sound more like this:....
"No, A." "Stop, A." "Don't do that, A." "Dell isn't a horse." "Please stop dumping Dell's waterbowl onto your head." "Don't throw that." "Stop pushing Sara." "We don't hit Lucy. She won't visit anymore." "A!"
...than I care to admit. When I was younger and daydreamed about being a mommy, I always pictured myself radiant, calm, long, blonde hair, flowing skirt, chasing my giggling golden-headed cherub through a field of flowers. (Stop laughing. It's my daydream.) Half of my dream came true. I got my golden-headed cherub just as I imagined she'd be: sweet, loving, adventurous, wonderful. But when did I go from cool, Breck-girl hippie mom to short, choppy-haired, drill seargant. I spend more time barking negative commands than laughing and cooing.
Why? Am I trying to parent to everyone else's expectations? Am I expecting too much from A? I mean, I can't take her to the park and just idly watch her hit or pull hair. I can't allow her to pull the dog's tail off one hair at a time. When she throws the plastic blender and pots from her kitchen onto the floor because mommy's busy cooking dinner, shouldn't she then pick them up? Is my own fear of what others might think driving me to place unreasonable expectations on my two-year-old? Am I completely insane, or do other mothers worry about these same things?!!!
What I don't want is to create a little girl devoid of exuberance, creativity, and zest for life. I want my little girl to explore with glee, to test the waters, to try it all, to savor every wonderful blessing God has given us, but with proper limits. I've always heard that parents tend to be too hard on the first child, setting that child up to later have unreasonable expectations of herself. I swore I'd never do that to A , but am I? I rue the day A ever begins to think that mommy is impossible to please. But, I do want a well-disciplined child with impulse control, a strong moral compass, and good decision-making skills. How do I strike that delicate balance?
The truth is I demand a great deal from myself, which is both a blessing and a curse. I also like having all the answers and knowing that they're the correct ones. So the great frustration with parenting, is that it leaves me with no answers, yet I still demand that it be done correctly. It has to be; my daughter's well-being depends on it. (I think Robert Frost wrote a poem making fun of people like me.) The greater, more frustrating paradox is that there is no one right way to rear a child. No one has all the answers, no one except God. So instead of lamenting on this blog, I should probably be on my knees in prayer, and I do strive to be a prayerful parent. Fortunately, I also have a friend who is investing in a good pair of knee pads for all of her parental praying. Maybe she'll let me borrow them.
When it all comes down to it, I love A, more than I ever even dared daydream. As I write this with one hand, my baby is nestled against my shoulder still groggy from her lengthy half-hour nap. She is wonderful, talented, and real. In my mommy daydream, I only got as far as catching my little one and twirling her. I never imagined how sweet her voice would sound when she says, "help mommy," while holding up her bike helmet and knee pads. Or how wonderful it would be when she sighs, "Uv you mommy." Nor did I imagine the reality of parenting, like where she was actually pulling my hair and shouting no as I spun her around. I also never imagined the depth of love, the heart-wrenching desire to do it right, to ensure that Afeels loved, appreciated, special, yet to also see to it that A knows how to contribute and make others feel loved, appreciated, and special.
I know that the terrible two's are short-lived and hopefully so is the hair-pulling stage, although we're now on month six! Three years from now, we'll be in the "Mommy can't let go, won't stop crying on first day of school" stage. I'm also beginning to realize that I don't have to figure out how to parent all in one day, even though that would be nice. I also don't have to do it like everyone else. So I guess I'll do the only things I can: pray (tons), love (that's the easy part), trust God to guide me, and just take it one day at a time. The unknown is part of what makes parenting such a great adventure, and I wouldn't trade that for anything. I can only imagine what a basket-case I'll be during the teenage years?!
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Food Fight
A typical mealtime conversation in my household:
"Want some cantaloupe, sweetie?"
"No, no loop."
"How about some yummy apple?"
"No!" Arms folded, nose scrunched in disgust.
"Pumpkin, it's apple. I can't name a soul that doesn't like an apple."
"No appuh, mommy." Apple now flies to the floor landing precariously on the cantaloupe already in the floor. It totters before falling onto the hardwoods. My dining room now resembles the aftermath of a middle school food-fight.
My hands fly up in surrender. "Fine, but one day you're going to grow tired of pancakes, peas, and strawberries."
Repeat above sequence three times per day, seven days a week.
It wasn't supposed to be this way. The experts said it would be different, and I believed them. While pregnant, I was adventurous, just as I was told to be by my ob-gyn. I ate salmon, black beans, squash, mangoes, whole grains, spinach. I was the bungee jumper of adventurous eating. And, the adventure continued right into nursing. My milk was spiked with all the flavors I hoped A's palate would someday relish with glee. Apparently, the exposure to all those flavors would make A an adventurous eater, as well.
Even in the baby food stage, A happily gobbled such appetizing combinations as turkey, brown rice, and sweet potatoes with spinach. A concoction that looked just as yummy as it sounds. No one ate what appeared to be regurgitated pea slime with rice lumps as voraciously as my girl. So, where did I go wrong? When did bananas lose their appeal? When did mashed potatoes become evil? Even toddler staples like macaroni and cheese and peanut butter and jelly are met with the same vigorous head shake followed by the death march to the floor.
I've tried everything, yet A insists on strawberries, cheese quesadillas, peas & carrots, chicken nuggets, and pancakes meal-in and meal-out. Okay, I've tried everything short of simply forcing her to eat whatever I cook. I've bought the "puree" cookbooks that suggest putting spinach, cauliflower, or carrot puree in brownies or in pasta sauce. Ever eaten those brownies? They taste like chocolate covered spinach. I've tried reading books on getting picky eaters to eat. They recommend giving your child what you cook and if she doesn't like it, tough luck, missy. Well, I've been making separate A meals for so long now, I don't really feel up for the epic battle that transition would bring on. Plus, she's already so thin. So what's a mom to do? Will A forever live on the unhealthy fare she insists on eating now?
I've almost given up hope, but I did notice recently that A really likes whipped cream. So much that I think she put it on her carrots last night. Perhaps, if I put whipped cream on all of her food, she'd eat it. Doesn't whipped cream have calcium? Hmmm....I'll let you know how that goes. I just hope she's this picky when it comes to boys.
"Want some cantaloupe, sweetie?"
"No, no loop."
"How about some yummy apple?"
"No!" Arms folded, nose scrunched in disgust.
"Pumpkin, it's apple. I can't name a soul that doesn't like an apple."
"No appuh, mommy." Apple now flies to the floor landing precariously on the cantaloupe already in the floor. It totters before falling onto the hardwoods. My dining room now resembles the aftermath of a middle school food-fight.
My hands fly up in surrender. "Fine, but one day you're going to grow tired of pancakes, peas, and strawberries."
Repeat above sequence three times per day, seven days a week.
It wasn't supposed to be this way. The experts said it would be different, and I believed them. While pregnant, I was adventurous, just as I was told to be by my ob-gyn. I ate salmon, black beans, squash, mangoes, whole grains, spinach. I was the bungee jumper of adventurous eating. And, the adventure continued right into nursing. My milk was spiked with all the flavors I hoped A's palate would someday relish with glee. Apparently, the exposure to all those flavors would make A an adventurous eater, as well.
Even in the baby food stage, A happily gobbled such appetizing combinations as turkey, brown rice, and sweet potatoes with spinach. A concoction that looked just as yummy as it sounds. No one ate what appeared to be regurgitated pea slime with rice lumps as voraciously as my girl. So, where did I go wrong? When did bananas lose their appeal? When did mashed potatoes become evil? Even toddler staples like macaroni and cheese and peanut butter and jelly are met with the same vigorous head shake followed by the death march to the floor.
I've tried everything, yet A insists on strawberries, cheese quesadillas, peas & carrots, chicken nuggets, and pancakes meal-in and meal-out. Okay, I've tried everything short of simply forcing her to eat whatever I cook. I've bought the "puree" cookbooks that suggest putting spinach, cauliflower, or carrot puree in brownies or in pasta sauce. Ever eaten those brownies? They taste like chocolate covered spinach. I've tried reading books on getting picky eaters to eat. They recommend giving your child what you cook and if she doesn't like it, tough luck, missy. Well, I've been making separate A meals for so long now, I don't really feel up for the epic battle that transition would bring on. Plus, she's already so thin. So what's a mom to do? Will A forever live on the unhealthy fare she insists on eating now?
I've almost given up hope, but I did notice recently that A really likes whipped cream. So much that I think she put it on her carrots last night. Perhaps, if I put whipped cream on all of her food, she'd eat it. Doesn't whipped cream have calcium? Hmmm....I'll let you know how that goes. I just hope she's this picky when it comes to boys.
Dancing Shoes
I can't dance. At all. I have two left feet. Shocking, I know. As a matter of fact, one of my left feet, the right one actually, has an injured ligament and is in a brace, even now. That being said. I love to dance. Unfortunately, I wasn't blessed with any rhythm. But March brings a dance of a different kind, one with minimal risk for injury, one that I'm eager to just sit back and watch, yet one that offers audience participation with nothing at stake but bragging rights. And I must admit, I'm pretty good at this particular dance.
March Madness is here. Time to bring on the brackets! Last year, I had the joy of beating hundreds of male bracket challenge participants and hosting D and B's show for an hour. My dance was graceful and smooth to say the least. Okay, I'm also no good at talking smack, but I will offer the following tips.
1. Never pick Kansas. They tend to choke.
2. Memphis is overrated. So is Drake.
3. Pitino and Izzo can coach in the tournament even when their teams aren't outstanding.
4. Go easy on the upsets, but I like Western Kentucky and Davidson.
That being said, we all know the bracket is a whole lot of luck and absolutely no skill. I just hope my bracket is not too terrible because now that I've proven I can pick em, the stakes are higher. If I'm terrible this year, just go easy on me, my dancing feet are injured, you know.
And if I may, Go CATS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
March Madness is here. Time to bring on the brackets! Last year, I had the joy of beating hundreds of male bracket challenge participants and hosting D and B's show for an hour. My dance was graceful and smooth to say the least. Okay, I'm also no good at talking smack, but I will offer the following tips.
1. Never pick Kansas. They tend to choke.
2. Memphis is overrated. So is Drake.
3. Pitino and Izzo can coach in the tournament even when their teams aren't outstanding.
4. Go easy on the upsets, but I like Western Kentucky and Davidson.
That being said, we all know the bracket is a whole lot of luck and absolutely no skill. I just hope my bracket is not too terrible because now that I've proven I can pick em, the stakes are higher. If I'm terrible this year, just go easy on me, my dancing feet are injured, you know.
And if I may, Go CATS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Warning: Attending Games May be Hazardous to Your Health
A catwalk and equipment looming over the floor of the Georgia Dome sway ominously. A coach and his player point to the scene with looks of concern shadowing their faces, as if to say, "Hey, what's going on here?" Above the roar of cheering SEC fans, howling wind and large claps of thunder can be heard. In a post-9/11 world, I am sure a sense of uneasiness is beginning to spread throughout the crowd.
The concern was obviously warranted but not because of the fury of terrorists, it was the wrath of mother nature that wreaked havoc on the SEC tournament and the Dome. And while many fans are bemoaning the SEC's decision to bar fans from the new tournament venue, my concern is of a different variety.
The Atlanta Journal Constitution describes the scene inside Friday night's Alabama/Mississippi State game as follows: "The game was stopped after the Dome roof shook and debris-including nuts and bolts and washers- fell to the ground from the tarpaulin-covered ceiling. The game was halted and the teams retreated to their respective locker rooms while fans in attendance were encouraged to remain in their seats." (Atlanta Journal Constitution, 3/14/08)
What?! Wait a minute. Thousands of fans are sitting in the Georgia Dome downtown Atlanta watching a game unaware that tornadoes howl just outside sending nuts, bolts, and, I don't know, possibly steel beams flying to the ground, and the first indication of concern is Gottfried and players pointing to the ceiling. Was no one in that building aware that severe weather was in the area? Is there no Dome official who watches the radar or at least the Weather Channel when a tornado warning is in the area? What if the Dome had received a direct hit? Is it able to withstand that? As I understand it, a weather announcement wasn't even made until AFTER the game had been stopped and the Dome had already been damaged. I obviously was not there, nor do I know the answer to any of these questions. But I'd be a tad upset if I were sitting in the Dome with my kids or watching my own child play basketball, and there's a tornado directly outside, and no one inside is even aware. What if the catwalk had crashed to the floor hitting the players or fans?
What if....what if....is a question that has been floating around in my mind since Friday night. I don't know much about the structural soundness of the Dome, but I do know the venue was moved because the damage was more than had previously been thought, meaning it wasn't sound enough to house fans for games on Saturday. I guess I'm just wondering if there is an evacuation plan for fans, not just players, in case of a tornado or hurricane or heaven forbid, a terrorist attack. Do you make an announcement so people at least have the option to get under their seat and cover their heads? I realize anything involving thousands is tricky, and I guess they were certainly safer inside than out, but is there a plan better than sit here and hope for the best? During a severe tornado warning, do you at least call off the action on the court, where equipment looms just overhead and pull the players to safety?
Perhaps, I'm overreacting, but I'm concerned with the lack of concern over the events of Friday night's game. As a matter of fact, this isn't the first time the Dome's had problems. In 1995, just after a football game, roof panels collapsed after heavy rain wiping out 500 seats and concrete supports.(AJC, 3/16/08) What if that had happened Friday night? As one who loves basketball and plans to attend the NCAA regionals here in Birmingham, I would just like to know that these sort of safety concerns have been discussed and prepared for in my own town.
See following link for photos:
http://ap.google.com/article/ALeqM5jSsOxras_DX9mDm0WOptfY7W_LLwD8VDP2J00
The concern was obviously warranted but not because of the fury of terrorists, it was the wrath of mother nature that wreaked havoc on the SEC tournament and the Dome. And while many fans are bemoaning the SEC's decision to bar fans from the new tournament venue, my concern is of a different variety.
The Atlanta Journal Constitution describes the scene inside Friday night's Alabama/Mississippi State game as follows: "The game was stopped after the Dome roof shook and debris-including nuts and bolts and washers- fell to the ground from the tarpaulin-covered ceiling. The game was halted and the teams retreated to their respective locker rooms while fans in attendance were encouraged to remain in their seats." (Atlanta Journal Constitution, 3/14/08)
What?! Wait a minute. Thousands of fans are sitting in the Georgia Dome downtown Atlanta watching a game unaware that tornadoes howl just outside sending nuts, bolts, and, I don't know, possibly steel beams flying to the ground, and the first indication of concern is Gottfried and players pointing to the ceiling. Was no one in that building aware that severe weather was in the area? Is there no Dome official who watches the radar or at least the Weather Channel when a tornado warning is in the area? What if the Dome had received a direct hit? Is it able to withstand that? As I understand it, a weather announcement wasn't even made until AFTER the game had been stopped and the Dome had already been damaged. I obviously was not there, nor do I know the answer to any of these questions. But I'd be a tad upset if I were sitting in the Dome with my kids or watching my own child play basketball, and there's a tornado directly outside, and no one inside is even aware. What if the catwalk had crashed to the floor hitting the players or fans?
What if....what if....is a question that has been floating around in my mind since Friday night. I don't know much about the structural soundness of the Dome, but I do know the venue was moved because the damage was more than had previously been thought, meaning it wasn't sound enough to house fans for games on Saturday. I guess I'm just wondering if there is an evacuation plan for fans, not just players, in case of a tornado or hurricane or heaven forbid, a terrorist attack. Do you make an announcement so people at least have the option to get under their seat and cover their heads? I realize anything involving thousands is tricky, and I guess they were certainly safer inside than out, but is there a plan better than sit here and hope for the best? During a severe tornado warning, do you at least call off the action on the court, where equipment looms just overhead and pull the players to safety?
Perhaps, I'm overreacting, but I'm concerned with the lack of concern over the events of Friday night's game. As a matter of fact, this isn't the first time the Dome's had problems. In 1995, just after a football game, roof panels collapsed after heavy rain wiping out 500 seats and concrete supports.(AJC, 3/16/08) What if that had happened Friday night? As one who loves basketball and plans to attend the NCAA regionals here in Birmingham, I would just like to know that these sort of safety concerns have been discussed and prepared for in my own town.
See following link for photos:
http://ap.google.com/article/ALeqM5jSsOxras_DX9mDm0WOptfY7W_LLwD8VDP2J00
Monday, March 3, 2008
Can Congress Save Baseball?
When I was nine years old, I told my dad that I was going to be the first female pitcher in the majors. Never mind that the only thing I'd ever pitched was a fit; I knew even then I loved baseball.
When my youth group gathered in our church's basement in 1991 to watch the Atlanta Braves take on the Twins, the girls spent most of their time hoping Josh or Bob or whomever noticed how their little Braves t-shirts showed off their newly developing curves. I, on the other hand, wearing my lovely black United Colors of Benetton sweatshirt had only two concerns: where was the pizza and what time did the game start?
On October 14, 1992, I sat in the floor of my parents bedroom rocking back and forth, eyes glued to the set. My three other siblings were sound asleep. How, I'll never know; so much was on the line. In the bottom of the ninth inning, my Atlanta Braves had one last shot. Francisco Cabrera stepped up to the plate, a moment I'm sure he'd rehearsed since his little league days. Seconds later, Sid Bream was sliding and my mom was rushing into the room to quiet my excited screams. With tears in my eyes, jumping up and down, I shouted over and over, "We did it! We did it!"
Just a few examples of my love for the game. Let me repeat. I love baseball. Love it. And, yes, I am as upset about the recent findings of the Mitchell report as the next fan. That is why it might shock you to find out that it hasn't tempered my love of the sport or my excitement about the upcoming season. Why? Because I believe that most of those who play baseball respect the game and do not abuse performance enhancing drugs.
That being said should those who do abuse be punished? Sure. Should the game be cleaned up? Absolutely. Is it Congress's responsibility to do so? NO! Someone please tell me why the leaders of the free world are sitting in a room grilling baseball players and trainers about whether or not they abused steroids. Have they nothing better to do? If they are itching to clean something up, have you seen the U.S./Mexican border...has anyone watched prime-time television lately...been inside a school house?
Are we so above real-life problems in this nation that instead of trying to figure out how to prevent terrorism, our leaders are trying to clean up baseball. Really?! Baseball. Um...that is what keeps me lying awake at night...is Roger Clemens lying? No, actually, what keeps me up at night is worrying about whether my 2-year-old daughter will one day be offered meth by some creepy dealer on her way to school. Or am I safe within the borders of my own country? I'll bet if you interviewed any Joe off the street the state of American baseball would not top his list of great concerns.
And who is paying for these investigations, these plights into the depths of the nation's baseball problem? You are my friend. Your hard-earned tax dollars are being spent to try and figure out whether Roger is really lying, if Petite used, if McGwire's abused. Please don't misunderstand. I am not being flippant about drug abuse. I just don't think that Congress should be the one wielding the broom that is going to sweep baseball clean. They nab Clemens and Bonds on perjury charges; do they now go after Sosa, McGwire, and all the other scoundrels who knowingly lied under oath?
Is Congress really worried about little Johnny using because Clemens did or are they protecting their own investment...the game of baseball? Who knows, but instead of hunting for witches on the diamond, let's hunt for the real ghosts and goblins that hide beyond the alleys of our school yards looking for kids to hook. I think baseball can take care of its own with an actual drug policy that includes true consequences for breaking the rules. And Congress, could we please focus on more important things, like your 11% approval rating?
When my youth group gathered in our church's basement in 1991 to watch the Atlanta Braves take on the Twins, the girls spent most of their time hoping Josh or Bob or whomever noticed how their little Braves t-shirts showed off their newly developing curves. I, on the other hand, wearing my lovely black United Colors of Benetton sweatshirt had only two concerns: where was the pizza and what time did the game start?
On October 14, 1992, I sat in the floor of my parents bedroom rocking back and forth, eyes glued to the set. My three other siblings were sound asleep. How, I'll never know; so much was on the line. In the bottom of the ninth inning, my Atlanta Braves had one last shot. Francisco Cabrera stepped up to the plate, a moment I'm sure he'd rehearsed since his little league days. Seconds later, Sid Bream was sliding and my mom was rushing into the room to quiet my excited screams. With tears in my eyes, jumping up and down, I shouted over and over, "We did it! We did it!"
Just a few examples of my love for the game. Let me repeat. I love baseball. Love it. And, yes, I am as upset about the recent findings of the Mitchell report as the next fan. That is why it might shock you to find out that it hasn't tempered my love of the sport or my excitement about the upcoming season. Why? Because I believe that most of those who play baseball respect the game and do not abuse performance enhancing drugs.
That being said should those who do abuse be punished? Sure. Should the game be cleaned up? Absolutely. Is it Congress's responsibility to do so? NO! Someone please tell me why the leaders of the free world are sitting in a room grilling baseball players and trainers about whether or not they abused steroids. Have they nothing better to do? If they are itching to clean something up, have you seen the U.S./Mexican border...has anyone watched prime-time television lately...been inside a school house?
Are we so above real-life problems in this nation that instead of trying to figure out how to prevent terrorism, our leaders are trying to clean up baseball. Really?! Baseball. Um...that is what keeps me lying awake at night...is Roger Clemens lying? No, actually, what keeps me up at night is worrying about whether my 2-year-old daughter will one day be offered meth by some creepy dealer on her way to school. Or am I safe within the borders of my own country? I'll bet if you interviewed any Joe off the street the state of American baseball would not top his list of great concerns.
And who is paying for these investigations, these plights into the depths of the nation's baseball problem? You are my friend. Your hard-earned tax dollars are being spent to try and figure out whether Roger is really lying, if Petite used, if McGwire's abused. Please don't misunderstand. I am not being flippant about drug abuse. I just don't think that Congress should be the one wielding the broom that is going to sweep baseball clean. They nab Clemens and Bonds on perjury charges; do they now go after Sosa, McGwire, and all the other scoundrels who knowingly lied under oath?
Is Congress really worried about little Johnny using because Clemens did or are they protecting their own investment...the game of baseball? Who knows, but instead of hunting for witches on the diamond, let's hunt for the real ghosts and goblins that hide beyond the alleys of our school yards looking for kids to hook. I think baseball can take care of its own with an actual drug policy that includes true consequences for breaking the rules. And Congress, could we please focus on more important things, like your 11% approval rating?
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