In this age of Internet dating, and online chat rooms, I have this thing against long distance relationships. I’ve seen so many of them fail, and I totally understand the reason they fail. Makes prefect sense to me.
You talk with someone, and both of you say you like camping. You’ve got this in common, right? Well, not totally. Turns out one person likes the hard core, totally natural camping thing. Tents, sleeping bags, and nature hikes. And the other pulls their camper along with the full kitchen, and indoor plumbing.
See the problem?
Only, it’s often times more subtle then this. Our problem is that we use the same words, but have different definitions. Like the example of how do you define camping. How do you define gender, love, and marriage? What are good table manners, and how do you move furniture?
One of the stupid things that was a problem in my marriage was our definitions of cleaning the house. We actually had different definitions. When I clean the front room the first thing I do is put the excess stuff away. Then I throw junk away. I sort thru the accumulated papers, and reorganize the DVD’s in their case. My husband would throw trash away, and get all the stuff off the floor. He would move the piles to a less conspicuous place, and then vacuum the floor. For him a clean room was one with a clean floor. I defined a clean room as one that was clutter free, and organized. Every time he said he was going to clean house, I cringed. It meant he was going to pick up all the clutter and bury it some where else in the house. Later I would have to sort thru a huge mess. But when I said I was going to clean house, he cringed. He knew I could never get the carpet as clean as he wanted. I would vacuum, but I wouldn’t get out the steamer and spend six hours on the floor.
There is a guy at church that I have a running crush on. I’ve known him for 6 ½ years. For most of that period I was married. He hasn’t been out to impress me. He hasn’t put on a show. But over the years I’ve seen by his actions that he is very similar to me. He’s a perfectionist, and kills himself to do it right. I’m the same way. If I can’t do it right, I don’t want to even try. If I don’t have six hours to scrub my fridge, I’m not even going to try. With the help of FlyLady, some of that has been changing.
I don’t have to ask him about how important church is in his life; I’ve seen him work hard to be there nearly every Sunday. I know what style of food he likes because I’ve eaten dishes he made for church pot lucks. I know him. I don’t just know what he says about himself. I know what other people say about him. I know what his image is, and who he is.
My best friend is getting ready to get engaged to a man she’s known for about 4 months, and visited 2. I’m scared out of my socks. I haven’t even talked to my crush about dating, and they are talking about a wedding in July. There are so many subtle things I’m sure they don’t know about each other.
What I do know is the guy is actually pretty decent. My friend is happy, and at peace. I don’t sense any fear in her. And the guy isn’t getting in the way of my friendship. He’s not cutting her off from her life. He’s not likely to abuse her.
I’m freaked out that they are moving too fast.
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
House Fairy Magic
Silver Glitter is a magic substance in my house. It causes children to pick up apple cores, and get dressed on time!
Last night House Fairy came for her first inspection, and the children failed inspection. As I put them to bed, I took stock of their room. It was in excellent condition. All the toys were picked up! It was a sight of beauty. I delighted in it.
Once they were asleep, I took at my folder and got prepared. Happily I sorted thru my prepared letters, and chose their rewards. With my silver glitter in hand I found a spot for Ian’s new trash can on his bed. I sprinkled glitter all over the bed, and in the trash can. I turned around.
There were toys on the floor, and blankets pulled out of the closet. I stared at these offending items. What had happened?
I looked back at Ian’s new trash can with Sponge Bob. I looked at the glitter all over the place. I thought of stories parents told. Some told of wonderful rooms, clean with lots of surprises for their children. Other parents told about kids who didn’t pass inspection, and how that was the best thing that ever happened because they got very serious about their room.
I let them fail inspection.
This morning when they woke up, I casually pointed out the glitter. Two blurry eyed kids stared at the glitter. They fingered it.
“Where’s our surprise?” my daughter finally asked.
“I don’t know,” I said, caressing her forehead.
“We didn’t follow the rules,” my son declares. “Look, there are toys on the floor.”
I nod sadly. “Off to the bathroom with you. Gotta get dressed.”
My daughter refuses to get out of bed, and my son is quickly changed. Later I realize that my daughter staid in the bedroom so she could pick things up before getting dressed.
My daughter actually got to watch a Magic School Bus video this morning because she was dressed before breakfast time!
I love House Fairy!
Last night House Fairy came for her first inspection, and the children failed inspection. As I put them to bed, I took stock of their room. It was in excellent condition. All the toys were picked up! It was a sight of beauty. I delighted in it.
Once they were asleep, I took at my folder and got prepared. Happily I sorted thru my prepared letters, and chose their rewards. With my silver glitter in hand I found a spot for Ian’s new trash can on his bed. I sprinkled glitter all over the bed, and in the trash can. I turned around.
There were toys on the floor, and blankets pulled out of the closet. I stared at these offending items. What had happened?
I looked back at Ian’s new trash can with Sponge Bob. I looked at the glitter all over the place. I thought of stories parents told. Some told of wonderful rooms, clean with lots of surprises for their children. Other parents told about kids who didn’t pass inspection, and how that was the best thing that ever happened because they got very serious about their room.
I let them fail inspection.
This morning when they woke up, I casually pointed out the glitter. Two blurry eyed kids stared at the glitter. They fingered it.
“Where’s our surprise?” my daughter finally asked.
“I don’t know,” I said, caressing her forehead.
“We didn’t follow the rules,” my son declares. “Look, there are toys on the floor.”
I nod sadly. “Off to the bathroom with you. Gotta get dressed.”
My daughter refuses to get out of bed, and my son is quickly changed. Later I realize that my daughter staid in the bedroom so she could pick things up before getting dressed.
My daughter actually got to watch a Magic School Bus video this morning because she was dressed before breakfast time!
I love House Fairy!
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
Love and Logic mornings, I think
I have concluded that no matter what I do, my daughter is going to scream in the morning. I’ve tried just about all the love and logic tricks I know. She has her choices, I don’t nag, there are set things I control. But the truth is she wants control of the situation. She wakes up slowly, and makes a decision to fight me. That is all there is to it.
Most mornings I wake her up. Each kid gets some cuddle time before they are supposed to get dressed. My daughter likes to fall back to sleep in my arms. I try to get her off to the bathroom, but some mornings she never makes it beyond the bedroom floor. As I get breakfast ready I give her choices about what she’d like for breakfast. Since she chooses the same thing every morning, I’m really letting her know the world is moving forward without her. Milk or Juice? From under a blanket comes the response, Milk. In the other bathroom, her brother puts on his pants, Juice. Her brother runs off to make his bed while her head finally sees the bathroom light. She rubs her eyes, and stares at the clothes she put out.
Each night they pick out their own clothing. I learned early that I wanted to avoid choices in the morning. Blurry eyed kids take a long time to decide important things like clothes. Better to be done when one is wide awake. First thing in the morning does not qualify as wide awake.
Breakfast time, I announce. The first scream issues from the bathroom. But I’m not ready! Oh, munchkin, I say back, that’s so sad! And off I go to eat my breakfast with my son. My son is my sensitive kid. He knows that I like quiet. He gets up to the table with his blanket over his head, and I pour milk into my cereal. We say the prayer, and he stares at his food. Half way thru my cereal, he finally starts eating.
Meanwhile there are screams thru this. Mommy, don’t pray without me. Mommy, I want my breakfast. And then the all general loud crying scream.
Finally I go switch the wet clothes into the dryer. And after this I go look at the now quiet occupant of the bathroom. With her shirt on, and pj pants on, she is curled back up with her blanket. Just curious baby, I say, are you going to come eat breakfast this morning, or go hungry. A wail erupts from the blanket, and I walk back to the dining room table.
My son is busy with his food, and I sit down to the table. We finish our breakfast together. I drink the rest of my juice and sit back to watch him. He really is such a good kid. My daughter carries her shoes out the couch, and plops down with a wail. I can’t do it! She yells at me. Oh, why not? Because I’m too tired. She has her thumb in her mouth, and is holding her blanket. Her hair is standing on end.
What a bummer, I say as I rinse out my bowl. Breakfast time ends when the big hand gets to the 10. Eat enough to hold you until lunch.
Another wail accompanies this morning mantra. She stamps her feet, and stuffs her socks on. I go back to the now deserted bathroom to brush my teeth.
At the appointed time I come to shoe the kids down from the table. She wails again, and my son scurries to put his bowl up in the kitchen. They are sent back to the bathrooms to brush teeth and hair while I clean their dishes.
You’ve got five minutes. Do you need help putting the toothpaste on your toothbrush? I check on each of them. Some mornings they are independent, and other mornings they each whine and need help. Can you brush your teeth yourself, or do you need me to do it? My daughter screams her displeasure at me. How dare I insinuate that she is a baby and can’t do things for herself. She jams the toothbrush in her mouth just to prove she can do this for herself.
My son runs off to put his jacket on. He loves taking out the trash. He likes running out on his own. My daughter of course screams about the jacket, her mittens, and everything else under the sun. Followed by screaming about the fact that her backpack isn’t zipped up. Oh, that’s so sad, what do you think you should do about it?
I’ll zip it up, she says.
When will she ever learn that there are lots of things she can do?
Well, it’s better than it used to be. So, she is learning.
Most mornings I wake her up. Each kid gets some cuddle time before they are supposed to get dressed. My daughter likes to fall back to sleep in my arms. I try to get her off to the bathroom, but some mornings she never makes it beyond the bedroom floor. As I get breakfast ready I give her choices about what she’d like for breakfast. Since she chooses the same thing every morning, I’m really letting her know the world is moving forward without her. Milk or Juice? From under a blanket comes the response, Milk. In the other bathroom, her brother puts on his pants, Juice. Her brother runs off to make his bed while her head finally sees the bathroom light. She rubs her eyes, and stares at the clothes she put out.
Each night they pick out their own clothing. I learned early that I wanted to avoid choices in the morning. Blurry eyed kids take a long time to decide important things like clothes. Better to be done when one is wide awake. First thing in the morning does not qualify as wide awake.
Breakfast time, I announce. The first scream issues from the bathroom. But I’m not ready! Oh, munchkin, I say back, that’s so sad! And off I go to eat my breakfast with my son. My son is my sensitive kid. He knows that I like quiet. He gets up to the table with his blanket over his head, and I pour milk into my cereal. We say the prayer, and he stares at his food. Half way thru my cereal, he finally starts eating.
Meanwhile there are screams thru this. Mommy, don’t pray without me. Mommy, I want my breakfast. And then the all general loud crying scream.
Finally I go switch the wet clothes into the dryer. And after this I go look at the now quiet occupant of the bathroom. With her shirt on, and pj pants on, she is curled back up with her blanket. Just curious baby, I say, are you going to come eat breakfast this morning, or go hungry. A wail erupts from the blanket, and I walk back to the dining room table.
My son is busy with his food, and I sit down to the table. We finish our breakfast together. I drink the rest of my juice and sit back to watch him. He really is such a good kid. My daughter carries her shoes out the couch, and plops down with a wail. I can’t do it! She yells at me. Oh, why not? Because I’m too tired. She has her thumb in her mouth, and is holding her blanket. Her hair is standing on end.
What a bummer, I say as I rinse out my bowl. Breakfast time ends when the big hand gets to the 10. Eat enough to hold you until lunch.
Another wail accompanies this morning mantra. She stamps her feet, and stuffs her socks on. I go back to the now deserted bathroom to brush my teeth.
At the appointed time I come to shoe the kids down from the table. She wails again, and my son scurries to put his bowl up in the kitchen. They are sent back to the bathrooms to brush teeth and hair while I clean their dishes.
You’ve got five minutes. Do you need help putting the toothpaste on your toothbrush? I check on each of them. Some mornings they are independent, and other mornings they each whine and need help. Can you brush your teeth yourself, or do you need me to do it? My daughter screams her displeasure at me. How dare I insinuate that she is a baby and can’t do things for herself. She jams the toothbrush in her mouth just to prove she can do this for herself.
My son runs off to put his jacket on. He loves taking out the trash. He likes running out on his own. My daughter of course screams about the jacket, her mittens, and everything else under the sun. Followed by screaming about the fact that her backpack isn’t zipped up. Oh, that’s so sad, what do you think you should do about it?
I’ll zip it up, she says.
When will she ever learn that there are lots of things she can do?
Well, it’s better than it used to be. So, she is learning.
Sunday, February 4, 2007
Lice
I discovered my daughter has lice. During church I happened to be stroking her ear, and the back of her neck. As I caressed her hair, I noticed tiny dark specks. Something clicked. This last week she’s been scratching her head a lot.
I won’t run the list of what we’ve done, but it’s been awful. I am so tired, and my daughter is equally exhausted. For her the worst was loosing her blankie to the washing machine while I went thru her hair!
I’m praying she’ll be good enough for school tomorrow. She had a very bad case. I’m also scared to death that her father won’t take this seriously.
I don’t think she caught it at her dad’s house. I suspect she shared a hat at school, or something like that. But I’m equally sure that she’s left a nice population of eggs around both of our homes to keep reinfesting her head.
I’m scared that he’ll pick her up tomorrow, and reinfest her with more lice.
I won’t run the list of what we’ve done, but it’s been awful. I am so tired, and my daughter is equally exhausted. For her the worst was loosing her blankie to the washing machine while I went thru her hair!
I’m praying she’ll be good enough for school tomorrow. She had a very bad case. I’m also scared to death that her father won’t take this seriously.
I don’t think she caught it at her dad’s house. I suspect she shared a hat at school, or something like that. But I’m equally sure that she’s left a nice population of eggs around both of our homes to keep reinfesting her head.
I’m scared that he’ll pick her up tomorrow, and reinfest her with more lice.
Friday, February 2, 2007
Visitation
“Mommy, when is Daddy coming to get me?” My son begs
“Daddy’s not coming.” I say trying to keep my voice as gentle as possible. My poor little boy has been thru so much since my husband left us. And worst of all is the way his father has treated him.
I was pregnant with my son when I met my husband. My husband was there when he was born. When he was two months old, I married the man he calls Daddy. There is no biological relationship. And anyone who looks as my Cuban/Mexican boy, and the man he calls Daddy can see they have no blood in common.
“Would you like to call and talk to Daddy?” Better to let the blame lie squarely in the corner where it belongs. Better my little guy know that I’ve tried my darnedest.
We run to my bedroom and I put the cell phone on speaker. “Hey, he’d really like to come over, can I bring him to you?” I ask.
“No, I’m sick,” he says.
“Well, I’ve got him right here, can you explain it to him?”
“Hey buddy, Daddy’s sick, and you’ve been sick. I don’t want to get your sister sick, or any of the other kids sick. And I really don’t want to get Debby sick.”
Debby is the reason he left me. Debby is the other woman.
My son’s body shakes in silent tears. He is unable to talk, lifting his head occasionally to look at the phone. His eyes beg, beg for Daddy to come get him.
Later when he was in his bath, I called my home teacher. Left him a voice mail, “Please be here tomorrow! He really needs that time. Daddy basically told him that he’s not as important as Deborah. His feelings were hurt really bad.”
“Daddy’s not coming.” I say trying to keep my voice as gentle as possible. My poor little boy has been thru so much since my husband left us. And worst of all is the way his father has treated him.
I was pregnant with my son when I met my husband. My husband was there when he was born. When he was two months old, I married the man he calls Daddy. There is no biological relationship. And anyone who looks as my Cuban/Mexican boy, and the man he calls Daddy can see they have no blood in common.
“Would you like to call and talk to Daddy?” Better to let the blame lie squarely in the corner where it belongs. Better my little guy know that I’ve tried my darnedest.
We run to my bedroom and I put the cell phone on speaker. “Hey, he’d really like to come over, can I bring him to you?” I ask.
“No, I’m sick,” he says.
“Well, I’ve got him right here, can you explain it to him?”
“Hey buddy, Daddy’s sick, and you’ve been sick. I don’t want to get your sister sick, or any of the other kids sick. And I really don’t want to get Debby sick.”
Debby is the reason he left me. Debby is the other woman.
My son’s body shakes in silent tears. He is unable to talk, lifting his head occasionally to look at the phone. His eyes beg, beg for Daddy to come get him.
Later when he was in his bath, I called my home teacher. Left him a voice mail, “Please be here tomorrow! He really needs that time. Daddy basically told him that he’s not as important as Deborah. His feelings were hurt really bad.”
House Fairy Vs. Jesus
Last night was my kids first official day of House Fairy. From now on they are getting surprise inspections. When the room is clean, they get a letter, and a surprise. When the room is not up to par, all they get is fairy dust.
In the space of 5 days I’ve created a mythical creature. That is, with the help of the website, online videos and other neat things. My children are convinced that a real House Fairy is coming to inspect their room. For her sake they are willing to clean, and help out around here. They truly believe House Fairy can spy on them with her magic telescope. She knows if they are being well behaved, and who left the blocks in the middle of the room. And not only that, Mommy has her e-mail address, and phone number. I can call and leave messages about what the children would like for surprises, and let House Fairy know when they are messing up.
For six years I’ve been trying to teach them that Jesus is a real person who loves them very much. I take them to church, and have them color pictures of him. We watch videos, and read stories out of the Bible. I have them memorize verses, and we talk often of what Christ would want us to do. He gives us Eternal Life, and the Plan of Happiness. He is the author of our Salvation. He is the Peace Giver, and Tree of Life. We each have direct access to Him thru prayer. And He can respond to us thru inspiration of the Holy Ghost. He can direct our thoughts and help us achieve things we never knew were possible.
Occasionally I have great moments of insight with the kids, and I see their faith come alive. But it disappoints me that a mythical creation like House Fairy works better than our real Lord. I’ve been praying off and on for inspiration on how to bring Christ alive for these two.
In the space of 5 days I’ve created a mythical creature. That is, with the help of the website, online videos and other neat things. My children are convinced that a real House Fairy is coming to inspect their room. For her sake they are willing to clean, and help out around here. They truly believe House Fairy can spy on them with her magic telescope. She knows if they are being well behaved, and who left the blocks in the middle of the room. And not only that, Mommy has her e-mail address, and phone number. I can call and leave messages about what the children would like for surprises, and let House Fairy know when they are messing up.
For six years I’ve been trying to teach them that Jesus is a real person who loves them very much. I take them to church, and have them color pictures of him. We watch videos, and read stories out of the Bible. I have them memorize verses, and we talk often of what Christ would want us to do. He gives us Eternal Life, and the Plan of Happiness. He is the author of our Salvation. He is the Peace Giver, and Tree of Life. We each have direct access to Him thru prayer. And He can respond to us thru inspiration of the Holy Ghost. He can direct our thoughts and help us achieve things we never knew were possible.
Occasionally I have great moments of insight with the kids, and I see their faith come alive. But it disappoints me that a mythical creation like House Fairy works better than our real Lord. I’ve been praying off and on for inspiration on how to bring Christ alive for these two.
Thursday, February 1, 2007
The ex's responce
Doesn’t it just break your heart? My little guy is sick! I’ll be taking him to the doctor here in about 15 minutes, so I have to make this quick.
I woke him up this morning, and quickly realized he was running a temperature. After I called work and told them I wouldn’t be there, I sent my ex an e-mail to ask if he could watch the little guy for the day.
I’ve got some other single mother friends. They can’t even ask their ex’s for anything. An e-mail like mine would have gotten the response, That’s so bad, I’m the better parent, and can always take better care of the kid, now hand the kid over and get out of the way. Or well that’s what you deserve for letting the kids play outside. Instead of offering to help, it would have become a battle to demonstrate who was the best parent.
My ex works shift work, and is off during the week. I can never keep track of his schedule. But as I was driving my daughter to school he called me back. I put the phone on speaker and we discussed the situation.
“Could you take him for the afternoon, so that I can get the prescriptions and everything?” I asked. My ex is the after school babysitter on a daily basis.
“Sure, I can even meet you at the pharmacy, and pick him up from you so he doesn’t have to wait or anything.” He agreed. “Just give me a call at 2:30 and let me know what the plan is. Do you want me to keep him the whole afternoon, like usual?"
“Yes please. He’s already said he wants to come over to your house.”
My ex is not going to win parent of the year contest. I don’t agree with him on a lot of things. But I know I am so lucky. He does truly love the children, and he tries his best to do what’s best for them.
Now, we can play bash the ex next week, because what he thinks is best can be pretty screwy. He really does his best to help the kids and me. And I appreciate it a lot.
I woke him up this morning, and quickly realized he was running a temperature. After I called work and told them I wouldn’t be there, I sent my ex an e-mail to ask if he could watch the little guy for the day.
I’ve got some other single mother friends. They can’t even ask their ex’s for anything. An e-mail like mine would have gotten the response, That’s so bad, I’m the better parent, and can always take better care of the kid, now hand the kid over and get out of the way. Or well that’s what you deserve for letting the kids play outside. Instead of offering to help, it would have become a battle to demonstrate who was the best parent.
My ex works shift work, and is off during the week. I can never keep track of his schedule. But as I was driving my daughter to school he called me back. I put the phone on speaker and we discussed the situation.
“Could you take him for the afternoon, so that I can get the prescriptions and everything?” I asked. My ex is the after school babysitter on a daily basis.
“Sure, I can even meet you at the pharmacy, and pick him up from you so he doesn’t have to wait or anything.” He agreed. “Just give me a call at 2:30 and let me know what the plan is. Do you want me to keep him the whole afternoon, like usual?"
“Yes please. He’s already said he wants to come over to your house.”
My ex is not going to win parent of the year contest. I don’t agree with him on a lot of things. But I know I am so lucky. He does truly love the children, and he tries his best to do what’s best for them.
Now, we can play bash the ex next week, because what he thinks is best can be pretty screwy. He really does his best to help the kids and me. And I appreciate it a lot.
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