When the Pie was born, I would have given anything to be able to be a stay at home mom. But being single didn’t allow for that, so for the past 3 years, I made the best of it and went off to work every day, knowing that I was providing for our little family. I took every opportunity I could to be with my daughter and enjoy…no, cherish those moments. However, my perspective changed after becoming one of the nation’s unemployed.
I lost my job over 2 months ago and have since spent almost every minute with my daughter. I am able to take her to preschool and pick her up, hearing all the details of her day firsthand. Other than the 2 ½ hours she’s in school 3 days a week, we are together. I love my daughter…more than my next breath…but I don’t understand how full time moms who stay at home don’t lose their ever-loving minds!
There is a limit to how much pretending, coloring, Play-Dough, baby dolls, video games and dress-up one middle aged woman can take! One day last week, I counted how many times in one hour, I had to get up and help the Pie with a computer game or video game, or refill her juice cup, or look at some imagined something: 19. No wonder I am so tired!
In addition, I am constantly thinking about how we’re going to make it financially for one more week. I am receiving unemployment, but it is half of what I was making – which wasn’t’ enough to begin with! It takes a full 3 weeks of unemployment payments just to pay the rent on the house! Then there are the utilities, gas in the car, and other little things that suck up money. The cell phone has been cut off and cable, internet and phone are next to be suspended. I broke down and applied for Food Stamp benefits, but it’s not much. Life is not rosy here, people!
I accompanied the Pie on a class field trip yesterday and was unable to provide $8 for her to participate in all the activities. I felt like a failure – a complete loser - because I had failed to give my daughter what she needed. I had made a promise to myself early on that I would never tell the Pie, “We don’t have the money.” But I had to break that promise yesterday after her begging and pleading wore me down. Today, we will visit the CoinStar machine to cash in some change that has accumulated around the house.
I know that what is important is the time I spend with my daughter. But is it quality time when I am not really there…not present in the moment when she may learn something new or display some wonderful new talent? Part of being a good parent is providing everything…EVERYTHING that a child needs. But there are some days I cannot provide even myself.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
The Filth Dimension
So, you want to hear about my latest project? I have undertaken the task of cleaning my dad's house. I haven't been working, so I decided a good way to use my time would be to get his house in order and in a safer and more healthy condition. I wonder now what the hell I was thinking.
The first day, I spent over an hour cleaning just the main bathroom. It was filthy: the toilet was covered with feces and it took half an hour just scrubbing it to get it clean. I was on my hands and knees washing the floor and even had to wash down the walls because they somehow had poop on them in places. The mountain of used Depends nearly filled a kitchen trash bag and there was all kinds of clutter covering the counter. I tried to convince him to stop keeping urinals by his chair and bed, but he said he needed them. I told him he at least needed to empty them and not leave them sitting out. The Pie could very easily get a hold of them and that thought just sickens me.
So on to the kitchen, where I spent nearly 4 hours. I filled 3 of the 30 gallons trash bags with old food, used tea bags, egg shells, coffee grounds and other unidentifiable items that covered the counters and table. I washed down the counters and the appliances on them as well as scrubbed the sink and did the dishes that were marinating in funky water there. For weeks, he has had 3 fans pointed at the dining table to blow away the bugs that swarmed around it and it disgusted me. I refused to eat anything that was prepared in that kitchen and the Pie was not allowed to walk barefoot in there for fear of her stepping on God knows what!
I started to move on to laundry but Dad said his washer was leaking pretty badly, so I decided to gather it up and bring it home with me. As I was getting it together, I found 2 towels that were covered in dried feces and I discovered later that there were ants and bugs in his laundry basket which I have now introduced into my new house (that really pissed me off)!
I want to help him live in a more healthy environment, but what I don't understand is how he can stand to live in those squallid conditions! He used to rage at my mother for not keeping a clean house and it was NEVER anywhere near the current condition. My thoughts were that if I got everything cleaned, it would be easier for him to keep up with, but I haven't seen any evidence that he is even trying! When I left last Wednesday, the toilet was so clean you could eat off if it and when I was there on Sunday, it had poop all over it again! And the kitchen again had dirty dishes and food sitting out.
What I fear is that he has just given up. He doesn't bathe on a regular basis and when he wants me to cut his hair, I make him wash it first. The cellulitis on his leg is getting worse and about once a month, I have to cut his toe nails and finger nails for him. He finally got hearing aids, but he hardly ever wears them. I've threatened not bringing the Pie there to visit, but that seems to make no impact on him. Sometimes I feel like I am raising 2 kids; one is 3 and lives with me and the other is 81 and lives 20 miles away.
Every time we go out there, the Pie says, "Mama, it stinks in here!" and I just don't know what to say to her. There were "skid marks" on his recliner and she refused to sit in it with him. Even SHE knew it was not a chocolate ice cream stain...I feel like I should threaten him with a nursing home if things don't improve. I just don't know what else to do.
The first day, I spent over an hour cleaning just the main bathroom. It was filthy: the toilet was covered with feces and it took half an hour just scrubbing it to get it clean. I was on my hands and knees washing the floor and even had to wash down the walls because they somehow had poop on them in places. The mountain of used Depends nearly filled a kitchen trash bag and there was all kinds of clutter covering the counter. I tried to convince him to stop keeping urinals by his chair and bed, but he said he needed them. I told him he at least needed to empty them and not leave them sitting out. The Pie could very easily get a hold of them and that thought just sickens me.
So on to the kitchen, where I spent nearly 4 hours. I filled 3 of the 30 gallons trash bags with old food, used tea bags, egg shells, coffee grounds and other unidentifiable items that covered the counters and table. I washed down the counters and the appliances on them as well as scrubbed the sink and did the dishes that were marinating in funky water there. For weeks, he has had 3 fans pointed at the dining table to blow away the bugs that swarmed around it and it disgusted me. I refused to eat anything that was prepared in that kitchen and the Pie was not allowed to walk barefoot in there for fear of her stepping on God knows what!
I started to move on to laundry but Dad said his washer was leaking pretty badly, so I decided to gather it up and bring it home with me. As I was getting it together, I found 2 towels that were covered in dried feces and I discovered later that there were ants and bugs in his laundry basket which I have now introduced into my new house (that really pissed me off)!
I want to help him live in a more healthy environment, but what I don't understand is how he can stand to live in those squallid conditions! He used to rage at my mother for not keeping a clean house and it was NEVER anywhere near the current condition. My thoughts were that if I got everything cleaned, it would be easier for him to keep up with, but I haven't seen any evidence that he is even trying! When I left last Wednesday, the toilet was so clean you could eat off if it and when I was there on Sunday, it had poop all over it again! And the kitchen again had dirty dishes and food sitting out.
What I fear is that he has just given up. He doesn't bathe on a regular basis and when he wants me to cut his hair, I make him wash it first. The cellulitis on his leg is getting worse and about once a month, I have to cut his toe nails and finger nails for him. He finally got hearing aids, but he hardly ever wears them. I've threatened not bringing the Pie there to visit, but that seems to make no impact on him. Sometimes I feel like I am raising 2 kids; one is 3 and lives with me and the other is 81 and lives 20 miles away.
Every time we go out there, the Pie says, "Mama, it stinks in here!" and I just don't know what to say to her. There were "skid marks" on his recliner and she refused to sit in it with him. Even SHE knew it was not a chocolate ice cream stain...I feel like I should threaten him with a nursing home if things don't improve. I just don't know what else to do.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Always Be Prepared
It took weeks of preparation...planning, researching, list-making, shopping. You can't just throw something together willy-nilly at the last minute. You must reflect on all possible outcomes and choose your path. I made phone calls, filled out forms, worried and fretted over the course of action: are we ready? should we wait? Finally, I made the decision and enrolled the Pie in preschool.
It was agonizing for me, because I wanted the Pie to become more socially acclimated for when she starts kindergarten. Her child care arrangement up until recently was just her and Mimi. But I felt she needed to be around kids her own age for her to learn how to share, make friends and impress teachers. So, after much thought and reflection, I found a small church preschool that is affordable and is only two and a half hours 3 days a week. It's located very close to Mimi's house so I felt there was some familiarity for the Pie.
On Meet the Teacher Day, Mimi and I loaded up the Pie and took her to meet the ladies to whom I was entrusting her for the next 9 months. They were lovely ladies - one was a bit too perky for my taste, but we're talking about preschool teachers here, so I guess she filled the bill. During our visit, the Pie was friendly and inquisitive. She was anxious to enter the building and investigate everything available to her. She picked out her chair at the table and claimed to be hers for ever more. I half expected her to plant a flag in it!
On the first day of class, I expected the Pie to experience some separation anxiety. I thought she would cry when I left her, or she would drag her heels on entering the classroom. I envisioned holding her and patting her back while telling her everything would be alright and Mama would be right back to pick her up. Guiltily, I admit I even wanted a little of that. I needed to know she would miss me. Umm...not so much.
When we arrived, she dressed in her black and white toille dress and cute little black shoes, the Pie sprinted to the doors and down the hall to her classroom. She let go of my hand, walked into the room and never looked back. Folks, I was devastated. I wondered what I had done wrong that she was so anxious to get away from me. So eager to be in the care of virtual strangers and be surrounded by kids she didn't know. I honestly stood in the hall, my hand empty of hers, wondering what had just happened. A few seconds later, the Pie came running out of the room and into my arms. "I love you, Mama," she said. And tears rolled down my face. I hugged her with ferocity and kissed the top of her head, breathing in the smell of her lavender shampoo.. What was at first a moment of slight sadness quickly turned to a grand moment of inexplicable joy.
It was in that instant that I realized I had done my job. I had prepared her for the day she would have to leave the safety of home and go to school. I guided her to be strong and independent. I encouraged her to be brave and outgoing, to be honest and respectful. These are tools she will need for the rest of her life and as her mother, I provided her with lessons so that she could acquire them. I was proud of her and proud of myself.
Now, pass the Kleenex...
It was agonizing for me, because I wanted the Pie to become more socially acclimated for when she starts kindergarten. Her child care arrangement up until recently was just her and Mimi. But I felt she needed to be around kids her own age for her to learn how to share, make friends and impress teachers. So, after much thought and reflection, I found a small church preschool that is affordable and is only two and a half hours 3 days a week. It's located very close to Mimi's house so I felt there was some familiarity for the Pie.
On Meet the Teacher Day, Mimi and I loaded up the Pie and took her to meet the ladies to whom I was entrusting her for the next 9 months. They were lovely ladies - one was a bit too perky for my taste, but we're talking about preschool teachers here, so I guess she filled the bill. During our visit, the Pie was friendly and inquisitive. She was anxious to enter the building and investigate everything available to her. She picked out her chair at the table and claimed to be hers for ever more. I half expected her to plant a flag in it!
On the first day of class, I expected the Pie to experience some separation anxiety. I thought she would cry when I left her, or she would drag her heels on entering the classroom. I envisioned holding her and patting her back while telling her everything would be alright and Mama would be right back to pick her up. Guiltily, I admit I even wanted a little of that. I needed to know she would miss me. Umm...not so much.
When we arrived, she dressed in her black and white toille dress and cute little black shoes, the Pie sprinted to the doors and down the hall to her classroom. She let go of my hand, walked into the room and never looked back. Folks, I was devastated. I wondered what I had done wrong that she was so anxious to get away from me. So eager to be in the care of virtual strangers and be surrounded by kids she didn't know. I honestly stood in the hall, my hand empty of hers, wondering what had just happened. A few seconds later, the Pie came running out of the room and into my arms. "I love you, Mama," she said. And tears rolled down my face. I hugged her with ferocity and kissed the top of her head, breathing in the smell of her lavender shampoo.. What was at first a moment of slight sadness quickly turned to a grand moment of inexplicable joy.
It was in that instant that I realized I had done my job. I had prepared her for the day she would have to leave the safety of home and go to school. I guided her to be strong and independent. I encouraged her to be brave and outgoing, to be honest and respectful. These are tools she will need for the rest of her life and as her mother, I provided her with lessons so that she could acquire them. I was proud of her and proud of myself.
Now, pass the Kleenex...
Friday, July 9, 2010
Table of Elephants
I love words– especially when they are written or spoken eloquently or with great humor. Some phrases formed by clever or well placed words can leave impressions behind that take days or weeks or years to fade. My most beloved kinds of words are malapropisms that occur when someone’s tongue or brain or gets ahead of the other and something silly comes tumbling out. My new favorite comes from my dear friend, Dr. Steph. During one of our recent monthly lunch dates, she had me laughing until tears ran freely – mine and hers! She told me of a conversation she had with a friend in which she attempted to say “the element of surprise.” What she actually said (and what I think is WAY funnier) was “the elephant of surprise.”
In my head I immediately pictured an elephant, sneaking around behind bushes, carrying an enormous bundle of balloons and confetti poppers in its trunk, waiting to pounce upon some unsuspecting jungle animal and bellowing “Surprise!” Go ahead…picture it. I DARE you not to at least giggle. That’s funny, right?
Well, that got me thinking about other kinds of “elephants.” So here for your consideration are my thoughts:
The Four Basic Elephants
Water, earth, wind and fire. Naturally (get it), that just makes me imagine a group of funky elephants as 70’s musicians with Afros, dressed in glittering jumpsuits and singing “Boogie Wonderland.” How can disco be dead when there’s a stage full of pachyderms getting’ funky for ya? Of course, they all definitely have a certain…
Elephant of Style
Imagine a dapper pachyderm strolling the city sidewalk, sporting spats, white tie, tails and a top hat! His air of sophistication radiates as he greets passersby with polite bon mots. He’s got grace, wit, big ears and a trunk…he’s stylin’! Perhaps he’s on his way to visit his interior decorator – you know, the one with a dramatic…
Elephant of Design
This fellow is flamboyant and expressive, welcoming discussions of movement, texture, pattern and color. He believes that form follows function in a space and tends toward the boho-chic when decorating his own loft. Picture the elephant poised at an outdoor café table, sipping a venti half-caff mochafrappulattecino, with a dusting of cinnamon. He’s pontificating about the use of accessories in a powder room and wonders if adding built-ins is the way to go. Presently, he is joined by the…
Elephant of Doubt
We all know this guy…we can’t ignore him. He squirms his way into our thoughts and makes us question everything. This suspicious pachyderm doesn’t believe anything is true unless proven in some tangible way. His bushy eyebrows furrow into a “V” above his trunk as he whines, “I don’t know….” about everything from peanuts to popovers. He causes uncertainty among a group and his skepticism can be contagious if allowed to rampage, like elephants are wont to do. And what if he had a brother? He might be the…
Elephant of Danger
He’s a bad boy elephant…the kind your mother warned you about. He has a trunk piercing and a tattoo of barbed wire around his bicep; he drinks Pabst beer and smokes Lucky Strikes. He shot a man in Reno just to watch him die. This dude is a menace, people. He threatens little elephants for their milk money; he swipes candy bars and nudie magazines from convenience stores; he siphons gas out of SUVs to fuel his El Camino as the getaway car after a liquor store robbery. Nothing good can come from hanging around this perilous pachyderm, so run and seek to find the righteous…
Elephant of Truth
This one is virtuous, honest and trustworthy. She seeks to be a positive influence in the lives around her and she never lies, deceives or misleads. I picture her wearing a flowing blouse with bell sleeves and a tie-dyed broomstick skirt. Her huge ears are adorned with sparkly baubles and around her neck hang trinkets made of organic bamboo harvested by free-range itinerant farmers. She speaks of peace and love and harmony and gifts tofu mini muffins. She shops at the farmer’s market and doesn’t shave her legs. Wait – do elephants have hair?
Anyway…
I ran out of steam here. Got any other elements that can be elephants? Let me know.
In my head I immediately pictured an elephant, sneaking around behind bushes, carrying an enormous bundle of balloons and confetti poppers in its trunk, waiting to pounce upon some unsuspecting jungle animal and bellowing “Surprise!” Go ahead…picture it. I DARE you not to at least giggle. That’s funny, right?
Well, that got me thinking about other kinds of “elephants.” So here for your consideration are my thoughts:
The Four Basic Elephants
Water, earth, wind and fire. Naturally (get it), that just makes me imagine a group of funky elephants as 70’s musicians with Afros, dressed in glittering jumpsuits and singing “Boogie Wonderland.” How can disco be dead when there’s a stage full of pachyderms getting’ funky for ya? Of course, they all definitely have a certain…
Elephant of Style
Imagine a dapper pachyderm strolling the city sidewalk, sporting spats, white tie, tails and a top hat! His air of sophistication radiates as he greets passersby with polite bon mots. He’s got grace, wit, big ears and a trunk…he’s stylin’! Perhaps he’s on his way to visit his interior decorator – you know, the one with a dramatic…
Elephant of Design
This fellow is flamboyant and expressive, welcoming discussions of movement, texture, pattern and color. He believes that form follows function in a space and tends toward the boho-chic when decorating his own loft. Picture the elephant poised at an outdoor café table, sipping a venti half-caff mochafrappulattecino, with a dusting of cinnamon. He’s pontificating about the use of accessories in a powder room and wonders if adding built-ins is the way to go. Presently, he is joined by the…
Elephant of Doubt
We all know this guy…we can’t ignore him. He squirms his way into our thoughts and makes us question everything. This suspicious pachyderm doesn’t believe anything is true unless proven in some tangible way. His bushy eyebrows furrow into a “V” above his trunk as he whines, “I don’t know….” about everything from peanuts to popovers. He causes uncertainty among a group and his skepticism can be contagious if allowed to rampage, like elephants are wont to do. And what if he had a brother? He might be the…
Elephant of Danger
He’s a bad boy elephant…the kind your mother warned you about. He has a trunk piercing and a tattoo of barbed wire around his bicep; he drinks Pabst beer and smokes Lucky Strikes. He shot a man in Reno just to watch him die. This dude is a menace, people. He threatens little elephants for their milk money; he swipes candy bars and nudie magazines from convenience stores; he siphons gas out of SUVs to fuel his El Camino as the getaway car after a liquor store robbery. Nothing good can come from hanging around this perilous pachyderm, so run and seek to find the righteous…
Elephant of Truth
This one is virtuous, honest and trustworthy. She seeks to be a positive influence in the lives around her and she never lies, deceives or misleads. I picture her wearing a flowing blouse with bell sleeves and a tie-dyed broomstick skirt. Her huge ears are adorned with sparkly baubles and around her neck hang trinkets made of organic bamboo harvested by free-range itinerant farmers. She speaks of peace and love and harmony and gifts tofu mini muffins. She shops at the farmer’s market and doesn’t shave her legs. Wait – do elephants have hair?
Anyway…
I ran out of steam here. Got any other elements that can be elephants? Let me know.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Technology Tirade
Technology is a most wonderful thing! I recently acquired a new cell phone upon which I can access email, write letters, build spreadsheets, take pictures, send those pictures, text message, schedule meetings, compose ringtones…oh yeah, and make calls. It’s a fancy little item that both intrigues and frightens me. Most technology does.
Even in the realm of electronic toys, I am occasionally baffled. Yeah, I know how to push buttons, but that’s the least of it. Now kid’s electronics come with stylus pens and draw pads, interactive screens and talking hosts (in both English and Spanish, I might add)!! Video games now have buttons and sticks, and slideys and whammer-dingers…as humans, we don’t even have enough digits to operate all those things! When video games first arrived in my periphery, it consisted of a black screen, flanked by two white bars and a mind-numbing game of catch. Pong – that game stole about 1300 hours of my childhood from me! Now Asteroids, that’s the ticket! I imagine I could retire a wealthy woman and never have to work again if only I could recoup all the quarters spent at the Silver Mine!
What else did I have when I was a kid? Etch-A-Sketch and Clik-Claks! It took roughly 18 months for me to learn how to draw a circle on the damn Etch-A-Sketch and the only real application of the Clik-Claks, apart from imposing a concussion upon myself, was to hang around my neck as the stunt-double for my as-yet-to-arrive breasts! When I was three, the current age of the Pie, I played with rubber bands, sticks and balloons. The Pie, she plays, video games featuring her favorite TV show characters. There’s a Wow Wow Wubbzy! Game where she maneuvers through Wuzzleberg to catch a 50 foot fleegle. There’s a Dora the Explorer game where she goes hunting for presents for her new puppy; and there’s even an Alphabet Park game that requires her identify letters and spell words. Well, at least there was.
I am sad to report that the video game console has gone to the great scrap heap in the sky. The Pie was inconsolable….until it was removed from her vision and replaced with something more far more advanced and mysterious…. Mama’s makeup!
Even in the realm of electronic toys, I am occasionally baffled. Yeah, I know how to push buttons, but that’s the least of it. Now kid’s electronics come with stylus pens and draw pads, interactive screens and talking hosts (in both English and Spanish, I might add)!! Video games now have buttons and sticks, and slideys and whammer-dingers…as humans, we don’t even have enough digits to operate all those things! When video games first arrived in my periphery, it consisted of a black screen, flanked by two white bars and a mind-numbing game of catch. Pong – that game stole about 1300 hours of my childhood from me! Now Asteroids, that’s the ticket! I imagine I could retire a wealthy woman and never have to work again if only I could recoup all the quarters spent at the Silver Mine!
What else did I have when I was a kid? Etch-A-Sketch and Clik-Claks! It took roughly 18 months for me to learn how to draw a circle on the damn Etch-A-Sketch and the only real application of the Clik-Claks, apart from imposing a concussion upon myself, was to hang around my neck as the stunt-double for my as-yet-to-arrive breasts! When I was three, the current age of the Pie, I played with rubber bands, sticks and balloons. The Pie, she plays, video games featuring her favorite TV show characters. There’s a Wow Wow Wubbzy! Game where she maneuvers through Wuzzleberg to catch a 50 foot fleegle. There’s a Dora the Explorer game where she goes hunting for presents for her new puppy; and there’s even an Alphabet Park game that requires her identify letters and spell words. Well, at least there was.
I am sad to report that the video game console has gone to the great scrap heap in the sky. The Pie was inconsolable….until it was removed from her vision and replaced with something more far more advanced and mysterious…. Mama’s makeup!
No service will be held to honor the precious life given in service to the Pie.
Donations may be made to the Ginormous Thumb Rehabilitation Clinic.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
I am currently reading the most informative and horrifying book imaginable. It portrays scenes that leave me chilled to the bone and questioning myself and those around me. Conversely, it is significantly empowering because it has revealed a myriad of information that I need to file away for the future and some I need to utilize right this second!
The book? “Protecting the Gift: Keeping Children and Teenagers Safe (And Parents Sane)” by renowned security expert Gavin de Becker. Doesn’t sound all that terrifying does it? With each vignette exposing the vulnerability of a mother with walking in a parking lot her daughter or the manipulation of a young child, I wonder how I can possibly keep my Pie safe from unnecessary harm and fear. De Becker discusses the meaning of fear throughout these pages, explaining the separation of "manufactured fear," from "natural" fear. I am not a worry wart, but I do have valid concerns about my daughter. However, for those who worry excessively he comments, "everybody dies, but not everybody lives." He flatly states that worry increases risk and "to protect your child you must believe in yourself."
Because I am reading this book, I am now hyperaware of the existence and possibility of dangerous situations and overly analytical of things I hear and see. For instance, last night the Pie asked me to tickle her “inside” and pointed between her legs. My stomach did flip-flops, my eyes did that AAOOOGAH thing from cartoons and my heart raced. I asked her immediately what she meant and who tickled her inside, but she just said, “You, mama!” Perplexed, I pushed for more information, but she shut down and began playing with other toys. Her Mimi witnessed the exchange and was equally disturbed. I mentally reviewed where she had been over the last few weeks, when she had been without me, who she had been exposed to and nothing made sense. There was no way she could have been compromised! And I was not in denial; the pieces of the puzzle simply did not fit.
Later, after bath and as we settled into her bed for story time, I asked her again about being tickled inside. Through a series of thinly veiled questions and some role play, I learned: “You Mama! When you do belly button tickles it feels funny in there.”
However ideally it would have been, it did NOT occur like this:
ME: So, tell me, Pie…how is it you came by the knowledge of being tickled inside and who, if I may be so bold to inquire, has ever done that to you?
PIE: Oh, silly mother…it was no one other than yourself! You see, when you apply light pressure to my umbilical scar, a tingling sensation results inside my abdomen!
In actuality, it was mostly like this:
ME: Where did you learn about tickling inside?
PIE: What? (accompanied by furrowed brow)
ME: Who showed you about tickling inside?
PIE: What? (accompanied by wrinkled nose and scowl)
ME: Did someone tickle you inside?
PIE: Yes.
ME: Who was it?
PIE: What? (accompanied by cocked head and widened eyes)
My daughter loves to be tickled and practically demands that I do it. Sometimes I give her the Tickle Spider, who devours her belly; other times, it’s the Tickle Worm, who goes after those sweet little folds in her neck; others she gets a Horsey Corn on her thigh or a Something Funny Under There for her armpits. She squeals and laughs and orders more. Those are such precious sounds.
Gavin de Becker says, "Throughout history half of all children failed to reach adult-hood ... childhood is safe only when adults make it so." I say, it's only when the right adults make it so...
The book? “Protecting the Gift: Keeping Children and Teenagers Safe (And Parents Sane)” by renowned security expert Gavin de Becker. Doesn’t sound all that terrifying does it? With each vignette exposing the vulnerability of a mother with walking in a parking lot her daughter or the manipulation of a young child, I wonder how I can possibly keep my Pie safe from unnecessary harm and fear. De Becker discusses the meaning of fear throughout these pages, explaining the separation of "manufactured fear," from "natural" fear. I am not a worry wart, but I do have valid concerns about my daughter. However, for those who worry excessively he comments, "everybody dies, but not everybody lives." He flatly states that worry increases risk and "to protect your child you must believe in yourself."
Because I am reading this book, I am now hyperaware of the existence and possibility of dangerous situations and overly analytical of things I hear and see. For instance, last night the Pie asked me to tickle her “inside” and pointed between her legs. My stomach did flip-flops, my eyes did that AAOOOGAH thing from cartoons and my heart raced. I asked her immediately what she meant and who tickled her inside, but she just said, “You, mama!” Perplexed, I pushed for more information, but she shut down and began playing with other toys. Her Mimi witnessed the exchange and was equally disturbed. I mentally reviewed where she had been over the last few weeks, when she had been without me, who she had been exposed to and nothing made sense. There was no way she could have been compromised! And I was not in denial; the pieces of the puzzle simply did not fit.
Later, after bath and as we settled into her bed for story time, I asked her again about being tickled inside. Through a series of thinly veiled questions and some role play, I learned: “You Mama! When you do belly button tickles it feels funny in there.”
However ideally it would have been, it did NOT occur like this:
ME: So, tell me, Pie…how is it you came by the knowledge of being tickled inside and who, if I may be so bold to inquire, has ever done that to you?
PIE: Oh, silly mother…it was no one other than yourself! You see, when you apply light pressure to my umbilical scar, a tingling sensation results inside my abdomen!
In actuality, it was mostly like this:
ME: Where did you learn about tickling inside?
PIE: What? (accompanied by furrowed brow)
ME: Who showed you about tickling inside?
PIE: What? (accompanied by wrinkled nose and scowl)
ME: Did someone tickle you inside?
PIE: Yes.
ME: Who was it?
PIE: What? (accompanied by cocked head and widened eyes)
My daughter loves to be tickled and practically demands that I do it. Sometimes I give her the Tickle Spider, who devours her belly; other times, it’s the Tickle Worm, who goes after those sweet little folds in her neck; others she gets a Horsey Corn on her thigh or a Something Funny Under There for her armpits. She squeals and laughs and orders more. Those are such precious sounds.
Gavin de Becker says, "Throughout history half of all children failed to reach adult-hood ... childhood is safe only when adults make it so." I say, it's only when the right adults make it so...
Friday, June 4, 2010
Hover Craft
I am not one of those “helicopter parents” that hovers over their children every moment to ensure their absolute safety. I am of the opinion that kids need to learn some lessons the hard way - like touching a hot stove, or running barefoot on wet concrete. Those things will leave an impression, but not a life-long scar. However, an incident over Memorial Day weekend may well serve to alter the course of my future hovering – most especially around bodies of water larger than a puddle. It was an exciting weekend: my lovely “niece” had her beautiful wedding to a handsome and brave man, the Pie and I had gone to the zoo and had a fun day together. And then it happened: the temptation of the swimming pool beckoned to us. So we loaded up and followed L and J to their new house to celebrate the holiday. A cook out was imminent, complete with potato salad and baked beans and I was anxious to get in the pool…but not nearly as anxious as the Pie!
Upon arrival at the new house, the Pie and H & H ran full tilt boogie through the mostly empty house and then discovered there was a large hole out back full of water and a few other things I can’t bring myself to talk about right now. Anyway, the pool eventually cleared and they stripped to their cartoon embellished undies and got in with an adult.
A few minutes later, I turned around to witness one of the most horrifying sights a mother can imagine.
My daughter’s head was partially under water, only her giant blue eyes and golden hair visible at about the 4 foot deep mark. I could see her arms and legs churning beneath the surface, but she just couldn’t make any headway. I was frozen to the spot – all I could do was scream her name, which I realize now is not overly helpful in this type of situation. Suddenly, I heard a splash behind me and the Pie was being hauled up out of the water. L had appeared from out of nowhere to rescue the Pie from drowning. As her bluish lips coughed up water, she began to shake and cry. I grabbed her and held her so tight, I probably cracked a rib, but I had to make sure she was alive and okay. When she said, “Me go swimming again?” I wanted to adamantly refuse and pack up and leave. She comforted me by saying, “Me wear my floaties dis time, okay Mama?” At least she knows something about being safe. I then stood in a corner of the year and hyperventilated a little…just a strange little aftereffect of sheer panic!
The rest of the day, my eyes never left her. They followed her as she bobbed in the water surrounded by her friends and many floatation devices, as she ate her hot dog and chips and as she conquered her fear of jumping into the water. I relaxed only when I knew she was napping safely inside the house.
As we drove home, I considered how we could have ended up just a holiday statistic; a tragic story in the paper the next day. I considered locking her in her bedroom for the next 15 years or moving to an Ashram in a remote mountain community. But the truth is, she will face danger every day of her life. Whether it’s a hot stove, a pointy stick, a swimming pool, a stranger, or furniture that seems to jump out at her when she’s running through the house, she will experience pain and aches, injury and fear. And while I would like to make absolutely certain that nothing ever happens to her, what kind of life would that be for her? Nothing would EVER happen to her.
Upon arrival at the new house, the Pie and H & H ran full tilt boogie through the mostly empty house and then discovered there was a large hole out back full of water and a few other things I can’t bring myself to talk about right now. Anyway, the pool eventually cleared and they stripped to their cartoon embellished undies and got in with an adult.
A few minutes later, I turned around to witness one of the most horrifying sights a mother can imagine.
My daughter’s head was partially under water, only her giant blue eyes and golden hair visible at about the 4 foot deep mark. I could see her arms and legs churning beneath the surface, but she just couldn’t make any headway. I was frozen to the spot – all I could do was scream her name, which I realize now is not overly helpful in this type of situation. Suddenly, I heard a splash behind me and the Pie was being hauled up out of the water. L had appeared from out of nowhere to rescue the Pie from drowning. As her bluish lips coughed up water, she began to shake and cry. I grabbed her and held her so tight, I probably cracked a rib, but I had to make sure she was alive and okay. When she said, “Me go swimming again?” I wanted to adamantly refuse and pack up and leave. She comforted me by saying, “Me wear my floaties dis time, okay Mama?” At least she knows something about being safe. I then stood in a corner of the year and hyperventilated a little…just a strange little aftereffect of sheer panic!
The rest of the day, my eyes never left her. They followed her as she bobbed in the water surrounded by her friends and many floatation devices, as she ate her hot dog and chips and as she conquered her fear of jumping into the water. I relaxed only when I knew she was napping safely inside the house.
As we drove home, I considered how we could have ended up just a holiday statistic; a tragic story in the paper the next day. I considered locking her in her bedroom for the next 15 years or moving to an Ashram in a remote mountain community. But the truth is, she will face danger every day of her life. Whether it’s a hot stove, a pointy stick, a swimming pool, a stranger, or furniture that seems to jump out at her when she’s running through the house, she will experience pain and aches, injury and fear. And while I would like to make absolutely certain that nothing ever happens to her, what kind of life would that be for her? Nothing would EVER happen to her.
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