parenting

RANT: An Open Monologue to My Kid

~ Bon Steele ~ 2 Comments

Hi. Hope you are having a fantastic time with your Grammy and all. I really do. I know that getting to see all the multitudinous cousins and etc. on your Dad’s side of the family is super-fun. Plus, you’re getting your travel on, which is always exciting.
However, I’d like to point something out to you.

Paris, TX  is at least 7 hours away from our home by car. Probably a bit more, knowing your Grammy’s propensity for back roads. So, even though I knew that the likelihood was that everything would be alright  – I still asked that you text and/or call when you reached your destination.

Imagine the Wayne's World flashback noise. That is TOTALLY the sound this image makes.

Let’s pause here for a moment for a bit of wibbly-wobbly flashback, mmkay?

I used to be ninja-mom1. Do you remember that?

It’s true. I used to dive in front of anything that even looked remotely dangerous to you. Not that you didn’t make things interesting, what with your propensity to climbing and basic fearlessness. The fireplace mantel incident springs to mind, as an example of your own super-power: teleportation to dangerous places.
I was scared to teach you to ride your bike for fear that you’d fall and brain yourself.
Taking you to the pool was an exercise in twitching every time you squealed.
The park was a dark place, full of terror.
And forget letting you go off with a group of friends. No WAY could you foresee all the dangers out there. Ten years old is not old enough to go up the street by yourself to a friend’s house.
It literally took me YEARS to learn to let go of you. To allow you to go and do things without me hovering over you, ready with the cotton batting to swaddle you in. To keep you safe. Safe from harm, safe from other people, safe from the world.
Years.

 

 

*deep breath*

You’re now almost-13-years old. You’re so strong and capable and smart. You’re growing up so very fast. In just a few years, you will be out the door on new adventures.  I am super proud of everything that you are and are becoming.

Possibly the cutest baby, ever.

Keep in mind, though that in a small part of my brain, you’re still that teeny little baby with the fluff of hair grasping my fingers. You still cry in pain all night and I can’t figure out why and I can’t help and I don’t know what to do and I can’t sleep and I can’t help you and please oh please help my girl because she can’t keep anything down and she hurts and help her please please please2.

All I am saying is that when I ask you to check in with me? It isn’t because I don’t trust you. It’s because I want to know you have arrived safely at your destination.  I am not asking you to call and update me every day. Just let me know that there hasn’t been a fiery crash or an alien invasion. Mmkay?

So. Thank you for eventually texting me that you were in Paris, TX.  I am a bit upset that you waited for two days and 4 calls from me to do so. When you return home, we are going to do some work on being more mindful of others.

In the meantime, enjoy your trip, your cousins and your adventure. I love you.

1 – Anxiety plus mom plus a touch of the anal retentiveness equals NINJA-MOM. (*cue thematic music*)
2 – Colic. It is pure torture for everyone involved. For moms with anxiety, it is hell on earth.

This is why we can’t have nice things

~ Bon Steele ~ Leave a comment

 

Because I will forget where I put them.

Due to a variety of things like:  brain-fog due to insomnia issues, being elbow-deep in trying to flesh out plot points for the Talislanta game, trying to find a Day-Job to make some cash before $WinterHoliday!, trying to find a different Night-Job for when spring semester starts, panicking about spring semester, 12-year old girl-child (enough said), writing fiction and sending it out to magazine editors so they can return it1, writing a love scene2 for a longer piece of fiction that I am working on, and the day-to-day that happens when you live with other people…

I have absolutely zero brain anymore. A raccoon stole it like a carpet in the night. 3

 

 

 

1 – On the plus side, at least they are returning it with personal notes instead of simple form letters. Unless the form letters have gotten sneakier. Which, I admit, they may have. Oh, crap. Now I’m wondering about that too.  :/

2 – Why is that I can write horrible, scary, funny or sad … but tenderness and love are beyond me?
Wait. Don’t answer that.

3 – If you people aren’t mousing over my pictures for the text-floats or clicking on the links in my blogs – I don’t know what is wrong with you. I really don’t.

O sleep, O gentle sleep, Nature’s soft nurse, how have I frightened thee?

~ Bon Steele ~ 4 Comments
Title is from William Shakespeare, Henry IV, Part Two

I sincerely hope that the door creaking open and quickly shut downstairs was my kid. You can’t see it, but I am totally making a scaredy-face.

Hello? Someone there?

I have no real insights or funnies today, unfortunately. I’m too freaking tired. Between travel and nighttime coughing – either my own or Mister Man’s – I haven’t gotten a decent night’s sleep in a while. I miss the sleep I had when I was a kid. Do y’all remember that sort of sleep? Where you just passed out in whatever position you happened to be in, and then slept all the way through until someone woke you up? I keep wanting to tell the Girl that she should cherish it now – in just a few short years, it will all go away. I’m pretty sure she would use it to argue against getting up in the morning for school, though. No way I’m handing her any ammunition for the ongoing Morning Skirmishes.

Ready the cannons! Let loose the Hounds of Laundry!

This morning’s battle lines were actually over socks instead of snooze. I won’t get into many details except to say that wearing yesterday’s (or the day before that’s) socks Is Not Acceptable and no, we are not.discussing.this.goputonCLEANSOCKSNOW!!!

Ahem.

Sorry ‘bout that.
One of these days, I will get through a morning routine without a drama flare or a puppy-dog lip quiver or any sort of envelope pushing. Because that would be freaking awesome. I do realize that it is just the stage she’s at – that she is pushing boundaries because her endocrine system is not only secreting enough hormones to fell an elephant, but her brain is making structural changes as well. Doesn’t make it ANY easier when she pushes yet another shiny, candy-like button in my brain.

I use the knowledge like other parents might use counting:
“One…two…three…structural changes….five…pituitary out of control….seven…mass hysteria, dogs and cats living together….”

I’m positive that even the Buddha was a terrible teen; I’m sure he rolled his eyes and stared moodily at the ceiling all the while thinking that no one understood him.

Bitch, you want me to wear WHAT?

EVERYbody goes through it. The trick is to continue to enforce the rules without forgetting what being that age was like. I recall being twelve1.  It sucked. You couldn’t do half the stuff you wanted because you weren’t old enough – and yet, you were expected to start taking on more responsibilities. Also? The homework load got geometrically bigger as well as more difficult. All of this while you’re experiencing emotions that careen out of control, from rage to sobbing in 4.2 nanoseconds.

Being a tween/teen is rough. I truly grok. I still want you to wear clean socks. Every day.
Why? Because I’m your Mom and I want the best for you. Which includes you not smelling like moldy corn chips. So go put on the clean socks – there’s some in your drawers – right now. Hup, hup, hup.

1 – For the record, my parents said that twelve is “when you lost your damn mind.”  I’m sure that they’re right.