cute little liars

Ok – so, yes .. kids lie. It’s a natural fact. Although, I would say – depending on the age – they are presenting us with ‘an altered version of the truth they would prefer’. Especially, the younger ones love to tell those fantastic stories of what they did and whom they saw and whatnot. It’s cute. It’s not so cute with my nine-year-old anymore but I have been letting her get away with it just because I don’t want to cause a break-down on her part, because, parents will know, calling those little munchkins on their BS creates a reverse effect. Instead of remorse or apologies, we get anger, tears, or arguments.

Yesterday, I finally decided to put my foot down. I had just picked her up from her after school program and she cheerily reminded me about all this candy we have to buy for the ginger bread house they were going to build at school tomorrow. I don’t know why I decided to pick the battle at this moment. Maybe she was entirely too happy to match my grumpy mood. I don’t know, but, the mommy monster came out and I basically ended up making her cry and tell me she doesn’t want to go shopping for candy anymore. With quite a bit of attitude, I expressed my disdain for her apparent twisting of the truth, for it could not possibly be so that out of a list of 10 ingredients she has to bring eight. What were the other children bringing? It seemed like an excuse to buy a whole lot of candy for herself. Ach – it was awful. I was awful. I ended up taking her to the store anywhere and we bought just a few items, which she settled for but my moment of truth came the next day, after I had already dropped her off at school. I was at home, preparing my coffee when I glanced at the original letter from her teachers, announcing the ginger bread house building party. And - I cannot adequately express the guilt that shot through me when I read the first paragraph, which I had only flown over when Nini first handed me the letter. It said that EACH child should bring the following: … and then below were all the ingredients listed for the ginger bread house. I almost started crying. I felt so bad. Nini had NOT been lying to me. She really was supposed to bring all the items on the list, I just hadn’t read the letter properly.

I ran out that house faster than ever, jumped into my car, tried not slip on the icy roads, raced to the store to buy the rest of the ingredients and drove all the way back to her school to deliver them. And you know what Nini told me, hopping up with joy to hug me when I handed her the bags with an apology? -- “Mommy, you’re the best!!” -- No, I’m not, is what I wanted to respond. I suck! I was awful to you. … but instead, I gave her a big, fat smooch and walked out of the school with a clean conscience, thanking God for letting me make up for this one.

Parenting is full of guilt for me these days. Am I being too strict, am I too lenient, was I too mean, did I just provide her with a bad memory to carry around with her for the rest of her life? Ultimately, it probably doesn't matter, for they are going to be what they're going to be. We can't really control who they are and what they'll become.

There is poem I once read. I remember it often as I go through the struggles of raising kids.

"If I Had My Child to Raise Over Again"

by Diane Loomans

If I had my child to raise all over again,


I'd build self esteem first, and the house later.


I'd fingerpaint more, and point the finger less.


I would do less correcting and more connecting.


I'd take my eyes off my watch, and watch with my eyes.


I would care to know less and know to care more.


I'd take more hikes and fly more kites.


I'd stop playing serious, and seriously play.


I would run through more fields and gaze at more stars.


I'd do more hugging and less tugging.


I'd see the oak tree in the acorn more often.


I would be firm less often, and affirm much more.


I'd model less about the love of power,
 And more about the power of love.

i'm not reading comments (maybe)

ok - so .. another blog. I don't know why I don't just tack my writings onto each other and instead decide to divide my traffic this way. i suppose, i don't really care about traffic too much and more about remaining anonymous. of course, with blogger (aka google) linking your blog to your name and google profile, that isn't really going to work. so, i'm out. judge me if you want. i write pretty bluntly, i often rant, i try to be funny (but occasionally people don't get it .. or i'm just not funny); sometimes i change my mind, sometimes i reread an entry months later and realize i sound pretentious - you may notice this right away, but please cut me some slack and don't destroy my spirit with mean comments. actually, i should probably not read the comments to prevent spirit destruction and termination of blogging drive. oh, and in case you haven't noticed -- i write as i think, and it's (mostly) all lower case (not always) -- which may not produce the most elegant syntax but it's how i have to do it to make it flow (here). and i love parentheses (it's for my after-thoughts .. or concurrent thoughts, rather).

i will try to blog at least twice a week. so book-mark me if you don't want to lose me in the blogosphere.

why do i write?

because i must.  i have several blogs (started in 2005) but they are all disconnected (or most of them are) because they represent such different sides of me, which i fear may alienate people. especially, if the person who reads this knows me. of course, one thing i have learned is that we _all_ have our different sides. some have darker or more depressing secrets than others but (especially as one gets older) nobody just has a happy dandy life without any interference of drama, sadness, or insanity.

anyway, ... this blog will just be about my daily parenting struggles. it is a continuation of a blog i kept on marriage and the challenges of raising small children with a full-time job and an inert husband. i was married for 12 years. we divorced when my daughters were 5 and 3 years old after which i entered a relationship with a man who became my best friend. he turned out to be deeply troubled but he was my soul-mate and in my time with him i learned the meaning of true unconditional love. i loved him _unconditionally_ and when he died, at age 36, in the beginning of this year, I think he knew that.