Little Push

She did it again.

Sigh. 




It was the end of a really great morning and both girls had a great time. When we stopped at the corner to say goodbye Ada pushed Sarah. This happened 3 weeks ago and I lamented to my friends about it - mostly about the fact that I was really angry with her and that actually scared me. This time, I was shocked, yes, but also really wanted to hang my head with my face buried in my hands. My mind was stuck on "Oh for fuck's sake" but I said something like, "No! No pushing! Why did you push her?" then scooped Sarah up and handed her to Kathi. I closed my eyes at Tom, shook my head from side to side ,muttered an apology and scurried to the car with Ada.

On the way, she sweetly pointed out, "Sarah's crying. Mom, Sarah's crying." 

I took a deep breath before I spoke to Ada. Words can carry an unspeakable weight and I didn't want to screw this up. But I think I might have. I told her, "Yes, Sarah is crying. Sarah is crying because you pushed her down. That hurt Sarah, that hurt Sarah's feelings. Sarah is crying because of something you did. Ada made Sarah cry."

I don't know if Ada understood this all because she was still telling me that Sarah was crying. I told her how if she pushes other little kids that they won't want to play with her. By the time we got to the car I was really on a roll and I speculated that I didn't know if she could play with Sarah again. That it would be a miracle if her mother allowed her to play with Sarah and I could hardly blame her.

She must have understood this part of it because this was when she started crying. She was very quiet in the car. When we got home I told her to go to her father. He put her down for a nap.



I spent the rest of the day thinking about  it - about what happened, about my response to it. I was disappointed in her behavior, yes. My child isn't an ogre or a bully. In fact, she's typically very sweet, considerate, affectionate and lovely.

However, when she needs her personal space she doesn't really know what to do about that. I keep telling her to say, "no thank you" when another kid is trying to hug her or something. It doesn't always work though. It wasn't until later that I recognized that this is where I've failed her: rather than giving her a second step I just gave her step one and left her on her own to figure out the rest, which she did. Instead of stepping away or turning around or asking again or saying "I need space, please", which are all options I should have given her, she pushes the other child away. I didn't give her the tools she needed.

I failed her in this way and I'm miserable about it.



Then there's my response. This is something I think about ALL THE TIME. Words can carry more sting than a spanking - they can be so powerful and make a lasting impression. I don't want to use guilt or manipulation to make her behave. I believe that there is a much better, gentler, more compassionate way to raise children. Finding role models for this has been...harder than I had hoped. I'm figuring it out as I go, often making my own rules and mistakes.

Take  the day in question, for example. I might have said too much or been too severe in my delivery in the car on the way home. I saved what I really had to say to her for when we were alone, which made me think that I was about to say something I might be ashamed of. I consciously tried to not speak impulsively. I tried not to but what if I didn't exercise enough restraint?

I gave her the cold shoulder once we got home. That wasn't good. I reasoned that it was better to not say anything than to say things that were really hurtful and damaging. Does this qualify as with holding love? I hope not. Even when she has behaved badly I love her even if I am upset with her.

Knowing unconditional love is one of the cornerstones of being the parent I WANT to be.



Then there's the part where I have to be honest: I was upset by how her behavior might reflect on me. I was embarrassed. I didn't want anyone to think I was a bad mother or that my kid was a bad seed. I felt so ashamed of her behavior and wondered if my response to it was "right" enough. The only thing worse than kid A being mean to kid B is the parent of kid A doing nothing about it. I wondered if Ada would be allowed to play with Sarah again. I worried that this meant I was a bad mother, a bad role model. The fear from 3 weeks ago struck me again - one day, will I be so angry that I can't forgive her quickly enough and it creates a distance between us?

Have I already begun to fail?

Things happen with toddlers, especially when they're just learning how to control their impulses. We all get that on some level, or at least I think we do. Don't we? Maybe I'm over-thinking it but I feel like the door has been cracked open juuuust enough to let me see more of the issues that await us as she grows up. I don't want to be unprepared, to have not thought ahead and anticipated problems, because doing so also lets me plan my reaction a bit better. Somehow I expected that at my age I'd have a better idea of how to handle all of this. How disappointing to learn that I don't have the answers.

I have so much to learn.

Swimming

We tried before and it interfered with nap time so we quit.

Now that her nap schedule is completely opposite of what it has been before we thought we'd give swim class another try. So I woke up at midnight register her online for the same class as Sarah and Mia, looked for swimsuits that fit her and talked about it excitedly for weeks.

This was the initial result:



Then Sarah and Mia arrived and from across the pool we all heard:
Ada: "SARAH!"
Sarah: "ADA!"
Ada: "SARAH!"
SARAH: "ADA!"

You'd never know they had only parted ways about 16 hours earlier. The rest of the class she looked more like this:



My little fishy is back. And now when we wash her hair we remind her of how she showered with Sarah after swim class  and she miraculously doesn't even cry anymore. Well, mostly that's true.

Last week they told me that I can only take pictures on the first and last day of class because of "privacy". Lame.

where is my heart right now?

It's hard to understand where my heart is right now. My father is in the hospital again, my mother-in-law is facing losing 2 friends at once, 2 friends are watching as their relationships - the very structure of their lives - dissolve before their eyes and still another friend is watching helplessly as her mother plays out the final acts of self-destruction. Late last night we found out that dear friends of ours learned that their miracle baby had gone to heaven just the day before they planned to welcome her into their family via scheduled C-section. Within me are feelings of concern, compassion, sympathy, empathy and I-don't-even-know-what-to-call-this-depth-of-despair/it's-so-scary-I-can't-even-go-there-yet.

Sometimes life isn't fair. Sometimes it takes a wild turn from unfair to downright cruel. Sometimes I can't explain exactly why, if there is a benevolent God, He would allow a woman nearly 40 weeks to bond with a baby - to get so close - and then force her to deliver it stillborn. No explanation I've ever heard makes this make sense to me.

And while none of these things are happening directly to me, I can't help but hurt deeply and intensely for these people I care about. I am in my little nest sitting on a chair in Ada's room listening to her sleep, drinking tea and trying to make sense of it all. How will I explain things like this to her when she's old enough to understand that something really bad is happening to someone else? What will I teach her to do for others when they are hurting so deeply? And, the worst to imagine because I recognize how inevitable it is, what will I do when something heart-breaking happens to her? 

I have a hard time explaining it to myself or knowing what to do. You can't hug someone from 3000 miles away but it hardly seems to matter. Hell, I can turn around and hug my friend who is watching the life she was dreaming of dissolve before her eyes. And I have. But it didn't fix anything. God knows, that's what I want to do: fix it, make him take it back, rewind the hands of time so that it wasn't a day too late. I can't do it. Neither can anyone else.

Some things just hurt like hell and will continue to hurt like hell for a long time. It's horrible to watch someone you love have to walk a path of hardship alone. To want so, so badly to bear their cross for them for a while. It occurs to me that the stupid old saying is right: there are battles in life that nobody else can fight for you. At the core of all the supportive people lifting you up, in some ways you are still on your own. That sounds so fatalistic and hopeless when I re-read it. But I think that anyone who has suffered a great loss or a crushing set-back knows what I mean.

So what is there to do? The only thing I can think to do is continually reach out and offer over and over again to do anything they need. But maybe right now they don't know what they need. Not running away, not avoiding. Remembering that painful day in the future. Speaking with sensitivity. Send a thoughtful gift, a nurturing and supportive gesture.

What am I missing? What do you do for a loved one who is hurting? How do you explain these kinds of things to your kids?

The Way Sunday Was Meant to Be

I woke up Sunday morning and didn't go to work like I usually do. We all slept in a little bit. Ada came and snuggled in the bed. We sipped our coffee rather than taking big tongue-burning gulps between morning tasks designed to get us out the door. Ada chose to shower with me. The sun was shining outside so I dressed her in a spring-y dress and stripped tights.


We dyed Easter eggs this morning, old friends and new friends. Lovely.





I'll turn in my letter of resignation this week, a day that I have been dreaming of for years now. My last day at this job will be 7 weeks from now. As that day gets closer - the one where the heavy metal door slams with finality behind me and my keys and swipe card are left behind on what used to be my desk - I feel like I am slowly waking up. Slowly coming alive.

Mostly, I'm totally excited to have more than just one day a week to hang out with my husband and child. It may not sound like a big deal, but one day a week as a family? It's been a real drag. One day to pass off the responsibility so that you can carve a wee bit of time for yourself. One day to do all of the visiting we want to do. One day to plan things, do things. It's not left much time for fun. Working every Sunday has been one of the main reasons I can hardly wait to be done with my job. I miss my family and I am missing important time with my family.

Last night Tim yells, "Hey!! Come take a picture of us!" Ada was singing If You're Happy and You Know It and clapping her hands madly.

More leisurely Sundays will be coming my way soon: soccer practice, grocery runs, newspapers being read, an extra pot of coffee being brewed, toasted bagels with extra orange marmalade...all just because you can. Remembering back to 3 years ago when I had Sundays off, I think this is the way they were meant to be.