It's been a long week.
Everyone tells you when you get pregnant with your second child that your heart will fill with enough love for two children. No one tells you it will also fill with twice as much worry.
Lucy's having a hard time at preschool. I don't think it's fair to her for me to share exactly what's going on without her telling me it's okay. And right now, anything you ask her, the answer is "nope." So, I'm pretty sure she'd tell me to zip it. In case you're tallying acceptable blog topics: social and emotional difficulties of my children? No. Marker all over her leg at naptime? Yes. I was telling my husband last night: it feels like it's my life, because I'm in pain about it, but really, it's hers. So, I have to respect that.
But when your child has trouble at school, it's like you're immediately transported back to everytime you were picked last. Everytime you froze while trying to figure out where to sit at lunch. Everytime you watched the mean girls pick on someone else, and cringed while trying to fade into the backround so they wouldn't turn their evil gaze on you. And you really try to forget the times that you were the mean girl.
When I put aside the loftier but somewhat ridiculous goals I have for my kids (did anyone else practice their baby's name with Chief Justice in front of it to make sure it sounded okay?) I really just want them to be happy, and hopefully make it through their childhood relatively unscathed. I am so with Anne Lamott when she prays in "Operating Instructions," that somehow her child will never have to turn thirteen. And she didn't even have a girl.
It's funny how quickly your hopes for your kids change when confronted with the reality of who they really are or could possibly turn out to be, rather than the blank page you've been projecting on since your first ultrasound. And all of a sudden you would give up Chief Justice in a second if it would guarantee your kid a free pass from the mean kids for the next 15 years.
Lucy's having a hard time at preschool. I don't think it's fair to her for me to share exactly what's going on without her telling me it's okay. And right now, anything you ask her, the answer is "nope." So, I'm pretty sure she'd tell me to zip it. In case you're tallying acceptable blog topics: social and emotional difficulties of my children? No. Marker all over her leg at naptime? Yes. I was telling my husband last night: it feels like it's my life, because I'm in pain about it, but really, it's hers. So, I have to respect that.
But when your child has trouble at school, it's like you're immediately transported back to everytime you were picked last. Everytime you froze while trying to figure out where to sit at lunch. Everytime you watched the mean girls pick on someone else, and cringed while trying to fade into the backround so they wouldn't turn their evil gaze on you. And you really try to forget the times that you were the mean girl.
When I put aside the loftier but somewhat ridiculous goals I have for my kids (did anyone else practice their baby's name with Chief Justice in front of it to make sure it sounded okay?) I really just want them to be happy, and hopefully make it through their childhood relatively unscathed. I am so with Anne Lamott when she prays in "Operating Instructions," that somehow her child will never have to turn thirteen. And she didn't even have a girl.
It's funny how quickly your hopes for your kids change when confronted with the reality of who they really are or could possibly turn out to be, rather than the blank page you've been projecting on since your first ultrasound. And all of a sudden you would give up Chief Justice in a second if it would guarantee your kid a free pass from the mean kids for the next 15 years.
You know, what you said about it being Lucy's life even though it feels like your own because she's your child and therefore you have to deal with her school problems? That's exactly the meat of my blog issues with my family.
What one person does, affects EVERYONE in the family differently. If you go off on an exciting trip to China, just because it's your trip doesn't mean it only affects you.
My parents (mom, mostly) seemed to think that my dad's heart problems and eventual surgery was their issue to deal with. My mother made this clear when, in response to friends calling to check on me (when in NY helping the Parental Unit) she turned to me and asked "Why would they call YOU?"
Complicated shit. Lucy may be on to something with her noping. I suspect the president's ratings would go up if, in response to any question that starts with "Mr. President, would you care to comment on..." his response was, "Nope."
I hope the preschool stuff gets better. For you AND for Lucy.