teenager

Prom Pictures (ZOMG!)

May 21, 2012 By Lisa Leave a Comment

I can’t believe I have a daughter old enough to not only attend prom, but old enough to look like this:

Kind-of blows my mind, y’know? In the blink of an eye or a snap of your finger, WHAM, it happens and they grow and instead of Barbies, it’s make up. Or boys. Or prom.

Hard to believe we’re going to be sending her off to college in a little over a year.

The childhood firsts never stop happening, even when they reach teenage-hood. She starts work at her first job this week (tomorrow, to be exact). We’ll be enrolling her in driver’s ed to get her license, and shopping for her first car.

(Let’s not forget to mention that, being our first and oldest, it’s OUR first time, too, doing this as parents.)

It all feels like it’s happening too fast.

Constant Interruptions and Taking Back the Quiet

April 25, 2012 By Lisa Leave a Comment

“Mommy? What does a butterfly’s legs look like?” My sweet-faced, girly-voiced five-year-old asked me, while coloring the big box I gave her so she could make a pretend car.

“They’re small like..”

“Princesses?” She interrupts.

“No, baby. Let me finish. They’re like..” I attempt to continue.

“Ladybugs?” Interrupting yet again.

“Baby? Can I finish what I’m trying to tell you, please?” I plead with her, blood simmering to boil within me.

“Otay.” She seemingly sounded sincere.

“Butterflies have little legs kind-of like..”

“Legs?” Interjecting. Once. Again.

By this point, my head has exploded. This has become a ritual, from the oldest (sixteen) down to my youngest speaking child (Baby Dude, age three). I am getting adult ADHD because I can never finish a thought, conversation, or anything without constant interruption.

“BABY? Forget it! You don’t want to listen to what I have to say because you keep interrupting, so you can figure it out yourself, now.”

“But…” she begins, “I can’t! I don’t know what kind of legs a butterfly has?” She pleaded with me.

“Well, I’m sorry. Perhaps had you have LET ME FINISH my sentence, you would have known by now, and could draw your butterfly. Would you really like to know? Will you let me finish my sentence now?”

“Yes, mommy.”

—

It’s constant.

I raise them better, I know that I do. But this seems to be an interruption epidemic of epic proportions, because it’s EVERYFRIGGINWHERE. Parents everywhere are experiencing this same phenomenon and I can’t explain why. When did our society become such an impatient one that we can’t simply let a person finish their sentence? (Ahem, Kanye.) Is it because of TV? Is it from school, or the playgrounds?

I’ve reprimanded my oldest on MANY occasions when I’m having an (actual) conversation with another adult (y’know, a rarity when raising wee ones at home is adult conversation without words like “poopy” and “doo-doo”), and she interjects, completing my sentence before I get the chance to. I get that she wants to insert herself into more adult conversations, but that is NOT THE WAY TO DO IT (thankyouverymuch). And yet, it keeps happening.

With the youngers? It’s waaaaay worse.

Once upon a time, when my olders were still littles, and I’d talk on the phone with a person with older kids who would interrupt CONSTANTLY, I vowed I would not be that person, ever. I vowed to myself that, when mom (me) was on the phone, the kids would go to another room, be quiet, and wait until I was finished to talk to me.

HAHA! WROOOONG!

Despite my constant instructions on manners, not only do they interrupt while on the phone, they interrupt ALL THE TIME! GAH! (A finished thought? What is that?) I am a better parent than this. I know parenting is not easy (by a long-shot), but THIS? This is flat out insanity.

Why can’t they wait? And, when asked a question, why can’t they wait for the answer? Or, have we just become slower with our responses, because we’re so beaten down with constant interruptions, we can’t even formulate the completed thought right away? (I guess I hadn’t considered that as an option, either.) I’ve actually noticed I STUTTER at times because of this. STUTTER! What the what?

And don’t even get me started with our repetitions to them, either.

Do your chores.

Do your chores.

DO YOUR CHORES!

IF! I! HAVE! TO! SAY! IT! ONE! MORE! TIME!

It ends today. Right here, right now.

I’m taking back the respect, the manners and the freakin’ QUIET! I don’t know what I’m going to do. Maybe I’ll pants myself again and embarrass them, I don’t know, (and if you have any suggestions, please leave ‘em) but, starting today?

NO MORE FREAKING NICE MOM.

Are ya with me?

Do you agree and want to join me? Take your button here!

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Truth Tuesday

April 10, 2012 By Lisa Leave a Comment

There are days when I see myself so much in her, I can’t help but be transported immediately back to childhood. The tea parties, the hair-doing, the make-up stealing, the love of dress-up and dolls and choreographing the perfect game of House. Despite looking so much like her father, she is such a mini-me and it gives me chills to see her grow.

—

My kids have some sort of wave or curls in their hair, but Baby Dude seemingly had none, until a couple months ago. I’ve put off cutting his hair, because of the curls he seems to have acquired in the back, but after a particularly rough sleep, he woke up with crazy hair, funked out in all directions like an 80′s rocker. I knew the sweet curls he’d suddenly sprouted had to go.

—
Except for the occasional gas-inspired laugh, sweet Baby V hadn’t smiled or giggled my way until a couple days ago. Her recognition of my voice and face, now that she can see me , fills me with a goosebumps kind-of happy I don’t ever want to end. Ever.

—

He may talk big and act tough, but my oldest son’s heart is all marshmallow. He still likes cuddling with me, still wants me to run my fingers through his hair when we hug, and still reaches for my hand when we walk in a parking lot. My heart aches at the thought that those days are numbered.

—

She may seem shy and timid, but my oldest daughter is fastly becoming more take-charge by the day. It delights me to see her take command of a situation, say, cooking lunch, or picking up a little one who got a boo-boo. I can see a young woman replacing the small girl at times, but I’m grateful for the little girl that’s still left. I hope she never rids of it completely.

—

He never likes my kisses in public, nor does he want me to hug him, but there are times when my seven-year-old threads his fingers within mine that he reminds me of when he was a smaller boy, when he needed me more. His curls and eyelashes are bigger than his small dude body. He is far too big for his britches, but from beneath his big eyes I know he still needs me.

—

My middle daughter’s at such an awkward age; she doesn’t know whether to want to be older or younger, play with girls her age or be the tomboy she is normally, whether to acknowledge boys exist or shove ‘em down when she plays soccer against ‘em, but the girl’s all heart, and I dare any guy to step up and try to hurt that heart, he might end up in a cast.

—

I decided to start writing heartfully about something, anything and nothing on Tuesdays. I’ve coined it “Truth Tuesday.” Have something to share? Want to confess, or share a little itty bitty piece of yourself or someone else, no matter how small or how big? This week I decided to write about my children. I’ll leave whatever interpretation of truths you wish to share on yourself, but if you’d like a weekly prompt or have a suggestion for one, let me know. Want to join me? If you decide to share, leave your links in the comments.