Category: Ruthie

Blogging is Boring When Life is Good.

Enjoying

Life seems uninteresting these days from a blogging perspective, though it is FANTASTIC from the survival aspect. I’ve said this before, but it’s easier for me to write about things I’m complaining about or struggling with. Depression? Martial strife? This is the stuff great stories are born from – the setup, upset, reset. When was the last time you saw a movie about a really happy guy that led a really happy life and nothing tragic or embarrassing ever happened to him?

Without the torturous confusion swirling around in my head I have to shift gears – I don’t need the introspection so much anymore. Nice things happen to me every day. Funny things happen to me every day. I am surrounded by nice people and good vibes. And the beauty is, I can see that now.

In my recovery group (I have that anger thing, remember?) we were recently talking about things we were thankful for, and things we’ve been ungrateful for in the past, and for many of us the same things were on both lists. How messed up is that? My daughter is amazing, and smart, and tenacious, and I oppressed that in her because of my own selfishness and lack of patience.

When I started this blog my step-dad was dying, I was pregnant with a son that would carry on his name, I didn’t like my husband very much, and life looked a little bleak. Hence, The Pile I’m Standing In.

I still stand by the name and the reason behind it, because this life will always be a pile to trudge through. But lately I have been able to see more of the joy that comes with living this life.

Ruthie is expressing herself more these days. Whenever we leave a friend’s house, she is quick to announce, “I HAD FUN PLAYING WITH KIDS, MOM!” She has a thankful heart. She finds joy in everyday things.

She is a good mentor.

The Post Wherein I Describe Everything I’ve Done This Week All At Once Because I Have No Time.

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Ruthie now thinks all daddies take airplanes to work. She asked me that when her little friend left the other day and she asked if he was going home to see his daddy. I said his daddy was probably at work, but that he would see his daddy later. And she said, misusing her pronouns in the cutest way, “Her daddy take an airplane to work, too?”

On Wednesday the kids and I drove up to the Tulip Fields as I’ve done almost every year since I can remember, with only a few exceptions. We drove up in two car loads of four moms and six kids, ate a picnic lunch, and let the kids go wild in the dirt. You can see proof that boys will be boys here (pardon the sideways video, I haven’t had time to figure out how to rotate the image). This is the first time I’ve ever gone with other kids Ruthie’s age, and they were a fun little gang of toddlers to watch. Every time Nor said, “COME ON, ROOFIE!” I just wanted to pinch her, she was so cute. They are all such good friends when they’re not hitting each other or pulling hair. You can see all our Tulip Adventures here.

I rode up there with a good friend who has neither a computer nor access to the internet, so I can blab about her all I want on this blog and she’ll never be the wiser!

The guys finished most of the work downstairs, so I’ve been painting. Which is why I have not been writing. Can you even comprehend how difficult it is to paint WHITE primer on top of WHITE drywall mud and wall texture??? At any rate, the painting is slow going because on my shoulder is a muscle knot the size of a grapefruit. After about an hour my arm hurts so bad it radiates to my neck and head and I can’t move my arm or open my eyes. I’m beginning to wonder if we should have just paid the guys to paint as well. If you’re curious, here is what the room looked like before I started painting. We now have new windows around the entire basement!

I will now leave you with a Dora reference. Today at lunch Ruthie was muscling her way in to Bryan’s hummus, using her grimy fingers instead of anything like, say, a snow pea or a carrot. Finally Bryan says to her, “Hey Swiper, no swiping!”

Ruthie stopped and just looked at him. Blinking, I suppose, just like Dora might have in such a situation. Then she says to him, “No, I’m Ruthie.”

She’s a literalist to the end. That’s my girl!

Ruthie at the Dentist

I shot this video of Ruthie at the dentist last week with my Canon digital Elph still camera, and I was surprised at the length of video it allowed me to record. The video file was too large to upload directly into YouTube.com, so I had a chance to experiment with the Windows Movie Maker program that comes free with Windows XP. I didn’t use all the fancy features, but I had fun exploring. The next time I’m scheduled to read at my church I’m planning to create a multi-media piece, and I think the Movie Maker program is user-friendly enough for me to do without Bryan’s help.

Happy F***ing St. Patty’s Day.

No love for adoring fans.

Before I poured my coffee, before I served up the Life Cereal, before I even went PEE for cryin’ out loud, Ruthie threw the mother of all fits that lasted, oh, about 45 minutes. It all happened over something I asked her to do – something that, after the first 15 minutes of her writhing on the floor I wondered if my request was even worth this much drama, but by then there was no turning back. You can’t cave in to a three year old just because she’s throwing a fit because then you might as well hand over the check book and the car keys now.

Amazingly, I kept my cool. I kept my cool even without caffeine and Zoloft in my system. I kept my cool even though it was Ruthie who woke me up at 6:30 by poking her finger in my cheek telling me she wanted breakfast. I kept my cool despite this being the WORST start I could ever imagine to a very busy day.

When Ruthie was finally able to concede that she did not have a “happy heart” (don’t laugh, I have a hard enough time speaking Toddler without you mocking me), she confessed her sin to me and apologized for throwing a fit. Then, we prayed together to Jesus. Repeating after me, she confessed her sin of disobeying mama, then asked Jesus to forgive her. And then? She was the sweetest thing ever and wanted nothing but to snuggle.

Being a parent is EXHAUSTING.

Princess or Tyrant?

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This morning, while on the elliptical machine at the gym, I prayed for my daughter Ruthie. I think she’s a bully.

At first I thought her antics were cute. When she was younger she would take Scout’s ball and hide it in the microwave of her play kitchen and giggle as Scout tried to get it out. But now it’s just getting ridiculous. For Ruthie, taking toys away from other kids has gone way beyond the usual toddler center-of-the-universe behavior – she’s actually rather torturous about it. She’ll grab something from a kid’s hands, toss it behind the sofa (or the piano, or down the stairs), then observe the meltdown as if watching pay-per-view.

In general I don’t let her get away with this behavior, but I feel as if my line of discipline has not been effective. I’ve lectured, I’ve given time outs, I’ve even spanked (please don’t send me hate mail), and she always has to apologize, but none of this seems to faze her. It’s beginning to occur to me that I’m no longer dealing with behavior modification, but rather it’s an issue of her heart: she MEANS to hurt her friends. She does these things intentionally to get a reaction.

This is territory that scares the hell out of me. I have no idea what I’m doing. My friend thinks everyone else has a Manual and she’s the only clueless one, but I am reassuring her right now on the internet that I, too, HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I’M DOING. No clue.

So that’s why I was praying. I’ve made a habit of trying to figure these things out on my own, but it’s pretty apparent to me that relying on my own understanding is not a wise parenting style. You’d think I’d learn, but I’m stubborn and it takes me awhile. NOT relying on my own understanding changed my anger problem and my marriage, so you’d think I’d be smart enough to relinquish control of my children as well.

I still have no answers. I was not struck with the lightening bolt of God’s revelation. But I DID reach out in prayer in an attempt to not rely on my own understanding.

That’s something.

Things That Keep Me Guessing

Ruthie’s friend, Indi, is over today while his parents paint walls and refinish floors at their new house. We have our own project going on today, and figured a friend would help distract Ruthie away from needing us as much. This plan has executed fairly smoothly, except for the shouting match over whether Mufasa was really hurt in the stampede.

“He’s sad.”

“No! He’s NOT sad!

“He’s sad!”

“NO! He’s NOT sad!

“HE’S SAD!”

“NO, HE’S NOT SAD!”

And so on.

You might have guessed, but Ruthie was the one in touch with Mufasa’s true state of mind at the time of his death.

Indi and Ruthie are only three days apart. There are times we think they will one day be married, and there are times we think they’ll never speak to each other again.

At one point when I checked on them watching a movie, I couldn’t see Ruthie anywhere. As I came around the corner I found that she was hidden by Indi as they snuggled together on the couch. Their love for each other waxes and wanes by the minute.

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My Brain is a Pretzel

Over the weekend, while I was sitting on the living room couch, Ruthie grabbed my foot from off the floor and swung it up onto my other knee.

“Curl your legs like a pretzel!” she said.

My eyes widened and I looked from her to Bryan, who was sitting across from me.

“Have YOU said anything to her about pretzels and legs?” I asked him.

“No, but she was eating pretzels earlier today.”

“So she just made this connection on her own – matching the shape of a pretzel with how my legs look folded up?” I asked in shock.

We stared at each other for what seemed like a preschool year, each processing the ramifications of Ruthie’s observation.

She turns three years old in a couple weeks, and already she is learning apart from what I teach her; she’s observing patterns and making connections between two very different things. I remembered the time, over a year ago, when Bryan asked Ruthie to “apologize” for something, and she turned to me and said, “I’m sorry.” She had interpreted an abstract idea and translated that into a concrete response. Bryan and I had the same deer-in-the-headlights reaction then, as well.

These connections may be normal developmental stages for toddlers and you are all yawning at me right now, but I am completely fascinated.

I get that children observe our language and mimic what we say, that they take on our mannerisms and speech patterns. Just yesterday Ruthie watched Bryan dipping his hamburger into a pool of ketchup, and she positioned her plate, her arms and the burger in her hands to dip in the same precise way as her daddy. And now, instead of just saying “no” when she is defiant, she says, “Ahhhh, no.” just like I do when I have to think for a second before answering her question.

I GET the mimicking. But this… this… this independent learning just HAS to stop, or I’ll have to put Ruthie in her auntie’s Squish Machine to make her stop growing.

Pictures of a cute blonde girl to lighten the mood in here…

Ruthie is all about “doing craps,” as she calls it. Her favorite craft right now is to use her scissors to cut paper into very tiny miniscule little pieces of confetti that flitter about the house clogging up the esophagus of Thomas. It’s amazing (and relieving) to know that a coloring book is just as captivating to her while I’m making dinner as the t.v. used to be. Here are some of the projects we’ve been working on…

Crafting Slideshow