Category: Ruthie

The Morning Roamer

On Monday the kids and I woke up at 4:30am to take Bryan to the airport for his usual trip to Palo Alto where he earns money to pay for our new roof and our future new kitchen (hint hint). It’s not as big a deal as it sounds – we’re home by 5am and we all go right back to bed.

This week, though, when Ruthie came into my room around 8am declaring that she was hungry, I rolled over and mumbled, ‘Okay, five more minutes.’

An hour later I woke up when the phone rang, and Ruthie was not sleeping next to me like she usually is in the morning. I went downstairs, expecting to see Cherios and soy milk all over the kitchen in her attempt to feed herself.

Instead, she was sitting in my thinking chair with an album of our wedding photos, and when she saw me come through the door she exclaimed, ‘It’s my mama and my gamma! Can I have this picture?’ So I sat with her, and we looked through the rest of the photos, and I told her stories. And later that day I scanned the picture of me and my mom and printed a copy just for Ruthie.

mother and bride

Trouble at School

She’s only three, and I’m already getting called into parent/teacher meetings. Truth be told, it’s not really that formal, but it is pretty serious. Ruthie has been a challenge in her preschool class, but the teacher has dealt with her wonderfully. For instance, when she lays on the floor under the table, instead of fighting with her on it, the teacher tells everyone else to lie under the table, which takes all the controversy out of it for Ruthie so she ends up cooperating in the end.

But last week Ruthie freaked out, threw a fit, and kicked the teacher, who said she’s never seen such behavior in her years of teaching. By the time I came back to sit for the last half of the class, I observed her scrawling her crayon angrily across her coloring page, throwing said crayon, and flicking her paper on the floor – all while her teacher tried to encourage her to color the picture, and the other kids looked on apprehensively.

I was horrified.

Because the teacher cannot properly discipline for behavior such as the kicking (when did time-outs become such a cruel and unusual punishment?), it affects her authority in the eyes of the other children as they see Ruthie acting this way. For this reason, I was told that if it happened again she would have to ask Ruthie to not return to class. It was a very sad day for me, though I suspected it would eventually happen as she grew comfortable enough to challenge her boundaries in class.

I sat with her in class yesterday, just to see how things would go. And they did not go well. Her teacher spent a lot of energy trying to engage her, but she continued to flop on the floor, lie under the table, and refuse to cooperate.

What can I do? Is she aggressing against me? Is she bored in class? Does she hate school?

I was honest with her teacher about my own struggle with anger, because I thought it would give her insight into Ruthie’s behavior. It was the first time I admitted my issues to anyone outside of my circle of friends, and the first time I’ve seen it affect Ruthie in other areas besides home. She definitely sympathized, and told me to give her a signed permission note allowing her to give Ruthie a time out (again, what’s the big deal?) so she can at least remove her from the situation if Ruthie throws another fit.

I appreciate her teacher and all the effort she makes to engage Ruthie – she has been very patient. I just never expected this kind of problem so early on, and I’m hoping it was an isolated incident.

Good News / Bad News

Sleeping on the CouchThe good news is, Ruthie is no longer screaming for half an hour when we put her to bed – a revolt that began after our camping trip in July.

JULY!

For some reason, after that trip she refused to go down without a fight, and every nap time and every bedtime included a half hour to forty-five minute battle of screaming and getting out of bed.

The situation, you have to admit, is frustrating in and of itself. But as a rage-er and control freak, it felt like I was fighting a twice-daily battle on two fronts – that of my strong willed child, and that of my own demons. I tried every good parenting method I could find to make the routine go more smoothly, but in the end I most often gave in to sheer threats and intimidation to control the situation. I was so emotionally drained, and felt so guilty, that the rest of the afternoon or evening was shot as far as me being productive.

Finally one day a couple months ago Bryan suggested we try putting Ruthie to bed later, which leads to the bad news: it worked, and the screaming stopped.

Why is that bad news? Because I value the evening hours as greater than gold. I need the time to recoup, to vegetate, to Get Things Done, and on occasion, to write. Delaying bed time one hour seemed like a lot to ask at the time since I was assuming the usual amount of screaming would still apply. But we’ve been in that routine for several months, now, and Ruthie crawls in bed with very little fuss.

I have to say it makes the rest of my evening much more relaxed, even if it is shorter.

I typically put Thomas to bed at the usual time, then spend that last hour with just Ruthie (- when Bryan is out of town. He does the bedtime routine when he is in town). We read books, or she takes a bath and I play with her, or we watch Emeril on the Food Network and talk about what he’s making. It’s the combination of one-on-one time with me and the later time that helps her settle in.

So I guess in the end it’s not really Bad News. I tend to look at any disruption of my will as Bad News. NOT screaming is definitely good news. And specially set-aside time with my daughter has turned out to be GREAT news.

You know the one about the apple not falling far from the tree?

Ruthie’s preschool class had its Thanksgiving party today, which of course involves loads of cookies and candy to get everyone amped up for nap time. I stepped out to run an errand, and when I came back I was told Ruthie had loaded up her plate with cookies, only to abandon it when she discovered the yummy cream puff balls from Costco that someone had brought.

Cream Puff Addiction must be genetic.

And remember those cookies where you press the chocolate kisses into the middle? Yup, she ate JUST the kisses and left the cookies.

Genetic.

I sure have some STRONG GENES.

That’s My Girl.

Ruthie, pointing to my nose: “Mommy, what is this?”

“A nose pierce.”

(Pointing to her own nose) “Can I have a nose pierce too, mommy?”

“Yes, someday you can have a nose pierce, when your nose gets bigger.”

“You take me to get my nose pierce at the store?”

“Yes, I’ll take you to get a nose pierce at the store.”

“YAY! I WANT PINK! I WANT A PINK NOSE PIERCE IN MY NOSE!”

What’s YOUR hairbrush song?

Last weekend Bryan bought the Wicked soundtrack, so I took the opportunity to introduce Ruthie to the hairbrush-as-microphone concept. She picked it up VERY quickly, as you will see by the pictures below.

Though I am the mature age of 35, I can’t seem to listen to any of these songs without dramatic hand movements, or closing my eyes for dramatic effect (which, you see below, is something Ruthie has a natural for), or belting out the alto songs with great feeling. When it comes to swooping broadway musicals, I am very child like.

The funniest thing is that the song that keeps running through my head during the “off wicked” hours is the duet between Glinda and Elphaba when they discover they will be roommates in college. Because, you see, they are not fond of one another. If you were a spider on my wall, you would see me dancing about, singing, “LOATHING, UN-A-DUL-TERATED LOATHING – FOR YOUR FACE, YOUR VOICE, YOUR CLOTHING…” (and so on) which is not generally the sort of thing you want seeping into your child’s vocabulary.

But, if I have succeeded in giving her the tools necessary to imagine she is on a broadway stage, then I think my job here is done.

Things I Enjoy

I feel like this blog has reflected the darker side of my life lately, as I have used it as a way to process through some difficult thought patterns. To the outsider (read: those who do not know me outside of what I blog) it may seem worse than it actually is. Because of my Recovery process I’ve been unusually introspective, as most Recovery programs unravel things in that way if one truly dives in. I know I’ve said this before, but my writing is pretty boring or non existent when things are going well, or when good things are happening. These things don’t need flushing out, or interpreting, or dissecting. They just Are, like fresh air or a sunny day.

Bryan gets on me about that. When he does something nice for me he says, “Are you going to blog that?” It’s tongue in cheek, but it’s also his way of reminding me to reflect on the good times – in writing, so they can be remembered. Because if we are fighting it’s easy to forget that we really do love each other and have a lot of fun.

Many years ago when I was going through a period of depression (though I didn’t know it at the time; only recently have I come to realize this), my best friend and room mate, who is very visual, helped me map out the peeks and valleys of my life.

On a timeline she drew with crayons, blue lines were difficult times and yellow lines were good times. On the linear trail there were often peeks and valleys. For instance, during a blue-line period there may have been yellow-peek events, and during yellow-line periods there may have been blue-valley events. Seeing my life in the perspective of color-code was encouraging during a time when I could see nothing but blue.

As of late my life has felt like a blue line, but there have definitely been many yellow-peek events along the way. In the droning on of my woes, I don’t want to lose sight of those things that have brought me joy.

Good Times
For one thing, Seattle experienced a beautiful Indian Summer, well into October. The sun and the warm temperatures provided many opportunities to play with my kids at the park, get my fall pruning done, and take walks with my family after dinner. This is my favorite time of the year and I am taking full advantage of it.

Good Imagination
I’ve been enjoying the budding imagination of my daughter. She loves to play rescue, taking turns as to who is in trouble and who does the rescuing. She’ll dangle from the slide in our back yard, her toes only inches from the ground, and cry out with exaggerated drama, “Help me! Help me!” When her friends don’t understand (or care!), she’ll stop suddenly and say, “Noah, you have to come rescue me.”

The other evening while eating a gourmet meal of Wendy’s chicken nuggets, Ruthie stacked three on top of each other like a tower, then tipped her empty cup over and covered them up. “Ladies and gentleman,” she said in her best announcer-voice, waving her hands frantically around the cup, “you will now guess which cup these chicken pieces are hiding under…” and on she went with her magic trick.

I was flabbergasted that seemingly over night my toddler has turned into a real person who pretends that all the world is her stage. I am proud of her imagination, and pray that I never do anything to squelch it.

Good Humor
The other day I took my friend’s ten year old son with me to the dog park while Ruthie was in preschool. He has a very mature sense of humor, and I was looking forward to my day with him. While sitting at a stop light and the car was quiet with my own contemplation, one of those double dump trucks passed by, the ones with the long metal rod that connects them. After it drove past, Tony deadpanned, “Sometimes I wonder, why are they so long?” Maybe you had to be there. Or maybe you have to know Tony. But his timing and tone of voice were beautifully funny, and he made me laugh.

Good Music
This has been Year of the Concert for the Zugs. We have seen Over the Rhine, The Mountain Goats, Matisyahu (me only), Bruce Cockburn, Paul Simon, and Sufjan Stevens. I’m sure there’s more, but I feel so decadent just naming these. I have come to love discovering new music that inspires me or helps me cope. I made a ‘mix tape’ of songs I listen to when I miss Gordy, and one for road trips, and I’m about to make one for worship. It’s exciting to see someone perform live, because they are who they are. Most of the music I love now was introduced to me by Bryan. You might say he rescued me from the mediocre Christian pop culture.

Good Friends
I am surrounded by people who ‘get me,’ and who have history with me. As I’ve been meeting other mothers at preschool and at the park, I am realizing how isolated the average mother feels. I am blessed with many friends who are in the same stage as myself who understand the trials of raising small children. And because we help each other out, I rarely pay for babysitting. I came across a quote once by Shakespeare, “I am wealthy in my friends.” I feel I am the wealthiest of them all.

Good Husband
He may not believe me what I say this, but I really do like Bryan. It’s because of him that I write, that I have more confidence in my art, and that I appreciate good music and good movies. He knows how to have a good time, and most of our evenings are filled with wine, and loud music, and dancing. We dance while making dinner. We enjoy our life in ways that many married couples forget about. He has continued to ‘woo’ me even after we’re married.

Things are looking up. I feel as if I’m climbing out of a hole. After yesterday’s initial disappointment, I did manage to have a good afternoon in spite of myself. I wrote an essay while the kids napped, we went to the park, and we walked to the store. I was bitter at first, but after writing about it and getting over it, I actually had a great evening. Cari is right, I am slowly breaking free of my vices. And it feels good to feel like I’m starting to deal with life in a healthy way.

I am. so. bored.

Bryan had an extra trip to take this weekend to a conference he’s speaking at, so I have an extended time alone with the kids. I don’t usually complain about his travel schedule because, truth be told, the kids and I keep so busy while he’s gone that the time goes quickly. But when these extra trips come during the weekends, I go a little insane.

We were well occupied all day today until after naps. By then I was so burned out I didn’t have the energy to think of anything interesting to do, like going to the park or playing a game. So we ended up watching two movies in a row.

I. am. a terrible mother.

I thought watching a movie would buy me some time to read a book or surf the internet. But no. Ruthie will no longer allow me to do these things, even if I am sitting right next to her while she is watching the movie. I must put everything down and watch it with her. Do you KNOW how many times I have watched her movies?

Argh. My brain is turning to mush. I can only imagine what hers is turning into.

Seriously, take Me Seriously. I’m Serious!

IMG_3076

Yesterday I saw my therapist and he TOTALLY validated me in my struggle with Ruthie. She is, officially, a Strong Willed Child (heretofore to be referred to as the SWC). She is the one people write books about, he says. She is the one I will often feel like giving away, he says. She is the one who requires strict boundaries, he says to the Queen of Grey Areas.

But before I consider giving her away, he suggested I try to work though my own issues to see if that alleviates her behavioral issues. Damn that man is smart, and worth every penny.

But in all this therapy I think I may have cracked the secret code to my toddler-like fits of screaming and throwing things: I have a fear of not being taken seriously. I’ve realized that I take it personally when Ruthie continually disobeys me because I see it as her not taking me seriously.

Maybe it’s because I’m the youngest child in my family. Or maybe it’s because I’m the “oops” child who came eleven years after my brother. Or maybe it’s because I was assigned to a TV tray at Thanksgiving dinner while the rest of the family squeezed around the dining table. Or maybe it’s because Gordy once crafted a hand carved bird house for all my married siblings’ front porches while I, the single sister who rented an apartment, received no such special carving.

Maybe I’m just a big sissy and need to get a grip. Who really knows?

The point is, I’m the grown-up and Ruthie is the child and now is not the time to be re-living past insecurities. Ain’t it a BITCH what parenting brings out in us?

Crash and Burn

Drinking

Well it’s been a really shitty morning, but as I’ve had part of the afternoon to myself to reflect back on what happened I feel pretty convicted that my stinky attitude was at the core of its shittiness.

It kills me that my relationship with Ruthie is so bi-polar. At one moment I am totally in love with her, and even enjoy snuggling with her in bed on the nights Bryan is gone. Then suddenly I’m screaming at her in ways that I know will shame her and cut her down, all the while feeling the contradicting emotions of guilt and power and grief. I know what it is I am doing, yet, when I allow myself to get that far into it I cannot seem to stop.

This morning I was highly distracted by the computer. Bryan and I were IM’ing a conversation, and Ruthie hadn’t had any snuggle time with me yet. She was supposed to be sitting at the table eating her breakfast, but in my distraction she got into the bathroom, pulled out her stool, and was playing in the sink. I checked on her once and she seemed to be fine, so I went back to my computer.

An hour later when I decided it was a good time to take a break and go to the park, I went to the bathroom to put on my contacts and… no case. My contacts were gone. I realized she must have been playing with them when I was distracted, but I searched all over the bathroom, in the trash, the hamper, the magazine rack, EVERYWHERE, and I couldn’t find the case.

That’s when I blew up at her.

I was so angry that I was throwing stuff around as I searched other rooms for the case. The crazy thing is, I knew within ten minutes of looking that it was gone for good, yet I kept thrashing about the house because dammit if I’m going to let something like this be out of my control!

It was definitely a car stereo moment.

I finally gathered my senses enough to call somebody for help. I called three people, but nobody answered the phone. I left messages. I called them back again, and this time one gal answered.

“I need help,” I sobbed. “Can you come over?”

While I waited for her, another friend called me back and said she’d be right over.

I felt stupid. I felt weak. I felt incompetent. I felt like a failure for not being able to manage my own life. I struggled with asking for help, but in my recovery I knew it was the right thing to do.

One friend swooped in and calmed my screaming children. She helped me look one more time for the contacts case. She fed the kids lunch while I called my eye doctor to order an emergency pair of contacts.

The other friend took Ruthie home with her to play with her kids, and will keep her until dinner time.

The eye doctor couldn’t get my new contacts to me by the time my flight leaves tomorrow, but he has a pair of soft lenses I can borrow for free until my new rigid gas permeable ones come in tomorrow.

I am wearing them now.

The problem was solved quite simply and easily, except for my excessive temper. In retrospect, I am very ashamed of my actions, and I think this is one of the first times I have felt true remorse for my anger.

I spoke disrespectfully to my daughter, I disrupted the morning of two friends, I interrupted Bryan’s morning with my all-caps IM swearing about the incident – and I did it all because of my own selfishness and adolescent you-borrowed-my-jeans-without-asking mentality.

In retrospect, I know I had reason to be frustrated, but I took it too far. I ignored my triggers and allowed myself to blow up. I made it personal. I make everything personal. I never seem to remember in the moment that Ruthie is three, and she’s smart, and curious, and as Bryan said, she was probably sitting in front of the mirror pretending to be me. I forget that, and instead of celebrating her curiosity, I shit all over it and punish her for it by making it all about me.

I don’t know how to end this because I’m still processing, and still feeling crappy about it. I don’t have a tidy way to wrap it up. So I’ll just end it and hope a better post comes soon.