My baby is thirteen. Very thirteen.
My eldest didn't prepare me for this. My headstrong toddler morphed into a fairly mellow teen. My funny, sunny toddler now stands taller than me, favors lots of dark eyeliner, and colors her hair. I said no to piercing her lip, and she cannot get a tattoo until she is financially independent.
She's a teen, and this is what teens do, isn't it? Why do I worry so?
I have no problem with her playing with her appearance. In fact, I've liked her hair colors and must admit that the eyeliner actually does accentuate her striking blue/green eyes. I'm fine with her attraction to the alternative, "punk light" bands she's digging these days.
I don't like the darkness. She's still funny, but now cloudy with only peeks of sunshine. I honestly can't tell if she's happy or not sometimes. Even more troubling is the fact that she's shut me out. I'm OK (for now) with her not friending me on Facebook. She also Twitters and texts and has always had liberal use of the laptop. All I get is monosyllabic answers and the dreaded deadpan stare. Is everything all right in her world? I don't know, and I don't want to be the last one to know.
She wants to grow up so fast, and it's so useless to tell her to slow down. I had to think hard about why this was bothering me so much. I have to have a certain amount of faith in her values and judgments. I realized, however, that while I trust her I don't trust other people. I don't want guys hitting on her. I don't want people encouraging stupid behaviour. She's smart, but a tad impulsive. And, for heaven's sake, SHE'S ONLY THIRTEEN!!
I feel vaguely helpless. Dealing with a teen is a lot like playing Minesweeper or defusing a bomb. Click the wrong square, pull the wrong wire, and it all blows up. It's a delicate balance. I try to give her reasonable space so she doesn't push away further. I try to keep the communication door open, but I wind-up sounding like the stereotypical dweeby parent and it triggers the blank stare.
I love her independence, but I miss my daughter.
(How can I write about her like this? Because she doesn't follow anything I do.)
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Friday, September 11, 2009
The Gift of Time -- Priceless
This past week has taught me that I am in possession of one of the world's most precious resources: unstructured time.
This is how I became caretaker of Brandon. I was between jobs, Carla (his mom)was looking for someone, AND HE'S SO DARN CUTE. I consider myself sort of a "boutique" caregiver, generally taking on one kid at a time who become my own during the day. Maybe this is my penance for not staying home with MY kids while they were babies.
This will be tested in a couple of weeks when I will be adding Max to the mix, who is only 7 months younger than Brandon. It's mind-blowing to see what a difference that makes at this stage.
A couple of days ago another neighbor called wondering if I could hang-out with her 4 year-old for about an hour so she could go to a yoga class. I was ready to do it, but the class wound-up being canceled. So I took Brandon to the library, where the very-expectant librarian looked at me longly and said "You babysit? You know, I'm going to need someone one day a week when I'm ready to go back to work..." AAAH, I'm not looking for these jobs. They keep looking for me!!
So I think it may have even been later that same day that the local elementary school called me as an emergency contact for my across the street neighbor whom they'd been unable to reach. Her son had complained of not feeling well after snack, and there was some concern about a food allergy. I drove around the city parks looking for my neighbor, then picked her son up at school and brought him home. (All was well, he wasn't having an allergic reaction and his mom had gone to the library with her other kids and was home by the time I got there.)
It got me to thinking what a rare commodity I am -- someone who was home and could run to the school. I was also the rare mom who could go on field trips and bake for special events when my kids were in elementary school. (I left the normal workaday world when my kids were in school all day. What planning!!)
You mean, women used to do this stuff all the time?
There is something to be said for having a parent-type at home, and I don't think it has to be the mom. It's not an easy job. I can see how the stereotypical 50's housewife was a secret valium abuser or alcoholic. The boredom can get mind-numbing, and I feel like getting a t-shirt that says "I have a college degree." Yet I certainly feel that I'm filling a critical void.
Perhaps after we reform health care (and recover from the whole process) we'll be ready to take-on child care reform.
This is how I became caretaker of Brandon. I was between jobs, Carla (his mom)was looking for someone, AND HE'S SO DARN CUTE. I consider myself sort of a "boutique" caregiver, generally taking on one kid at a time who become my own during the day. Maybe this is my penance for not staying home with MY kids while they were babies.
This will be tested in a couple of weeks when I will be adding Max to the mix, who is only 7 months younger than Brandon. It's mind-blowing to see what a difference that makes at this stage.
A couple of days ago another neighbor called wondering if I could hang-out with her 4 year-old for about an hour so she could go to a yoga class. I was ready to do it, but the class wound-up being canceled. So I took Brandon to the library, where the very-expectant librarian looked at me longly and said "You babysit? You know, I'm going to need someone one day a week when I'm ready to go back to work..." AAAH, I'm not looking for these jobs. They keep looking for me!!
So I think it may have even been later that same day that the local elementary school called me as an emergency contact for my across the street neighbor whom they'd been unable to reach. Her son had complained of not feeling well after snack, and there was some concern about a food allergy. I drove around the city parks looking for my neighbor, then picked her son up at school and brought him home. (All was well, he wasn't having an allergic reaction and his mom had gone to the library with her other kids and was home by the time I got there.)
It got me to thinking what a rare commodity I am -- someone who was home and could run to the school. I was also the rare mom who could go on field trips and bake for special events when my kids were in elementary school. (I left the normal workaday world when my kids were in school all day. What planning!!)
You mean, women used to do this stuff all the time?
There is something to be said for having a parent-type at home, and I don't think it has to be the mom. It's not an easy job. I can see how the stereotypical 50's housewife was a secret valium abuser or alcoholic. The boredom can get mind-numbing, and I feel like getting a t-shirt that says "I have a college degree." Yet I certainly feel that I'm filling a critical void.
Perhaps after we reform health care (and recover from the whole process) we'll be ready to take-on child care reform.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Half-Empty or Half-Full?
Contrary to much of what we hear these days, there are some real advantages to being a woman in our society. One true victory of the movement is that we are allowed to define our role.
I feel pretty confident saying that most guys in my position would say that they are unemployed. I, on the other hand, have the option of saying that I am a homemaker, and we can all agree that it's a valuable occupation (if seriously underpaid).
Right after my last job tanked, I thought I was enemployed. I felt unemployed. I was contemplating and mapping my next career move, fighting the inner fear that perhaps I'm just not cut out for the work world (another topic entirely).
There's a narcotic to being at home, though. As the days start to slide by I find that I don't miss the timeclock. I start morphing into the homemaker, which, by the way, is not something I'm particularly good at. If there were real justice in the world I would have the ambition and skills to be the money-maker and Tom could stay home. He's got mad housekeeping skills. Way better than mine.
ANYWAY -- being a homemaker is a lot like being a farmer. NOTE: I agree with the school of thought that "housewife" is a pejorative term. I am not married to my house. "Homemaker" describes the entirety of the role. It's holistic. But back to the point at hand...farmers also do not work by the timeclock (at least not in my romantic fantasy world), rather they work according to the rhythm of life each day and season. I'm always amazed at how much of my day is ruled by meal planning or preparation. And each season brings its demands of school or vacation or holidays...
The problem with such work, however, is that it is not neatly confined to a workday. I, like the farmer, have the luxury of deciding when I want to work, but, also like the farmer, I will get out of it what I put into it. Too much time spent sleeping, playing Freecell, doing crosswords, or blogging makes for a home that I cringe to call my own. I'm really working on this issue. And there's always work to be done. Even on vacation, weekends, and evenings. Sometimes especially then.
And, truth be told, I'm not even completely unemployed. I'm back to tending to Brandon, now 8 months old. Now I'm also following the rhythms of feedings, diapers, and naps. Still trying to find my balance with all this. But it's sort of a "nicotine patch" for paycheck withdrawal, and it fulfills my need for a purpose. Nurturing a human soul is one of the higher callings in life, or so I keep telling myself.
It's all in how you look at it.
I feel pretty confident saying that most guys in my position would say that they are unemployed. I, on the other hand, have the option of saying that I am a homemaker, and we can all agree that it's a valuable occupation (if seriously underpaid).
Right after my last job tanked, I thought I was enemployed. I felt unemployed. I was contemplating and mapping my next career move, fighting the inner fear that perhaps I'm just not cut out for the work world (another topic entirely).
There's a narcotic to being at home, though. As the days start to slide by I find that I don't miss the timeclock. I start morphing into the homemaker, which, by the way, is not something I'm particularly good at. If there were real justice in the world I would have the ambition and skills to be the money-maker and Tom could stay home. He's got mad housekeeping skills. Way better than mine.
ANYWAY -- being a homemaker is a lot like being a farmer. NOTE: I agree with the school of thought that "housewife" is a pejorative term. I am not married to my house. "Homemaker" describes the entirety of the role. It's holistic. But back to the point at hand...farmers also do not work by the timeclock (at least not in my romantic fantasy world), rather they work according to the rhythm of life each day and season. I'm always amazed at how much of my day is ruled by meal planning or preparation. And each season brings its demands of school or vacation or holidays...
The problem with such work, however, is that it is not neatly confined to a workday. I, like the farmer, have the luxury of deciding when I want to work, but, also like the farmer, I will get out of it what I put into it. Too much time spent sleeping, playing Freecell, doing crosswords, or blogging makes for a home that I cringe to call my own. I'm really working on this issue. And there's always work to be done. Even on vacation, weekends, and evenings. Sometimes especially then.
And, truth be told, I'm not even completely unemployed. I'm back to tending to Brandon, now 8 months old. Now I'm also following the rhythms of feedings, diapers, and naps. Still trying to find my balance with all this. But it's sort of a "nicotine patch" for paycheck withdrawal, and it fulfills my need for a purpose. Nurturing a human soul is one of the higher callings in life, or so I keep telling myself.
It's all in how you look at it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)