Sullivan DAY ONE
Jackson DAY ONE
Anderson DAY ONE
Monday, October 6, 2014
A Revival in the West
So we are here. Home. In Colorado. And have been for 4 months. But I don't count two of those, because we were in a rental condo furnished with grandma couches and trinkets without our stuff while our real house was being worked on and THAT didn't feel like home. In fact, I don't remember big chunks of that. Think I've blocked it out.
Home feels more and more like home, speaking both about the physical house AND the city/neighborhood. Right now we have visitors who are helping me grow a pair and get nails in the walls to hang stuff (why is it that that process scares me so? perhaps it's because i've never had FRESHLY PAINTED, blemish-free surfaces and they seem so easy to screw up). Prior to this, the place was was looking a little bare and impersonal. So THAT makes it more homified. Said visitors are also working with me on refining my decorating scheme: tilting couches just so, buying accent tables that are just right, matching colors for shelf knickknacks with just the right hugh. Thank you, Aunt Vianne and Uncle Jim.
Now, on to the reason for the out-of-the-blueness of this post (given that the last one was a million years ago). Even though in the depths of my brain I KNEW I had cousins in Colorado (TWO!!!), it took us landing on Colorado soil to actually saturate that knowledge and get excited about it. I HAVE FAMILY IN COLORADO! Cousin Ben and cousin Katie (both my dad's brother Tommy's kids) both live within an hour of me... married, kids... doing life kinda the same as how we're doing life. I finally set up a time to visit Ben and his family during the time they had their parents, Uncle Tommy and Aunt Pat (from TX) visiting. I WAS WITH MY PEOPLE. I HAVE PEOPLE. Can't express how unexpectedly comforting it was to be amongst blood relatives... albeit ones I hadn't shared life with in several years (annual family reunions came to a halt awhile back), but ones with whom it didn't take long to get reacquainted.
So Aunt Pat, who is a dear, dear aunt and lady says to me, "I really wish you would keep up with your blog. It was a way for me to stay connected with you family." I didn't make any promises, but I at least agreed with her that it did provide connection with distant friends and family. And that I am a fair-weather Facebook updater... MUCH prefer the therapeutic writing of the blog.
Here goes, Aunt Pat! Here goes, everybody.
I know I've relaunched before (pretty much every time we move). But here's to hoping it sticks.
By the way, I'm pregnant. 4 months pregnant. Due March 23, 2015. So, expect the posts to disappear again then. And then reappear when we move again. And then disappear after we have another baby. SIKE!!! (But there does seem to be a pattern of relocating and getting knocked up). We are ALL in agreement (even sweet 7-yr-old Jackson, who reminds us of our over-commitment: "I can't BELIEVE we're going to have another baby in this family... it's awesome because I get a new brother/sister but it is not awesome because it's going to mean even MORE work for me." Tell me about it, brotha) that this completes our family. And we will make SURE of that, if you know what I mean. Scott says he is skipping the V procedure and going straight for castration...
And I will leave you with that thought. :)
At the Denver Zoo yesterday. Weather: Perfecto!
Just in case there's an audience of folks DYING to know what I look like right now
Home feels more and more like home, speaking both about the physical house AND the city/neighborhood. Right now we have visitors who are helping me grow a pair and get nails in the walls to hang stuff (why is it that that process scares me so? perhaps it's because i've never had FRESHLY PAINTED, blemish-free surfaces and they seem so easy to screw up). Prior to this, the place was was looking a little bare and impersonal. So THAT makes it more homified. Said visitors are also working with me on refining my decorating scheme: tilting couches just so, buying accent tables that are just right, matching colors for shelf knickknacks with just the right hugh. Thank you, Aunt Vianne and Uncle Jim.
Now, on to the reason for the out-of-the-blueness of this post (given that the last one was a million years ago). Even though in the depths of my brain I KNEW I had cousins in Colorado (TWO!!!), it took us landing on Colorado soil to actually saturate that knowledge and get excited about it. I HAVE FAMILY IN COLORADO! Cousin Ben and cousin Katie (both my dad's brother Tommy's kids) both live within an hour of me... married, kids... doing life kinda the same as how we're doing life. I finally set up a time to visit Ben and his family during the time they had their parents, Uncle Tommy and Aunt Pat (from TX) visiting. I WAS WITH MY PEOPLE. I HAVE PEOPLE. Can't express how unexpectedly comforting it was to be amongst blood relatives... albeit ones I hadn't shared life with in several years (annual family reunions came to a halt awhile back), but ones with whom it didn't take long to get reacquainted.
So Aunt Pat, who is a dear, dear aunt and lady says to me, "I really wish you would keep up with your blog. It was a way for me to stay connected with you family." I didn't make any promises, but I at least agreed with her that it did provide connection with distant friends and family. And that I am a fair-weather Facebook updater... MUCH prefer the therapeutic writing of the blog.
Here goes, Aunt Pat! Here goes, everybody.
I know I've relaunched before (pretty much every time we move). But here's to hoping it sticks.
By the way, I'm pregnant. 4 months pregnant. Due March 23, 2015. So, expect the posts to disappear again then. And then reappear when we move again. And then disappear after we have another baby. SIKE!!! (But there does seem to be a pattern of relocating and getting knocked up). We are ALL in agreement (even sweet 7-yr-old Jackson, who reminds us of our over-commitment: "I can't BELIEVE we're going to have another baby in this family... it's awesome because I get a new brother/sister but it is not awesome because it's going to mean even MORE work for me." Tell me about it, brotha) that this completes our family. And we will make SURE of that, if you know what I mean. Scott says he is skipping the V procedure and going straight for castration...
And I will leave you with that thought. :)
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
Pushing my buttons
I have one offspring whose defense mechanism is button-pushing. When he is angered or disappointed or frustrated about something...ANYTHING, as a result of me (no matter the innocence of the crime), he lashes out with 4-year-old-version hatefulness.
Whoops.
I just gave away the offender. Yes yes, it's Sullivan, my sometimes-sweet 4 year old. Sullivan does not enjoy feeling badly himself. He wants others to feel badly. Only fair, right? I get it. I really can put my littler brain inside his brain (no joke - I legitimately thing that boy has a bigger capacity for intellect than me... he's gonna be a freakin whiz) and observe the world the way he does. That is, if I try hard and take the time to, I get Sullivan.
Here's the scoop: When he doesn't get to take a shower after a swim at the gym pool (as we normally do), because the showers are all taken and I am not interested in waiting in line, he says, "You mean, Mommy." When I let him know that we are not going to be able to finish a puzzle or game until later, because we have to leave to pick up Jackson from school, he says, "You're cheating Mommy." Sometimes this emotional response includes a hit or an air fist. And then, sometimes, he'll add a demented snicker... like he's un-touched by whatever is going on. He fake laughs to cover up the fact that he is truly hurting. And if I get quiet and have an authentically melancholy reaction to the way he is treating me/the situation, he sometimes adds "Gotcha!" with a finger point. Like getting me to feel icky was what he was aiming for.
When I use my good, healthy parenting skills and either a) calmly explain the situation further so he understands that whatever I am saying he doesn't want to hear is not personally designed to alienate him, or b) calmly explain that his reaction to disappointment needs to be adjusted, then the following comment is made (while crossing arms and deliberately avoiding eye contact by looking out of the top little corner of his awnry little eyes, "Not listening, Mom. Not listening."
I know I am making my son sound evil. But if you have a Sullivan in your home, you know what I am talking about.
I don't like it. Clearly, I don't like it. Even if I get it, I don't like it.
But I've been letting him do it. Let the kid say what he wants to say. He's gonna do it anyway (cuz that's the kind of kid Sullivan is), so give him freedom of speech and then let's go about our business. His disagreeable-ness wears off pretty quickly, anyway. So what's the harm? Right?
Until yesterday.
I was treating him to a Frosty, which was a reward for having read these little preschool books a certain number of days in a row. Anyway, he had been talking about it and was excited about it. I was excited about it, for goodness sakes. He was so faithful about checking the little days off the chart at home and had been talking about his treat for days. We pull up to Wendys and he smells the stale yet yummy smell of grease. And his mind goes instantly to chicken nuggets, french fries, and dip. It was lunchtime, after all. Chicken nuggets and french fries and dip were not in the lunch plans. We had swung in the drive thru for a frosty. For a FROSTY ONLY. His hunger and his confusion and his excitement were all swhirling when I said "no" to the request for more than the frosty.
Thus began the rampage: Fit, "you mean, Mommy," "You cheating, Mom" (cheating is not really something Sullivan knows the definition of... it's used pretty much whenever he's mad.) "I'm not listening!" Then, quiet the rest of the way home.
When we arrived in the garage, Sullivan busted out a whole new level of button-pushing. He crossed a new line.
He said, "Mom, I am not going to love Jesus."
Freedom of speech, my ass.
This. means. war.
3
Whoops.
I just gave away the offender. Yes yes, it's Sullivan, my sometimes-sweet 4 year old. Sullivan does not enjoy feeling badly himself. He wants others to feel badly. Only fair, right? I get it. I really can put my littler brain inside his brain (no joke - I legitimately thing that boy has a bigger capacity for intellect than me... he's gonna be a freakin whiz) and observe the world the way he does. That is, if I try hard and take the time to, I get Sullivan.
Here's the scoop: When he doesn't get to take a shower after a swim at the gym pool (as we normally do), because the showers are all taken and I am not interested in waiting in line, he says, "You mean, Mommy." When I let him know that we are not going to be able to finish a puzzle or game until later, because we have to leave to pick up Jackson from school, he says, "You're cheating Mommy." Sometimes this emotional response includes a hit or an air fist. And then, sometimes, he'll add a demented snicker... like he's un-touched by whatever is going on. He fake laughs to cover up the fact that he is truly hurting. And if I get quiet and have an authentically melancholy reaction to the way he is treating me/the situation, he sometimes adds "Gotcha!" with a finger point. Like getting me to feel icky was what he was aiming for.
When I use my good, healthy parenting skills and either a) calmly explain the situation further so he understands that whatever I am saying he doesn't want to hear is not personally designed to alienate him, or b) calmly explain that his reaction to disappointment needs to be adjusted, then the following comment is made (while crossing arms and deliberately avoiding eye contact by looking out of the top little corner of his awnry little eyes, "Not listening, Mom. Not listening."
I know I am making my son sound evil. But if you have a Sullivan in your home, you know what I am talking about.
I don't like it. Clearly, I don't like it. Even if I get it, I don't like it.
But I've been letting him do it. Let the kid say what he wants to say. He's gonna do it anyway (cuz that's the kind of kid Sullivan is), so give him freedom of speech and then let's go about our business. His disagreeable-ness wears off pretty quickly, anyway. So what's the harm? Right?
Until yesterday.
I was treating him to a Frosty, which was a reward for having read these little preschool books a certain number of days in a row. Anyway, he had been talking about it and was excited about it. I was excited about it, for goodness sakes. He was so faithful about checking the little days off the chart at home and had been talking about his treat for days. We pull up to Wendys and he smells the stale yet yummy smell of grease. And his mind goes instantly to chicken nuggets, french fries, and dip. It was lunchtime, after all. Chicken nuggets and french fries and dip were not in the lunch plans. We had swung in the drive thru for a frosty. For a FROSTY ONLY. His hunger and his confusion and his excitement were all swhirling when I said "no" to the request for more than the frosty.
Thus began the rampage: Fit, "you mean, Mommy," "You cheating, Mom" (cheating is not really something Sullivan knows the definition of... it's used pretty much whenever he's mad.) "I'm not listening!" Then, quiet the rest of the way home.
When we arrived in the garage, Sullivan busted out a whole new level of button-pushing. He crossed a new line.
He said, "Mom, I am not going to love Jesus."
Freedom of speech, my ass.
This. means. war.
3
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