Where I’ve landed: Thoughts on Unconditional Parenting
Tuesday, 6 May 2014
So remember how I was running? Yeah. I still do that sometimes. I took a whole month off because my hipthigh (sure, technical term) was doing something funky. I’ve only been running 15 minutes lately when I can get the motivation to move my butt. Or my other hipthigh isn’t in pain. That’s maybe once a week.
But I should get my booty in gear because I signed up for a race.
Yeah. That’s right. A RACE. A 5k to be exact.
What’s that? A 5k race isn’t a big deal?
Oh.
Well keep in mind I recently ran a mile for the first time.
And then this post got me in trouble. It’s the one where I said I had no desire to run a race. It’s also the one where I said I’d run a race if it was like a dance party. Music blaring, flash mob like scenes etc.
No more than 2 days passed after I published that post did THIS video show up in my Facebook feed. Darn you ads.
A dance party race. I said it. I had to sign up.
I asked my neighbor – who’s also a former dancer turned runner – and asked if she’d do it with me. She was in. Sweet. While I don’t really want anyone to see me run, I figured it’d be better to have a friend along for the party run.
And then Nick wanted to do it. And then my neighbor’s husband. And another friend and her husband too.
We now have a group.
What did I get into?
Not only will there be 5 people I know doing this with me, they’ve all run before – I’m not talking 5k’s…I’m talking 10 mile races, half marathons and MARATHONS!
Lord help me!
This morning it hit me, I have about 3 months until I run this thing. I need to get my booty moving for more than 15 minutes at a time.
Or not.
It’s technically a run/walk. They’ll all be cruising along ahead of me and I’ll just shake my groove thang like the lady at the gym who prancercises around the track.
I kid. Well, not about the dancing, I really do want to accomplish this goal. And what a better way to do it, than with my hubby and a few friends during a dance party.
So wish me luck in my training. And if you want to join me – you can still sign up HERE.
I keep standing in my girls’ room and soaking it all in. Because this week it’s about to make a big milestone leap I’m not quite ready to accept. This week we move out the crib and toddler bed and replace them with bunk beds. It’s time for the change considering Mariah is outgrowing her toddler bed and while I’m excited for the change, there’s always a little grieving that happens when these big shifts take place.
I stand in the room and remember when it used to be so empty. Just a desk in the corner and a futon chair by the window. I spent many days reading, journaling and staring out the window from that chair. We brought home the teeniest little kitten and kept her safe in that room, away from our first cat, until they could get along. I did a “photoshoot” with my cats in that room. They were my little companions. My world.
Then my world changed. After over a year of trying to get pregnant, little Mariah was on the way. We painted a mural on the wall. Because it was just a year or two before all those cool wall decals came out (dangit!). So I went old school and brought home the work projector. We traced the flowers on the wall and painted them in. The room was gender neutral because we were NOT into pink, even if we were expecting a girl. Mariah slept in her bed from the first night she came home, and the room became hers. I rocked and nursed her in the new chair by the window. I’d stare out the window and dream while snuggling her.
Two-ish years later, a sister was on the way. Mariah gravitated to all things pink and frilly and ballet and princess without any of our prompting – so we gave in. A pink girly room for two sisters it would be. We Nick painted light pink over the mural and that darn brown stripe and we transformed the room a bit. More pictures. More art. More frills. Thank goodness Pinterest had come along! Lana didn’t sleep in her room for awhile – she snuggled in with us for a few months. And later we did tons of rocking and singing and praying that she’d sleep through the night in that beautiful room. She finally did, and now she ignores almost all toys to play tea party in her room on her “big girl bed”.
And while we won’t paint again and the pictures and art will just shift a bit, this change is the hardest for me.
That crib. The one that held my babies for 5 years. The one they chewed and kicked and dropped their pacifier out of. It’s leaving. And maybe that’s why this is so hard. It means no more babies. *sigh* While we know that we know that we know we’re done with babies, it’s still a little sad when we let things like this go. So I’m allowing myself a little time to grieve this passing. But at the same time to be thankful for sweet, beautiful, healthy babies who showed that crib so much love (and hate at times). And I’m excited for the bunk beds (“bumpy beds” as Lana calls them). Because those beds will be with them until they leave this house, so I won’t have to grieve for them for many many years.
When I was a full time working mom about to become a stay at home mom, I dreamed about playdates. How wonderful would it be to have sweet little get togethers with my friends and let our babes play together?
I envisioned us sipping tea and having long heart to hearts about life and God and raising our children while said children practiced their social skills and used their imagination. We’d all bond over playdates (both mamas and children that is) and we’d end up with beautiful life long friendships.
We have bonded, yes. But my rainbows and unicorns version of what a playdate looked like is FAR from reality.
Let me first say I am an introverted, Type A, Relator (StrenghsFinder), who needs Quality Time (Love Languages). Got it? Perhaps I’m not wired properly for playdates, so take what is about to come with my personality in mind.
Also, my husband told me if I blogged about how I felt about these get togethers, I wouldn’t be invited to anymore and I’d lose all my friends. Please say it isn’t true. Please be my friend!
OK
Playdates. A two hour playdate wipes me out for the entire day. Partly because all my friends live at least 20 minutes away from me. Most are 30 and one is 45. I grew up where 20 minutes was the furthest you drove anywhere. More than 30 minutes and it better be an all day thing! So because distance in a factor these playdates don’t happen too often. Which means when they do, the kids are SO EXCITED TO INTERACT WITH OTHER HUMANS!! Ok, so we don’t keep them locked up like Rapunzel or anything, most of them go to preschool, but for some reason it’s SO MUCH FUN!
And there must be running. Around the house, through the mall, in the museum. Running. I have a child who fell and/or faceplanted every time we took a walk when she was learning to walk. The running stresses me out. I fear the injuries that may or may not happen during the running. If they run in the mall, they run too far and might get lost. If I can’t see them, then someone will kidnap them. Surely that’s how it works. So going into stores or spending time at the museum leaves me in a tizzy constantly needing to see my child. So when one of our babes enters the ant tunnels at the Children’s Museum. GOOD LORD! I don’t know how I manage to hold a conversation while my child gets lost and trapped crawls around inside.
Speaking of holding a conversation…..BWAHAhahahahaha! Oh that’s funny. There is no conversation. My mind is on the children at all times. All times. And because little people have lots of needs, they butt into our attempts at conversation almost after every sentence. So we mamas attempt to catch up and chat, but we end up telling little stories as we can get them out. This is not the tea sipping heart to heart I dreamed about. Sometimes 10 minutes after you’ve started a story another mama will ask “So you were saying something about ________?” Yeah. I forgot.
If you host the playdate it means you’ve volunteered to have your house trashed. Why even bother to clean for them before they come? But I do. Because I’m a southern girl who knows cleanliness is next to godliness and if my house is clean I clearly have everything together in my life. (I kid. But I still clean) And because everyone rushes out of a playdate for the littlest ones who are melting down from staying out past naptime, most of the clean up duty is on you my friend. But actually, I’d rather do the cleaning, being the control freak that I am.
Playdates are great in theory, and we keep doing them because who wants to be trapped in their house with their own toys and heir own children for days on end when the temperatures don’t rise above zero anymore? And when the children can run free in a fenced in back yard again, maybe my anxiety will subside. Besides, we have developed deeper friendships, even without the rainbows and unicorns and tea. And our kids love it too.
I just wish my friends lived closer so we didn’t have to drive so far and make an entire morning out of it. What I wouldn’t give for my friends to be my neighbors so we could pop in and out of each others homes with our kids or send our kids back and forth. That’s how it should be. And it’s what I dream of. A neighborhood of families with open homes. Community. *sigh* One day.
Until then maybe I can learn to relax a little and enjoy these playdates more.
If I’m still invited of course.
I read a book that changed me.
I found out about 7 from Instagram. At least 4 people I follow posted a photo of it and wrote brief somethings about how amazing it was. I reserved it from the Library. Twice actually. The first time I missed the “your item is on hold” call and only got the “your item is no longer on hold” message. The next time I waited for 15 others to take their turn before I got my hands on it.
And it was perfect timing for me. Read More
Lana has always been my humbling child. By that I mean she’s kept me humble. With Mariah, we thought we were Ah-MAZING parents. She was so obedient, the neatest eater, calm and reserved, cautious…. it goes on and on. It was all because of our fabulous parenting skills of course!
Then our Lana came along. Sweet, bubbly, silly, bouncy, smile and flirt with everyone Lana has humbled us.
I’m writing this post for two reasons: 1. Because someone’s personal story should be on the interwebs about how the Saint Paul Public Schools admissions process and 2. So my friends who live out of state and outside of Saint Paul and Minneapolis can see how much goes into choosing a school for your child. (My suburban friends have fewer options, thus an easier process)
I’m in my nine month of learning about my options and trying to choose a school for my daughter. For other mamas like me who don’t have many friends with kids who’ve gone through the process already, or who don’t attend an ECFE class, there’s not much information available. I sought out info on the district’s website a year and a half before Mariah needed to start kindergarten. I thought I was on top of things. I wasn’t. We missed our chance for an easier “in” to one of the schools through the Pre-K program. (I’ve since discovered it’s good that I missed the deadline – our school year is just the way it needs to be for our family)
So here’s how it works (in a nutshell)
We have open enrollment, which means we can attend any school in the Saint Paul Public School district. Any school! Which is great in theory. You can choose a school that suits the needs of your child, your views on education etc. But with so many choices, it’s overwhelming. I’m talking magnet schools (art, science, music, technology etc.), Montessori, Language Immersion (French, Spanish, Chinese), plus your traditional schools as choices. And once you feel like you’ve found a school that would be a good fit, you’re not guaranteed a spot. You apply for two. Only two, and hope you get into one based on the priority guidelines.
For most people, maybe this isn’t a big deal. For me – Oh it’s a big deal! For one, I’m a planner and a control freak. Second, I have an Elementary Education degree. Third, I have a child reading at a 2nd/3rd grade level 7 months before kindergarten. All of those powers combined means I NEED to find the perfect school for my child.
Well that’s how I feel at least.
Some days I’m so grateful for the opportunity to chose. Other days I wish so badly the district would just tell me where to go so I could keep my issues out of it.
So we tour schools and attend open houses. Tours during the school day are MUCH better than evening open houses btw. With a two year old who screams “GO! Go Mommy! GOOOO!” every time we step into a classroom. No one else brings their kids. Or if they do, the children are silent. Not a peep.
We talk to Mariah about how there might not be room at these schools. We ask her opinion, because it should weigh into the decision, but we remind her we have the final choice. I try to trust my “Mommy intuition” when at a school. I pray God helps us chose the right one. But all this decision making takes it’s toll on my mind. It wears me out.
At this point we’ve submitted our two choices and praying we get our first choice. Applications are due by next weekend, but we’ll be notified via letter by the end of March where our placement will be. So we wait. For a month and a half! Good grief! (yeah, I’m not so good at waiting)
If you’re wondering, we’re hoping Mariah gets into the French Immersion school. We feel like it’s a good fit because it “levels the playing field” for her. She’s known letters and letter sounds since she was two, she started reading last summer, and she’s teaching herself multiplication. So this means she starts fresh learning something completely new. She’s excited about the idea, and we know two other families with kids in the school, so I feel good about it too.
In a million years 8 weeks I’ll let you know the outcome. Until then I hope I don’t go crazy!
Tuesday, 6 May 2014
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Thursday, 29 December 2016
