Tuesday, December 11, 2012
I Am A Cougra
When Tori was young, maybe in Kindergarten, she came home one day and told me that she had had a terrible day. And for some reason, she decided to identify herself as an animal in her misery. All melodramatically, she announced, "I... am a POSSUM." And I was amused. So I asked her, "I don't like possums.Could you maybe, just possibly, be a rat instead?" She agreed she could make that small step. "I am a rat!" And I asked her about another animal. Each time, we went a little higher on her/my estimation of the animal, until she was bouncing on the bed announcing what kind of animal she was. "I am a Horse!" "I am an Eagle!" And finally, I asked if she could be a cougar. Striking a dramatic pose, she declared "I... am a COUGRA!"
The Up-Down Joke
Tori loves to tell jokes. Especially the bad pun jokes that elicit a groan when they go well, and a blank look when they don't. She has been known to keep a small notepad in her purse with bad pun jokes in it. If you see her getting it out, just move away quickly.
And poor thing, I've never gotten her jokes too well. But there's one that she told over and over that tickled me, because she honestly couldn't tell it successfully. I heard a joke this week about Santa going down the chimney, and it got me to laughing, thinking about her up-down joke.
Here's how she used to tell the joke, when she was maybe four or five (please read these aloud at medium speed for best effect):
And poor thing, I've never gotten her jokes too well. But there's one that she told over and over that tickled me, because she honestly couldn't tell it successfully. I heard a joke this week about Santa going down the chimney, and it got me to laughing, thinking about her up-down joke.
Here's how she used to tell the joke, when she was maybe four or five (please read these aloud at medium speed for best effect):
"What goes up the down the up the chimney down-down up?And she'd be answered by blank faces. Again, she'd ask:
"What goes up the down chimney up the down-down?Nothing. She would ask it several times, giggling at her own cleverness, only to be let down by the adults who couldn't imagine what she might be asking. Finally, she'd turn to me for translation. The joke actually should go:
"What can go up the chimney down, but can't go down the chimney up?"By this time, her target has heard so many ups and downs, they aren't even sure which way is up. And eventually, they give up. The answer, of course, is an umbrella.
Our Last Big Fight
Let's start with a story that's not so positive about the kid. It's funny now, years later. But for several years afterward, telling this story would get me all kinds of irritated, all over again.
I want to say she was about nine years old. We lived with my parents at the time, and there was an upstairs (where the bedrooms were) and a downstairs (kitchen and living room). The computer was in a little balcony area upstairs, and one day Tori was working on the computer while I was in the kitchen cleaning up.
I don't remember what she was working on at the computer, but she needed some help. She came downstairs, and asked me for some instruction. I couldn't go upstairs right then, but it was something I could give her four or five steps to complete. I told her the first step, and the second... and then she turned around and began to walk away. I called her back, and said "Hang on, there's a couple more steps." She started to argue, but I said no, you asked for instructions; listen to them.
And this is where things went wrong. Had she simply listened to the rest of the instructions, I would have sent her back upstairs, returned to the kitchen, and been done. But that's not what happened, and that's why you have a story to read today. This normally polite and genuine child put one hand on her hip, cocked it to the side, rolled her eyes, and said, "Fine, go ahead." She drew the 'ahead' out into three syllables, managing to sigh on the second one as well.
You know the expression, 'seeing red'? Well, I did. I could feel the burn rise up like I had been set on fire. This was not acceptable body language from my child, and it was not normally like her. I shut up. I took a couple of deep breaths to calm myself. Now, when my mother or I speak very quietly and carefully, that's a danger signal. It's like we're afraid that something will explode if we speak too loudly. So quietly and carefully, I told Tori that I was not happy with her body language, and she needed to listen carefully and politely to the directions I was about to give her.
She did not heed the warning. As I quietly told her the information she had originally requested, she sighed and looked around impatiently. Before I finished, she said, "Fine, okay." and walked away from me again. With tinges of red still flirting around my peripheral vision, I called her back in a stern voice and told her to sit down on the couch. I was going to go back to the kitchen, put up the silverware while I regained my composure, then come back to talk to her.
Technically, she remained on the couch. However, as I found out when I returned a few minutes later, she had laid down on the couch, then squirmed and wiggled until she was actually under the couch cushions. I was probably a good bit louder this time when I explained that I was angry with her and trying to calm down to be fair, but she was really pushing my buttons and would be quiet and docile if she knew what was good for her. But since she couldn't simply sit on the couch as I had told her to do, I sent her to her room for a while - thirty minutes, I think. And I would talk to her when that thirty minutes was up.
That later conversation could have been a simple 'Here's why I got angry at you'... if she hadn't stomped up the last three of four steps and slammed her door as loudly as she could. I got hot all over and fired up again, and yelled at her to come back down right now, and forget about me calming down before we talked.
And talk we did. First we talked about how she was about to get a spanking. Then we talked about why her behavior had made me angry over the last few minutes. And then we got down to it. I think I made my point pretty clearly. I told her that we were going to be living together for about ten more years, give or take a few. For the last ten years, we had pretty much been best friends. And I'd like that to continue. But it was going to be up to her. We could spend the next ten years as friends, and I would love that to happen.
But before I am her friend, I am her mother. And if the two are in conflict, Mom wins out over pal. I can only be her friend when we are relating well; I will be her mother no matter what, forever. But if she wanted to fight for the next ten years, we could do that. But keep in mind, I planned to win - every time. If she wanted to make our relationship a struggle, I would make sure that an appropriate amount of suffering - for her - went along with that.
I told her, "I am bigger, smarter, older, and wiser than you, and I buy your food and provide your transportation." I pointed out that every time I went to the store, I bought an awful lot of things just because she liked them; I didn't have to do that. When she wanted to go do something, I often rearranged my schedule to make sure she had a way there and back; I didn't have to do that. If she wanted to fight with me, she was going to spend a lot more time at home, eating food she didn't like, missing things she wanted to do, and without the things she had that she wanted to have. I knew what kinds of trouble she might get up to; I had done many of those things myself, and I was prepared to make her regret squaring off with me.
By the end of this speech - for it was definitely not a conversation - Tori was wide-eyed, silent, and surprisingly respectful in her body language. She was also crying. And she apologized. This time, I told her how to fix her computer issue. She thanked me quietly and crept upstairs. The house was very quiet for several hours. Later that day, she respectfully thanked me for the solution, and told me that it had worked.
Now, I won't try to say that we never fought again. But never again did she return that level of lack of respect. And never did she forget that I was her mother before I was her friend. It was a fight worth having.
I want to say she was about nine years old. We lived with my parents at the time, and there was an upstairs (where the bedrooms were) and a downstairs (kitchen and living room). The computer was in a little balcony area upstairs, and one day Tori was working on the computer while I was in the kitchen cleaning up.
I don't remember what she was working on at the computer, but she needed some help. She came downstairs, and asked me for some instruction. I couldn't go upstairs right then, but it was something I could give her four or five steps to complete. I told her the first step, and the second... and then she turned around and began to walk away. I called her back, and said "Hang on, there's a couple more steps." She started to argue, but I said no, you asked for instructions; listen to them.
And this is where things went wrong. Had she simply listened to the rest of the instructions, I would have sent her back upstairs, returned to the kitchen, and been done. But that's not what happened, and that's why you have a story to read today. This normally polite and genuine child put one hand on her hip, cocked it to the side, rolled her eyes, and said, "Fine, go ahead." She drew the 'ahead' out into three syllables, managing to sigh on the second one as well.
You know the expression, 'seeing red'? Well, I did. I could feel the burn rise up like I had been set on fire. This was not acceptable body language from my child, and it was not normally like her. I shut up. I took a couple of deep breaths to calm myself. Now, when my mother or I speak very quietly and carefully, that's a danger signal. It's like we're afraid that something will explode if we speak too loudly. So quietly and carefully, I told Tori that I was not happy with her body language, and she needed to listen carefully and politely to the directions I was about to give her.
She did not heed the warning. As I quietly told her the information she had originally requested, she sighed and looked around impatiently. Before I finished, she said, "Fine, okay." and walked away from me again. With tinges of red still flirting around my peripheral vision, I called her back in a stern voice and told her to sit down on the couch. I was going to go back to the kitchen, put up the silverware while I regained my composure, then come back to talk to her.
Technically, she remained on the couch. However, as I found out when I returned a few minutes later, she had laid down on the couch, then squirmed and wiggled until she was actually under the couch cushions. I was probably a good bit louder this time when I explained that I was angry with her and trying to calm down to be fair, but she was really pushing my buttons and would be quiet and docile if she knew what was good for her. But since she couldn't simply sit on the couch as I had told her to do, I sent her to her room for a while - thirty minutes, I think. And I would talk to her when that thirty minutes was up.
That later conversation could have been a simple 'Here's why I got angry at you'... if she hadn't stomped up the last three of four steps and slammed her door as loudly as she could. I got hot all over and fired up again, and yelled at her to come back down right now, and forget about me calming down before we talked.
And talk we did. First we talked about how she was about to get a spanking. Then we talked about why her behavior had made me angry over the last few minutes. And then we got down to it. I think I made my point pretty clearly. I told her that we were going to be living together for about ten more years, give or take a few. For the last ten years, we had pretty much been best friends. And I'd like that to continue. But it was going to be up to her. We could spend the next ten years as friends, and I would love that to happen.
But before I am her friend, I am her mother. And if the two are in conflict, Mom wins out over pal. I can only be her friend when we are relating well; I will be her mother no matter what, forever. But if she wanted to fight for the next ten years, we could do that. But keep in mind, I planned to win - every time. If she wanted to make our relationship a struggle, I would make sure that an appropriate amount of suffering - for her - went along with that.
I told her, "I am bigger, smarter, older, and wiser than you, and I buy your food and provide your transportation." I pointed out that every time I went to the store, I bought an awful lot of things just because she liked them; I didn't have to do that. When she wanted to go do something, I often rearranged my schedule to make sure she had a way there and back; I didn't have to do that. If she wanted to fight with me, she was going to spend a lot more time at home, eating food she didn't like, missing things she wanted to do, and without the things she had that she wanted to have. I knew what kinds of trouble she might get up to; I had done many of those things myself, and I was prepared to make her regret squaring off with me.
By the end of this speech - for it was definitely not a conversation - Tori was wide-eyed, silent, and surprisingly respectful in her body language. She was also crying. And she apologized. This time, I told her how to fix her computer issue. She thanked me quietly and crept upstairs. The house was very quiet for several hours. Later that day, she respectfully thanked me for the solution, and told me that it had worked.
Now, I won't try to say that we never fought again. But never again did she return that level of lack of respect. And never did she forget that I was her mother before I was her friend. It was a fight worth having.
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Introduction
It seems that I always find myself telling the same stories over and over again. Stories about my daughter, and the wonderful amusements - and frustrations - and lessons - she has provided to me, over and over again. Sometimes it's about how she interacted with people. Sometimes it's about the hard parts of parenting - fighting, saying no, containing the urge to lock them up for good. Sometimes it's about the blessings she's brought to me. And sometimes it's about the chance to see the world through her eyes.
I had my daughter when I was too young. When people find out that I have a grown child, their response is often, "You don't look old enough to have a child that age!" And my response is, "I'm not." I was sixteen when I got pregnant, and seventeen when she was born. I grew up alongside my daughter; sometimes it was she who raised me. I left her father when she was still an infant, and lived for a while with my mother. Some of my stories are about going through divorce. When she was a toddler, my best friend and her toddler came to live with us. Two teenagers raising two toddlers. It was hard, and it was a blast. I claim them as my sister and nephew, and many of my stories have to do with them, too. Then I remarried - briefly - and some of my stories are about that period of time. By the time I was in my mid-twenties, and she was in her mid-school years, it was back to the two of us.
My daughter is my best friend, my proudest moment, a source of awe and inspiration - and frustration and worry - that never ends. The adult she has become is someone I'm proud to know, let alone be able to claim as 'mine'.
Maybe one day I'll take these stories and put them in a book, for her children to read. Let me introduce you to the Tori I have known.
I had my daughter when I was too young. When people find out that I have a grown child, their response is often, "You don't look old enough to have a child that age!" And my response is, "I'm not." I was sixteen when I got pregnant, and seventeen when she was born. I grew up alongside my daughter; sometimes it was she who raised me. I left her father when she was still an infant, and lived for a while with my mother. Some of my stories are about going through divorce. When she was a toddler, my best friend and her toddler came to live with us. Two teenagers raising two toddlers. It was hard, and it was a blast. I claim them as my sister and nephew, and many of my stories have to do with them, too. Then I remarried - briefly - and some of my stories are about that period of time. By the time I was in my mid-twenties, and she was in her mid-school years, it was back to the two of us.
My daughter is my best friend, my proudest moment, a source of awe and inspiration - and frustration and worry - that never ends. The adult she has become is someone I'm proud to know, let alone be able to claim as 'mine'.
Maybe one day I'll take these stories and put them in a book, for her children to read. Let me introduce you to the Tori I have known.
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