Another Sound of Love

So we are on day three of Summer Vacation with Kennedy.  I finished the week before her and so I had a few days to unwind and get my bearings. I got to attend her Kindergarten Fun Day, which she loved, and her summer kickoff carnival (and by the way: being at both of these showed me my child is wildly different in school than she is at home; more reserved, a little standoffish, even somewhat clingy). It was so nice to be able to show up for my kid, though there was a fair amount of guilt attached to it as I realized that this is more of a regular thing for many of the other parents, and I made a silent vow to myself that I would do more of that next school year for her…and me.  We finished off the last day with a little get-together at our house for her friends and their parents that have become our good friends. It was a great entryway into the summer months I yearn for all year long.  

All of that carried me through until about two o’clock Monday afternoon.  We met two of my girlfriends and their kiddos at the park and the moment we got in the car to head home Kennedy started complaining that she was bored and ‘what were we doing next’.   I immediately started yelling at her that she was not going to bombard me with boredom declarations all summer long.   Part of the problem is I generally jam-pack our weekends and so when you are six and used to either school days or days filled with all of the things you are in this constant what’s next mindset.  The other part of the problem is my kid, God love her, can be a bit of a pain in the ass (if I’m being honest).  When I called my sister to whine about Kennedy’s pain-in-the-assery she countered with her own tales of annoyances.  Being that she has a brand new baby on top of my other two nephews, she wins, but we seem to be rowing in the same boat. 

A day later she sent me a text if she thought our grandma and grandpa were yellers. She went on to say how she feels terrible that she yells so much.  Here’s the thing:  my mom and dad were yellers.  They are two loud people; they talk loud normally and when they were angry with us they yelled loud.  None of us were afraid of it; in fact it became somewhat of white noise to us as we grew up.  You were able to recognize the varying degrees of anger in the yelling and so many times it was just another mode of communication.  Flash forward to today and my sister and I seemed to have inherited that lack of control in the volume of our voices. I thought about her text for a while, all the way into today.  I yell a lot, I do.  I too am a loud person with a strong inherent desire to be heard and I am learning that as a mother that is, often, hard to come by; sometimes inadvertently, often very intentionally.  And so I yell.  I yell to make sure she heard me, to make sure the message is delivered, to make sure she remembers my voice the next time.  I yell.  

I yell at her for being fresh or rude when she is speaking to me, her father or another adult.  I do this because I would hate for her precociousness to be a trait that overshadows her kindness.  It is a kindness that lights up the room and will make her the kind of kid that people want their children to have as a friend.  I don’t want anyone to hear the sarcasm that comes frighteningly easy to a six year old and decide she isn’t welcome at their dinner table before they get to know that she would do anything to see people laugh and smile and that’s what the intent is.  So I yell.

I yell when she isn’t nice to her baby brother (I’ve caught her twice this week being mean to him). I remind her no one treated her meanly as a baby because I would never allow it.  I yell because I need for her to learn that your siblings are your tribe. They will annoy you and steal your thunder, get you in trouble or blame you for things.  But they will also protect you on the school bus, lie for you to keep you out of trouble, and hold your hand through anything.  She had a late start in navigating the sibling waters and we have a lot of ground to cover.  My kids will be no different than anyone else’s: sometimes they will treat each other badly- I accept that but I will teach them that at the end of each day it is the two of them.  And so I yell.

I yell when she does something dangerous.  I yell when she rocks on a chair too close to a glass window after being told nicely, twice, to stop.  I yell because the thought of anything bad happening to these two babies literally makes me feel like I could vomit (no joke-I feel sick right this moment typing about it).  I have already seen the worst side of parenting and do no think I could survive anything else.  I hover by the playground, and freak out during near choking episodes, and bring my kids to the pediatrician and urgent care much more frequently than I need to. I shout be careful at least fifteen times a day.  I’m scared; there just isn’t any other way to explain it.  So I yell.

I yell when she says bad words or uses potty-talk.  I yell because there are millions of beautiful words to be spoken and she has to learn to use some of them before she mixes in the words that will bring her down to the level swear words come in.  I say this as someone that loves words.  I also say this as someone that loves the word shit. It’s about balance but she’s six and balance is not something she can manage yet.  And so I yell.

I yell when she doesn’t listen to her dad or me.  Not because I can’t tolerate disrespect (I work with middle school kids for crying out loud) but because I need her to understand that we are her parents.  We are not her friends.  We will laugh with her and joke with her and forgive her all of her imperfections but when it comes down to the line what we say goes. And so I yell.

Do I feel like shit about this at the end of the day?  Absolutely. I go to bed trying to count how many times I had to yell at her, often stopping after I get to ten because then I feel downright lousy.  But here’s my thought (and maybe its just be trying to rationalize my own bad behavior and parental shortcomings):  yelling can be just another sound of love. And so while sometimes I worry all I am doing is yelling I stop to remind myself of all of the moments where there wasn’t just no yelling, but instead honest-to-god awe that a child could be so amazing:  When I watch her mother her little friends so effortlessly, or hear her tell me how excited she is to have the special needs students in her class next year (“One of the boys has Down syndrome, Mama.  Like Jack. Isn’t that awesome?”), or plan to ambush her dad with Nerf darts as he comes through the front door from work and giggle because it worked.  There is no yelling there.  There is praise and telling her how proud I am of her, and laughter-so so so much laughter.   Love is the language I speak.  Every single syllable I speak to my kids is spoken in love. My goal in life is to make sure that even if I am yelling at them that they can translate it into love.

Party for Five

Birthday parties for Kennedy are a big deal for me.  Since the very first one I have spent weeks trying to make sure that they are special and fun, and that my little girl can feel how very loved she is.  I dropped the ball the year she turned three; the year Jack died.  The problem was her birthday fell on Mother's Day and so I just couldn't rally. We had cake and sang to her with Sean's mom and my sister and nephews but that was it.  That was as good as it was going to get.  Silly as it may seem, and I know that some of you read that and think 'sounds like a party to me' and you're probably right. Maybe the real problem was that my heart wasn't in it at all and the guilt from that still eats at me.  I always pray she doesn't remember me like that; that she was just too little. 

And so here we are approaching five.  I simply cannot wrap my head and heart around that.  How can this be?  So when she started talking about her birthday more and more, as we went to party after party for the friends she's made over the years, I wanted to make sure I got it right. Five seems like a big deal.  They are real little kids at five.  Everything starts- school, sports, real friends that they've made outside of the social circles they were born into; all of it.  So we talk and talked and trough around ideas-many of which I deemed not “good enough” or she vetoed, and Sean all the while saying, "Just let her pick!"  While I had these grand ideas swirling in my mind, the little guy cooking has got me feeling pretty exhausted and it seemed like more than I could undertake-and heaping any extra stress on top seemed unwise.  And so one day when she mentioned that she misses hockey (since it's been a while and the new schedule conflicted with dance class-big catastrophe) we said how about ice skating?  She immediately said yes and we booked it.  

Invitations were made and sent into preschool, mailed to the others and plans were being made.  She wanted 'Shimmer and Shine' decorations and, God help me, I agreed, though if I'm being honest killed me a little.  As people responded she happily checked or crossed their names off, getting more and more excited.  

The days leading up to the party-the nights really-I would lay awake and worry was this a mistake? How many 4-5 years old can skate?! Am I going to have a "party" full of frustrated, crying kiddos, whose parents were going to be wondering, "What kind of idiot has an ice skating party for kids this age?!"  But Sean, the non-worrier of our duo was unconcerned.  

We are seriously into skirts and dresses right now-which for a rough and tumble kind of gal mean lots of exposed scrapes and bruises and knees that no matter how hard I scrub always seem to be grass stained and dirty.  But still she wanted to wear a skirt so that plus a 'Shimmer and Shine' tee, mix in whatever padded hockey gear I could convince on her and we had quite the birthday party ensemble. 

We arrived early to set up.  We tested our marriage attempting to untangle the twenty balloon I'd made an utter mess of stuffing into my car earlier.  But all was well and as the kids arrived, the look of pure happiness on my little girl's face made all of my neurotic worries melt away.  

Being worried about these kids being able to skate or enjoy themselves? Ridiculous.  I severely underestimated the determination that pumped through the veins of our little ones.  Some of them took to it like they were born on skates while others hung onto the buckets for dear life but the smiles-oh the smiles were there.  Kennedy skated from friend to friend encouraging them and telling them how good they were and my heart felt full.  Watching this little girl, so in her element, so confident but still so concerned for the people around her that she loves and cares about. Magic. 

When it was time to sing to her, as I looked around and saw how happy she was and how loved she is, I found myself pleading, "Dear God, please let us be here again in five years.  Please let my little boy get here and allow us to enjoy the years leading up to it-preparing him to sit where she sits, basking in the love everyone has for him."  

You see, I am a parent full of flaws, sometimes flailing through the day just trying to make it to bedtime.  But I have to allow myself, like that day, to stop and take in the fact that I've got to be doing something right to have this kid be who she is.  I mean, don't get me wrong there is still plenty of time for me to screw her up and for her to become a real jerk, but I really believe that that last 2 year have shaped Kennedy into the person she is.  She cares for others in a deep way that seems like she is years older than she is.  She interprets feeling and situations that most adults overlook. 

She is loved for sure but, oh, does she love.  She is the reason to have kept going.  She is the glue for a broken heart.  She is the strength to begin again.

So it was a success.  Her actual birthday is 8 days away-we count down every night and double check in the morning.  Five years ago I impatiently counted down the days until she'd be here imagining how much I'd love her when she arrived.  I had no clue. 

 

Behind the Curtain

The Wizard of Oz knew what was up.  He had this whole land of everything beautiful and shiny, with all of these happy little people singing-it looked like a good setup albeit there was a witch hanging around making things messy here and there.  Now it’s only at the end that we see “The Great and Powerful Oz” for what he was, this bumbling, fumbling, frazzled guy behind the curtain trying to keep up the charade that he had all of his shit under control, a.k.a. he was just the parent of Oz.  Things behind the curtain didn’t look as pretty and his tough guy act melted away pretty quickly but it was real, man.  I had nine glorious days off from work for February break full of family visits, and friends, and plenty of behind the curtain moments. 

My cousin and his family rolled into town the first weekend for their yearly visit; I think we are on year five now.  We packed in a lot of fun stuff, which was well received by all of the kids, which, trust me, is a huge deal.  There was swimming, slides, sledding, and horses and a ton of smiles.  It was easy to revel in how much fun they were having and smile along with them.  Don’t be fooled by this rosy picture I’ve painted for you, friends.  Behind the curtain there were plenty of meltdowns, bickering, empty mom-threats, tears, time-outs, and words spoken through gritted parent-teeth.  The good far outweighed the bad and it was another visit that makes you look forward to the next one.

We tried to lay low for the few days we had in between the visit and the trip we had planned to go out to Boston to see our friends.  Of course plans being what they are, I ended up cleaning the whole house, top to bottom-floor trim and all, with the exception of our bedroom, which is like a vortex of disorder in an otherwise pretty orderly place. This was all in preparation for an interview with the local newspaper about Jack’s Herd and Jack’s story.  I was equal parts nervous and excited but I felt like the house looked good and we even managed to make it outside to enjoy the gorgeous, freak weather we got in February in the northeast.  Kindergarten paperwork showed up for Kennedy and I died a little.  As I snapped a picture of it to send to Sean, when I went back to look at it and saw her playing in the background, drawing on the driveway in chalk it was clear I am the only one that isn’t ready for this- my little one is not so little anymore.  The interview went great, until the photographer that came along wanted a picture that required us to be at the computer in our room and just like that, the curtain was pulled back and the chaos was exposed.  We were able to laugh it off, but my God that was mortifying.

Friday we made our way to our favorite city to see one of our favorite families.  We’ve always loved spending time with Jen and Andrew but now their little guy Oliver is just icing on the cake.  You could just mush him for days- those cheeks were made for kisses.  Every time Kennedy would groan, “He is adawww-wable,” we would laugh but whole-heartedly agree.  We again soaked up the still amazingly warm weather going to the parks sans coats-willing Mother Nature to give us more. We went to Disney on Ice’s “Dare to Dream” with the little lady, and since we’ve seen about 5 of these shows and consider ourselves connoisseurs of character themed ice-capades, I feel confident in telling you this was a good one.  As we made our way to our seats somehow was managed to sit in the right row but the wrong end.  We didn’t realize it until 15 minutes in.  We were right at the end of the “stage” and so every time the performers came in or out we could see them behind the curtain, quite literally.  So my kid would excitedly scream the characters name before they even came out for everyone else to see.  As I looked around I realized we were the only people that were that far over that didn’t work at the arena and so we check the seats against the tickets and made our way to our much better, closer to center-stage seats.  The excitement on her face literally made my eyes fill with tears (and this made me feel like my mother-in-law) and I’m pretty sure Sean’s eyes filled with tears as he repeatedly shelled out money for a light-up wand, cotton candy and the ridiculous Dory hat that came with it and everything else Kennedy “needed”-but when she genuinely thanked him and kissed his cheek I knew she could have gotten way more out of the guy.  It was a great weekend but behind the curtain there was four-year-old sassiness that was awfully embarrassing at times, a painful moment where a well-meaning stranger inquired about my kids and how many I had, and how old they were where I had to figure out how I could avoid the awkwardness and tears and yet still do right by Jack, and running through the park as the warm sky finally gave way to rain that Kennedy yelled at and blamed Sean for.

It’s messy behind the curtain, people.  The curtain comes in all different shapes: a smile, perfect Instagram photos that leave out the tears and refused “cheeses”, the clean house but terribly messy bedroom.  It’s ok to keep the curtain pulled but just don’t forget that after the wizard was exposed for what he was: an overwhelmed, exhausted guy just trying to keep the show going- he was able to slow down and breathe and actually get the job done. 

We’ve got a lot going on behind the curtain over here these days but that’s for another time.