Last week, my darling son was doing what 11 year old boys do...something reckless...when he fell and hurt himself. Fortunately, he didn't break his ankle or bones in his foot, but he has a pretty bad sprain. We've done what is necessary to help him heal, but I do know that my son is, well, an hypochondriac.
From toddlerhood, he has always overdramatized any of his hurts. I'd go to get him after school, and he'd be covered in bandaids. Any little scrape is a life or death situation. It's so hard to know when his pain is real or when he's embellishing. When he fractured his wrist last year, it took me weeks to convince him to begin using it again after the cast was removed and he was given the all-clear to resume activities. After he gets over a cold, it takes all the pushing and pulling possible to get him off the couch.
Because of the severity of the sprain, the doctor recommended crutches for a few days. I inwardly groaned. I knew our son would love his crutches and the attention they bring him. Today marks day five of the great sprain incident, and it's time for him to walk. At 7:25 this morning, we had our first argument over the crutches when I told him he could get his own breakfast. He started yelling, "I can't! I can't!" Then he went to the kitchen and made his own breakfast.
Knowing my son, I decided to bribe him, and I'm not proud about doing so. However, the promise of a movie he's been desperate to see has driven him to stretch, ice, and walk today. In fact, by the end of the day, he was walking without his crutches. He even decided to put both shoes on.
So Friday, I will sit in a darkened theatre, watching another kid's movie, but at least my son will be stronger and crutch-free. I don't like bribes, but they are sometimes a necessity in the life of a parent.
Monday, July 29, 2013
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Riding dirt with my son
Living a quarter of a mile from a biking/walking trail affords us ample opportunities to be active. We are on the trail every day during summer, and at least 4-5 times per week the rest of the year. Today was one of those days where we biked part of the trail.
My son, Chip, has only ridden for five years, and yet, he is an incredibly adventurous rider; at least, I think so. Part of "our" trail has dirt paths, which Chip prefers to ride. I personally like riding the concrete, safe trails, but I hate to look like a chicken in front of my son, so I ride the dirt with him. He pushes me to challenge myself and my own riding abilities when we take those dirt trails.
We've seen some lovely flowers and unusual plants because we ride dirt, and we've had adventures in terms of crossing small parts of the creek or riding in mud because the foliage is so dense, the mud can't dry out. Sometimes we get separated, or Chip chooses a different path than I want to ride, but the nicest part of this trail is we can reconnect at some point.
I like to think of myself as independent, tough, formidable, so when I have 'girly' moments on the trail, it's tough. Today as we rode, I wasn't paying enough attention, and what I thought was a stick was, in fact, a snake. Not a dangerous snake, but a snake nonetheless. As it reared up when I got too close to it, I screamed a girly scream, "a snake! a snake!" knowing full well it wouldn't hurt me. Yuck, though. I don't particularly care for snakes, and when I see one on the trail, it's a bit freaky for me. Chip thought I was pulling his leg.
On our trail adventures, we've seen coyotes, herons, snakes, different types of birds, prairie dogs, and we've met all sorts of friendly people and their dogs. Although our trail adventures feel like we're away from the city and in the wilderness, the city isn't far; in fact, it surrounds us. The best part of our trail rides, other than time together, is the fact we can witness the beauty of nature, its changeability.
I like our adventures; I like the fact that I have to push myself to keep up with my son.
My son, Chip, has only ridden for five years, and yet, he is an incredibly adventurous rider; at least, I think so. Part of "our" trail has dirt paths, which Chip prefers to ride. I personally like riding the concrete, safe trails, but I hate to look like a chicken in front of my son, so I ride the dirt with him. He pushes me to challenge myself and my own riding abilities when we take those dirt trails.
We've seen some lovely flowers and unusual plants because we ride dirt, and we've had adventures in terms of crossing small parts of the creek or riding in mud because the foliage is so dense, the mud can't dry out. Sometimes we get separated, or Chip chooses a different path than I want to ride, but the nicest part of this trail is we can reconnect at some point.
I like to think of myself as independent, tough, formidable, so when I have 'girly' moments on the trail, it's tough. Today as we rode, I wasn't paying enough attention, and what I thought was a stick was, in fact, a snake. Not a dangerous snake, but a snake nonetheless. As it reared up when I got too close to it, I screamed a girly scream, "a snake! a snake!" knowing full well it wouldn't hurt me. Yuck, though. I don't particularly care for snakes, and when I see one on the trail, it's a bit freaky for me. Chip thought I was pulling his leg.
On our trail adventures, we've seen coyotes, herons, snakes, different types of birds, prairie dogs, and we've met all sorts of friendly people and their dogs. Although our trail adventures feel like we're away from the city and in the wilderness, the city isn't far; in fact, it surrounds us. The best part of our trail rides, other than time together, is the fact we can witness the beauty of nature, its changeability.
I like our adventures; I like the fact that I have to push myself to keep up with my son.
Sunday, July 14, 2013
I like being married!
"Mawage. Mawage is wot bwings us togeder tooday. Mawage, that bwessed awangment, that dweam wifin a dweam… And wuv, tru wuv, will fowow you foweva… So tweasure your wuv. " One of my favorite lines from one of my favorite movies, The Princess Bride. I thought about this line frequently over the past week, as my husband and son were in the mountains at Boy Scout camp, while I, and Daisy dog, were home. The time apart gave me an opportunity to truly reflect on marriage, the blessed arrangement, the dream within a dream...
It's easy to forget to "tweasure your wuv" when there's so much to do each day, each week. With both of us working in demanding professions, we can forget to show the other love. And while we have one child, he still takes a great deal of time, which also causes us to forget to treasure our love. But separation, total separation, reminds us that we really do love one another and how blessed we truly are.
You know the line in Sleepless in Seattle, when Sam, who's speaking to the radio doctor says, "it was a million tiny little things that, when you added them all up, they meant we were supposed to be together... and I knew it. I knew it the very first time I touched her. It was like coming home... only to no home I'd ever known... I was just taking her hand to help her out of a car and I knew. It was like... magic"? I thought about that line the moment I met my husband. The day had been long, snowy, and cold, and the retreat we were supposed to have wasn't going well, and he came stomping into the meeting room, all six feet, six inches of him. My first thought was, "Oh great, I'm going to be here with this redneck for the weekend!!" And then we were introduced and shook hands. In that brief moment, it was like coming home. Throughout the weekend together--with plenty of others around--I felt like I had always known him; there was a comfort with him I had never found with any other guy I had met. When we participated in an Emmaus walk, I held his hands, which felt right, and looked into his eyes, and we knew...we knew we found the right one.
With my husband, The Handyman, it's those million little things that all add up...listening to him breathe at night, feeling the warmth of his body next to mine. Having the paper unwrapped and on the table before I eat breakfast. His obsession with doing our laundry. Sitting silently, companionably, next to one another and not worrying what the other is thinking. Laughing at one another's jokes.
We have a history, and it's been quite a road. We've weathered some severe life storms and emerged stronger. Each of us is imperfect, but we love that about one another. Are there parts of our personalities that frustrate each other? Naturally; two people cannot live together with complete harmony. Can we compromise or overlook those frustrations? We do our very best.
I like holding his hand still. I like when he hugs and kisses me. I like being married. This past week confirmed for me that I really like being married. Fortunately, I'm with someone who likes being married to me. For us, it's is "twu wuv".
It's easy to forget to "tweasure your wuv" when there's so much to do each day, each week. With both of us working in demanding professions, we can forget to show the other love. And while we have one child, he still takes a great deal of time, which also causes us to forget to treasure our love. But separation, total separation, reminds us that we really do love one another and how blessed we truly are.
You know the line in Sleepless in Seattle, when Sam, who's speaking to the radio doctor says, "it was a million tiny little things that, when you added them all up, they meant we were supposed to be together... and I knew it. I knew it the very first time I touched her. It was like coming home... only to no home I'd ever known... I was just taking her hand to help her out of a car and I knew. It was like... magic"? I thought about that line the moment I met my husband. The day had been long, snowy, and cold, and the retreat we were supposed to have wasn't going well, and he came stomping into the meeting room, all six feet, six inches of him. My first thought was, "Oh great, I'm going to be here with this redneck for the weekend!!" And then we were introduced and shook hands. In that brief moment, it was like coming home. Throughout the weekend together--with plenty of others around--I felt like I had always known him; there was a comfort with him I had never found with any other guy I had met. When we participated in an Emmaus walk, I held his hands, which felt right, and looked into his eyes, and we knew...we knew we found the right one.
With my husband, The Handyman, it's those million little things that all add up...listening to him breathe at night, feeling the warmth of his body next to mine. Having the paper unwrapped and on the table before I eat breakfast. His obsession with doing our laundry. Sitting silently, companionably, next to one another and not worrying what the other is thinking. Laughing at one another's jokes.
We have a history, and it's been quite a road. We've weathered some severe life storms and emerged stronger. Each of us is imperfect, but we love that about one another. Are there parts of our personalities that frustrate each other? Naturally; two people cannot live together with complete harmony. Can we compromise or overlook those frustrations? We do our very best.
I like holding his hand still. I like when he hugs and kisses me. I like being married. This past week confirmed for me that I really like being married. Fortunately, I'm with someone who likes being married to me. For us, it's is "twu wuv".
Monday, July 1, 2013
Raising a tween
Tween. What a dumb word. At least, I thought so until my son moved into the "tween" stage. We've been riding an hormonal roller coaster ever since.
At my age, it's hard to remember the feelings and thoughts I had as a 'tween.' Of course, when I was 11 and 12, the word hadn't been invented yet. As our world has evolved, it is seems logical to name this foyer into the teen years. It also seems logical to give parents of tweens free Valium to handle these rougher waters of parenting.
Today, for example, my son made mini-muffins for us. It was a sweet gesture, and the muffins were wonderful. However, when he wanted his father to eat one and his father wouldn't--because he was in the middle of something--our son got really upset and started yelling. Yesterday, I went into the basement, supposedly to exercise, to escape from my son's hormones. They were raging until he fell asleep on the couch.
I'm trying to help him find words to identify what's going on with him; I think he'll be a better communicator later in his life if he can identify and explain his thoughts and feelings. I have to be careful, however; sons are at such a confusing time with their mothers, especially at 11. They don't want to be babied or 'mama's boy,' but they need to know their mothers are there for them. They want to explore what it means to be a man with their fathers or other adult males, which often means they avoid their mothers. I feel like I'm walking a tightrope as I deal with my son.
I know he wants to be independent but is still dependent on me. I try to give him his space and be patient, but there are days where my patience wears thin. Like all his other stages, I know this stage will not last forever. It will last, though, until he's finished with high school, and right now, that seems like a long time away!
At my age, it's hard to remember the feelings and thoughts I had as a 'tween.' Of course, when I was 11 and 12, the word hadn't been invented yet. As our world has evolved, it is seems logical to name this foyer into the teen years. It also seems logical to give parents of tweens free Valium to handle these rougher waters of parenting.
Today, for example, my son made mini-muffins for us. It was a sweet gesture, and the muffins were wonderful. However, when he wanted his father to eat one and his father wouldn't--because he was in the middle of something--our son got really upset and started yelling. Yesterday, I went into the basement, supposedly to exercise, to escape from my son's hormones. They were raging until he fell asleep on the couch.
I'm trying to help him find words to identify what's going on with him; I think he'll be a better communicator later in his life if he can identify and explain his thoughts and feelings. I have to be careful, however; sons are at such a confusing time with their mothers, especially at 11. They don't want to be babied or 'mama's boy,' but they need to know their mothers are there for them. They want to explore what it means to be a man with their fathers or other adult males, which often means they avoid their mothers. I feel like I'm walking a tightrope as I deal with my son.
I know he wants to be independent but is still dependent on me. I try to give him his space and be patient, but there are days where my patience wears thin. Like all his other stages, I know this stage will not last forever. It will last, though, until he's finished with high school, and right now, that seems like a long time away!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)