The JENN Voodoo Doll

Ok, ok, now you can get off the floor. I actually am posting twice in one week and not post dating. I would have actually posted the day after my last post but I wanted to give everyone a chance to read my last one. If you haven't read it, you need to do so before you read this one or you won't get the significance.

I really believe that the gods in heaven are holding a Jenn voodoo doll and have been poking it religiously over the past few weeks. And then they decided to hit it with a rock the day after my last post. Remember my last line, "Tomorrow will be a better day."??? I went to bed that night motivated to change my behavior regarding my children. I woke up the next morning and boy did I have the best situation to try it out on. I was on my own that day and started my routine of getting the kids up and ready for school. I was helping my youngest get her bed made and get dressed. After she was dressed, I was getting her hair brushed and had planned on doing French braids for her. My daughters love braids and what they love even more is sleeping in them and then waking up the next day and having curly hair - since both my genes and my husbands genes mix to make poker straight hair, curly hair is a treat. French braiding also takes a little time, which I don't have much of in the morning. So, this was a special treat for them and a way for me to feel good about mothering. As I was brushing her hair, and you probably know what is coming, I noticed a chunk missing on one side. I honestly didn't think anything of it. The last person that had cut her hair had angled it on the sides to help blend in the shorter, thinner hairs on the side of her face. I also was the one that had given Gabi her bath the night before, brushed her hair and then had put her to bed and noticed nothing with her hair. As I sat their brushing, I couldn't believe that the last person who had cut her hair had botched up her sides so bad. So, just out of curiosity, I asked Gabi if she had cut her hair to which she replied, 'no'. I also called her brother and sister in and asked them the same question to which I received adamant no's from both of them. I am very good about noticing when my kids are lying and I was pretty sure that the older two weren't but not so sure about my youngest. I kept badgering her with the question until she finally hung her head low and admitted her wrongdoing. You would be proud of me internet friends because I didn't yell, I didn't scream and believe it or not, I didn't smack her. Yes, I am a smacking kind of mom. What flashed before my eyes was when my oldest daughter had done the exact same thing but only worse. She had taken a chunk off right at her scalp. I was so furious with her that my husband had to hold her back from me because he thought I was going to kill her. That is figuratively, of course. For Gabi, I was very shocked and was trying to place when she had done it. I decided to ask which she proudly shared that she had done it while she was watching her movie before bed. And where was I? Taking a well deserved 15 minute computer break. Yes, this happened basically right under my nose. So, "why?" I asked her to which she replied even more proudly, "I wanted my hair short like Oee's (which is Gabispeak for Olivia).". The last time she had gotten her hair cut she had told the lady that she wanted her hair short like Olivia's to which I had said no way. Apparently, she took matters into her own hands. I told her that I wasn't happy with her and now I couldn't do braids in her hair. I just put it back in a barrette and had her finish her bedroom chores for the morning. She was upset and crying just a tad. I told her that she was on scissor restriction for an unlimited amount of time and that would mean that she can't cut and paste in school. This is her favorite pastime. When she came downstairs, I had her turn in her scissors which she gladly handed over. You must realize that this is my daughter, very relaxed and laid back. She knew she was in trouble and that I wasn't happy with her and quite honestly, just didn't care. I could have smacked her but what was the point. I had to find another way to make her realize that what she did was wrong.

She had story time at the library that day and right after that I took her to get her hair chopped off to try and make it even with the chunk she had removed. As she was sitting in the barber chair, she was smiling. She continued to tell the lady that she had cut off her hair because she wanted it short. She was very proud of herself. As I watched her long locks come flying off and the length of the hair that was left continue to get shorter, I became furious with her. I was so angry at that point. She noticed my scowls and started to pout. Finally, I thought, she might understand my frustration. When she was done, I put her hair back in her bow and went to pay for her haircut. She stood next to me and her brother and sister grabbed the Dum Dum sucker basket that haircuttery gives to good kids and asked if they could have a sucker. I told them they could. And then, it happened, I found my currency for Gabi. "Mommy, can I have one too", she asked. And like my response came straight from God with the proper tones and incantations, "No, you may not. These suckers are for good girls who come to get their hair trimmed, not cut off because they were naughty and used scissors to do it themselves. I am not happy with you." And lo and behold, my daughter started crying. And she cried the rest of the way home. Not for any reason except that she was denied food. But that was enough for me. Even though the rest of the day she was gloriously showing off her new haircut to anyone that would listen, I had my moment where she felt bad for what she had done. That was enough for me.

This is Gabi right before we went into the haircuttery. Notice she glowing smile and proud face. The missing piece is on the right side.

Another shot of the missing piece.

And this, my friends, is my daughter after she was denied her sucker.

Later that evening, over the sucker incident and happy as can be.

It is taking a long time to get used to her new haircut. For some reason, it makes her look a year older. And considering this could be my last child, letting go of anything that turns your baby into a big girl is very hard. But for her, maybe she looks older because she feels older. Because she took control and did something she wanted to do regardless of what her parents thought about it. I am definitely going to have to be more careful about trying to control harmless wants/needs in the future. I wanted her hair long because I liked it that way and for no other reason. She wanted it short and she prevailed. I am a control freak and I admit that. As I said in that last post, each child is different with their own needs and their own wants. I have to respond to each one of them differently. Gabi, even at 4 1/2 yrs, has taught me that as much as I want to control everything about her, I can't. She has her own mind and her own wants. And when it comes to harmless wants, like the length of her hair, I need to let go of some of that control and learn to compromise. And not only with her but with all of them. The only difference with her is that if she wants it bad enough, she's going to go get it on her own. That could prove fatal when she hits those teenage years so I need to start that pattern of compromising now. Pray for me friends, pray for me.

Three Strikes, I'm Out!!!

STRIKE ONE. . . . .

A few weeks ago, my son was having a problem with his Math. On an average day, I spend about 15 minutes with him actually teaching the new concept in Math. The time is so little mostly because he gets the concepts so fast. After my teaching time, he has 30 Math problems that he completes on his own. Most days, he gets about 5 or so wrong and we go over the reason for his mistakes and fix them together. That day a few weeks ago, he was having what my husband and I have come to call 'a bonehead day'. This is the kind of day that we as teachers feel like beating our heads up against a brick wall because it would be much easier than teaching our son. This is the kind of day where he makes Math much harder than it is and can't compute simple problems. On that day, when I checked those 30 independent problems, he got at least 15 of them wrong. I could tell even before I looked over them that the problem wasn't comprehension, it was his computation, it was his desire to speed through his work just to get it done. Sounds like someone else I knew during her school years. Yes, I was the same way and it drove my dad nuts. I still remember the looks of disappointment he would give me after having 'bonehead days' myself. So, I do have sympathy for my boy but it still didn't excuse his sloppy Math work. His lack of concentration infuriated me that day. As I checked each one wrong, I could feel my anger rising with each new mark on his paper. And what bothered me the most was that I couldn't control it. I have a temper, I always have. My father is Italian, go figure. But ever since Jake was born, I have had daily lessons in patience. And I think I'm doing very well, thank you very much. But I do have days and that day was one of them. Not only could I not control my boiling frustration, I also verbalized it to him. Verbalized it to the point that I made him cry. And you would think that watching him get that upset would stop me - it didn't. That little voice inside kept telling me to stop but I kept going until he was bawling. Yes, I admit that was awful to do to him. And there is no excuse for that. It came to a point that my maternal instinct took over my anger and I regained composure, apologize for making him cry and gave him a big embrace.

STRIKE TWO. . . . .

Last week, my youngest daughter came to me complaining of a toothache. It started at breakfast while she was eating her meal. Since waffle sticks and syrup were on the menu, I was pretty confident that she was trying to get out of eating her breakfast. Why she doesn't like that meal, I just don't know. So, as usual, we started school without her. She participated in our family devotions from the breakfast table and we went along our merry way doing our schoolwork. Once she actually did finish, she still complained about her tooth. I told her to go upstairs and brush her teeth and that should take care of it. I didn't hear anything more until after lunch. I did actually look in her mouth and saw nothing amidst the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that she had just consumed. I told myself that I would brush her teeth and actually take a good look later. Later didn't happen until bedtime when I actually took the time to brush her teeth and take a look at the lower back molar that she had been complaining about. When I looked I was shocked and ashamed, overwhelming feelings of guilt washed over me. Her tooth had looked like it had pieces that had cracked off and also had big brown spots on it. Not only did I feel guilty because I had brushed it off (Did I make a puny??) but also because at least one teeth brushing out of the day (we do it after breakfast and before bed) was either performed by one of the older kids or by my youngest daughter herself. And there are even days that I don't brush her teeth and she does it both times all by herself!!! Could this rotten tooth be because of neglect on my part?? All I could do was shake my head. And, of course, this was Friday. If I had taken the time early in the morning to actually look or even brush her teeth after her peanut butter and jelly lunch, I could have brought her to the dentist that day. But now, to make my guilty complex worse, she had to wait until the weekend was over. First thing Monday, I called the dentist for her to be seen. They squeezed her in and off we went. Her diagnosis: her enamel on her tooth didn't form correctly causing the tooth to become extra sensitive and soft making it more susceptible to cavities, which she did have. Culprit: most likely my illnesses during my pregnancy with her or just the simple fact that she is a third child and made of spare parts (know how that feels Em??). So, the dentists reminded me that this was beyond my control. It made me feel a little better but if I had taken the time to brush her teeth twice a day, we might have avoided the cavities. They didn't say that - I formed that hypothesis on my own. But the story gets worse. They had to drill her tooth down to get rid of the soft spots and also get rid of the cavity. In order to do this - nitrous oxide - laughing gas - make my daughter loopy gas- however you want to say it, had to be administered. I had to sign a consent form for them to do that and I started to tear up with memories of her going into surgery to have her adenoids removed. I watched as they put her under and will never forget the look in her eyes before she fell asleep. Talk about guilt. The dentists assured me that she would still be awake just a little sleepy. I signed the consent for her because I knew it would make her more comfortable. I told her what was going to happen and she said, "Just as long as my tooth stops hurting, I don't care momma." And so that attitude followed her to the dentists chair as they reclined her back, gave her some cool sunglasses to shade the bright light they were shining in her face, gave her a big fuzzy pillow to sit on, put what they referred to as her elephant nose on (the continuous nitrous) and drilled for 20-30 minutes as she lay back with her feet crossed at the ankles. No crying, no fussing, no talking, no squirming. She just didn't care. Me on the other hand, watching her go through that, I'm surprised I sat upright through the entire thing.

STRIKE THREE. . . . .

And to top of all those guilty mommy moments of late, here is another one. This morning was a typical school morning by myself. I get up, get ready, get the kids up, help my youngest get dressed and make her bed, do my middle daughters hair, yell at my son to actually get out of bed and then go downstairs to make breakfast. I call them when it's ready, they all come bounding down the steps, we eat breakfast, brush our teeth (now I brush Gab's teeth twice a day) and start school. We start with a devotional, prayer and the pledge to the flag. Then the teaching begins. Today, Jake had a test in Math. I went over the test and left him to take it. During that time, I start with Olivia on Math. For some reason she was having one of Jake's 'bonehead days' and couldn't for the life of her add nickels and dimes together, something she had mastered months ago. Instead, she started complaining, out of the blue, that her ear was hurting. Not only was she complaining, she started crying. Here we go again. You would think that after the last two incidents with my other two children that I would have learned my lesson. Apparently not. I told her she was fine and we kept on working on her money problems to which she continued to get all her problems wrong and continued to cry about her ear. I guess it's because of my daughters' tendency to overexaggerate and overdramatize most anything that I really didn't give a second thought to her behavior. I did touch her head to make sure she wasn't running a fever and she wasn't. Once again, I had that little voice in the back of my head telling me to slow down and evaluate what was happening here but me being me and my ability to 'shoot from the hip', I continued to press on with her Math and ignore the tears, the puffy eyes and that look that Olivia gets only when she really is sick. Finally, I had had enough and sent her to her room. If she wasn't feeling well, then she should just lay down. And I didn't send her up there to feel better, I sent her up there to punish her for being overly dramatic. I sent her up there because I couldn't control what was going on and get her to concentrate on her studies and ignore whatever imaginary ear pain that was bothering her. Yeah, I know, by now I sound like a real awful mom. After about another 30 minutes of the bawling, I gave her a dose of Tylenol just in case there really was something wrong. And after another 20 minutes after that, my maternal instinct voice took over and I called the doctor who would be able to see her immediately. We rushed over there, got right in, and within another 20 minutes found out that she indeed did have an ear infection. And right then at that very moment, I returned to motherhood as I evaluated all the signs that were right in front of my face - she had had a bad runny nose and cough just days before that I know full well has the potential, if it lingers, to put pressure on the ears causing an infection. And that is just a medical sign. I should have been able to look in her eyes and know her sick eyes, to know that she only gets that upset when she really is sick. I could have kicked myself again.

I'M OUT!!

These guilty mommy moments have not knocked me down. They have only reminded me that I am not perfect. It try to be, I really do but sometimes the stress of life just gets to me and I can't think straight. If anything, these incidents over the last few weeks have kept me in check. To control my temper because now my son is old enough to really be hurt by my outbursts and to remember them. To take a moment during my busy day to take care of the reason I exist at this time in my life - to be everything for my kids. And to listen to the signs - to realize that each child is different, with their own needs and their own way of handling them. Tomorrow will be a better day.

Fun in the Sun

Another fun filled February in Florida. Hey, is that a tongue twister!! We had so much fun and to make it even better, my sister and her family shared it with us. Of course, the funniest part about her family is my Little Prissy niece. How could I resist her big smiles, slimy wet kisses, sleepy eyes and all around chubbiness?? I was privileged to be able to witness some of her firsts - swimming in the pool, sticking her little chubby toes in the ocean (Gulf of Mexico), feeling the sand on her face for the first time, looking at her little chubby legs in all her summer outfits, her first ride on a boat. And if you think this is all about Camille, I also enjoyed watching my kids be free and turn into water rats. They live in the pool and my little Gabi learned to swim half the length of the pool to her Pop Pop. My dad has taught all three of them to swim and had them swimming by the time they were 4 or 5. Gabi is right on target. Our days at the beach have also become much longer than in the past. I actually have to drag them all off these days after 3-4 hours or digging, throwing, constructing and now they've learned to also enjoy my most favorite part, just sitting and watching life go by. Of course, it's only for about 5 minutes but it's the thought that counts. The pictures speak better than this post.

Watching Life Go By

Sisters and Cousins

The Fam on Captiva Island

Photo Taken by Gabi

Bathing Beauties

Gabi Finally Gets to Touch a Manatee

Don't you just wanna kiss those chubby cheeks??