Saturday, April 26, 2008
Prom dress story
My feature on prom dresses ran in today's FYI: Family section of this weekend's Patriot Ledger.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Overcast in the sky
Well, here I am in beautiful, sunny Rochester, New York. Well, as sunny as it ever seems to get here, which is mostly cloudy. At least it's not snowing.
My sis, Chris, and I flew out of Logan this morning without a hitch. We started giggling in the car on the way to the airport and never really stopped for long until we landed. Along the way, we joked inappropriately about airport security, endured aural and olfactory distress due to the snoring, smelly man sitting directly behind us on the plane, and had to wait for Mom to pick us up for a half-hour at the Rochester airport.
We couldn't figure out what was taking Mom so long. The woman is never late. Then we realized we were waiting at departures, not arrivals. You'd have thought that all the people getting dropped off for their flights would have clued us in. It just proves that two brains are not necessarily better than one.
Dad drove up from Wellsville, packing 7 dozen cookies, a dozen (day-old) donuts, half a loaf of banana bread, an entire panful of frosted brownies, two loaves of salt-rising bread and one king-size loaf of white bread. He said he baked for 6 hours on Wednesday. I haven't sampled everything yet but I'm working on it.
In other news, the Milton Times published my feature about South Shore Habitat for Humanity in yesterday's issue.
My sis, Chris, and I flew out of Logan this morning without a hitch. We started giggling in the car on the way to the airport and never really stopped for long until we landed. Along the way, we joked inappropriately about airport security, endured aural and olfactory distress due to the snoring, smelly man sitting directly behind us on the plane, and had to wait for Mom to pick us up for a half-hour at the Rochester airport.
We couldn't figure out what was taking Mom so long. The woman is never late. Then we realized we were waiting at departures, not arrivals. You'd have thought that all the people getting dropped off for their flights would have clued us in. It just proves that two brains are not necessarily better than one.
Dad drove up from Wellsville, packing 7 dozen cookies, a dozen (day-old) donuts, half a loaf of banana bread, an entire panful of frosted brownies, two loaves of salt-rising bread and one king-size loaf of white bread. He said he baked for 6 hours on Wednesday. I haven't sampled everything yet but I'm working on it.
In other news, the Milton Times published my feature about South Shore Habitat for Humanity in yesterday's issue.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Tagged!
I was tagged by Naomi's blog, so here are six random things you may not know about me:
1. I have anxiety dreams about my teeth falling out.
2. I used to be called Jules in high school. I decided I didn't like it in college, where there was another voice major who went by that nickname.
3. I hate olives, any kind of hot peppers, and beer.
4. I wanted to be an astronaut. Then I hit physics class in high school. Physics hit back, hard.
5. Be-Bop-a-Re-Bop Rhubarb Pie commercials on A Prairie Home Companion crack me up every single time.
6. Sometimes I wish I could sing cabaret or folk stuff. But how?
1. I have anxiety dreams about my teeth falling out.
2. I used to be called Jules in high school. I decided I didn't like it in college, where there was another voice major who went by that nickname.
3. I hate olives, any kind of hot peppers, and beer.
4. I wanted to be an astronaut. Then I hit physics class in high school. Physics hit back, hard.
5. Be-Bop-a-Re-Bop Rhubarb Pie commercials on A Prairie Home Companion crack me up every single time.
6. Sometimes I wish I could sing cabaret or folk stuff. But how?
Quick! Call Supernanny!
Lately I've been feeling like the worst mother ever. How else can you explain my being unable to control -- even partially -- Abby's behavior?
When we last left our favorite six-year-old, I was wondering how I would find her mood at school pick-up time on Thursday. Update: she was fine. She was also fine the next day, mostly. And most of Saturday.
And then it was Sunday: the first day without CCD. And the day before Earl was leaving for Canada for a quick trip to check out the cottage. And the day of a playdate that had to be postponed from Saturday.
Sunday morning saw her as out of control as she's ever been. Yesterday's and today's mornings saw that, too. Her therapist (whom I called for help) asked me what it looked like, and it looked like this: Abby yelling, screaming, flailing, flopping around; hitting herself, hitting me, even trying to bite me; slamming doors, throwing books and toys; Brian and Timmy staring in shock and looking at me for cues about how to handle it.
Besides remaining calm, I'm afraid I didn't have much to offer the situation. Abby worked through it, each time. But in general, these behavioral displays correspond with the emotional and social development of a toddler, not a six-and-a-half year-old. And I can't deal with it like I'd deal with a toddler, namely, picking the child up and removing her from the situation, because the situation is inside her, and she's too big for me to pick her up, anyway.
I see myself on an episode of Supernanny, where that voluptuous Mary Poppins would descend on our house, cluck her tongue, and upbraid me for all the things I'm doing wrong. Then, after breaking down in front of millions of viewers aghast at my lack of parenting skills or even common sense, I'd plead with her to straighten the whole mess out. And she would. Right?
No. What I really need is SuperBCBA. Or Superhypnotist. Or Super-PDD-curer.
And what I've got is: me. And Earl. And Abby's fabulous therapist, and a concerned school team, and sympathetic friends and family. And lately, they haven't been enough.
When we last left our favorite six-year-old, I was wondering how I would find her mood at school pick-up time on Thursday. Update: she was fine. She was also fine the next day, mostly. And most of Saturday.
And then it was Sunday: the first day without CCD. And the day before Earl was leaving for Canada for a quick trip to check out the cottage. And the day of a playdate that had to be postponed from Saturday.
Sunday morning saw her as out of control as she's ever been. Yesterday's and today's mornings saw that, too. Her therapist (whom I called for help) asked me what it looked like, and it looked like this: Abby yelling, screaming, flailing, flopping around; hitting herself, hitting me, even trying to bite me; slamming doors, throwing books and toys; Brian and Timmy staring in shock and looking at me for cues about how to handle it.
Besides remaining calm, I'm afraid I didn't have much to offer the situation. Abby worked through it, each time. But in general, these behavioral displays correspond with the emotional and social development of a toddler, not a six-and-a-half year-old. And I can't deal with it like I'd deal with a toddler, namely, picking the child up and removing her from the situation, because the situation is inside her, and she's too big for me to pick her up, anyway.
I see myself on an episode of Supernanny, where that voluptuous Mary Poppins would descend on our house, cluck her tongue, and upbraid me for all the things I'm doing wrong. Then, after breaking down in front of millions of viewers aghast at my lack of parenting skills or even common sense, I'd plead with her to straighten the whole mess out. And she would. Right?
No. What I really need is SuperBCBA. Or Superhypnotist. Or Super-PDD-curer.
And what I've got is: me. And Earl. And Abby's fabulous therapist, and a concerned school team, and sympathetic friends and family. And lately, they haven't been enough.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Overcast in the house
Can it be only a month ago that I wrote about how Abby's good humor and new-found calm was like sunshine in the house? I think I remember it, but it's been gray in our house this week.
Maybe it's the violin lesson that wasn't, maybe it's the coming school vacation week, but Abby's been teetering on the edge of a swirling anxiety vortex for a few days. Yesterday she was swept away by her worries while in school. She couldn't stay on task, would not do her work, even flopped on the floor (!) when she didn't want to do something her teachers asked her to do. As a consequence, she had to stay in from recess and finish her work.
Of course, when her teachers threatened to take away her recess, she responded that she didn't like recess. When I talked with her about it after school, she said the same thing. She stressed that she didn't have to go to the principal's office, and that she just had to fill out a "problem-solving form," a tool used at her school to help kids identify, own and take control of their behaviors.
I am shocked she would act so out of control in school. At home, it's a regular event, but never at school.
Speaking of home, this morning was a disaster. Earl actually had to physically hold her for a minute or so to keep her from thrashing around. Somehow she got it together and got out the door, and I left her in the care of her capable, caring teachers. And calm conditions have more or less prevailed at home in the intermittent hours.
And now I have to go pick her up. There's blue sky and sunshine out there today, but I wonder if a storm is waiting for me in the schoolyard.
Maybe it's the violin lesson that wasn't, maybe it's the coming school vacation week, but Abby's been teetering on the edge of a swirling anxiety vortex for a few days. Yesterday she was swept away by her worries while in school. She couldn't stay on task, would not do her work, even flopped on the floor (!) when she didn't want to do something her teachers asked her to do. As a consequence, she had to stay in from recess and finish her work.
Of course, when her teachers threatened to take away her recess, she responded that she didn't like recess. When I talked with her about it after school, she said the same thing. She stressed that she didn't have to go to the principal's office, and that she just had to fill out a "problem-solving form," a tool used at her school to help kids identify, own and take control of their behaviors.
I am shocked she would act so out of control in school. At home, it's a regular event, but never at school.
Speaking of home, this morning was a disaster. Earl actually had to physically hold her for a minute or so to keep her from thrashing around. Somehow she got it together and got out the door, and I left her in the care of her capable, caring teachers. And calm conditions have more or less prevailed at home in the intermittent hours.
And now I have to go pick her up. There's blue sky and sunshine out there today, but I wonder if a storm is waiting for me in the schoolyard.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Violin, schmiolin
Abby has been talking about taking violin lessons for some time. We found a local teacher, who was kind enough to invite us to observe a lesson. Abby seemed moderately interested during the lesson, but not dying to jump right in. I was very impressed, but wondered if the teacher's style might be a bit intense for Abby.
So I looked up another local teacher, and we set a time for a first lesson this past Monday. Abby had been looking forward to it, and then on Monday morning, she decided she didn't want to have anything to do with it. After a couple of phone calls to the teacher and another conversation with Abby after school, I decided it would be best not to take her. And I now feel like a wimpy parent.
It's very interesting, as a piano teacher, to be on the other side of the parent/teacher relationship. Sometimes parents tell me they have difficulty getting their kids to practice or listen to the recordings for their lessons. I do my best to suggest strategies that could help. But it's a totally different feeling, being the parent of a kid who seems to want to learn an instrument but somehow can't get over the hurdle of taking that first step. Now I can see more of where these parents are coming from.
Part of my mommy-consciousness thinks, too bad, we committed to the lesson, we should just go (too late for that now, but that's what I was thinking on Monday.) But another part, the hyper-sensitive-to-the-PDD-and-anxiety part, thinks, Abby has enough struggles just getting through the day sometimes. Why force her to add something when she's not bursting with enthusiasm to try?
On the very day of the lesson that wasn't, the Suzuki volume I CD, book and piano accompaniments arrived from Amazon. Even though Abby had decided not to go to the lesson by the time we opened the box, I put it on anyway. And immediately had two air-violinists at the dinner table, in the form of Brian and Timmy.
Brian would jump at the chance to learn violin if I offered it to him. So would Timmy. So why don't I just rent them tiny little instruments and jump right in?
Because I feel guilty about offering them something that I really had hoped Abby would want to do. In her thoughts and conversations, at least until lesson day, Abby already played the violin. She's been talking about it for weeks. How will she feel if her brothers are the ones who get to do it?
It's a sticky situation, and we haven't even broken out the rosin yet.
So I looked up another local teacher, and we set a time for a first lesson this past Monday. Abby had been looking forward to it, and then on Monday morning, she decided she didn't want to have anything to do with it. After a couple of phone calls to the teacher and another conversation with Abby after school, I decided it would be best not to take her. And I now feel like a wimpy parent.
It's very interesting, as a piano teacher, to be on the other side of the parent/teacher relationship. Sometimes parents tell me they have difficulty getting their kids to practice or listen to the recordings for their lessons. I do my best to suggest strategies that could help. But it's a totally different feeling, being the parent of a kid who seems to want to learn an instrument but somehow can't get over the hurdle of taking that first step. Now I can see more of where these parents are coming from.
Part of my mommy-consciousness thinks, too bad, we committed to the lesson, we should just go (too late for that now, but that's what I was thinking on Monday.) But another part, the hyper-sensitive-to-the-PDD-and-anxiety part, thinks, Abby has enough struggles just getting through the day sometimes. Why force her to add something when she's not bursting with enthusiasm to try?
On the very day of the lesson that wasn't, the Suzuki volume I CD, book and piano accompaniments arrived from Amazon. Even though Abby had decided not to go to the lesson by the time we opened the box, I put it on anyway. And immediately had two air-violinists at the dinner table, in the form of Brian and Timmy.
Brian would jump at the chance to learn violin if I offered it to him. So would Timmy. So why don't I just rent them tiny little instruments and jump right in?
Because I feel guilty about offering them something that I really had hoped Abby would want to do. In her thoughts and conversations, at least until lesson day, Abby already played the violin. She's been talking about it for weeks. How will she feel if her brothers are the ones who get to do it?
It's a sticky situation, and we haven't even broken out the rosin yet.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Magazine piece!
The new issue of Grit is online, with my very first magazine piece! Here's the link to my "Looking Back" column, Blackberry Memories. Be sure to check out the illustrations, in the upper right corner.
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