If She's Four, That Means I'm How Old?

Spencer insisted on having a red cake with colored flowers and fairies.  I have no clue where she got the idea for it, a dream perhaps, but she'd been talking about this cake for a good two months before her birthday.  What's a mom to do?  A friend of mine from high school made it for her and even though it was probably the strangest cake request she's ever had, she did an amazing job and it was super delicious. 

I can't believe my little baby is four years old already.  I also can't believe that I was only 25 when I birthed her, especially now I'm just a few short months from turning really, really old.  Spencer grows up more and more every day, she's definitely four going on 14 and I'm feeling the need to press the pause button again.

I Need a Pause Button

Spencer's dance recital is this weekend and all I can think about is how it feels like it was just yesterday that I wrote this post about her starting ballet lessons.  How has it time for her recital already?  How has  seven months passed by like it's at warp speed?  Where is the pause button, because I really need it?

I was thinking about this all day yesterday when I remembered something I'd written on here in the early days of this blog about my love/hate relationship with my DVR.  You can read the whole post here, but one of the snippets caught my eye:

And then other times I want to take my remote my control and press pause on life.  The really beautiful moments keep flying by, they never last long enough and I only get to experience it once. With a DVR, it's okay if you miss something because the phone rings- you can either rewind it and watch it again or you can press pause and it will stay frozen in time until you to return.  If you really loved something you watched, well, you can rewind and start it all over again.  There's no such thing as a lost moment with a DVR.  Why can't I do this with life?  Please, smart geniuses at MIT, invent one of these mechanisms for me. 

It seems as though those geniuses at MIT haven't really come through for me yet.  Maybe I should have made my request to Cal Tech?  I was doing my regular morning blogosphere perusal yesterday when I read this on one of my favorite blogs.  It just confirmed to me that I'm not the only one who can't believe how fast these years are flying by.  I would really love for a physicist to explain to me why in your childhood life seems to creep by inch by inch and then once you've reached that all important goal of being a "grown up," it starts to go faster than the blink of an eye.  It doesn't seem fair.  I guess I need to remind myself of this sometimes:

(print I recently bought)

Fair is Where You Get Cotton Candy.  Words to live by!

Spencer, I Want to Go to the Bathroom by Myself!

I'm not sure I ever anticipated "Spencer, I want to Go to the Bathroom by Myself!" ever being a title on this here blog of mine, but, alas, it is.  I also don't think I ever anticipated ever needing to say those words to Spencer, much less having to say them multiple times a day, but, alas, I do.

I'm not exactly sure when this whole thing started, I'm thinking that it might have some roots from the potty training days when I would show Spencer how "big girls" use the the potty.  But for the first couple months after she was fully trained, she always wanted to use the bathroom "by myselvvve!" as she would say.  Spencer didn't give a second thought to when I went to the bathroom and I never gave a second thought to the beauty that is bathroom privacy.

It's not an exaggeration in any way when I tell you that every single time Spencer sees me getting up and walking towards the bathroom, she races like an Olympic sprinter in the gold medal race to get to the door before I shut it.  Actually, it's not only the bathroom, it's any room in the house, it's just that the bathroom is the only place I really care about being all by myself.  I know a lot of moms use their bathroom time as a personal refuge, a place to be by themselves for a few moments and collect their thoughts, maybe read a magazine or examine their face to see if any wrinkles have sprouted since the last time they checked; that's not me.  So I would almost understand why Spencer would want to go with me every time if I did that, especially if she thought I was doing something like putting on makeup.  I'm in and I'm out. (is that TMI?) I also might understand if I never let her in the bathroom while I was using it- maybe it would seem like she was missing out on something, but that's not the case either.

When Spencer realizes that a) I'm already in the bathroom before she noticed, or b) didn't make it to the door in time before I shut it, she stands at the door and sticks her toes and fingers underneath the gap between the floor and the door.  And her little toes are so cute and then I feel an odd combination of love and guilt and I let her in. So even when I'm in the bathroom alone, I'm never really alone.  And I miss it. 

Spencer hasn't gone through a clingy phase in awhile and I wouldn't say that she's in one now, per se.  I mean yesterday at Kohl's, she ran away from me and in a sing songy voice, taunted "ha ha, you can't find me!" But for some reason, whenever we're at home, she becomes my shadow.  This morning, I started walking to the bathroom and she immediately began her sprint to the door.  I turned around and said, "Spencer, I want to use the bathroom by myself!"  To which she replied "please don't leave me," completely breaking my heart.  I had no idea why she would say that, I mean, I'm by her side more than any parent I know- we are never apart.  So I began racking my brain trying to think of why she would say that to me- why she was feeling this way? Then I remembered something seemingly benign that happened a few weeks ago, which I guess wasn't as benign as I thought.

A few weeks ago I was in the laundry room doing some morning chores before Spencer woke up and I didn't hear her get up and start looking for me. I was only in there for about five minutes, so I know she couldn't have been awake for more than a couple of minutes, but she was hysterically crying because she'd gone to the window and hadn't seen my car in its usual parking space and she thought I'd left her.  (My car was pulled further up the driveway than it usually is and from the window you couldn't see it)

Now generally, Spencer would immediately realize that she wasn't being supervised and use that time to do something completely destructive, like get into my makeup bag and give herself a makeover, cut her hair with scissors, try and pour her own orange juice, basically anything that I wouldn't normally allow her to do.  So I was a little shocked when she was sitting there sobbing because it seemed really uncharacteristic of her.  After a few minutes of crying and hugging and reassuring her that I would never leave her, she was fine, and everything went back to normal.  I didn't really think about it again until this morning when she told me not to leave her.  The idea that Spencer thinks I might actually leave her alone breaks my heart.  I hate that she's feeling this way and as much as I want my privacy, I want even more for her to feel secure and safe.

The weird thing is that she's not this way anywhere else.  In fact, yesterday we went over to my aunt's house for the afternoon, and as soon as we got there, she begged me to go to leave so she could play "alooone" with my aunt.  She also has no problem using the bathroom alone, she likes to go by herself.  I'm kind of at a loss about what to do here.  Has anyone else experienced something like this?  I would love some ideas or any advice in general about what you've done, or heard others have done, in this kind of situation!

Stranger Danger

  Image Source

Last week was my Mema's birthday and as per usual, Spencer, my mom, and I went to the cemetery to put flowers on her grave.  Because Spencer had ballet lessons that evening, we were meeting my mom there afterwards. En route to the cemetery, we're sitting at a stoplight when I glance up at the rear view mirror to see that Spencer is waving at someone and then she started saying "Hi, my name is Spencer."  I turn my head in that direction and see she is "conversing" with a middle aged Hispanic man in a construction van.  

I really hate stereotyping and it's something I find completely unacceptable in others, but in that moment, I thought the very worst about this middle aged construction worker man in his van.  Why was he trying to talk to my three year old daughter?  Why was he motioning for her to roll down the window?  Was he just being friendly to my overly gregarious daughter or was there something more sinister going on?  I plastered a smile on my face and through clenched teeth told Spencer not to talk to the man because he was a stranger. (This has to be the longest stoplight in the history of the world)  And that's when she said something that sent shivers down my spine:  "He's not a stranger, Mama, his face looks too happy to be a stranger!"

Maybe it was one too many episodes of Dateline, but when she told me that I about had a heart attack.  It was at this point the light changed and we drove off, only for this man to keeping driving beside us, all the while still waving to Spencer.  This went on for the next mile!  I'm pretty sure that's when my mom's uber-paranoiac voice entered my head and told me to keep driving straight, and not go towards my destination, until the van turned off the road we were on. (She's definitely seen one hundred Datelines too many)  So that's what I did and a few minutes later he turned.  Relief surged through my body.

I turned around and drove back towards the cemetery and I started replaying what had just happened.  A small part of me told myself that I had completely overreacted and another, larger, part was saying you can never be too careful.  I again tried to tell Spencer that we don't talk to strangers, only for her to keep telling me that "strangers aren't happy people and the man was such a happy person."

It can be difficult for a parent to admit they've made a serious parenting mistake.  I don't have any problem admitting that my parental skills are lacking in the eat-all-the food-on-your-plate, no running inside, sharp 8pm bedtime, and no jumping off the sofa departments.  It's easy to own up to those parental shortcomings because they're fairly insignificant in the big scheme of things.  No parent wants to think they've done, or not done, something that could result in real, actual harm to their child.  But in those few moments, I realized I had made one of those big huge mistakes and I needed to fix it, pronto.  I completely dropped the ball on teaching Spencer about Stranger Danger.

When I was a child, my mom was so totally, completely over the top about me and strangers.  On the extremely rare occasions that she'd let me out of her sight for more than a few seconds, she'd always make me repeat all of the Stranger Danger rules, plus a few of her own.  (and by child, I mean from ages 3-12!  Each year she'd add a few more.)  These were rules like don't trust someone who tells you they're a police officer if they don't have on a uniform, never tell a stranger your name or where you live, don't get in or go near a stranger's car, if someone grabs you and tells you not to say a word- start screaming "Help! Stranger!" as loudly as you can, never take candy, money or gifts from a stranger, and if a stranger asks for your help to find their lost dog, tell them no and then find the closest person you can trust. And I was always reminded that these were people who looked very nice, like they could be trusted.
 
We had code words for any potential situation that might require me to trust someone who was a stranger to me, ie., if a person I didn't know tried to pick me up from school because there was an emergency- that person had to know the right code word.  (This was in the day before schools had super strict rules about that.)  Before we would go out shopping, she'd always remind me that if we got separated, I should immediately find someone who worked at the store and if I couldn't find an employee, look for a mother with kids. 

Honestly, that's just the tip of the ice berg of my mom's safety rules.  From the ages of three to five, I was very scared of any person I didn't know and would tell anyone who tried to talk to me that I couldn't because they were a stranger- even those at my church.  After all, wasn't the danger in "nice" people?  I frequently had bad dreams about being taken away from my parents and I was always very nervous when one of them wasn't with me.  I guess the fact that I'm still here is some testament to her methodology, but at the time, it really bothered me.

Since I was never in a situation where I actually had to use any of the rules, aside from the two years of telling everyone they were a stranger, I don't know whether or not I would have in a situation that necessitated it.  I have a sneaking suspicion that I would done what she'd taught me if I felt threatened or afraid, but not if I hadn't.  After I started kindergarten, I realized that none of my friends had all of these rules and I started to think my mom was wrong.  She saw danger lurking on every corner, and as I got older, I saw the opposite.  I "yes Mom"ed everything she'd tell me, but I thought she was just being crazy over protective.

Somewhere along the line I decided that when the time came, I would do things differently when I had children.  All of those rules had just scared me and given me nightmares and I wasn't going to do that to my kid.  It's not that I haven't told Spencer about strangers, she knows she's not supposed to talk to them, I just haven't made it a real emphasis. Part of that is because I thought she was too young to really understand what it meant and part of it was that I didn't want her to be nervous and fearful the way I was, only to do a complete flop and become trusting of everyone.  I wanted to be able to teach her in a way that she'd always have a healthy respect for strangers. 

But this whole experience has taught me a lesson and it's that I can't be too careful where Spencer's safety is concerned.  I can't worry about her not being wary of strangers when she's seven because I made her too afraid of them when she was three.  Not that I now plan on making her overly fearful of strangers, but I can't let the possibility of that happening then, stop me from making sure she knows what to do to stay safe, now.  And one of the first lessons were doing is that a person can look happy, and have a happy face, but they are still a stranger.

I'd really love to know some of the different ways you all have taught your younger children about stranger safety.  Any ideas or suggestions for me?

Without Words

Well, maybe just a few...  Now that the weather is nice, Spencer has started riding her bicycle that she got for Christmas.  Let me rephrase that- she's started riding her bicycle outside.  She thinks she's pretty cool.

A Terrifed Parent

Last night, before I went to sleep, I went over to Spencer to give her a kiss, when I saw that her face was covered in chocolate.  I turned on light to look at my sleeping beauty- why was she covered in chocolate?  Only it wasn't chocolate; it was blood, and it was everywhere.

I'd like to tell you that I was completely calm and didn't overreact, but that's exactly what I did.  I started ripping off all her clothes to see where it was coming from and shaking her to wake wake up.  In my state of complete panic, I didn't think about how my reaction to this was going to scare her, and of course, she woke up scared. As she started to cry, her nose started to bleed (again), which was how I realized what I was actually dealing with was a bloody nose and not lethal wound of some sort.

Now that it's morning I'm able to be calm about all of this, but last night, the bloody nose scared the life out of me.  She has never had a nose bleed and then all of a sudden she has a major one while she's sleeping- what is that?  The next hour was not the most pleasant, as I had to stop the bleeding and Spencer didn't want her nose touched.  Then there was the clean up...

This entire experience has taught me a few lessons, well, more than a few.  I've never had a bloody nose in my life and this was Spencer's first, so I had no idea what was I doing.  Realizing that my reaction completely terrified Spencer, I felt so bad that I made an already scary situation worse.  It took awhile for her to calm down and go back to sleep and by that time I was wide awake, so I decided to look online for some answers.  I wanted to know why this happened and what I should do if/when she has a bloody nose the next time. 

1.  Bloody noses at nighttime are generally happen during allergy season and when the air is very dry.  You can fix this by having a humidifier in the room and putting some Vaseline inside of the nose.  (I can't imagine a world in which Spencer lets me put Vaseline in her nose, so I'm not sure what to do about that.) 

2.  Contrary to popular norms, you should not have them tilt their head backwards and pinch the bridge of their nose.  You need to have your child lean forwards and pinch the base of their nose-this will stop any gushing prevent, blood from going down their throat, and it will clot much more quickly. 

3.  Don't panic!  The good thing to remember is that bloody noses are almost never cause for concern.  The main reasons kids have them is because they pick their noses.  Their nasal passages don't have the thickest of skin yet and the blood vessels are closer to the surface.  So when they pick their noses, they sometimes scratch the surface without realizing it and then something as benign as a sneeze will start the nose bleed. 

4.  Sporadic nose bleeds are normal in small children, but if this is happening frequently, go to the doctor.  You should also go to the doctor if you can't stop the bleeding after ten minutes. 

5.  Don't panic!  I know I'm writing this again, but it's very important.  Something like this is really scary for kid and if they see that their parent is scared, it will make it all the more frightening for them.  Trust me, I know.  As difficult as it may be to not freak out when you see your baby with a bloody nose, remember it's a fairly normal thing.
aining calm will

Spencer is 100% perfectly fine today.  She did ask me if her nose was going to bleed again, but that's all she's said about it.  I'm trying not to be a hovering helicopter, but it's that's hard for me- I'm naturally a worry wart who can't let things go.  But I'm trying!  And if this ever happens again, I feel better knowing what I should and shouldn't do.

RamNation Spencer

Some of you might know that Richmond's hometown VCU was in the Final Four this past weekend.  Nothing like that has ever happened here, so it was a BIG deal!  VCU was an 11th seed and they got a lot of flack for even being included in the NCAA tournament.  I have lived here my whole entire life, minus the four years I was at W&M, and I've never experienced anything like it- VCU brought this city together like nothing before ever has. Yes, we lost, but we're still so proud of the Rams!  Even little Miss Spencer got on the bandwagon.  So here she is, RamFan Spencer:

 

 

(She was practicing her ballet moves)

The Good, the Bad, and the Only

Most days I rarely ever think about the fact I'm a single parent.  I'm always of aware it, like in the same sense I'm always aware that I have blue eyes and curly hair, but it's not something on which I fixate. I'm sure a lot of it has to do with that I've never known anything else- it's not as if I started off as part of a duo and then went to being just me.  In many aspects, but not all, I think that would be even harder; to get used to someone being there, helping out, making tough decisions, etc., only to wind up having to do it all by yourself.  And if I'm being completely honest, there are many times I have actually thought that being a single parent is sometimes easier, especially for a control freak know-it-all like myself! 

But recently, I've felt things start to shift a little.  More and more I'm thinking about how exhausting it is to be just me, the only, the good parent, the bad parent; just me.  And by exhausting, I mean completely and utterly draining of all my mental faculties; exhausting.  Spencer is extremely precocious and very strong willed. And by strong willed, I mean possessing the inner strength and willpower of a Buddhist monk on his 20th day of a fast; strong willed.  Most days I appreciate this about her and I celebrate that I see so much of myself in my little girl.  But then there are other days, like yesterday, when I want to lock myself in the bathroom and cry like a baby because I can't stand being the "bad guy" for one more second.

I am a control freak, yes, but it's not in my nature to be the constant disciplinarian.  I can remember being a little girl and telling my mom that I was going to let my daughter eat whatever she wanted for dinner and if she just wanted to eat cookies, that would be FINE with me!  Cue last night:  Spencer has her head down on the table crying and crying that I don't love.  Why?  Because I said she couldn't get up until she finished her mac-n-cheese.  Spaghetti was her first meal and then she informed me that she didn't want spaghetti, she wanted mac-n-cheese.  So I gave in.  Probably not the smartest decision, but in the end, I think it's more important that she eats then trying to make another issue out of something.  Well, three bites into her second meal, I hear "I'm fuuulll."

I counted to three, took a deep breath, and told her that she wasn't getting up until she had eaten at least half of what was on her plate.  And that's when the full on you don't love me, no one loves me, theatrics began. I told her that I will always love, no matter what she does, I will never stop loving her- just because I'm not happy with her or I'm making her do something she doesn't want to do, doesn't mean I don't love her- because I will never stop loving her. Twenty minutes later and she's still sitting there, giving me the same look I know I gave my mom many moons ago.  Here's the thing- logically, I know that she's just three years old and she doesn't really understand that the words she's saying to me are like little daggers to my heart- but, every time she said "you don't love me anymore?" my heart broke a little.  I wished there was someone there with me to help share that burden, to be the bad parent, if not instead of me, than at least along with me.

Eventually, she ate her food and then when she was finished she asked me for an Ogre Bar, aka, a Shrek granola bar, which made me laugh and laugh.  Everything was fine again except that I felt like I'd been through a war.  I don't like that I'm so rarely the fun parent- the mom that I thought I'd be. I know that a lot of what I used to envision was seen through immature eyes and that being a good parent means making rules and then enforcing them.  But every now and then I wish that there was someone else to help me do those things. 

I think part of what is getting to me isn't the current, but the future.  Is this how it's going to be 10 years from now when she wants to wear some inappropriate outfit, something I used to fight with my mom about ALL the time?  I can see my past words, something along the lines of "I'll always let my daughter wear what she feels comfortable wearing and NOT what I feel comfortable with her wearing" coming back to haunt me.  Haunt. Me. 

I Heart Faces

This is for the best face photo challenge on I Heart Faces.  I love this picture of Spencer, she looks so angelic- if only I could figure out how to make her behave the way she looks, haha!

Spencer Says...

I keep meaning to write down all of Spencer's current adorable sayings and such, but with all of the hullabaloo, I've just been putting it off.  So here they are:

*  I do it every the time. This is what she tells me when she wants to do something that I've just said no to.

*  The louder. AKA, her microphone.

*  You're the best in the world!

*  Excuse me, Mr. Man! or Excuse me, Mr. Ma'am!   She says this when she's trying to get someone's attention at a store or other public location- generally to a stranger. (We're still working on the whole stranger concept.)

*  Jesus loves me because He loves me because He loves me! 

Lemon Lesson Backfire

Last night Spencer decided that she wanted to taste what was in the plastic lemon shaped container in the refridgerator- aka lemon juice concentrate. I told her no over and over again, that she wouldn't like it, but she wouldn't let the lemon juice issue go.  Thinking that once she tasted the extremely sour concentrate she would hate it and spit it out, I thought this might be a good learning opportunity. So I said she could have a tablespoon of it but she couldn't spit it out.

I thought this was going to be the perfect lesson, but of course, I was wrong.  Turns out, my child has an affinity for lemon juice concentrate and she kept asking me for more!  I put some on the spoon and Spencer ate  it like she would  chocolate pudding - in one big gulp.  She smacked her lips a few times and squinted her eyes in quiet contemplation before asking me for "more, please."  I thought that maybe, somehow, there was some switcheroo at the lemon juice factory and lemonade was actually resisding in my bottle- so I tasted it.  Yep, it was super sour lemon juice concentrate and Spencer liked it.

Lemon Lesson: FAIL

Santa Baby Spencer

Today, all the family took Spencer to see "The Real Santa," and she didn't cry! We go every Christmas Eve, it's our little tradition, and this was the first time that she hasn't had a complete meltdown upon being sat on his lap. Santa asked her what she wanted for Christmas and she replied "A bicycle. And, um, some play-doh." She cracks me up sometimes!

 

We went back to the PGP's house to open presents and have Christmas Eve dinner.  After Spencer had opened the plethora of gifts from the the PGPs and PGGPs, we got ready to eat.  I asked her if she would say the blessing and when she had finished her usual prayer, she added on "and God, thank you for all my presents!"  Oh, I about died!  It was the cutest and sweetest thing!

Spencie is finally asleep and looking super cute in her new Santa pajamas.  And now, I think it's time to put on Home Alone and get to work on being Santa Claus.  I'm thinking this is going to take a long time, especially with all these toys to assemble and training wheels to attach!  Merry Christmas everyone- I hope you and your family have a wonderful, magical, and memorable day!

My Daughter, the Photographer

These photos, which she took this afternoon, are courtesy of Spencer and a point and shoot camera.  It started off promising- she told me to say cheese and then waited until I was looking at her before she took the pictures.  But then she got impatient with me, the photography itch took hold, and she just started snapping away to her heart's content.  It tells a nice little story, haha!

It started off pretty well...

Then she figured out the zoom... and it's all downhill from here...

My forehead looks gigantic here, but it gets worse...

See what I mean?  Now I have the world's tiniest chin. I think this was a combination of zoom and standing right in front of me.  Not sure why I'm red, though!

And who knows what happened here...

But this one takes the cake.  That red splotch in the top left hand corner... that's Spencer's finger.

 Maybe with a little practice she'll be the next Diane Arbus or Annie Leibovitz! 

PS.  When you read the title, it's supposed to be like the line from The 'Burbs, "My brother, the doctor!"  Please tell me you've seen The 'Burbs, because if you haven't, you are missing out. Seriously!)

Everything Changes, but the Pigtails Stay the Same

Before I start writing about Christmas, I have to get this post out onto the Internets. And then, the Season of Jolly may commence.

Every year on my birthday, my aunt, Spencer and I go to the pumpkin patch. It all started three years ago when my brother had a volleyball game on my birthday, my parents were going to his game, and I was a bit bummed out. So my aunt took off work and we decided to go to the pumpkin patch. Spencer's hair had just gotten long enough for pig tails and I was a little obsessed with them- so in they went.

The next year, my brother had a volleyball game again and so my aunt and I decided we'd make a tradition of it and go back to the pumpkin patch. I thought it would be cute to put her in pig tails again so the tradition would continue, even though she hadn't worn them in awhile. Since we had the tradition going, we went again this year on my (ugh!) 29th birthday. Well, Spencer hasn't worn pig tails since the last time we went, but I didn't care, a tradition was a tradition.

So now I have three years of Spencer wearing pig tails at the pumpkin patch on October 22 and I'm so glad that I do, because they are the only constant thing about her. I knew that she looked different than the first year we went, but I couldn't get over how much she'd grown up in since last year.

2008

2009

2010

I'm ready for her to stop growing up now and just stay the same for awhile.  Me too, for that matter...