Today is Monday, the first day of school after nine days off for “Ski Week.” Nine days off for all of us. Instead of waking up to that brain-stabbing sound of my alarm at 6:30, I got to sleep until 8:00, when I was woken up by the equally jarring sound of my dog barking at the construction guys who show up promptly every day to work on our backyard project (which, by the way, is almost 16 years in the making). At least I can turn off the alarm with the swift swing of an arm. The dog requires yelling or maybe an accurate pillow throw or perhaps an escort out of the room. Today I finally put up a sheet to shield Ginger’s view of the guys who appear on the other side of those French doors, begging to be reprimanded by our protective pet. We shall see if it works. I certainly hope so as I’d prefer not to carry out my threats of killing her in her sleep.
It sure was nice to sleep in. Some days Maddie slept until 8:00, sometimes until 10. What’s the phrase? “Never waking a sleeping teenager”? Maybe that’s not it, but if you add “on the weekend and during vacation,” perhaps it should be a thing.
So Maddie slept (and played Minecraft, but I think at this point that’s implied). She wore a polka-dotted dress for three days after my niece Rachel finally got her to change her clothes and join the ladies (including my mom) for breakfast at a local coffee shop. Once the dress got stinky, I settled for the minimum and had her clean up her armpits, put on fresh deodorant, and change her clothes, and this time she chose her cat onesie pajamas, which she wore for another three days, at which point I made her take a shower. That was yesterday.
We all get the Sunday blues, but for Maddie even one extra day at home throws her off. Plus she had developed an ear infection over the last week. Fortunately we got the diagnosis on Thursday and were able to start treatment well before Monday, but I could still see what was coming. She wasn’t in pain, but she still can’t hear much out of her left ear, which she pointed out last night.
“You just had NINE days off, Maddie,” I told her before she could say what I knew she would, “so you can’t have ‘a day.'” That’s what she asks for when she just wants to stay home for no particular reason: “Can’t I just have a day?”
We all hate it when our request is denied before we can even make it, don’t we? And can’t every mom, to some degree, see this stuff coming? Poor kids! Also, haha!
So last night, my mission was to stay in the raft, going with the flow of the river, not trying to fight against the current. I want to USE the river to propel me forward. It’s so logical!
And yet, this morning, once again, I could feel the raft heading toward a sharp rock in the river. I could imagine getting stuck, not able to move forward or back, unable to maneuver in any meaningful way.
“I’m not saying I don’t want to go to school. At all. I do. It’s just that I won’t be able to hear very well, soooo….”
“It’s better to go and hear half than to stay home.”
“It hurts a little.”
“You can take an ibuprofen.”
She made a move toward the bottle and said, “Oh shoot. I can’t because I took one last night.”
“Oh, that’s OK! You can take one every four to six hours! So you can take one right now!”
Dang it again!
I kept cheerfully thwarting her arguments, which she so gently put into play. I suspect she hoped I would simply conclude myself that staying home would be the best option for her.
Unaffected by Maddie’s ploys, I continued my quest to get her dressed. It takes me a full 45 minutes of focused attention from the time I wake her up until I get her out the door, with only a moment or two to throw some pants and a sweater on (often over whatever I slept in) and brush my teeth before we get out the door. It’s an intense morning every single day.
But I try everything I can to be not only calm but cheerful, even though I know every single morning it’s going to be a trial. So after our back-and-forths about her ear, I could see Maddie fading away from the whole school idea. I sat next to her on her bed, and she started to tip over quite purposefully, but I put my body between her and the bed to hold her up. Once she’s horizontal again, you can pretty much forget it. I tried to lift her shirt up to get things going, but she clamped down her arms.
And then, I jumped off the raft. “I will cut this shirt off you if I have to.”
“You will? Why?”
“Because you need to get dressed, that’s why. And yes, I will.” I don’t think I actually would have because visions of a wrestling match with scissors involved suddenly seemed like a terrible idea.
She resigned herself to the shirt exchange. And then she sat there. You really can’t put pants on when you’re in a sitting down position. I held her jeans down by her feet. She didn’t move. And I could feel the heat starting to build. I remained calm, but I also could see that my fun approach was failing. I always give the light and cheerful approach a fair shake in the mornings, but at some point I have to accept it’s not working. So I picked up her water bottle.
“There’s a pretty good amount of water in here that would be pretty unpleasant if you were wearing it,” I said.
That always gets a jump up. Oh, how I absolutely hate to use threats. It’s not at all how I was built. I am the fun mom, the positive mom, the hugging mom. I’m not the mean mom. I’m not the angry mom. I’m not the punishing mom. I can’t even train our dogs. I’m just not alpha enough. But sometimes I have to muster it up. And today I did. I held the bottle in my hands. I was quiet and calm but resolved.
“OKAY!” Maddie was clearly exasperated, but she gave in.
I hate that compliance is what I’m aiming for. I’d much prefer self-motivation and acceptance on her part, rather than fear to be the motivating factor. But I guess, in a way, it is acceptance. “If I don’t do this, then this other thing will happen. And I don’t want that.” That’s certainly a life lesson, but I’m not sure how well it carries over into more complex thinking.
Still, I just wanted her to get up and go to school. Today. I can’t even think about tomorrow. After all that, we arrived at school early, no less. Five whole minutes. Her peers were gathered at the drop off spot, and I heard one of the educators yell her name in delight. It was the fastest car disembarking she has ever done, at school anyway. And so I drove off. Mission accomplished.
I’m hoping tomorrow’s mission has a similar result without the threats. That would be so nice!
At least we are both able to move on and enjoy ourselves. We listened to the B-52s all the way to school and sang and danced. I was kind of done after the second song, but I realized the music was energizing for both of us, so I decided every day on the way to school she can choose whatever music she likes, even if it’s the same B-52s songs every single morning. Who cares?
And off we go. We have about six weeks until spring break. I think I’ll work on my rafting techniques.
The Year of Living Hopefully 