Musings

In Which We Attend 8th-Grade Promotion
Last night lovely lady, 13, went through her 8th grade promotion. My baby girl is in high school.

Excuse me while I catch my breath.

I don't know how this happened. Not the high school thing, even though I'm a little short of breath over it. The hair and the shoes and the black eyeliner. I'm not sure how I became the mom of that kid. The girls I saw in school who were a little rebellious and different. The girls I'd see outside the high school when my lovely lady was little, and I'd think, "No way, no how. What are their parents thinking? Maybe their parents don't really care much about them."

Heh. Life has a way of handing us our assumptions, our "not-my-kid," our "No way, No how" on a silver platter, eh?

There she is in all her pink-haired, wearing black, life is-dark, skull t-shirts, Converse-wearing glory. I paid for the hair and helped her lace up her boots. And I adore her to the ends of the earth.

I've learned from this challenging young lady to pick my battles, and more importantly that there don't need to be battles. That it's important to find ways to say "Yes." To honor her idea of who she is instead of my ideas about who she should be, no matter how cute I think she'd look in that baby pink polo. That a daughter with the confidence to be a little different is more important than what other people think.

In Which I am Shocked, or A Lesson in Appropriate Clothing for Young Teens

So, the other reason I'm not the least bit bothered by the pink hair and etc. I was shocked by what the other girls were allowed to wear to the graduation. I thought I was pushing the envelope by allowing my lovely daughter an above-the-knee dress that shows a hint of cleavage. That sparkly pink dress is conservative compared to the outfits of many of the other girls. The little black dress with a plunging neckline worn with three-inch heels was a popular choice. There were a couple girls whose dresses made me want to run out with a robe to cover them. Excuse me folks, but they're fourteen. Perhaps we could leave a little to the imagination, at least until they're in their twenties and old enough to decide for themselves if they want to dress like....well, they're only fourteen, if that, so I'll be kind.

Let's just say that the pink hair and Converse is looking beautiful to me right now.

In Which My Daughter Really Does Need Me, or Adventures in Autism, or Ways to Connect

I've shared my struggles with my lovely lady and the ways in which her disability impacts our lives. Take the surliness and emotional turmoil of a typical hormonal teen girl, throw in a good dash of My Mom is the Most Embarrassing and Unreasonable Person on the Planet, and remove the social filter, and I've got quite a parenting challenge on my hands.

Over the past spring we've had lots of grumping and fussing and "Leave me alone." A deep need for some peace and solitude after a long day of social interactions. It's heartwrenching when a young person so embedded in my heart doesn't want to have much to do with me and makes it crystal clear. I was genuinely concerned for our relationship. Until the morning the phone rang, around noon, and it was my precious lovely lady. "Mom, I was thinking about my trip to Arizona. Do you think I need a new swimsuit?" I ventured that I thought the one she had was probably just fine. "Oh. Okay. Thanks, Mom. Bye."

I realized that increasingly over the past few months the phone rings midday, and it's my lovely lady. She'll ask me a question or share a pressing thought or ask advice over a little concern, then off she goes about her day. All issues that could very well wait until she gets off the bus.

A quick connection. A "Mom, I need you." A way to reach out and preserve our relationship and still get the quiet she needs at the end of the school day.

And so I can be patient. That little phone call was all I needed to refresh my spirit and renew my faith that deep down in there, my baby still needs her momma. Pink hair and all.

Birthday Girl

My lovely young lady is a teenager. Thirteen. It seems only a couple years ago that I was a new momma, terrified and smitten all at once. She's so grown-up and still such a child, all at once, just like most thirteen-year-olds. Yesterday I was bitten by the nostalgia bug, and the poor girl had to listen to stories of me holding her when she was brand-new, the story of her daddy falling head over heels the first time he held her hand, the story of the cradle in which she slept, the story about how she tickled my side with her tiny hand every time she nursed. "Moooo-ooom," she groaned, but I could tell she was secretly a little pleased. It helps to remember our big girls as little babies sometimes, knowing that precious tiny being is still cradled in all the layers of years. It reminds me to treasure who she is in her heart and mine as we navigate the stormy waters of adolescence.

Look at that smile.

She wanted to decorate her own cake, with the help of a friend. Her little brothers made birthday cards out of construction paper, decorated with stickers and crayon drawings. Then we sang and she tried to blow out her candles. She even graciously let her annoying little brother help.

One year ago today my baby was one day old, and we were still in the hospital. As I said above, I was terrifed and smitten all at once. Not sure what to do with this tiny little person. Wondering what the future held for us. She had difficulty nursing, and I was patiently trying and trying to get her latched on. The nurse came in and watched for a minute and I was finally successful. "You're going to be such a good mommy," she said. I cry when I remember her words. I still remember the nurse's name, Christine. I wish I could go back in time to tell Christine that her moment of kindness gave me a lifetime of courage, and I have needed every ounce of it.

A moment of kindness, of reaching out does not cost much. We can be angels on this earth for those around us, and we may never know the impact of courage offered, kindness spoken, love given to another.

Peace to you and yours.

Tuesday Ten: The Lovely Ladies

Tuesday Ten: Ten Things About the Lovely Ladies, or Ten Reasons They Rarely Appear on My Blog

In my little profile blurb, I state that I am mom to two lovely ladies and three fine young gents. The fine young gents get lots of press here at Poohsticks, the lovely ladies not so much, so I'm giving them their moment in the sun. Ten reasons they're not often featured:

1. Choir.
They're busy on Tuesday evenings. The elder of the two lovely ladies rushes in the door on choir afternoons, grabs a snack and her choir notebook, and they're off. No time for pictures, or for anything else.
They had a concert on Sunday. The Oregon Children's Choir Girlchoir, the middle school choir in which the lovely ladies participate, is amazing. Their choir director, Jennifer Searl, has an absolute gift for working with lovely young ladies of this age. My girls are inspired by her, and look forward to choir each Tuesday.

2. They're always doing this....
3. And this....
Reading and drawing are commendable activities, but they don't make for exciting photos. Now, if I could convince them to roll down a grassy hill.....
4. One of the lovely ladies is gone all day. She's attending the high school down the road. She leaves in the morning and isn't back until mid-afternoon. Makes it really hard to take her picture. Plus when she gets home she thinks she should do her homework and chores instead of a photo shoot. Sheesh. You'd think we'd been trying to raise a responsible kid or something.

5. The other doesn't like nature. It's sticky and dirty and there are bugs. I'm not sure she's really my child. She skips many of our nature outings and grumps through the others. And when it comes to school, just the basics, please. This hands-on stuff...not really her bag. And taking pictures of a kid doing math with her headphones on, it's just not that exciting.

6. And along that line.....

"Moooooom! Stop taking my picture!"
(I know. This isn't very nice of me, but I can't help posting it because it's funny.)

7. They are their own people, doing their own thing.
They're growing up. The fine young gents are their own people doing their own thing too, of course. But the girls are often more interested in doing their own things-- talking together, spending time on the computer, going places with friends. They still hang out with us, but it's different. Plus (see above) it's annoying to have someone pointing the camera at you all the time.

8. Their victories and their experiences are their own, and they may not feel comfortable having them shared with other people. Or rather, they want to share them on their own terms, not through my eyes. They read this blog on occasion. I wouldn't ever write anything about them that I wouldn't want them to read, that isn't what I mean. I just mean that their stories are their own, and I don't want to interpret (or misinterpret) their lives for them.

9. They're busy.
I know I mentioned that they've got a lot of activities, but I want an excuse to brag about my kids, so bear with me. One lovely lady is busy getting straight A's in school. She's taking Algebra and Japanese and Geography and Art.

10. The other is busy working on her part in another Bridgeway House production, Wonderland. She's playing the part of the white rabbit. A girl rabbit, mind you.

Blue Hair

Before

After

She is delighted.

Girls Night Out

First Stop: Build-a-Bear

Apparently, fourteen isn't too old for a Build-a-Bear. Heck, I'll admit my silly little secret...I'm kind of hoping I can go on my next birthday. So off we went to the mall, lovely ladies and I, for a girls night out. Lovely lady chose a dog to stuff and dress, with a bandanna, sunglasses, and purple wings to match. She named him Mystic. We were in and out quickly because she had a pretty good idea what she wanted.

Lovely younger lady had $100 saved, birthday and Christmas money from her dad and uncle, plus some allowance. She was going to buy one outfit for the poodle she'd gotten for Christmas. She ended up with three outfits. I'm surprised I didn't bite my tongue right off trying not to blurt out....

"Are you sure you need more clothes for a doll?"

"Wouldn't you rather save your money for something more worthwhile?"

"Why don't you....."

Deep breath....deep breath.

Repeat to myself "It's her money. It's her money. She saved it. It's her money, so shut up."

Yeah. No control issues here.

Second Stop: Limited Too

Oh boy. My fashion-crazy girl has had her heart set on a dress from Limited Too since her birthday when I wouldn't let her buy a dress with her birthday gift certificate. Yeah, I know, it's her money. But I'm not about to let my eleven year-old dress like a...well, you know. I'm not ultra-conservative either, but I really don't think little girls need to dress like they're twenty-five. Twenty-five-year-old...well, you know.

She tried on eight dresses.

The yellow dress-- Me: Yes. Her: No.
The black dress-- Her: Ooooooooooooo!!! Me: Not in a million years not even when you're twenty-five. ("Ah! Not even when I'm twenty-five?" she just blurted out, reading over my shoulder.)
The pink dress-- Me: Adorable. Her: Blah. Me: Darn.
The other pink dress-- Her: I love it. Me: I love it too. Both of us, looking at the price tag: Eeek! Maybe not.
The brown dress-- Her: I love it! Me: Weellllllll. Ok. Maybe we should try a different size. Hmmm. Stretch out your arms. Oh. Um, no. Nope. I can see all the way down the front.
The other brown dress-- Both of us: Eh.
The brown-and-white dress-- Both of us: Cute. Very cute.
The white dress--Both of us: Love it.

The whole thing, negotiations over what fits and what's cute and such, took 45 minutes. Gah! She finally settled on the white dress. Keep in mind, now, as we head to the cash register, she has talked of buying a dress from Limited Too since July. July. I've had to hear "dress from Limited Too" for (counting on fingers) nine months, give or take a bit. Also keep in mind that we just spent 45 minutes finding the right dress.

We head to the register. She spots an iDog on the way. Doesn't have enough money left for the iDog and the dress. "Never mind, Mom. I'd rather get the iDog instead. I can just wear one of the dresses I already have."

Biting tongue. Biting tongue. Will...not...mention...money....spent...on...doll...clothes.
Will...not....mention...I...already...suggested...her...other... dresses...are...fine.
Will....not....mention....that...we....just...spent...45...minutes...

Biting. My. Tongue.

Fourteen-year-old lovely lady has quietly occupied herself this whole time with her new pet. Mystic is adorable in his wings. Somehow a husky with purple wings and sunglasses works. Instead of looking weird he looks cool and kind of mystical.

Third Stop: Borders

Now this is my kind of girls night out. Cookies and coffee, or hot chocolate, all around. Browsing for books. Music, a young woman singing about appreciating what we've got and feeling lucky to be where we are in our lives. Both girls had gift certificates to spend. Lovely birthday lady bought a book on Siberian huskies. Lovely younger sister bought an American Girl book. I bought a book I've had my eye on for a while, The Invention of Hugo Cabret (Brian Selznick) and the book about seeds I mentioned in my last garden post, How a Seed Grows (Helen Jordan and Loretta Krupinski). It was a quiet relaxing end to our evening.

Until we got in the car and lovely lady the younger took off her rubber boots. The polka-dot rubber boots she's been wearing all winter. Without socks.

Whew!

"My feet stink," she said. "I can smell them clear up to my nose."

"I can smell them clear up here," her sister said.

"Put your boots back on," I gasped.

Thank goodness the ride home was short because we had to roll down the windows.

More Ways to Ruin Your Daughter's Life

Or, Drama Revisited

Seriously, this is getting ridiculous. Last night as I trudged up the stairs after a very very long day I hear 11 year-old lovely lady sobbing "Mom hates me. She just hates me! I'm going to go live somewhere else! This is blasphemy!" Apparently saying matter-of-factly, "It's bedtime, let's turn off your light," is hateful vicious behavior. And, obviously, my lovely lady needs a vocabulary lesson.

Oh, the Drama!

In Which I Ruin My Daughter's Entire Life

By asking her to empty the recycle bin.

The horror.

"I can't believe this! You've ruined my life!"

Who knew it would be so easy?

Preteen Weather Alert

There's an emotional storm moving in, with a high drama warning. Parents, batten down the hatches and be prepared for floods of tears and high whines. Glacial tones and frosty looks may follow.

Christmas Concert

I'm a musical gal, really. I often say cheerful things like "I enjoy all kinds of music," and mean it. I love Christmas music. I love concerts.

The tuba...not so much.

The lovely ladies had a Christmas concert downtown this evening at The Shedd, along with the Oregon Tuba Association and the wonderful Cascade Chorus. When I read that it was a tuba concert, I was actually kind of excited to hear something new and different. "Tubas. How fun!" I said.

Don't get me wrong, the tuba has its place. Like in a marching band. But a Christmas concert ensemble made up entirely of tubas and the like (I understand that there are actually different tuba-ish instruments, but my attention was already wandering by the time the guy got around to explaining them), just not my cup o' tea. The first song was entertaining, but one round of Deck the Halls with some oom-pah-pahs between verses, for laughs, was plenty for me, really. I found myself wondering things like, "Man, that guy's feet are really really big. I wonder what shoe size he wears?" and "I really like that lady's hat. I wonder if she knit it herself?" (which is what having knitters in the family does to me) and "When is this going to be over?"

Then the girls got up to sing. That was lovely. More tuba. The Cascade Chorus sang, which was wonderful. I got chills when they sang "O Holy Night." I noticed the directors of the two girlchoirs come and tap each of my daughters on the shoulder and take them out to the lobby. The girls came back, smiling. More tuba. Then a sing-along with the tubas. The tuba is a loud instrument, very nice for sing-along accompaniment. And it was over.

Turns out that the girls had been interviewed on television. The choir directors were asked to identify one girl in their choir who'd grown or made a lot of progress this year. They had no idea that the girls were sisters until the two got out to the lobby. We watched the interview on television a few minutes ago, and it was very sweet. The younger of the lovely ladies said, "I just think a happy thought and tell myself that they aren't really here to look at me, they just want to hear my voice." Which is almost exactly what I told her friend yesterday when the girl showed up to yesterday's concert wearing her Oregon Children's Choir polo instead of her dress uniform. It's so nice to know that sometimes it sinks in. The elder of the lovely ladies said that she loved singing and felt more confident with her voice so that she goes around singing all day.

Lovely step-lady's mom came to the concert, so they left together. Younger lovely lady and I went to the bookstore for a treat and some browsing, because (we both agreed) that nothing rounds out a nice evening like a trip to the bookstore. While there, we ran into lovely lady's good friend-- the friend's dad also feels that a trip to the bookstore rounds out an evening nicely, so we run into them from time to time. The girls visited for a bit, then off home to watch the news.

It was a lovely evening. I learned a lot, chiefly that while tubas are very nice, they are not for me, and that it's worth sitting through some well-played tuba-ing to hear my girlies sing.

Growing Up

My baby girl isn't a baby any more. Last night, she came to me while I was getting her brothers ready for bed and said, "Mom, I need to talk to you."

"Go right ahead, my dear. What's up?" I replied.

"Um, I think maybe we should go in the other room. I need some help."

"Oh. Okay. Just one minute."

Oh.

It dawned on me what she needed help with. And why she'd been so impossible all week. I've been hoping to put this day off for a few more months, but it's been obvious for a while that she's growing up. She whispered to me in a low voice, so discreet. She was confident and matter-of-fact and not the least bit embarrassed.

Why am I writing this? It's pretty personal, after all. I'm writing about it because I'm her momma and I cry a little when I see her growing up. Because for moms of girls this is as much a rite of passage for us as moms as it is for our daughters. Because when the young me went through this I was too mortified to breathe a word to my mother, and my lovely young lady's cool confidence wows me and humbles me at the same time. And because since the day she was diagnosed with autism I have dreaded this day. I never know what to expect from this lovely quirky unpredictable young lady, and she's knocked me off-balance again. Honestly, my picture of this day involved shrieking and lots of tears. It helps that she has an older sister who is open and matter-of-fact. It helps that I have always tried to be open and matter-of-fact. It helps that her sister passed on the book I bought a couple years ago. But still, I can't find words for how....normal an experience this was. Normal can be hard to come by around here. She knew without being told that it was not a topic for public discussion. She knew how to ask for help. She was a little bit excited to be growing up.

In a way it's a rite of passage for me as well, to see my first baby beginning to leave her girlhood behind. I'm excited to see her growing up. I get to grow up a little more too, right along with my daughter.

She still plays with dolls and watches cartoons, and snuggles on my lap. And with this lovely daughter the idea of growing up and moving out into the world is a bit more complicated because she'll likely always have a need for a mix of dependence and independence. But she's not my baby any more, the little girl that she was is growing away. She's facing her future, one more step closer to the young woman she'll be. She has struggled so much and come so far. I am proud of her. I can't wait to see what she's going to do next.