I don’t know how old my kids were before they figured out that rubber bands weren’t actually called ammo. Will had this wooden gun that shot red rubber bands. He’d holler, “Mom, I need more ammo. Where’s the ammo?” Jenny would be cruising around with a Barbie tucked under one arm, and she’d spot a red rubber band behind a chair, and she’d yell, “Hey brother! Over here! There’s ammo behind the chair.”
I think they discovered rubber bands were called ‘rubber bands’ about the time they discovered bars of soap. Seriously, they didn’t know soap came in a solid. The first time they took a bath with a bar of soap was a thing to behold. They spent a big soapy long while in the tub. The bar of soap was squeezed between their little slippery wet hands, until it popped up and landed back in the water with a big splash.
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I used to follow this chat forum about daughters of narcissistic parents. I was thinking I’d learn a lot and find some new tools. I can’t go there any more. It’s heartbreaking. In some cases, I would read about a 70 year old woman hoping that one day her 90 year old mother would love her. I read of a 28 year old woman trying desperately to get her mother’s approval. I would read their accounts of wrongs or hurts, and I could hear all the dashed hopes in their posts.
Now I am seeing my kids get their hopes up about next week’s counseling sessions. It is good that Mark is taking this step. Jenny and Will want to believe that things can change. They want to go to bed at night believing that their dad really loves them in all their unique, sweet weirdness. They want to be like their cousins who are fathered (and loved) by dads who like spending time with them, who take them to T-ball practice and wrestling meets and swim lessons. Continue reading →
A long time ago, I realized I couldn’t really boss my kids around. Oh sure, I could, but I’d be annihilating their spirits in the process. I’m not that kind of mom. There are probably a lot of parents that do a great job being the boss all the time (I doubt it), and it’s good for the three of us to remember that I am the boss. But, there is a lot of truth in being selective about which battles to pick.
Sunday is a great day to pound garlic. I probably pound garlic at least three days a week, but Sunday seems to be all about pounding garlic. I’m not rushing to put dinner on the table; I have the time to create in the kitchen, and I’ve got the time to vent and visualize while I cook.
a dream… Every so often, one of us would lose grip on our side of the table, and the legs would scrape against the sidewalk. The scraping sound seemed to echo in this warm, starlit night. It was close to midnight, and there wasn’t a hint of a breeze. I found myself wishing for a wind that would muffle the sounds of our shuffling and scraping. The three of us were carrying a large picnic table from house to house, sneaking into garages, trying to find a can of paint.
Hola Friends,
Another one for the “If All Else Fails” File. Make cookies and have the girls over. I had to follow the last downer of a post with something happier. Will and I scooped the chocolate chip cookie dough, and Jen scooped teensy tiny cookies for Barbie and Sophie. She baked them off in the toaster oven and invited me and Will to a party. That’s a miniature bowl of frosting next to the plate of cookies.
“And that is another great example of how there are so many different ways to make a living.” My grandfather used to say that. He’d had his share of different careers – mechanic, draftsman, lumber yard manager and more that I can’t remember. We’d be playing Yahtzee, visiting about someone we both knew, and he’d marvel at how the world was changing and people were finding new and interesting ways to make a living.
What is worse – having a narcissistic father that fights for custody and makes the kids’ lives miserable on a daily basis, or having a narcissistic father who wants nothing to do with his children, if they won’t do things his way? I think Will and Jenny have it better. While they will certainly be hurt by the fact that their dad can so easily walk away, they won’t have to deal with the day-to-day dismissals of who they are. They won’t have Mark belittling them or using them as extensions of himself.
This is a picture of the cardboard iPod that Jenny made. She brought it skiing today. Her brother got one for Christmas, and she wants to be a ‘cool kid’, too, so she made her own. At lunch, in the lodge, she was playing with her ‘iPod’, and Will said, “Jen, some people are laughing at your iPod.” Jenny defiantly said, “So what!” I hope she’s able to maintain that attitude. Later, she asked if I wanted a pretend iPod. I wanted to say, “Nah. No thanks, honey. I’ve had a pretend boyfriend for almost 3 years. I’m done pretending for awhile.
