Nikki is a friend I met through NaNoWriMo. We have a lot in common, despite a 12 year age difference. She’s been living in the house on the third floor and has been our unofficial nanny/nurse/chief coffee drinker since she moved in. Since I’ve been remiss on writing about the kids, Nikki wrote a guest post. She might become my regular, unpaid guest blogger until my brain is less muddled and full of bees.
My alarm goes off at 6:55, and resisting the urge to hit snooze, I jump out of bed. Jump is a misnomer here. It’s more like I don’t even think about the fact that prior to two weeks ago, this waking time did not exist for me. I stand up, grab my iPhone, tweet my location on Foursquare so as to not be ousted as mayor of Casa Estrogen, and head downstairs.
If I was smart, I would have pre-set the coffee for the night before. It took me several days at the Del Bueno household to remember this trick from my early college years. Downstairs, I spring into action. Set out two kid’s cereal bowls, one child spoon, one adult spoon. I make an educated guess as to what cereal they will want for breakfast and set it, along with the milk on the counter. Everything is ready to go. I make sure that the set up is in the correct seats, because all hell will break loose at the kitchen table if the seating chart gets messed up and Arden has to sit in Lily’s seat or vice versa. It sounds silly, it sounds trite, and you are shaking your head over something so trivial. But remember back to your childhood. If you had siblings, you went through the same thing. I know I did. Ever rooted in tradition, my little brother still likes to mess up how we sit as a famiglia when we come together for the rare dinner.
I hear thumping down the stairs. The 63 pound yellow lab, who I joke (when the kids are not around, or course), is the biggest, dumbest lab I have ever seen, is awake and demands attention in the form of love and hugs and food. Most of the adults in the house know I say this in jest. I am a true animal lover. Careening towards the door like a bull in china shop, she demands (not begs, demands) to be let out. One she is done, I try and get her sit calmly…who am I kidding, I try to get her to sit at all, as I wipe her paws. She races towards her food as if she has just come from a famine. I guess several hours would be a famine for this big lovable lab. Right now we have abandoned ‘sit’ and are working on not jumping. If I time it right, I can get the dog settled (I laugh as I type settled) before I hear the pitter patter of the girls coming downstairs for breakfast. Lily is ready for school. Arden, her hair sticking up every which way, goes to school later. If I was her older sibling, I would be eternally resentful. I don’t know how Lily feels. Maybe she doesn’t value sleep like I do. Cereal is poured, silliness abounds. It took me a while to get used to one, eating breakfast; two, eating with 2 kids. They eat when they are hungry and stop when they are full. I had to be a member of the ‘clean plate club’ when I was their age, so seeing kids leave food on the plate and it being acceptable is something completely foreign to me. I also like calmness and order, since that’s the way it was in my house growing up. As anyone who has kids or has spent any significant amount of time with kids knows, calmness and order generally takes a gentle soar out the window when you have children in your presence. It was something I had to readily adapt to, and still am.
I find myself craving solace, quiet, the peace that comes with all the family members doing their separate things at all times, but then I quickly remember that I love Arden’s contagious smile, her braids that she requests from me each morning (with the hair ties matching her outfit. major little diva), wildly flying as she streaks to her next activity, ever a ball of energy. How Lily will come home from school and briefly climb in my lap and tell me about school and how, despite the almost 20 year age difference, we can geek out over books together. Holed up in the story room, we both eagerly anticipate the next chapter, and delight when she pronounces a tough word and reads with a fluidity generally reserved for a girl years older. She was recently up in my room, perusing my bookshelves, and picked up my dog eared copy of DFW’s ‘Infinite Jest.’ Mispronouncing the title and then flopping back on my bed in a fit of hysterical laughter only fit for a first grader, she looks at me and with the most serious face says, “Nikki, I am going to read InifiniJest as my next book. But you might need to help me with the big words, k?” How could you not love that? I know I do.
It’s different. It takes time to get used to, as all changes do. I’d write more, but someone is calling for me to braid her hair.
Finally - pictures from Halloween. Apparently I had the wrong setting selected on my camera, so the pictures are not the greatest, but you will get a general idea of the cuteness. Warning - if you don’t like pictures of dogs dressed in costume (I’m looking at you, @shedrivesajimmy), you might want to skip the slideshow 
As I write this, I can hear things being kicked and thrown upstairs. Every once in a while, I’ll hear an ear-piercing scream followed by a stomp. Arden’s upstairs, making her face bright red and freaking out in general. Everyone always wants to know what sets her off, so here you go.
I’ve been wanting a neti pot for a while now, but after reading that sinus washing can help eliminate flu risk, I figured it would be fun (remember that I said fun) to take Arden to Walgreens after I picked her up from preschool. I had a prescription to refill anyway. As soon as I told her we had to pick up something, she started asking what she could buy at the store. First candy, then a toy. I said no to both and calmly explained (for the 80th time at least) that every time we go to a store doesn’t mean she’s going to score something. She started whining as soon as I got into the store. When she realized I was serious, she literally sat down on the floor in front of a Barbie display and refused to speak, but was making her pre-tantrum noises, which are a mix between Chewbacca from Star Wars and a rabid dog growling. Sometimes she sounds like those Gremlins from the movie. I knew I was doomed. It’s only 10% of the time, once the growling noises start, that I am able to break her out of a tantrum.
I managed to grab a neti pot and made a dash for the pharmacy, literally pulling her behind me. Of course, there was a long line, and Arden’s growls became closer together and louder. I had promised that we could go on a bike ride to the park today, so I told her if she kept up the whining and asking me for everything (including a pack of Nicorette gum), she was going to lose that privilege. Guess what? The growling became more pronounced. I waited until we were at the doors, exiting Walgreens, to tell her there would be no park today. Good thing, because the first thing out of her mouth was her world-famous, death-blow-dealing scream. In the middle of the parking lot. This was followed by trying to buckle a screaming, kicking 5 year old into her car seat. A few minutes later, shoes were off, being thrown at the windows, then the socks. In the span of 15 minutes, she lost her bike ride, and 5 days (a world record for Arden) of book reading at night.
I really subscribe to getting away from the 1-2-3 warnings. They don’t work with her, and they’ve made her worse. She just blows me off. Then I started telling her one time that her behavior was going to result in a punishment, and I gave no further warnings. Today was a prime example. It’s really hard to get through it because I know she’s going to freak out and turn into exorcist child, but I have to stay the course.
Her rages freak me out too, because now I’m wondering if I’ve passed on my ultra-emotional states to her, and doomed her to a life of wondrous highs and devastating lows. Then again, she’s 5. And I put it into perspective.
I have found one great side effect to serious depression: I’m pretty calm. While I’m irritated easily still, I don’t fly into a rage or scream and yell quite as much. It takes too much energy to get that upset. When Arden freaks now, I tend to find myself entering some weird, calm zen-like place in my head. I’m able to sing along with the radio and ignore the raging angry red-faced child in the backseat, until a shoe hits my head or the snot dripping out of her nose burns through my gross-out factor. I’ve been looking for anything positive out of how I feel, and this is definitely a plus. Depression makes me tired, somewhat irritable, but a lot better able to handle the stranger my child becomes when she flips out.
Everytime I experience one of her rages, I tell myself that soon, this too shall pass. But I wonder. It never really passed for me, and I’m 38. I just learned to deal with it much better, and I’m hoping I have the patience to guide her to a more peaceful stage. If not, we’re both going to end up deaf from all the screaming.
Posted October 26, 2009 in
Arden,
Depression
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Arden’s 5th birthday was fairly low-key this year, which is mostly my fault for going crazy at the end of last month, which put me behind in scheduling the big 5 year extravanganza my brain wanted me to. Turns out it was probably for the best. Arden really wanted to go paint pottery, so we headed off to Color Me Mine. Lois came as well, which was nice. We all painted our pieces. Arden’s was quite interesting - a polka-dotted dolphin in a rainbow of colors. We all had a good time, even my father, who isn’t really the artistic type. His mug looked good before it was fired. Mike embraced his metrosexuality and painted a bud vase, and I painted a tart warmer since I’ve broken the one I have.
After a couple hours of painting, the girls were ready to eat, so we headed to Friendly’s. I personally hate Friendly’s - not because of the food - but because it’s never busy and yet it always seems to take 90 minutes to eat there. When you have kids in tow, anything more than 30 minutes starts to cross into crabbyland. As we sat down and looked at the menus, I noticed a woman with three children sitting behind me. Her kids were pulling the shades open and closed rapidly while she stared into space. Every time they opened the shades, we were all blinded. The waitress came over and shut them again, shooting the kids her best threatening look. The mother didn’t seem to notice.
A few minutes later, I saw the same waitress run toward her table. Her little girl, who looked to be about 3 years old, was standing barefoot on the table, opening and closing the shades again. She was wobbling and looked like she was about to fall, so the waitress was telling her that she couldn’t stand on the table. The mother said nothing. After she left with her brood, the waitress told us she has come in with a can of Heineken (open) and usually is on some sort of drug. It was actually really sad; the kids normally destroy the bathroom, throw food or just badly. Not their fault - the mother seems be oblivious. Even more scary - she drove in that state.
Aside from the wacky, drugged out mom moment, we had a good time. It still took forever to be served, but Arden and Lily BOTH ate, which is a miracle. It was worth the 90 minutes.
After we had cake at the house with our neighbors, and made Arden go to bed still reeling from her sugar-induced high. She loved the entire day which made me feel less guilty about not having a full-blown party.
Posted October 14, 2009 in
Arden
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Five years of Arden, the ultimate Daddy’s Girl. Click link below for a sappy slideshow of life with Arden.
Arden is Five.
