Monday, May 21, 2007
Potty Training the Strong-Willed Child
I stepped up the potty training a knotch with Allison, our 3 1/2 year old this past weekend. I put her on the potty every hour, bought her The Little Mermaid underwear (her favorite character) and had her put stickers on a potty chart. She stayed dry all day yesterday and even pooped in the potty last night before bed. She pooped in her underwear this morning, but I made her stand up while I cleaned it up. No more lying down on the floor while her bottom gets wiped. We still have a ways to go but after 9 months of no progress, I feel more encouraged! I keep reminding myself that she and I need to work as a TEAM!! Being consistent with this is exhausting, and it's embarrasing to have a 3 1/2 year old not potty trained yet. Maybe later I'll post a picture of her in the new underwear she's so excited about.
Monday, April 30, 2007
My Story, Part 1
I have always admired good storytellers. I SO envy the talents of writers like J. K. Rowling or the Bronte sisters. Creatively, I can’t write my way out of a paper bag. Back in high school (which was, sadly, half my life ago!) I could whip up a five-paragraph essay quicker and better than anyone in my class. But when it’s time to share an anecdote, or tell a joke, or explain the plot of a movie, I usually go into too much detail or worse, give away the ending. Like when I told a friend that “The Shawshank Redemption,” was about a jailbreak. Oops, there went the surprise ending! Shane and I still laugh about that one. Oh, well. So I’m not a born storyteller. But I do have a story I want to tell. It’s for my children, and their children, and anybody else whose lives have been turned upside down by mental illness. The story is about my childhood, my mother, and about how it has shaped me as an adult – both for the better and for the worse.
I can’t remember exactly the last time I saw my mother, but I know it’s been about six years. The summer she ran away, I became pregnant with her first grandchild. This may sound strange, but I never told her about the pregnancy. The daughter in me longed to confide in my mother, but the mother in me chose to protect my baby first and foremost. That first year, I often cried over my mom’s stubborn refusal to get treatment and mourned the loss of our relationship. Many questions I had about motherhood have gone unanswered: What was I like as a baby…was I calm like my son or fussy like my daughter? Or, did you carry me in the womb compactly, like I carried my babies? Was your childbirth experience as quick as mine? How long did I take to potty train? At times when I feel her absence acutely, I wonder if I’ll ever see her alive again. I also wonder, is there anyone out there with a situation like mine or am I the only one in the world whose bipolar mother left home to live out of her car? (See what I mean about giving away the surprise ending? I’m way ahead of myself here.)
I never realized there was anything wrong my mom until I was 15 years old. Before then, I thought it was normal for mothers to call the Suicide Hotline and talk for hours or to stay in bed for days. She spent so much time talking on the phone or talking to herself in the mirror that sometimes I would remind her to make supper. She was a good student who earned an Associate’s, a Bachelor’s and a Master’s Degree while raising me. But in some ways I was like her parent. I would coax her out of bed or sit and talk to her in her room. I never dared to tell her my problems because she seemed so fragile that I thought she would break if I shared my burdens with her. She had enough of her own and besides, I didn’t think she was competent to help me. So I spent a lot of time alone with my thoughts and my movie posters and my radio. More later.
I can’t remember exactly the last time I saw my mother, but I know it’s been about six years. The summer she ran away, I became pregnant with her first grandchild. This may sound strange, but I never told her about the pregnancy. The daughter in me longed to confide in my mother, but the mother in me chose to protect my baby first and foremost. That first year, I often cried over my mom’s stubborn refusal to get treatment and mourned the loss of our relationship. Many questions I had about motherhood have gone unanswered: What was I like as a baby…was I calm like my son or fussy like my daughter? Or, did you carry me in the womb compactly, like I carried my babies? Was your childbirth experience as quick as mine? How long did I take to potty train? At times when I feel her absence acutely, I wonder if I’ll ever see her alive again. I also wonder, is there anyone out there with a situation like mine or am I the only one in the world whose bipolar mother left home to live out of her car? (See what I mean about giving away the surprise ending? I’m way ahead of myself here.)
I never realized there was anything wrong my mom until I was 15 years old. Before then, I thought it was normal for mothers to call the Suicide Hotline and talk for hours or to stay in bed for days. She spent so much time talking on the phone or talking to herself in the mirror that sometimes I would remind her to make supper. She was a good student who earned an Associate’s, a Bachelor’s and a Master’s Degree while raising me. But in some ways I was like her parent. I would coax her out of bed or sit and talk to her in her room. I never dared to tell her my problems because she seemed so fragile that I thought she would break if I shared my burdens with her. She had enough of her own and besides, I didn’t think she was competent to help me. So I spent a lot of time alone with my thoughts and my movie posters and my radio. More later.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Happy Birthday to Meeeeeee!!!
I am 35 years old today. I feel funny about it. You know those product registration surveys you find in packaging? They usually ask you to check a box next to your age range: under 18, 18 to 34, 35 to 49, 49 to whatever else. I have a problem with being in a new bracket. I'm not totally comfortable with being lumped in with the 40-somethings. (My apologies to the 40-somethings on up.) I'm just saying. I'm not ready to be 40 yet. But hey, when it comes down to it, life is a gift to be celebrated and treasured, so I won't complain too much.
Tonight we're going to Pizza Hut for dinner as a family. It's my favorite restaurant. I have some great memories of hanging out at the Canterbury Green, Stellhorn, and Coliseum Pizza Huts in Ft. Wayne when I was in college. Some weeks I was there three times a week. Things have changed -- now I know how to cook. But it's still a treat to go out, that's for sure.
Tonight we're going to Pizza Hut for dinner as a family. It's my favorite restaurant. I have some great memories of hanging out at the Canterbury Green, Stellhorn, and Coliseum Pizza Huts in Ft. Wayne when I was in college. Some weeks I was there three times a week. Things have changed -- now I know how to cook. But it's still a treat to go out, that's for sure.
A Tale of Two Cities
I just finished re-reading A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens yesterday. What a powerful story!
Background: It takes place in London and Paris during the French Revolution. The story shows how the French Aristocrats oppressed the common people in shocking ways. The common people, who after a time, were so beaten down that they had nothing more to lose, united and beheaded ("exterminated") the Aristocrats and anyone who didn't sympathize with the Republic. Both sides committed horrible atrocities against the other.
Plot Summary: This literary masterpiece begins with the famous quote, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." As the story opens, Lucie Manette travels from London to Paris to retrieve her father who was wrongly imprisoned and left in jail for 18 years. On the way back to London, Lucie meets her future husband, a Frenchman named Charles Darnay. Charles was from an aristocratic family -- the likes of which treated common people like dogs. Charles, however, wanted nothing to do with his inheritance and with the continued oppresion of the commoners. Therefore, he left France, denounced his name, changing it from Evremonde to Darnay. Upon entering London, Charles is charged with treason but acquitted. The lawyer's assistant, the rough, hard-living alcoholic Sydney Carton, is secretly in love with Lucie, who's in love with Charles. After Charles and Lucie are married, Charles receives an urgent letter from a former servant who implores him to return to Paris and help him out of prison. Charles goes back to France and finds things much changed. All the Aristocrats have either gone into hiding or been murdered by the guillotine. Immediately upon arriving in Paris, Charles is sent to prison and after a travesty of a trial, is condemned. Lucie and her father hasten to Paris to try to free him, but fail.
***Spoiler alert: don't continue reading if you don't want to know how it ends!*** Enter Sydney Carton. He comes to Paris, unknown to Lucie or Charles, and unexpectedly visits Charles in his jail cell a mere hour before his execution by guillotine. He knocks Charles out and switches clothes with him and fixes his hair like Charles' and vice versa. (Early on the book, it is mentioned that the two men happen to look a lot alike. The main difference being Sydney looks haggard and Charles is well-groomed.) He goes to the guillotine not so much for Charles, but for the happiness of the woman he loves but could never have, and for the chance to finally do something good after wasting his life and talents. On the way to the guillotine, Sydney doesn't think of Lucie, but of Christ. He meditates on, "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will never die." (My paraphrase.) That's why the book ends with, "It's a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done. It is a far, far better rest I go to than I have ever known." The end. (sniff! sob!)
I first read this book in high school in Mrs. Bentz's (no relation) AP English class. I was so moved by the character of Sydney Carton. When we watched the movie version in class -- oh how I wanted to cry like a baby at the end!! I couldn't look at anybody. For all I know, there may not have been a dry eye in the classroom. I wouldn't have been surprised.
How beautiful, the sacrificial love of Sydney Carton. What a picture of Jesus' sacrificial love. Sydney paid the price for someone else's sins (Charles' father and uncle's sins). Jesus paid the price for our sins. Sydney willingly faced death for Lucie's life to be full and happy. Jesus willingly faced death for us, his beloved children, to live life to the fullest and for us to spend eternity with him. There is no greater gift than that. Can I get an amen?
Wow. I love that book!!! If you have read it, please post a comment! If you haven't read it, go to your library and get it! (Don't forget the tissues.)
Background: It takes place in London and Paris during the French Revolution. The story shows how the French Aristocrats oppressed the common people in shocking ways. The common people, who after a time, were so beaten down that they had nothing more to lose, united and beheaded ("exterminated") the Aristocrats and anyone who didn't sympathize with the Republic. Both sides committed horrible atrocities against the other.
Plot Summary: This literary masterpiece begins with the famous quote, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." As the story opens, Lucie Manette travels from London to Paris to retrieve her father who was wrongly imprisoned and left in jail for 18 years. On the way back to London, Lucie meets her future husband, a Frenchman named Charles Darnay. Charles was from an aristocratic family -- the likes of which treated common people like dogs. Charles, however, wanted nothing to do with his inheritance and with the continued oppresion of the commoners. Therefore, he left France, denounced his name, changing it from Evremonde to Darnay. Upon entering London, Charles is charged with treason but acquitted. The lawyer's assistant, the rough, hard-living alcoholic Sydney Carton, is secretly in love with Lucie, who's in love with Charles. After Charles and Lucie are married, Charles receives an urgent letter from a former servant who implores him to return to Paris and help him out of prison. Charles goes back to France and finds things much changed. All the Aristocrats have either gone into hiding or been murdered by the guillotine. Immediately upon arriving in Paris, Charles is sent to prison and after a travesty of a trial, is condemned. Lucie and her father hasten to Paris to try to free him, but fail.
***Spoiler alert: don't continue reading if you don't want to know how it ends!*** Enter Sydney Carton. He comes to Paris, unknown to Lucie or Charles, and unexpectedly visits Charles in his jail cell a mere hour before his execution by guillotine. He knocks Charles out and switches clothes with him and fixes his hair like Charles' and vice versa. (Early on the book, it is mentioned that the two men happen to look a lot alike. The main difference being Sydney looks haggard and Charles is well-groomed.) He goes to the guillotine not so much for Charles, but for the happiness of the woman he loves but could never have, and for the chance to finally do something good after wasting his life and talents. On the way to the guillotine, Sydney doesn't think of Lucie, but of Christ. He meditates on, "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will never die." (My paraphrase.) That's why the book ends with, "It's a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done. It is a far, far better rest I go to than I have ever known." The end. (sniff! sob!)
I first read this book in high school in Mrs. Bentz's (no relation) AP English class. I was so moved by the character of Sydney Carton. When we watched the movie version in class -- oh how I wanted to cry like a baby at the end!! I couldn't look at anybody. For all I know, there may not have been a dry eye in the classroom. I wouldn't have been surprised.
How beautiful, the sacrificial love of Sydney Carton. What a picture of Jesus' sacrificial love. Sydney paid the price for someone else's sins (Charles' father and uncle's sins). Jesus paid the price for our sins. Sydney willingly faced death for Lucie's life to be full and happy. Jesus willingly faced death for us, his beloved children, to live life to the fullest and for us to spend eternity with him. There is no greater gift than that. Can I get an amen?
Wow. I love that book!!! If you have read it, please post a comment! If you haven't read it, go to your library and get it! (Don't forget the tissues.)
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