Introvert Game Changer

One too many fights between the sisters got me annoyed.  I had to do something or I was going to start screaming.  What was the deal??

I formed a hunch — space.  Big sister aka. introvert hated little sister messing up their room, moving and touching the big sister’s stuff and generally being annoying.  Hence the constant bickering or constant big sister yelling at little sister.

Except, I really wanted the girls to share a room — philosophically as much as physical space wise.  I wanted them to stay up and giggle, to be good friends, to share, bond . . . you know, like camp!

My own childhood memories of my sister and I in our room are great – playing dress-up, listening to music, laying in bed while mom read us a book and the occasional locking little sister  in the closet.

But, as I still am learning, this is not me.  They are not me.  I must do what is best for them and all that . . . sigh.  Big sister, my seven year old, needed her own room.  Now.  Or I would be suffering.  (We all would.)

So, I moved little sister out and across the hall.  My husband and I moved into a small little room at the end of the hall with our only television, a love seat and bookshelves lined walls.  Surprisingly, I loved it — even if I couldn’t walk around the side of my bed.

Life for big sister changed from day one.  I saw huge behavior changes.

Bed made.

Clothes put away.

Toys in baskets.

Desk clean.

Smiles.  (Gasp!)

She’d grown responsibility wings and flown!  Game change!

Gone was the biickering with little sister.  Gone was the child I worried about so much.  In her place, a new, mature young woman, acting friendly and responsible.  All I can attribute it to was a room of her own.  Incredible.

Books on introverts say it’s important for innies to have their own space . . .

I guess they are right.

Love is (hardly) unconditional

This week I’ve noticed myself getting annoyed with my daughter — I mean, really annoyed. Why?

Because she doesn’t do what I want her to do. She doesn’t talk to people, she barely talks to me. She doesn’t make eye contact. She is moody. She doesn’t hug. She doesn’t say, “I love you,” — except for the one time. She, quite frankly, challenges me.

I keep getting this phrase in my head, “Love is NOT conditional.” Over and over. And, it won’t leave. Right.  And as seen in the list above, I’m seriously conditional! But, I so don’t want want to be judgmental or conditional.  I hate it.  I feel stuck with my awful feelings.

But, today in church, things became clear.  The pastor spoke about seeing others through Jesus’ eyes, not our own.  We see the outside.  Jesus sees the heart.

Suddenly, it clicked.  I could apply this to my daughter and get unstuck.

I saw her behavior.  The outside.  (And got irritated.)  Did I notice her inside?  Her heart, her fears,  her introversion?  Well, that’s a no brainer.  No, I did not.

Wow.

I don’t normally blog about my faith but in this case, it’s relevant to how I can better love my innie daughter.

My life hasn’t changed in an instant but my vista is different.  Rather than a sky filled with menacing clouds, raining on another turbulent day, I choose to see beautiful shapes, shades of gray, smell of fresh rain, and glimpses of light.

I pray that with my new vision, my eyes can see the beauty in my daughter’s spirit and my love pours forth, unconditional and with abundance.  I will love her because of who she is, not what she does.  I don’t want  poor vision anymore.

I want God’s glasses.

She doesn’t love to read

I find it irritating, ironic and down-right unjust that my own daughter does not love reading. After all, I “know” literacy and since birth have done the following things which I’ll list for edification purposes. (Take notes but be warned–does not work for all children; in particular, my eldest daughter.) And, p.s. aren’t introverts suppose to love books?

* read to her daily A LOT of books and 3 books at bedtime

* take regular trips to the library and check out as many books as we can carry, read them all in no particular order

* model reading my own books and make time for reading during the day

* have excessive amounts of books at various reading levels and on various topics – seriously, it’s excessive

* reward with books

* got her a special reading headlamp for bed-time reading

* limit television — none during the school week and only limited on Saturdays

* listen to books on tape in the car, for quiet time, and just for fun

Okay, you get the point. A+B=C, right? If only.

(I will mention that since birth, she’s never loved, loved, loved books like my other child.  In fact, I use to read mostly at meal time because it was the only time I could get her to sit still for the length of a story.)

Here are my demands desires.

• I want her to grab a book and read until she’s called to dinner.
• I want her to talk about what she’s reading as if it were real.
• I want her to look to books for information she wants to learn.
• I want an epiphany.

She is only seven.  It will click one day, right?

Summer growth

I watch my daughter assume command of the pancakes.  She stirs the batter, she pours the liquid on the hot griddle and she waits.

Flip.  Flip.  Flip.

She already  makes better scrambled eggs than I do – she doesn’t get distracted by email and cleaning the floor.  Her eggs turn out fluffy.  Mine usually have a crispy bottom from forgetting to stir and wait with patience.  They’re not very appetizing scrambled eggs, that’s one thing.

My daughter finds success in the kitchen.   I watch her work quietly.  She will be proud and tell me later how good she is at cooking.

She is good.  I’m proud. too.

I see a different kid today. . . Today she is fearless and confident.

I never want to stop seeing her.  I never want to fix her in my mind from yesterday, last month, or last year.  I must always remember to look again.

I know we are fluid beings who grow and shift.  So are our kids.

We’re trying worry dolls and Silly Billy book

I found the Silly Billy picture book on accident at the library.  Or maybe there are no accidents.

Silly Billy’s grandma helps him with his fears by giving him some Worry Dolls.  They help.  He does worry that he’s given too many worries to his dolls so he makes them worry dolls o their own.

Here are both links if you’re like me and need the book and the dolls for your worried child.  I hope they help us all!

Worry Dolls Link

Silly Billy picture book

something about swimming?

My innie is a tall, long legged athlete who excels in coordination and balance.  She learns new skills quickly and easily.

Take for example riding a bike — she easily learned to ride without training wheels at the young age of 4.

Throwing a ball.  Frisbee.  Gymnastics.  All came easily.

And then there was swimming.

Is it the water?  Is it a different kind of body motion? I’ve accepted that she’s not a strong swimmer, nor does she have the desire.  I’ll let her learn at her own pace.

But when I see the other 7 year olds playing sharks and minnow without her, I feel sad.  It’s not that she wasn’t invited.  She was.  She just doesn’t feel confident in the deep end.

What is it about water?

I’m hypothesizing that it’s another fear.  Another something.  It’s just different for her and I don’t get it.

Fear of . . . continued

Remember last week when my introvert was afraid of the rain?  That night, the worst night it could have happened, my other daughter had a seizure.

I called 911, administered a rectal injection, and tried not to wonder where my introvert had hidden.  No longer in her bed, I couldn’t worry about her worrying.  Not when something much worse was demanding my attention.

Four paramedics, two firefighters and two policemen clumped up our stairs and into the girls bedroom.  I asked my husband, “Where did she go?”

“I saw a girl hiding behind the bed in the other room,” said one uniformed man – maybe a firefighter?

As they started to check my baby’s vitals, I squeezed passed three of the men through the hall and across to my bedroom.  My introvert was hiding behind my bed on the floor.

All I could do was hug her.

“Don’t go, mommy,” she cried.

“I have to go to the hospital, I’m the one your sister needs right now.  Daddy will stay with you.”

We loaded up her sister, I climbed into the ambulance.  I knew the fears would be worse, and there was nothing I could do.

I guess sometimes that’s life.  I still felt totally awful. But, I had to let it go so I could be present with my baby who had no fears, no function, no presence of her own.  She was somewhere else and it wasn’t dreamland.

Scary doesn’t begin to describe it.  Fear doesn’t even capture my emotional state of being.

Terror.

Disappointment.

Numbness.

Fear of . . . a flood

The rains are torrential today.   Looking out our window on the second floor, we notice the stream behind our house has doubled in size and velocity.

“Mom, what if it floods?” was the first question my daughter asked.

“It won’t flood because it’s down between two hills.”

“Mom, what if it doesn’t stay down?  What will happen?”

I put her to bed.  “Mommy, I want mommy,” she said in baby talk.

So, I stayed.  But every time I untangled myself from under her head, she woke up.  “Don’t go, mommy.”

What was going on?

Finally, I asked.  “Are you afraid?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Are you worried about the rain?”

She nodded and buried her head in the covers.

I stayed and stayed and stayed.  And prayed for her to find peace in sleep.  She has fears.  I just don’t want them to become too big.  I want her to win the fight with those fears.

I worry.  And she fears.

What a pair.

She said “I love you”!!

“I love you, too,” my daughter shouts, pulling open the front door.

“What?” I ask.  “Did you just say I love you?”

She smiles, “Yes.”  Then, she’s off to the bus stop.  The door slams behind her.

My world slows down.  I take a big breath:  inhale, exhale.

She finally said it.  After seven years of waiting.

“I love you, too.”

It’s starting younger

We hear a lot about one girl – I’ll call her Madge.

“Madge said I was a looser.  Madge called me a jerk.  Madge . . . “

Honestly, I think that it’s not bullying so much as the kid is just a snot.  But, never the less, my daughter must learn to deal with twits or bullies.   So, we’ve read many books on the subject & I’ve made a list of favorites.

Talking helps.

Reading helps.

Summer vacation will help even more.  Yea!

Also, I think martial arts might be a good idea one day . . .