Sandy Eggo?

As I washed the beach off Lizzy's feet today, I chanted "sandy, sandy, sandy, sandy, sandy." After I had done that for a bit, Lizzy piped up and said, "Like San Diego?"

Watching Waves at Santa Cruz

At the beach today, after running in the surf with Lizzy and Grace (her cousin), I sat on the beach and watched the water with Caroline and this little poem began to take shape.

Blue swells rising,
flashing in the sun,
crashing on the outer rocks,
send me on the run.
Crushing kelp and seaweed,
rushing to the beach,
thrashing on the sandy slope,
and splashing 'round my feet.

Emotional Eruptions

It's my fault. I realized this evening that there's no one to blame but me.

Lizzy regularly falls apart when she doesn't get her way. When friends have to go home, when a party ends early, when she doesn't get a book at bedtime (because she was disobedient), when its time to stop playing and eat dinner. She will wail and complain and cry and whine. Tears and pouting and declarations of unfairness. It can be exhausting to deal with those emotional eruptions, and it can be embarrassing when my family or friends become an audience to the display.

Tonight, after Lizzy had fallen apart twice—once when her abbreviated pre-birthday party with cousins came to an end and once when the "pajama party," designed to ease the end-of-party-sadness, didn't turn out like she hoped and also came to an end—I realized that it is all my fault. When I was younger, I was just like Lizzy.

I distinctly remember being five and having a friend come over one Sunday and protesting and whining because we couldn't play outside (a family Sunday rule). I pouted for a long time and ruined the visit. One of my defining characteristics as a child and teenager was my short temper. I remember often losing it and getting out-of-control angry, yelling, screaming, crying, pouting, stomping off in a huff, and sometimes throwing fists. I also remember acute embarrassment about my behavior—sometimes even in the midst of the outburst—and I remember regrets for opportunities lost.

So Lizzy's behavior is all my fault. She got it from me. And now it's payback time, Lizzy giving to me the embarrasment and frustration that I gave to my parents. I'll just have to figure out a way to help her through it.

You know, if Lizzy got this from me, could it be that I got this from one of my parents? I wonder if one of them behaved this way as a child. Maybe I'm not really to blame after all. It's probably their fault. Or their parents' fault. I'm sure somewhere back the line there's someone we can blame so the rest of us feel better about ourselves.

Bedtime Vocabulary

As I helped Lizzy get ready for bed one night recently, she began probing my vast vocabulary for a particular word.

“What do you say in the morning when you wake up?” she asked.

Not understanding, I asked what she meant. She obviously was having hard time defining the term herself. “After you sleep, when you’re not tired, what do you say?”

“Um, I guess you say, ‘I feel well rested,’” I said.

She wasn’t satisfied, and even after multiple attempts, my spontaneous vocabulary quiz ended with me failing and Lizzy being somewhat frustrated at my inability to provide the word she was after.

Several days later, I completed the bedtime routine and left Lizzy in her room to read with the light on. When I returned some time later and turned out the light, Lizzy protested that she was not ready for sleep. “But I’m not tired,” she said, then edited herself and declared, “I’m so untired . . . I’m so well rested.”

At last I understood the term she was seeking. I have yet to tell her that alert, wired, restless, or bright-eyed-and-busy-tailed might be suitable terms, and she continues to use “well rested” regularly. I probably should give her some alternatives, but it makes me smile whenever she seeks to avoid bedtime by saying, “But I’m so well-rested.”


Another fun example of her desire not to go to sleep at night: The other day I went in to turn out her light and she was asleep with the Friend magazine crumpled between her hands. I gently removed the magazine, trying not to wake her, and she stirred and protested weakly (without opening her eyes), “But I’m still not tired.” Then she promptly fell back asleep.

Freud and Dresses

A group chat this afternoon at work... one person announces she has to leave, so the rest of us start saying our farewells. Remaining participants are

Cute Baby (who used to be Calvin)


Abominable snowman


Fedora


Fedora: ciao

Snowman: cya

Baby: byu

Baby: bye

Baby: freudian slip

Snowman: did freud really wear a slip?

Snowman: 'cause then that would be something

Baby: yeah

Baby: he had issues with his mother