thorvalson.net : babble ether

This is Why Haircuts Are Best BEFORE School Starts.

After five and a half years of home hair care, much struggling with the brushing of the hair, the washing of the hair, the doing pretty much anything with The Hair, I have finally joined the hordes of mothers lined up for at least the last generation or two to let someone else endure the torture, thank you very much. While hair cutting in general hasn't been so awful for Maddie to endure at the hands of her mother, it's the Bang Cutting she hates. Knowing full well that most of the employees at these chain salons haven't had an updated hair cutting class since 1986, I chose to protect my daughter from the inevitabilities of 80s bang couture: layers. Lots. Of. Layers.

So even though I physically jumped - and then cringed - when the little Asian woman busted out the layering scissors, I moved one mighty step back and mentally sent Maddie the message: You don't want me to cut your bangs? Fine. Then you're gonna look like Belinda Carlisle. Not this Belinda Carlisle. But this Belinda Carlisle, way before all the little boys in town figured out that We Got the Beat could easily have been We Got the Blow (see? in the first picture? IT'S NOT EVEN HER NOSE ANYMORE... poor little cokie Belinda. I still love you. Really, I do).

Knowing full well - and now illustrating in color photographs - that Bad Bangs Lead to Hard Core Drug Abuse, I tried, I really did, to protect my daughter.

So if she's snorting coke in ten years, let this be proof that I tried to stop her.

Before: My Little Hippie.

After: Could Have Been Shorter... But Overall, Not Bad.

But this?

Was this necessary? What has this child done to you?

In no way related to the last entry, I swear.

"Maddie, what are you doing?"

"Praying for God."

"Praying to God?"

"Um, yeah."

"Sorry - go ahead and finish."

"I'm already done."

"Do you want to tell me what you prayed for? You don't have to tell me."

"Yeah! I prayed for, uh, is the ocean okay."

"You prayed that God would make sure the ocean's okay?"

"No, I asked is the ocean okay."

"Did God answer?"

"Uh.... Uh-huh."

"What'd God say?"

"Um, he said the ocean is nice and clear. Except there's a little seaweed at the bottom."

Trinity? Sure. But Who Can Argue With This Is Spinal Tap?

For well beyond the last two and a half years that Greg and I have been together, his boss, Rip, has not only been a father figure to Greg (and in the last year, myself), but has been a firm and friendly encourager of faith, Catholicism in particular. Every year they go on a three-day silent retreat, held at a Jesuit monestary in Minnesota, and while Greg doesn't necessarily agree with all things Catholic, the benefits he reaps from these retreats are innumerable. As a result of Greg's reluctance to wholly return to the faith he was raised in, Rip has dubbed him a "Catholic in denial." My first thought upon hearing this title was, Aren't all Catholics in some form of denial?, but I digress.

There are soooo many things I don't agree with regarding the Catholic religion (as well as some Protestant branches, not to mention, most monotheistic, paternally-focused organized religions): the paternal structure and exclusion of women from all higher posts within that heirarchy, infallibility of the pope, the Crusades, the vast and numerous discrepancies between what Jesus actually taught vs. what is practiced by most (Number One being that God is everywhere, not just in the church - especially if and when that church is selling you something), and I'm sorry, but I've taken several philosophy of religion courses and I still don't get the logic of the Trinity. Perhaps it's just me.

That said, there are also things I admire to the extent that I sometimes wish I could believe whole-heartedly in the doctrines of the Church - if not for the salvation, then maybe just to be able to hang out in some of the most beautiful buildings in the world without the urgent and unshakable fear that lightning will descend from a clear blue sky to be channeled through the bell tower and into the chapel to single out and strike my sorry ass from the face of the earth. Plus, I'm kind of like a kid in the sense that I like boundaries and being told what to do. Left to my own devices, I lack a certain objectivity that other people and/or deities may be helpful in pointing out. It's gotten better, but still needs turns and cranks here and there.

Which is why, although Rip intended this book for Greg to borrow, the latter has not been able to wrest it from my hands for the last four days.

Touché, Rip. If the whole of Ireland, St. Augustine, the stained glass, St. Ignatius, and the inspiration for rhythm and blues (and thereby rock 'n roll) don't do the trick...

we'll always have Spinal Tap.

(cue the music)

Fishing around for that peace in the pond.

Well, she's grounded now. Is it just me, or does anyone else have a hard time getting their five year old to be conscious of the existence of other human beings? We've had a rough couple of days here at the Collective, and yesterday morning, Maddie was sweet as pie. Polite, well-mannered - all the things other people describe her as to us while we roll our eyes and think If only she'd carry these traits home with her.
We decided to reward her good behavior by allowing a few friends to come over.

Long story short, she broke just about every rule we have in this house - and there aren't many. Wasn't listening to Greg, kicked the dog in the head... After being told countless times to KEEP THE SAND IN THE SANDBOX, she built a castle directly underneath the sandbox on the ground (hoping I wouldn't see it there, I'm sure) and proceeded to THROW sand at the back of the house. Curses on your house! Phooey with this no mess business!

Of course this all happened when Mom wasn't looking. Think that makes me unable to punish her? Think again.

Today? The sandbox that Grandma gave her for her birthday? Gone.
Friends? Schmends. No company and no going to other people's houses for one week, during which time she needs to prove herself capable of respecting other people's property, not to mention, her own.
Toys in her room? Anything not put away by the time I have to leave for work (in about an hour) will be confiscated for the next week, to be given back to her in small increments once I can trust her not to leave everything out for the dog to consume.

In the meantime, I will be spending my spare (ha!) time working with Greg to come up with a Stephke Collective Constitution. Rules of the house, followed by consequences. Everything drawn up in ink, so that the next time she whines "I'M SORRRRRY!", I can say to her, "You know the rule. It's right there, followed by a prescribed flogging should you break said rule. Now bend over."

I hate this shit. I'm not a negative reinforcement kind o' gal. I'm all about rewarding good behavior, and talking about the bad behavior. Not so strict in the punishment department, per se. Greg would love it if we could have, say, a former POW/respected veteran come over here and show her how it's done. I'm always afraid of scaring her, hurting her feelings, breaking her spirit, and all that other crap you hear about on Oprah (which, yes, I watched religiously while she was a baby). It would seem that my method of punishment (or lack of) has not really done much for her in the Respect department. The attitude she's developed lately has been, "Well, you'll love me anyway, and I know you won't do anything too terrible to me if I do x, so.... let's have a party!" And that's not cool with either of us.

Greg feels stuck in the middle, wanting to discipline her but reluctant to do so because of the inevitable come-back which will happen sooner than later, I'm sure: "You're not my REEEEAL dad!"; she senses his hesitation and takes advantage. I encourage him to work with me in disciplining her, but get jumpy if discipline includes yelling because I grew up with a Yelling Dad and the result on my end was fear, which eventually led to balls-out rebellion once I figured out he couldn't literally, legally, tie me up in the basement. I don't want any of us to go through that.

If we can come up with a solution that both involves punishment (taking away fun activities) and respects her (we can't very well tell her, "No Yelling in This House," then proceed with the yelling when she breaks a rule), everyone will be happier for it.

Suggestions and support are most welcome.

Officially Declaring Her Independence

I like my mornings. I like waking up slowly, barely opening my eyes, wiggling my toes, then ankles, and verrrry slowly easing my body and mind out of bed and into a new day. Two days ago, I came desperately close to achieving this rare state when I noticed, mid-ankle roll, how quiet the house had suddenly become. A few minutes ago, there were the sounds of Maddie chasing the animals throughout the house. Now, quiet. A very loud and scary quiet.

I knew where she was before I even got my bathrobe on, and was already swearing at her under my breath. Nevertheless, I considered the possibility of Greg's suggestion: that she was simply in the backyard.

Nope.

After circling the perimeter of the house once, yelling her name, I ran back into the bedroom to pull on some actual clothing before marching across the street to the park. I wasn't even fully off the front porch when I saw her being led back across the street toward our house by Anthony, our next door neighbor, and his 10 year old daughter.

Needless to say, we had a talk. And then another talk, which was interrupted by Greg having a talk before stepping aside to let us resume more of the talk.

Last night, Ryan brought Maddie to Greg's and my place of employment to drop her off after a wedding. Cutely clad in her brand new dress, she paraded up the sidewalk to the patio where I was clearing tables, then noticed the owner of our establishment having a beverage at one of the tables.

"Mo - RIP!"

Breaks the handholding with Dad, runs straight to Rip and says,

"I heard you moved upstairs into Greg's old apartment!"

Like, hey! Good to see you! Can I get you a pint? I'm five going on thirty!

Once I get her inside the building, she begins scanning the bar for Greg. I'm talking to her, and her face is saying to me, "Are you speaking? 'Cause your mouth is moving but all I hear is BLAH BLAH BLAH."
In the middle of my asking her how the wedding was, she breaks away AGAIN and runs straight to Greg K., a friend of ours who was having dinner. Across the restaurant. Through a crowd of people who were pleasantly enjoying their meals before their attention was diverted by a running, yelling, unaccompanied five-year-old who promptly pulls up a chair at Greg K.'s table, has a seat, and says, "Greg! I didn't know you were here!"

When Ryan had picked her up from our house on Thursday evening, post-park trip, Maddie asked me,
"Will I be coming home in the morning or not for another day?"

I told her, "In the morning. Unless, of course, you decide to go to the movies or out for a pint by yourself."

She replied, rolling her eyes for emphasis, "MOOO-oom, I can't go to the MOVIES. I can't DRIVE!"

Because, yes, the fact that she is not yet fully confident enough to steal my vehicle is indeed the ONLY reason she hasn't yet picked up Juliana to take her to the movies.

Side note: We're probably keeping the dog, if only for the crate, which I will henceforth be reassigning to Maddie.

The Latest

Good news: The fence is up!

Not so good news: My childhood home is officially for sale. If anyone wants to buy it for me, by all means, feel free. I won't stop you. The mortgage is actually quite affordable, provided that it's possible to magically plop my partner's and my respective places of employment into Rockford and somehow maintain their current levels of profit for the two of us. Oh, and then there's that whole All My Old Friends Are Junkies thing, so the prospect of having a social life in Rockford is pretty grim.

Even so, if anyone feels like giving an exceptional early Christmas gift this year... step right up.

File Under Also/Other: I'm turning into a Zen Buddhist in terms of Stuff. I spent three hours yesterday cleaning Maddie's room and threw out two garbage bags full of crap she barely noticed was gone. She's taking it pretty well, my seasonal rummaging. If she can't read it, play it on a CD player or with her hands, be inspired in her imagination to create something with it, sleep on it, wear it, eat it, or be especially comforted by it, it's gone.
On our end of the deal, I got rid of cable television. Which pretty much means television as a whole, seeing as we have no antennae and so can't receive local stations. The cable guy was relatively shocked by our decision to eliminate this particular bit of wasteful spending in our home. He told me of how he removed cable from a home with two teenagers last week:

"How can you have two teenagers in your home and not have cable?"

Uh, there are these things called books, radio, guitars, fences, toys, pets, laundry, computers... Mankind managed to survive millenia without television. I suspect we'll do just fine.