As I've processed and replayed in my mind, a certain episode of my own life in which Isabella told me she "wished she never had a mommy", and didn't like me, I can't help but think, I am a MURDERER of FUN (and LOVE)! How often have you thought the same thing of your own parents. It's basically the definition of parent--murderer of fun; destroyer of fun; revoker (that's not a word, but it should be) of fun; the one who depletes fun. That is, until you become a parent, and realize that your own parents, for the most part, were completely reasonable when they seemingly plotted to destroy your fun. On most occasions, they weren't heartless and weren't trying (especially) hard to ruin your life, they were just trying to protect you, or steer you in the right direction. In Isabella's case, I was showing her an example on the board of how to write a word so that all the letters belonging to that particular word are close together, and then, has a noticeable space, informing the reader that they are now reading a new word. Example: Jules cango tothe d une s. As the reader, I'm sure you appreciate reading, Jules can go to the dunes, instead. I could be wrong.
This morning I saw a book recommendation on Dig This Chick's facebook page. The book is, Peaceful Parent, Happy Kids: How to stop yelling and start connecting by Dr. Laura Markham. I found myself in an incredibly calm state when Isabella told me she "wished she never had a mommy". I calmly told her she was unkind, and needed to go to her room until we could talk. Later we resolved the issue, but I'm not always calm, and I certainly yell because it feels like most of what I say during a day falls on deaf ears--five year old kids have a very hard time hearing--don't worry, I've had her hearing checked on more than one occasion.
As I sipped my coffee Saturday morning, I read the introduction to the book, about not yelling. An hour later we went outside, and Isabella, who has yet to understand that when you suggest something, Isaac assumes it will happen instantly. Like any almost three year old, he doesn't have a concept of time, so when someone, say, Isabella, says, "Isaac! Do you want to go to Oma's house?!" He wants to go to Oma's house that minute. I yelled. We were having a happy moment outside, and she planted this idea in his head that we would go to Oma's house, and he had a meltdown, because that wasn't going to happen. Happy moment no longer. I stomped into the house with a screaming Isaac, and complained to Walter, and then we both burst out laughing because I told him I was reading a book about not yelling and I just frickin' yelled!
I walked the walk of parental shame, and went outside and apologized to Isabella for yelling, and explained, once again, that Isaac does not understand the concept of time.
After a sudden desire to relive my youth, I downloaded Oregon Trail on the iPad. We hunted squirrels, fished, walked off broken legs, arms, and cholera. Isabella said it was the most fun she'd ever had.
Outside, before I yelled. Please note, Isabella's outfit (and she says my nicest outfit is a bathing suit--I really can't trust her fashion judgement), and Isabella cheering for Isaac when he walked across the grass. This morning, as we were playing at catch at 7:30 a.m. and Isaac caught the ball, she said, "Sometimes, he just does such amazing things, that I cry!" They're both amazing little people.
If you have any questions about strokes, ask Isaac. He studied this flyer for about fifteen minutes.