Ramona Quimby, Age 8, was my best friend growing up.
Ok, maybe Beverly Cleary was.
Either way – I read like a maniac when I was a kid. If Dell or Apple published it, I read it.
This movie is a must-see for me. I would like to take my daughter to see it. She may be too young to understand it completely, but I want it to be a nice mother-daughter date for us.
That provides a good segue, actually – my daughter has many privileges thrust upon her and the other day, after a full day at Ocean Beach in New London, I realized I need to scale them back.
My father always used to say “there’s a difference between being spoiled and being a spoiled brat” and today my little angel was a spoiled brat. I actually had to pull the car over and take deep breaths before I turned around and very calmly told her to shut the fuck up calm down, breathe deeply and think about her day, what she loved what she looks forward to for next time and what she’s thankful for.
We have good times. We go places, shop for things, eat at restaurants, visit our friends… we basically do what we want, when we want – within reason. I know that I am so lucky to have a husband that works himself near death to provide for us while I hop around the state (and neighboring states) calling myself “done” as long as the sink is clear, the fridge is full and the laundry is folded. We’re tan, we’re happy and we have 750 pictures to prove it. Sometimes, we’re even luck y enough to have Daddy join us on our little adventures.
We have good times. We know it, we appreciate it.
But do my kids? Does my daughter, specifically? Wyatt’s still pretty small for this sort of worry but I am starting to become more aware of how Abby views her life. We talk about privileges and consequences. We talk about how hard Daddy works and how we appreciate and support him. We clean the house, cook the dinner and generally maintain order, cleanliness and other “wifely duties” around the place but maybe that’s not enough. Maybe I need to have her dig a ditch, move the dirt, then move it back again and fill the hole.
Maybe I need to appreciate what a smart, well-spoken, clever and imaginative girl I am raising. I need to step back, think more before I speak, listen more before I answer.
My mother tells me this is a battle I will be facing for years to come. I need to be better prepared.
1 comment:
I admit that my kids are truly spoiled brats....most of the time. Bill and I both go out of our way, over the top to give them anything and everything they could possibly need or want. Most on the outside only see the material part of that. Only Bill and I know that we give "over the top" emotionally to them as well. I have found it increasingly easier to try to step back and see the bigger picture which is - they are growing up to be exactly who I'd want them to be. A moment (or ten) when I just want to smack them upside the head and say WTF are you thinking??, (and I do say that - minus the smacking....) I know it is a small part of who they are. I grew up with nothing - and now I figure I am making up for that. It's all good, Liz.
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