Spots

The sky darkens. I notice because I catch myself thinking, "It's the middle of the day. Why would I pause at the light switch?" I grabbed a hoodie and make tea, brisk air and a damp walk are on my mind. The wind is blowing the palm branches vigorously.

"SPOTS!" yells my daughter as she rushes to put on shoes. 

Opening the door, the warm are blows in. No spots - at least not yet, mug in hand I ascend the stairs and return to work.

"May I go for a bike ride?" inquires my bored child. After talking through her route and when her next Zoom call is we agree on a plan and she heads out, wheeling her bike to the door. 

"For real now!" she doesn't hesitate to ride off, as the pavement begins to darken beneath her tires.

By the time I have finished typing this she is still gone, but so too are the spots.

Out for a Walk (30/31)

  30 of 31 - SOLSC 2021

"Come with me," I said, taking my daughter's hand and leading her down the stairs.

"Put on some shoes."

I opened the door and we headed down the driveway. As we approached the sidewalk I asked, "I'm walking you. Which way do you want to go?"

Barely looking at me, she pointed to the right. I could tell she was concerned about what was happening. She knew she had made a poor choice. 

About half way down the block I said, "I'm walking my daughter."

A few steps later I continued, "The purpose of walking a dog is often so they have the opportunity to get something out of their body." 

A look of understanding crossed her face, yet the furrowed brow showed she wondered where I was going this this.

"I'm walking you to get the grump out," I continued.

She tried to contain it, but was unsuccessful and the giggles spilled out.

Phew! I thought. I wasn't sure this was going to work, but I had to try something. I had finished a meeting and gone downstairs quietly, as she had class. I rounded to the corner and found her not in her call. 

"Are you going to class?" I asked.

She burst into tears and stomped upstairs, flopping herself onto her bed.

"Your daughter is skipping class," I messaged my husband.

Sighing I went back to work. When the clock told me class had ended I decided to take her for a walk.

Laugh or Cry? (25/31)

  25 of 31 - SOLSC 2021

After reading this post I was reminded of some of my own experiences as a parent who travels on airplanes with a kid who vomits. Many things resonated with me. The having a change of outfit - for everyone. The making sure you have a puke bag ready, at all times, within reach, and with the perforated top already torn off. How much easier it got once she was old enough to communicate that it was coming (though I had gotten really good about noticing the signs). 

I am not going to share with you about the ten hour flight that she puked a couple of times per hour for most of the flight. I am not going to tell you about her strategy to just not eat when we fly, because it is less gross. I am also not going to share with you the thankful prayers and happy dances we do when we manage to take a flight without puke. (Though it is generally every other flight - becoming one in three as she gets older. AND, pandemic, so she hasn't been on a plane in 15 months and counting.)

The previously linked blog ends with, 

She landed successfully without vomiting. Her first words upon landing, accompanied by a triumphant fist pump?

“I made it!”

We had this experience once also. Well, nearly this experience. We landed in Seattle after ten hours on the plane, the second flight of our trek. She was young, strapped in her carseat on the plane. The three of us had flown together, (which didn't happen when our schedule were different). The car seat was moved to the rolling suitcase, attached with the most awesome and simple tool. All spaces; seat pockets, seats, under seats, between the window and the seat, and overhead had been freed of our belongings. Two of us carted our haul off the plane while one toddled between us, smiling to everyone as she went. (She was about to see Grandma, after all!) 

The steps along the jetway were filled with relief for all of us. Our journey of 24 hours was nearly complete. We would be greeted by family, have a meal at Red Robin, and then be unpacking at home. Because we were a family with a young one we were directed to the elevator, rather than the stairs. She pressed the down button and we all waited for the doors to open.

It was that moment that I realized she was about to throw up. The incredulous thoughts I had of "but we are on the ground" were quickly replaced with a mental scan of where I might have tucked a barf bag - only to realize they were all left on the plane. We were on the ground, after all. This should mean no more puking. All of this was in a nanosecond, as well as lifting her over the metal garbage can mounted on the wall as the retching began. 

She had great aim, for the little that trickled out. Immediately feeling better she gleefully entered the elevator, parents looking at one another, shaking our heads as we tried to decide if we should laugh or cry.

Resilience Building (21/31)

  21 of 31 - SOLSC 2021

Resilience is currently being built in my daughter and her classmates. On top of all of the other things you might expect or imagine with over a year of virtual school, they are starting with their fifth new core teacher of the year as we speak.

Their middle school model has one teacher for math & science and one teacher for humanities. They are on their third math and science teacher and today start with their second humanities teacher. The changes have been for a variety of reasons; new teacher not coming, paperwork not getting approved, and high risk pregnancy are all reasons outside the school's control. The bottom line is, they've had a lot of change.

Knowing her teacher was pregnant with multiples I had been been bringing down my daughter's expectations of this beloved teacher being with her through the end of the year. I had hoped it would at least be until sometime in April. When the email came, at the end of Spring Break, we weren't sure how it was going to be received. My daughter took it in stride, especially knowing there was no medical emergency and everyone is OK.

"We have had so many changes - we've got this!" she said of herself and her classmates. Now we will find out if the theory holds true in the face of reality.

Memory Is A Funny Thing (14/31)

  14 of 31 - SOLSC 2021

Christine opened her session reminding us of the power of read aloud for growing spelling skills; the foundations of phonological awareness that are fun to explore and the joy of manipulating phonemes that come with silly picture books.

Highlighting a few examples she came to Shark in the Park. I had forgotten about this book, but more importantly I had forgotten the hundred of times we had read Rub a Dub Sub a decade ago to our daughter.

Walking into the other room with my wireless headphone still hearing the conversation I quickly put my hands on Sheep in a Jeep. I suspected Rub a Dub Sub to be in my daughter's room so messaged my husband to request it be delivered to me as I returned to my Zoom screen. 

"I can't find it," he replied.

"It's in her room, probably in the closet stash of books," I typed back.

"She swears it's not in her room." Followed by, "She doesn't remember the book."

What?! How can she not remember this book with Jeff Mack's vibrant illustrations and LInda Ashman's suspenseful story and enticing words?

Isn't it interesting that we can experience the same thing and it have such a varying impact? In reality she has read the book more than I have as she had the culminating reads of both of her parents (and anyone else she could get to open it). She may not remember the words. I do know the love of rhyme, the sound of well placed words, and a fascination of sea creatures were planted in her each time that sub sank into the bathtub.

Mixed Tape Education (7/31)

  7 of 31 - SOLSC 2021

I glance, once again, at the bog of mixed tapes I pulled out of a closet a couple of months ago. Now is the time, I decide. Pressing play on the bright yellow Sportsman I am not surprised to discover the batteries are dead. Fresh batteries inserted I hear the whirring as the wheels turn. I plunk in the first tape I grab and go to look for the audio input cable. Sportsman hooked up to the big speaker as my daughter sets up for a painting project, I let her know I am choosing the music.

"Is it your music or mine?" she asked.

"Wait and see," I replied pressing play and adjusting the volume.

The restrained chorus at the start of "Joyful, Joyful" from Sister Act oozes into the room. She isn't sure about my choice, but I know that she will be hooked when the beat picks up. As the second song starts she looks up, puzzled as the songs don't seem to go together.

Time to explain the ancient medium of mixed tapes! I grab the case and start to show it to her, interrupted by her question as she holds her hand out for the case. 

"What does it do?" she asks, taking the hard plastic box.

Oh my! How do I live in a time that the case of a cassette tape is a puzzlement to my tween child? In the days of Spotify and the like I doubt she will ever understand the hours of time that this 90 minutes of wonderment took to create, but that's for another post.

Overheard Just Now (4/31)

  4 of 31 - SOLSC 2021

Overheard just now:

"I think I just spelled because!"

It's the exuberance in her voice that pulls me from my work as I stand at my desk. She is working with a partner on a Zoom call to try and finish a project for school. The joy and surprise in her voice caught my attention. She and the friend then talked a bit about words that trip them up, even as middle schoolers.

Recently some wordsmithing was shared with me regarding spelling. Many parents balk at terms like "inventive spelling" or "made up spelling". They don't like the idea their child is not spelling something the right way. What if we call it "temporary spelling"? We are acknowledging that it is a placeholder on the journey toward conventional spelling.

This daughter of mine has always been very verbal. I am thankful that she has had mentors that have encouraged her to use her spoken vocabulary when she writes, not being concerned about the correctness of her spelling. Her writing has stayed true to her voice while her spelling has stayed atrocious - until this school year. The pieces have finally fallen into place and her spelling has become mostly convention.  

But we all have those words. You know the ones. Those words that despite slowing down as you write them, they seem to always appear with a red squiggle under them. Apparently because is one of those for my daughter. By the time their conversation finished the red squiggle had shown up under another occurrence of because in her writing. "Well, I guess I am still learning 'because'," she tells her partner.

Openings (22/31)

22 of 31 - SOLSC 2019

"Mom, do you know which hole the baby comes out?"

"Go finish getting ready for bed and we can talk about it."

I am not delaying the conversation. This is simply my standard answer to the myriad of delay tactics that arise on a daily basis. She doesn't seem to have figured out my canned response since she asks, "Have you figured it out yet?" when I enter her room a few minutes later.

Smiling I assure her I already knew. We discuss the three 'holes' and what comes out of each one, in the depth she is ready for. When I start to explain more about the uterus, she has no interest instead creating an alliteration.

"Pee. Poo." [Pause] "Pupil!" she adds, quite proud of her wordsmithing.

I introduce the term 'progeny', which she agrees is better - and then revisit which orifice is which, thankful for the opening for our conversation and praying they continue.

Terrified (21/31)

21 of 31 - SOLSC 2019

The front door opens and closes. "Who's here?" I ask.

With a voice that is stronger than makes sense, as I hear the sobbing underlying the sounds, my daughter says her name. I am flying down the stairs, scenarios running through my head. Is there blood or damaged bones? Did the usual supportive group of girls turn mean? Did someone do something inappropriate?

Seeing no blood nor any body part she is clutching, I wrap my arms around her helmet clad body that is gasping for air through her sobs.

"What happened?" I ask.

Through the nearly hysterical sobbing all I can gathering is something about the squash court and getting locked in and someone finally coming by to let her out. I sit and gathering her onto my lap, hugging and soothing as her breathing slows down and the sobbing subsides. She is safe. She is home.

We can't immediately go investigate the scene as I have a four year old over for a playdate - giving him a chance to be out of his house. He's been cooped up with asthma issues, including several nights at the hospital. There is also a newborn at home, so a change of scenery and some attention paid just to him is helpful to everyone. "Can we send him home?" my daughter asks.

Immediately weighing the needs of both children, I ask the four year old to go try three cars on the race track we have been assembling while I have my daughter head to her room - where she can close the door. I am fully aware that I have an only child; her need for the walls of her house to be her refuge is apparent.

Once it is just the two of us I ask if she wants to go take a look at the squash courts. A vigorous nod as she quickly heads to put her shoes on answers my question. Her explanation of the scene is that the outside of the door has a handle. Once inside she closed the door to contain her ball, but when she went to leave she realize there is no lever on the inside, thus she was stuck. Crying and screaming for help, she banged on the glass until a worker appeared and let her out.

We walk across the compound, hand in hand, her telling me about where she rode and parked her scooter, which door she used to enter the building - in essence, she is revisiting the events that led up to her terror.

"He closed the door again, once he let me out," she says as I approach the horizontal bar that is the handle. Pushing down, the door swings in easily. I take a couple of steps - she remains rooted outside. Examining the inside panel I realize what has happened, test my theory, and then show it to her while I explain.

"They can't have a handle sticking out on the inside because squash can be very physical, with people bouncing off the walls to make their plays. In order to keep the players safe they have made the surface flat, but if you pull this ring up you can turn it and it turns the knob."

Her shoulders relax, as the tension drains from her body - there is a way out. She closes the door, with me on the inside, watching from the outside as I demonstrate the theory I have explained. As I open the door she steps in, trying for herself.

We hug and walk home, hand in hand, talking about I'm not sure what.

Rough Morning (18/31)

18 of 31 - SOLSC 2019

Though I hadn't wanted to get out of bed, now that my workout was behind me I was glad that I did. Shower head pointing to the corner I count off the ten seconds I know it takes for the water to warm up. Fingers splashing in the spray, I count another five second, wondering if I had counted too quickly. It's still not warm so I count to ten again, the annoyance starting to creep in as I begin to realize the hot water is not functioning - again. 

The towel still on the floor from drying my feet I dial the gatehouse to report our predicament and then find something to put on, knowing the doorbell will ring shortly.

***

As the non-choreographed ballet plays out in the kitchen, the three of us dancing around the island and table, each working on their own tasks related to breakfast or lunch prep, I glide to the refrigerator. Opening the door I run through the bits I need to carry out my mental plans for each lunch box.

I look once. Twice. Once I'm certain it isn't hiding behind something else I ask my daughter, "Did you eat the quesadilla for snack yesterday?"

"Yes", she replied.

"Bummer as I told you that was planned for your lunch today."

"You don't understand ANYTHING! I was starving and had to eat something!"

***

Trying to look presentable without a shower and having just had pre-pubescent anguish unleashed upon me I head to my bathroom. When I need to wash my hands the faucets response is naught. With a huge sigh I head to the phone to once again dial the gatehouse.

"Now we have zero water" I tell the man who answers, hoping to find words that will translate well as hot water has just become of less concern than completely dry taps.

***

Entering my daughter's room to make sure she will make the bus in the midst of her own rough morning I find her accessorizing rather than brushing her teeth and applying sunscreen.

***

I'll spare you the rest of the details, but will say - I was sure glad to get to work!

"It's The Smell Of Freedom" (15/31)

15 of 31 - SOLSC 2019

"It stinks in here!" my nine year old declares as she climbs into the back of a blue sedan.

Adjusting the driver's seat I respond, "It's the new car smell." and then, without a conscious thought continue, "It's the smell of freedom Mrs. Landingham".

She looks at me, puzzled.

"Go say it to Daddy. He can explain."

She scrambles into the car next to us, delivering the line as instructed.

As I am waiting for the message telling me my car is ready to be picked up - all the detailing completed - I recall the above scene, which took place on the showroom floor on my birthday. It has all happened fast, at least fast for Saudi. We decided we really like one model (and the price), but wanted it in white. White was located and driven over from Jeddah. It arrived, 11 km on the odometer. I presented my credit card; purchase complete. The paperwork was next day aired from Jeddah to Dammam. Within a few hours everything was processed. Insurance and plates procured, the car safe to travel by road to get all the protective detailing done. 

And now I wait.

I let full scene with Mrs. Landingham play out in my mind, and then the rest of the episode, and realize - I don't want this to end the same way. (The least of those reasons being there is no place to reenact "Two Cathedrals" here!)

If You Give A Girl Some Sand... (13/31)

13 of 31 - SOLSC 2019

Surrounded by sand dunes is fun for playing. When those sand dunes were under the ocean 50 million years ago you can also find shark teeth. While searching for shark teeth, after a lifetime of training for hunting agates on the beach, you discover a desert diamond. But there's still loads of sand for playing.

Paperdoll Revelations

As she removes the white wig from Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton's head on her new paperdoll (obtained on our "Greatest City In The World" Spring Break) I say, "Aren't you surprised to find she actually has such dark hair?!"

"No", my eight year old replies. "I knew because of her eyebrows. Eyebrows show the real color of someone's hair. Look at mine, you can see I have orange hair, which you can also tell from my personality."

"What do you mean by that?" I ask, trying to not chuckle or assume anything about her understanding of stereotypes.

"Redheads are kind of fiesty and so am I. We have big emotions."

Grumping and Tears - To Be or Not To Be

21 of 31 - SOLSC 2018

The Slice of Life March Challenge is hosted by Two Writing Teachers and part of the Slice of Life Story Challenge that takes place each Tuesday throughout the year and everyday in March. It is a supportive (and awesome!) community of those trying their hand at writing and encouraging others in their writing. Join us!

Mornings would be fine, if I only had to get myself out the door. 

It isn't that every morning is frustrating. Part of the challenge is that I never know which version of the morning I'm going to face. There are two general scenarios.

Scenario A:
Once I'm out of the shower and dressed I go in to wake up my daughter. I turn on the hall light, open the door, turn of her AC, walk across her room, plant a few kisses on her, and walk out again. After putting sunscreen on my face I re-enter her room, repeat the kisses while adding a pleasant, "Good morning, Little One".  

Many times this is greeted with a grunt or a yanking of the blanket over her head. I then try really hard to not pester, simply letting her know when I head downstairs to make lunches and breakfast.

(There are consequences in place if she isn't ready on time and rewards, if she is. She knows what the expectations are. I should keep my mouth shut!)

Scenario B:
She is awake on her own and downstairs before I even get to her room. (She particularly likes to pile blankets and/or stuffed animals under her covers to make it look like she is still sleeping and sneak downstairs for the grand surprise of it all.)

Know that Scenario A can still end with everyone being ready ahead of schedule and out the door after a generally pleasant morning.

And, Scenario B can still end with it being time to walk out the door and a particular someone is not yet ready and grumpiness, from many fronts, takes place - sometimes with tears.

This morning was a rarity in that I was greeted with a, "Good morning, Mommy!" while I was still in the shower. She and I headed downstairs at nearly the same time. She applied her sunscreen, ate her breakfast, brushed her teeth, put her shoes on, and we were all out the door without any grumping or tears - not even by Daddy!

Spirit Week Conversations At Home

14 of 31 - SOLSC 2018

The Slice of Life March Challenge is hosted by Two Writing Teachers and part of the Slice of Life Story Challenge that takes place each Tuesday throughout the year and everyday in March. It is a supportive (and awesome!) community of those trying their hand at writing and encouraging others in their writing. Join us!

Makeup Monday

She's eight. She can't wait to be a teenager. The good news is, after I gave her the opportunity to try out a makeup set someone had given her, we decided that she would only wear eyeshadow and lip gloss to school. Just before we walked out the door I added some glitter to the look. "Mommy, you're the best - ever!" was her reaction. #phew #mommywin

Throwback Tuesday

"Mom, is that what you really used to wear?" She asks as she comes into the kitchen to get her breakfast, finding me in jeans and a (pretty hideous) polyester shirt.

"This kind of shirt is older than me - it's even older than Daddy!"

"But the jeans are from now, right?"

"Jeans are over a hundred years old."

"No way!"

Wacky Wednesday

"Do you have your clothes picked out for tomorrow?" I ask as we are finishing dinner.

"I do! I'm wearing what would be THE wackiest thing you could wear on a wacky dress up day - I'm dressing normally," says the eight year old.

Party At The Bus Stop

2 of 31 - SOLSC 2018

The Slice of Life March Challenge is hosted by Two Writing Teachers and part of the Slice of Life Story Challenge that takes place each Tuesday throughout the year and everyday in March. It is a supportive (and awesome!) community of those trying their hand at writing and encouraging others in their writing. Join us!

There is a scramble of activity as we walk in the door from school. About ten minutes later our daughter appears, blurting out, "My jobs are done! May I please go to the good-bye party now?"

As we had pulled up to the sidewalk a couple of the neighborhood girls had approached the truck to ask if she could join them. I nodded as she looked from them to me. Knowing we are having guests tonight she explained that she first needed to go home and do a few things.

We've been working on responsibility. When I say 'we', it is true there has been work on all sides. She's been working on doing what she needs to do and being where she says she will be. We have been working on not giving up and locking her in her room until she's 20.

After some very rough patches, the past two weeks have gone very well and she has earned back our trust and some freedom. "Yes, as long as you stay at the bus stop and before you go anywhere else you come back here to ask first."

"OK. Thanks!" and she's off.

We settle in, beginning our weekend with an episode of "The West Wing", which we are on our way through for the umpteenth time. We don't expect to get the luxury of finishing it because our friends should arrive shortly, but the physical moment of stopping after a busy week of school is appreciated.

I receive a message part way through the episode saying they have made a stop and will be later than anticipated. When they finally message that they are at the gate of the compound, we walk out to the truck. My husband will drive out to schlep in anything they are wanting to bring in with them and I will tell the little one they have arrived. 

"Do you think she will still be at the bus stop?" I ask.

"No."

We both expect he is correct, but hope to be wrong. As we round the corner we hear voices at the bus stop and look at one another with wide eyes. Hope of her success soars.

I arrive at the bus stop as he drives by. Several sets of parents are enjoying the shade and afternoon breeze while they talk among themselves, but no kids are there. 

Bummer.

"No Devices At The Table!"

"No devices at the table!" is said in exasperation, again, by the third grader.

Yes, you read that correctly. It is the child who is the enforcer of this rule and more than 3/4 of the way through nine weeks with grandparents in the house she has had to say it more than ever.

Oh, the irony.

It has been fascinating to me that over the past two months the over seventy crowd has been much more attached to their devices than the rest of us. This has been true both at our house and as we have traveled. 

At one point we are on a layover at some airport and I went to forging for snacks in whatever shops I could find. I came back to find three 70-something-year olds with their noses in their phones or iPads while the third grader played cards with her dad. Yes, I snapped a picture!

I love that she is very adamant that devices not come to the table, though there is some balance to be found between this rule - that I wholeheartedly agree with - and how to put her foot down and be respectful of her elders at the same time.

If nothing else, these moments that I share with her now I am storing away for the moments when she is tempted to revamp the rules.

Restraining the Eye Roll

Most families don't commute together. Since we all attend the same school we are piling into rushing through our morning to ensure we can pull out on time in the morning. We often listen to audiobooks, but prior to pressings 'play' we make sure that anything that needs to be said has a chance to come to light. 

Family discussions in the car on the way to school cover a wide range of topics, but I never thought I would hear, "Well. I know it could happen because I've seen "Barbie Princess Charm School" and they..."

I stopped listening and stifled my chuckle.

Now that I've had a chance to step back and reflect on her comment my first response is to chuckle and roll my eyes, but right after that I realize that the fact that she is completely engaged in the conversation. She is thinking about what we are saying and pulling from her experience to find a place to engage. 

Perhaps my parenting win for the day is what I didn't do. I didn't laugh out loud. I didn't point out the fictional aspect of the storyline she was relating to. I didn't comment on the probability of the absurd scenario that the Barbie Princess storyline.

I did press "play" and let Amber Brown take us to a different place.

Hashtags and a P.S.

"Family snuggles are the best, hashtag: so are my parents."

"Hashtag! What do you now about hashtags?!" I asked my eight year old.

As the grin spreads from cheek to cheek she grabs a whiteboard marker and goes into teacher mode with her easel.

"P.S. ia a note you forgot to add and hashtag is an exclamation!" she explains while she writes "#" and "P.S." in purple.

Teacher mode continues, "Hashtags are exclamations. Things like 'ice cream is best' or 'I love Hamilton'. A P.S. is like a note you forgot to write. In order to add it you put 'P.S.' first."

#  exclamations!

P.S.  note

She's never heard of Twitter, yet this third grader has an accurate working knowledge of these literary devices.

I stopped to do some research as I was writing this because I was curious the real history of each of these possibilities.

P.S. originated in the mid 16th century from the Latin post scriptum: after write.

2007 was the first time a # was used on Twitter and three days later a blogger called it a "hashtag". Twitter began hyperlinking hashtags in 2009 and the term reached the Oxford English Dictionary in 2014.

#daughters #parenting #writing

P.S.
I suppose it makes total sense that my daughter knows what a hashtag is and should be a little more surprising that she has a clue about a P.S.

Filed Under "Observations of a Third Culture Kid"

As we walk from the parking lot to the sanctuary I look over and notice she is cowering under her hands.

"I need an umbrella," she comments.

Chuckling to myself, "It's just mist."

She isn't satisfied with my answer. 

"You aren't from around here, are you?" I add.

This gets under her third culture skin. As we cross the street she shares the strategy she has come up with.

"I'll just think of it as blowing sand - you just squint and tilt your head down for both."

This observation of hers has stayed with me. Not only is it true, but it is such a clear illustration of my child who is 'from' Seattle and lives in the sandbox known as Saudi.