I'm not sure how to put into words what I'm about to say. Growing up I lived in the suburbs. We could ride our bikes down the street, play street hockey with the neighbor kids, play hide and seek over the span of three lawns (ours and two neighbors) in the summer until daylight was gone, catch lightening bugs after hide and seek was over, etc. I had more kids in my elemetary school classes than she will ever have in her graduating class. Having around 60 kids per grade level in elementary school to over 150 in my graduating class. Playing in a kick ass marching band in high school complete with band camp (please keep crude comments to yourself. I've heard it a million times), early morning practices, out of state band trips, field competitions to where we kicked ass and took names.
I look back on all of that and I realize that Payton won't get to experience that. It's very bitter-sweet for me. All of those experiences made me who I am. When Payton gets to be in elementary school we hope to have a house in the country with a few acres of land. You can't play hide and seek across neighbor's lawns when your closest neighbor is half a mile away, or ride your bike in the street, or play street hockey. She won't get to experience intense band field competitions that give you goosebumps when waiting to hear if your "team" scored a Superior (the highest) rating, (if she's interested in playing an instrument, that is). She won't know what it's like to have a graduating class over 30. I had 30 kids in most of my elementary school classes, but there were also three different classes for each grade (i.e. three third grade classes, three fourth grade classes, etc. and each one had about 30 kids). She'll never get to experience walking or riding her bike to school.
I know nothing about living in the country. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't give up rural living for all the tea in China, it's just unfamiliar territory for me. The only time I saw corn on a stalk, or with husks and silk when I was a kid was when we were driving on the interstate to visit family, or when my grandma would buy it from the farmer's market in the parking lot of Ace Hardware. I never had to ride a bus to get to school, Payton might. I never woke up to a field of corn or soybeans next to my house, but Payton will. Our "shed" was a small building in the backyard that housed our lawn mower. A "shed" in the country houses a combine or tractor. I never took part in 4-H, the home ec. aspect or animal showing aspect, Payton will most likely show cattle. The information I've learned about cattle has all come from Heath in the six years we've been together. I've fed a calf, and let it suck on my fingers, but I've never raised anything bigger than a medium sized dog and here our six year old (albeit in about 5 years) will show an animal far more larger than she is. I'm fully relying on Heath for moments like that because I've never experienced anything like it. I've watched my brothers-in-law at cattle competitions and it is a COMPELTELY different game. "Trophies" are sometimes in the form of belt buckles, and learning how to drive with a cattle trailer is common place for a 14 year old. The only time I saw livestock was when we occassionally went to the county fair. When she shows in a cattle competition, the hair on my arms will stand straight up just like they did when I waited for band competition results. It'll be the small town moments that Payton experiences that will define who she will grow up to be. I'm sad because she won't get to experience the things that I did. She won't get to ride her bike to the water park, or walk to Dairy Queen from her grandparents house in the summer. But I'm happy because she'll experience things that will give her memories she'll never forget. I'm happy she'll get to experience country life so that I can see the kind of things Heath did when he was growing up, but experience it through her. Living in the country will be all that she'll know. Most likely she'll only ever live in two houses her entire life before moving out for college. I, on the other hand, lived in three before seventh grade. I'm excited to see who she'll be from the experiences she takes with her, and hope that one day she won't think it's weird that I used to ride my bike in the street.
Lilypie Second Birthday tickers
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Monday, January 30, 2012
My pal, my dog.
Today was probably one of the worst days of my life thus far. I, as well as the rest of my family, lost a trusted member of our family. My dog of 12 years, Cimino, had to be put down today. He has lost all function in his back legs due to arthritis and hip dysplasia. As of this morning he was completely paralyzed from the waist down. He was on steroids and a glucosamine chondroitin, and the meds quit working. He would have to drag himself through the yard, but it just got to be too much for him. My parents sat with him in the yard today for 3.5 hours before it was time to take him to the vet. He was my pal, my first dog and I will never forget him. When I first brought him home I recall being afraid. My parents weren't interested in having a dog, at. all. My dad definitely didn't want a dog and my mom was pretty skepical. When we (an ex of mine who gave Cimino to me as a gift) brought him home we called my mom out to the drive way and I immediately put him in her arms. I wanted her to come out first because I knew she would be a sucker for a puppy and wouldn't yell at me as much. She fell in love. She then proceeded to take him in the house and handed him to my dad as he was sitting in his chair. I recall the conversation going as follows:
My dad: What's this?
Me: It's a dog
My dad: Who's is it?
Me: (very hesitantly) Mmmine.
My dad: Huh. Where's he gonna stay?
Me: Well, I thought here.
And for the next 2-3 years my dad denied he ever felt anything for that dog. He would protest and claim Cimino was a pain in his butt. Famous last words, and also the words of someone in love with a a dog. He never used to admit it, but he loved that dog.
Two years after getting Cimino, I went off to college and he ultimately became the family pet. I wished I could have taken him with me to live in the dorm. But I didn't think my cousin, and dorm mate, would like that very much.
When he was a puppy I recall a friend of mine, Kody Sok for those who know her, came over one night after one of our softball games and let him gnaw on her ponytail as she played with him in the yard. (Kody, if you read this, I've seriously been trying to get in touch with you. Miss you my friend!)
We used to have weedeater string roping off certain areas in our yard, blocking off the places Cimmy wasn't allowed to go. He was smart too, because he never crossed that line, unless he saw a really tempting squirrel or tumble weed. I was mowing the lawn one day and had to take the string down. As I was about to put it back up, Cim somehow got a hold of it depleting it of any slack. That damn dog clotheslined me on the back of the calves and swept both my legs out from under me. I went flying to the ground and had the worst lash mark I've ever seen.
There was one year where we had a mouse problem in our basement and our shed. We lived up against an alfalfa field and they seemed to come from that. My dad noticed in the shed a nice little nest composed of hay, which we used to blanket Cimino's dog house, and dog food. Cimino's kennel was up against the shed. A few days later my dad went to retrieve his leaf blower from the shed. As he turned it on, four mice shot out and scared the bejesus out of him. My dad is deathly afraid of mice. Sorry dad. ;) That story is hardly related to Cimino, I just like to tell it. :)
He loved the snow. In the house my parents lived in at the time, when it would snow hardcore it would create a massive snow bank. One day I donned my dad's coverall's so I could go scoop out his dog kennel since the snow would drift about 6 foot and block his door. After I got done digging it out I stayed out and played in the snow with him. Some where there are pictures documenting this. I loved it.
Some people may wonder where in the world I got the name "Cimino". Well, in high school every Friday and Saturday night I would frequent a little coffee shop in downtown Grand Island where my b.f. from a one Jacie Schreiner, now Bockstadter worked. The people who owned the place also happened to know my parents, and from going there so often I began to know them too. Their last name, was Cimino. The name of the coffee shop, Cimino's. They were the nicest people in the world and I loved hanging out and chatting with them. It's a shame that Cimino's is no longer a great place to go for a nice mocha, but Cimino lived long after the shop closed. He lived a happy, fullfilled life. I will never forget him, so in a toast with my glass of wine I lift up my glass in his memory. I love you Cimmy. I will be thinking of you everyday and smile up at you as you run around, pain free, in doggie heaven.
My dad: What's this?
Me: It's a dog
My dad: Who's is it?
Me: (very hesitantly) Mmmine.
My dad: Huh. Where's he gonna stay?
Me: Well, I thought here.
And for the next 2-3 years my dad denied he ever felt anything for that dog. He would protest and claim Cimino was a pain in his butt. Famous last words, and also the words of someone in love with a a dog. He never used to admit it, but he loved that dog.
Two years after getting Cimino, I went off to college and he ultimately became the family pet. I wished I could have taken him with me to live in the dorm. But I didn't think my cousin, and dorm mate, would like that very much.
When he was a puppy I recall a friend of mine, Kody Sok for those who know her, came over one night after one of our softball games and let him gnaw on her ponytail as she played with him in the yard. (Kody, if you read this, I've seriously been trying to get in touch with you. Miss you my friend!)
We used to have weedeater string roping off certain areas in our yard, blocking off the places Cimmy wasn't allowed to go. He was smart too, because he never crossed that line, unless he saw a really tempting squirrel or tumble weed. I was mowing the lawn one day and had to take the string down. As I was about to put it back up, Cim somehow got a hold of it depleting it of any slack. That damn dog clotheslined me on the back of the calves and swept both my legs out from under me. I went flying to the ground and had the worst lash mark I've ever seen.
There was one year where we had a mouse problem in our basement and our shed. We lived up against an alfalfa field and they seemed to come from that. My dad noticed in the shed a nice little nest composed of hay, which we used to blanket Cimino's dog house, and dog food. Cimino's kennel was up against the shed. A few days later my dad went to retrieve his leaf blower from the shed. As he turned it on, four mice shot out and scared the bejesus out of him. My dad is deathly afraid of mice. Sorry dad. ;) That story is hardly related to Cimino, I just like to tell it. :)
He loved the snow. In the house my parents lived in at the time, when it would snow hardcore it would create a massive snow bank. One day I donned my dad's coverall's so I could go scoop out his dog kennel since the snow would drift about 6 foot and block his door. After I got done digging it out I stayed out and played in the snow with him. Some where there are pictures documenting this. I loved it.
Some people may wonder where in the world I got the name "Cimino". Well, in high school every Friday and Saturday night I would frequent a little coffee shop in downtown Grand Island where my b.f. from a one Jacie Schreiner, now Bockstadter worked. The people who owned the place also happened to know my parents, and from going there so often I began to know them too. Their last name, was Cimino. The name of the coffee shop, Cimino's. They were the nicest people in the world and I loved hanging out and chatting with them. It's a shame that Cimino's is no longer a great place to go for a nice mocha, but Cimino lived long after the shop closed. He lived a happy, fullfilled life. I will never forget him, so in a toast with my glass of wine I lift up my glass in his memory. I love you Cimmy. I will be thinking of you everyday and smile up at you as you run around, pain free, in doggie heaven.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
We did it!
Payton is one! That means we managed to keep our child alive! This is a HUGE task, obviously. I have reason to believe that it will only get more difficult as Payton gets more active, and it's a task I will gladly perform because I love her and would do anything for her. As I look back to the first days of her life I'll be the first to admit that I was a tad overprotective. But how can anyone blame me, or any other new parent, for acting this way? I was partly responsible for one of the greatest things that has ever happened to me, to keep her safe, happy and loved. The last thing, I will do to my end of days, the second, I'm sure will be hit and miss in her teenage years, and the first I will try my hardest until I have to learn she can do things on her own and protect herself. Don't get me wrong, I will always worry about her and if she asks for my help with anything I will gladly give it. But I don't want to be a helicopter parent her entire life. Even now I'm finding that I have to let her do things on her own so she learns. Do I always want to catch her when she falls? Sure. But should I? No, or else she'll never learn to catch herself.
Before Payton was born I had no worries about being a parent. I have been around little kids my entire life, but that was just it. I was only "around" them, it wasn't my job to raise them from scratch and if they cried or pooped their pants I could always hand them back to whoever they came from or was caring for them, which was usually my mom since it was at our in-home daycare. After she was born, I wouldn't call it worried necessarily as much as it was entering new territory. I used to babysit kids and babies all the time, but a baby of my own? How would I care for her and keep her alive? What types of things would I do as a parent compared to what I wouldn't do? Will she know that I will always love and care for her? Before she was born I swore there were things that I wasn't going to do after she was born. While pregnant I would read the information about how you shouldn't cover babies with blankets while sleeping in a crib. I thought that was insane! How were you supposed to keep a baby warm? I felt that was torture. And then it came time to put her to bed at our house for the first time. My first thought was, where's the blanket? I immediately retracted and thought, no she could bring her legs or hands up to her face causing the blanket to smother her. She doesn't know to remove something that's blocking her face. I mean, we have to teach her how to sleep for god sake! This is where the swaddler was our saving grace. It wrapped around her tightly and was secured by heavy duty velcro. Even now I'm hesitant putting a blanket in the crib with her, which we don't. We don't swaddle her anymore, but she has on extra warm jammies and keep her room warm enough. I was also adament about not laying her on her stomach for anything, tummy time excluded. I was terrified she would bury her face in her matress. I'm way more relaxed about this now, not just because she's clearly old enough to old her head up, but even I felt I was being a little too weird about it.
The way that I feel about my mothering techniques isn't because of what online articles or statistics show. I do them because it's the way I feel about how to parent. When I look back on the things our parents did to raise us, I'm not judgemental about it. It's all they knew. They had no problem laying babies on their tummies to go to sleep, and the majority of us are still alive after the fact. But knowing what I know now with the glorious invention of the internet, and how back sleeping is preferred because it's significantly reduced the percentage of babies succumbing to SIDS, that's how I put Payton to sleep. Sure, I had to read online articles to learn the reason why babies should be put on their back but I didn't do it to jump on a bandwagon. I did it because I wanted to keep my baby safe.
Then again, there are things that I thought I would never do as a parent and have ended up doing them. I never thought my child would still have a binky by the time she was one. I don't want her being the kid who still has a binky when she's three. I've seen that kid and it looks a little silly. I also don't want there to be pictures of her with a binky when she's three and have her be teased by her friends at the slideshow at high school graduation because of it. So far, we're on the right path to taking it away. She hasn't needed it to go to sleep for about two weeks now and I'm thrilled! And she doesn't need it all that much during the day either, so I think we're doing ok. I can't speak for Heath, but my parenting style will probably constantly change, or relax, the more as time goes on. I have no doubt that when Payton gets older she's going to gripe to her friends about how we're so hard on her while her younger sibling gets away with everything. I feel this is societies running gag on the oldest child. Why? Because they're the guinea pig for first time parents. They want to make sure everything is perfect, and whatever they learn that's how the second child is raised, which is undoubtedly a more relaxed parenting style. I've felt this way, Heath has felt this way, and every first child who I've happened to have a conversation pertaining to this topic has felt this way compared to their siblings. Just the nature of the beast I suppose. Being a parent is the most rewarding thing I've ever done, cliche I know. Payton has taught me so much about myself, forcing me to look at what I do and don't want to pass on to her. Do I want her to be high-strung? No. Am I doing my best to try and correct that flaw about myself? When around her, yes, which is most of the time. Do I want her to have an overbearing fear of spiders? No, so I do my best to be calm around them, douse them with Raid and leave them be until Heath comes home, atleast the big ones anyway. Small ones I can take care of. Not like I'm calling a neighbor or friend to come take care of it, sorry mom. ;) Trust me, I never thought I would witness a grown woman having a panic attack because a daddy long-leg was five feet from her, again, sorry mom. ;) Do I do THAT? No. Do I freak out if a bee is two inches from my face? Yes, because bees are scary and can hurt you, and I don't want to find out if I'm allergic or not. But that's a different blog post.
The point of this post is that I can't wait to celebrate many, many more birthday with my wonderful daughter. Will I be a pain in her ass? Probably. Will I always wonder about whether or not I'm doing the right thing as a mother? Most likely, but I'm entitled. I AM her mother after all. :)
Before Payton was born I had no worries about being a parent. I have been around little kids my entire life, but that was just it. I was only "around" them, it wasn't my job to raise them from scratch and if they cried or pooped their pants I could always hand them back to whoever they came from or was caring for them, which was usually my mom since it was at our in-home daycare. After she was born, I wouldn't call it worried necessarily as much as it was entering new territory. I used to babysit kids and babies all the time, but a baby of my own? How would I care for her and keep her alive? What types of things would I do as a parent compared to what I wouldn't do? Will she know that I will always love and care for her? Before she was born I swore there were things that I wasn't going to do after she was born. While pregnant I would read the information about how you shouldn't cover babies with blankets while sleeping in a crib. I thought that was insane! How were you supposed to keep a baby warm? I felt that was torture. And then it came time to put her to bed at our house for the first time. My first thought was, where's the blanket? I immediately retracted and thought, no she could bring her legs or hands up to her face causing the blanket to smother her. She doesn't know to remove something that's blocking her face. I mean, we have to teach her how to sleep for god sake! This is where the swaddler was our saving grace. It wrapped around her tightly and was secured by heavy duty velcro. Even now I'm hesitant putting a blanket in the crib with her, which we don't. We don't swaddle her anymore, but she has on extra warm jammies and keep her room warm enough. I was also adament about not laying her on her stomach for anything, tummy time excluded. I was terrified she would bury her face in her matress. I'm way more relaxed about this now, not just because she's clearly old enough to old her head up, but even I felt I was being a little too weird about it.
The way that I feel about my mothering techniques isn't because of what online articles or statistics show. I do them because it's the way I feel about how to parent. When I look back on the things our parents did to raise us, I'm not judgemental about it. It's all they knew. They had no problem laying babies on their tummies to go to sleep, and the majority of us are still alive after the fact. But knowing what I know now with the glorious invention of the internet, and how back sleeping is preferred because it's significantly reduced the percentage of babies succumbing to SIDS, that's how I put Payton to sleep. Sure, I had to read online articles to learn the reason why babies should be put on their back but I didn't do it to jump on a bandwagon. I did it because I wanted to keep my baby safe.
Then again, there are things that I thought I would never do as a parent and have ended up doing them. I never thought my child would still have a binky by the time she was one. I don't want her being the kid who still has a binky when she's three. I've seen that kid and it looks a little silly. I also don't want there to be pictures of her with a binky when she's three and have her be teased by her friends at the slideshow at high school graduation because of it. So far, we're on the right path to taking it away. She hasn't needed it to go to sleep for about two weeks now and I'm thrilled! And she doesn't need it all that much during the day either, so I think we're doing ok. I can't speak for Heath, but my parenting style will probably constantly change, or relax, the more as time goes on. I have no doubt that when Payton gets older she's going to gripe to her friends about how we're so hard on her while her younger sibling gets away with everything. I feel this is societies running gag on the oldest child. Why? Because they're the guinea pig for first time parents. They want to make sure everything is perfect, and whatever they learn that's how the second child is raised, which is undoubtedly a more relaxed parenting style. I've felt this way, Heath has felt this way, and every first child who I've happened to have a conversation pertaining to this topic has felt this way compared to their siblings. Just the nature of the beast I suppose. Being a parent is the most rewarding thing I've ever done, cliche I know. Payton has taught me so much about myself, forcing me to look at what I do and don't want to pass on to her. Do I want her to be high-strung? No. Am I doing my best to try and correct that flaw about myself? When around her, yes, which is most of the time. Do I want her to have an overbearing fear of spiders? No, so I do my best to be calm around them, douse them with Raid and leave them be until Heath comes home, atleast the big ones anyway. Small ones I can take care of. Not like I'm calling a neighbor or friend to come take care of it, sorry mom. ;) Trust me, I never thought I would witness a grown woman having a panic attack because a daddy long-leg was five feet from her, again, sorry mom. ;) Do I do THAT? No. Do I freak out if a bee is two inches from my face? Yes, because bees are scary and can hurt you, and I don't want to find out if I'm allergic or not. But that's a different blog post.
The point of this post is that I can't wait to celebrate many, many more birthday with my wonderful daughter. Will I be a pain in her ass? Probably. Will I always wonder about whether or not I'm doing the right thing as a mother? Most likely, but I'm entitled. I AM her mother after all. :)
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