• when dreams speak

    Do you ever do dream interpretation? I don’t, usually. I rarely remember my dreams (except for that period when I was on Zoloft—now that was wild), but when I do, I’m more inclined to think, “Oh, that was cool/scary/weird/etc,” and then move on. Dreams shpeems.

    But last night, oh boy. It was a nice dream turned nightmarish and I awoke with a jolt, semi-frozen in bed, too scared to even get up to go pee. My husband wasn’t in bed and I couldn’t remember why not. As I lay there, slowly gathering my wits, I realized that he had probably been struck with another bout of insomnia and was most likely downstairs watching a movie (the perfect calming, blue-light solution, ha).

    So I laid in bed and pondered my dream. Because it was a nightmare and I woke up right after, the details were vivid. It went like this:

    I was on a sort of open wagon which was being pulled by a person I distrust. We were moving slowly downhill, and I was watching the ground as it passed under the wagon—there were lots of tracks in the dried mud. The person and I were talking, getting more and more friendlier as we went along. We started talking about the enneagram, and the person correctly guessed my personality type. I felt known and happy. We were connecting.  

    But then off to my left, I saw a horse that had broken out of its fencing. I said, We need to turn around and get the horse back in. I was planning to get a bucket of grain to lure the horse, but the person honked the horn instead. I said, No, don’t do that. It will startle the horse. But the horse started heading back into the fence, so I said, Oh, all right. Go ahead, and the person honked again. The horse went back in.  

    And then I noticed that a little farther down the gravel road was a house. An older woman dressed in thick, heavy clothing was pulling out onto the gravel road on a motorcycle. When the person I was with gave the second honk, the woman swerved and her bike tipped over on top of her. And then, even though she was going slowly and should’ve just stopped, the bike slide a few more yards, dragging her with it. 

    People rushed out of the house to help her. They picked her up. Her arm! I yelled. Hold her arm! Even through all the clothing, I could see that it was partially torn off. As they picked her up, it fell off completely, leaving behind a bloody white bone. But it was the bone of a leg and foot, not an arm and hand like it should have been. 

    At first, I took this dream at face value. I was getting to know someone I didn’t trust and had crossed the line from mistrust to trust (the horse). Then bad things happened. In other words, don’t connect with people you don’t trust or people will get hurt. Cool, huh? I went downstairs and told my husband. He laughed at me and sent me back to bed.

    But as I drifted back to sleep, I recalled a therapist that I had read about who used intensive dream therapy. One of the key theories of dream interpretation is that all characters in a dream are the dreamer herself. And then a totally different interpretation occurred to me:

    I am beginning to understand myself on a deeper level. This makes me happy. But this also means I am, or will be, crossing boundaries and stepping out of familiar territory. There are risks involved, and I am anxious that I will be hurt. I have coping mechanisms, but in spite of them, part of me will be stripped away. Who I am is different from what I think I am. 

    There are still so many things I don’t know, though. Does it mean something that the horse’s pasture was filled with brambly shrubs? Or that there were lots of tall trees in front of the woman’s house? Or that the woman was elderly? Or that I distrusted the driver at first but then started to feel strongly connected? Or that the motorcycle drug the old woman? And about the foot instead of the arm—that part was so horribly terrifying. All that blood and bone. 

    It feels like I have been given a mysterious gift, an intriguing look at my under-the-surface rumblings. It’s wild.

    Are any of you dream scholars?
    What do you make of it? 
    Do you now know me better than I know myself? 
    Did I just—eek!inadvertently overshare?

    This same time, years previous: stalled, lemon creams, and just when you thought my life was all peaches, the quotidian (1.30.12), peanut butter and honey granola, mayonnaise, rock-my-world cocoa brownies, homemade yogurt, and orange cranberry biscotti.    

  • sour cream and berry baked oatmeal

    I am in the middle of a self-inflicted grocery store strike. It will probably end in the next couple days, but I’m holding out as long as possible.

    It’s not that I actually need a strike right now. I still have plenty of money in the grocery envelope. But I hate my end-of-the-month pattern of just scraping by. This time around, I decided to shake things up by being all scroogy in the middle of the month. Because being scroogy out of scrooginess’ sake is so much more fun than being scroogy out of desperation. So instead of use the money up, I’m using all the food (I already have) up.

    Why is it that something so logical is so hard to comprehend and then do?

    Also, it’s kind of crazy how I feel like I’m out of so many things (and have the mile-long grocery list to prove it) and yet still have so much food on my shelves.

    (In the last four sentences I said “so” six times. I need an intervention.)

    I’m being methodical in my stockpile elimination game. I try to spread out the store-only specialties like tortilla chips, cheese, and cereal with the made-from-scratch and daily-grind foods like tomato soup, pancakes, and frozen veggies and fruits. (We have made emergency runs for milk, butter, and the like.)

    But no matter my best efforts, the inevitable is happening: we’re running out of certain items. We’re low on decaf coffee and almonds, we’re out of fresh fruits and veggies, and all that remains of the breakfast cereal is the tail end of a bag of Life.

    To string the Life along a little longer, I’ve been upping my breakfast game. This morning was eggs and toast. Yesterday was farmer boy pancakes. And two days before that was baked oatmeal. 

    But not our regular baked oatmeal! No, this baked oatmeal is my latest favorite. It’s less sweet, and it calls for a cup of sour cream (which is useful when I’m buying sour cream in giant tubs so big a baby could swim in them). Plus, the recipe calls for a couple cups of frozen berries and we have scads of red raspberries in the freezer. It’s a great way to get my kids to eat more fruit. (And for the first time ever, not a single child turned up a nose at the added fruit, yay!)

    Sour Cream and Berry Baked Oatmeal 
    Adapted from Camille over at Flowers In His Garden.

    Note from June 27, 2015: I subbed out the fresh berries for ½ cup each dried blueberries and dried cranberries. So good.

    3 cups rolled oats
    ½ cup brown sugar
    2 teaspoons baking powder
    ¾ teaspoon salt
    2 tablespoons butter, melted
    1 cup sour cream
    2 eggs, beaten
    2 teaspoons vanilla
    1¼ cups milk
    2 cups frozen berries
    demerara sugar, optional

    The night before:
    In a small bowl, mix together the oats, sugar, baking powder, and salt. Cover tightly and set aside.

    In another bowl, melt the butter. Whisk in the sour cream, eggs, vanilla, and milk. Cover and store in the fridge.

    In the morning:
    Whisk the dry and wet ingredients together. Fold in the frozen berries. Pour the batter into a greased 9×13 pan, sprinkle with demerara sugar, and bake at 350 degrees for 25-35 minutes. Serve warm, with milk.

    This same time, years previous: about a picture, Gretchen’s green chili, to meet you, curried lentils, ode to the titty fairy, and Nana’s anise biscotti.  

  • keep everlastingly at it

    My children are not perfect little angels. The other day, just for the heck of it, I made a mental list of all their sins. My kids:

    Hit.
    Scratch.
    Steal.
    Lie.
    Swear.
    Scream.
    Name call.
    Back talk.
    Tantrum.
    Throw things.
    Vandalize.

    Granted, they don’t do these things all the time—and not every kid has done every thing on that list—but these things have happened. And when I line it all up like that, I get the urge to laugh until I pee my pants and then crawl under the covers and weep.

    I love my children dearly. I think they’re pretty wonderful, truth be told. But, as you can see from this list, I do not see them through rose-colored glasses.

    It gets weary, this constant struggle to raise responsible humans. Some days it’s even downright despairing. A child does something outrageously awful—for example, lies intentionally and for an extended period of time (I can not abide dishonesty)—and I promptly sink into the pit of despair. MY CHILD IS DOOMED. SEND SACKCLOTH NOW. (Or else a pair of rose-colored glasses.) But then time marches on, the world doesn’t end, and I eventually climb out of my hole and set about figuring out how to address the problem.

    Sigh.

    Throughout my years of hands-on floundering—ha! I mean, parenting—I’ve concocted a list of Tried and Trues, techniques to employ in the battle to not raise a pack of hellacious brats. These are methods I resort to because they get results. Sure, sometimes they’re only effective for a short period of time, or for a particular child, but that does not matter. That they worked, no matter how briefly, is sufficient reason to mention them.

    Working together post-fight.

    Before I start, one thing. I am not a child psychology expert. In fact, I’m pretty sure some of my methods might be found in the parenting books under the section titled “do not do this.” So there’s that.

    Another thing. This list makes me sound like a drill sergeant. (According to my son, I am. But never mind that.) Truth is, I let an incredible amount of crap slip under the radar. (This may be part of our problem. But never mind that.) I pick and choose my battles.

    Also, please note: “working on a problem” is not synonymous with “fixing a problem.” Problems, I’ve learned, ebb and flow. They morph, first appearing in one form and then later in another. Stay sharp.

    And another thing. From my experience, ages 9-11 are when behavioral problems are at their worst. (Though we haven’t hit ages 16-19, so don’t hold me to this.) This is when the children are no longer little and excused from real work and yet not big enough to do the jobs quickly. They no longer think work is fun, yet they don’t have the maturity to see the big picture and just get it done.

    This is also the age when they get a hankering to do something—such as, build a full-size shop, get a job, compete in the Olympics, etc.—but haven’t the skill set or maturity level to put their ideas into practice. So… there’s lots of time spent practicing how to be mature through the completion of unexciting household tasks.

    And one more thing—  Ha! Just kidding!

    Here’s the list.

    Tried and Trues: The Techniques
    *For swearing: a potty-mouth gets to clean the potty. Or the tub, sink, floor, etc. We’ve tried various consequences and this one smacks a lid on it fast.

    *For (extended) fussing about washing the dishes: a chance to wash the next meal’s dishes. And the next and the next and the next. I say, “You’re a smart kid. I think you’ll soon figure out how to be a cheerful worker. Then again, it might take you several days. Maybe even several weeks! But that’s okay. I can be patient. I’m here to help you for however long you need.” They usually catch on pretty quick.

    *For when a particularly bad name-calling name has become a habit (for example, “stupid” or “idiot”): first, a warning that they need to make a concerted effort to stop using those words. Then, if they need outside help, the use of the word equals the loss of dessert. Only sweets for the sweet(mouthed)!

    *Excessive fighting with a particular sibling: no friends until they learn to get along. Because if they can’t treat family members kindly and respectfully, then I certainly can’t let them relate to other people because they might mistreat them. (We all know that’s complete bogus—they adore their friends and wouldn’t dream of being nasty to them—but my point holds true. Family relationships come first.) How do they prove they’re getting along again? They have to play games together (each person suggests three ideas and then they agree on one), do work together, have friendly conversations together—whatever they want, but I have to see some genuine camaraderie and happy togetherness for an extended period of time. 

    *Scratching: lost long-nails privileges. For some reason, it’s only the girls that have trouble scratching, and they both want long nails (which I abhor), so this works great.

    *Slamming things around: a fine (the amount depends on the child and the level of the problem) which goes into our household budget. Reasoning: things wear out more quickly when they are mistreated and it takes money to replace them.

    *Breaking things: cost of the item and/or help fixing it.

    *Refusal to go to church or take part in a family activity, such as read aloud time (these aren’t common and usually just a result of a bad attitude): loss of permission to participate in a coveted family time, such as movie night. Usually, just a reminder of the consequence is necessary. I don’t think we’ve ever had to follow through on this one.

    *Incessant negativity and bickering: I dole out little jars of jelly beans or M&M’s for each kid and then pick one from their jar (and eat it) every time an offense is committed. It’s a calm and tasty method. Another option: articulating several positive things about each person they are currently mistreating.

    *Problems with not coming when called, or not obeying promptly: a rapid series of jobs. After each task, the child is to immediately report back with a “what next, Mama?” This continues until the child is cheerfully and promptly completing the tasks.

    *Hitting: time out. Depending on how things went down, restitution may be required.

    *Lying: loss of trust equals less privileges and much more supervision. It may take days, weeks, or months for trust to be regained. This one is hard.

    *For sloppy work: more chances to improve skills because, obviously, they need them!

    *For pokey work: a timer. If the task isn’t done before the timer goes off, the child gets another opportunity to practice the task and hone her speed demon skills.

    *Obnoxious shrieking and yelling: banishment to the outdoors for a minute or two. Eventually, they get tired of having to step outside and remember to control their voices.

    Perspective Keepers and Sanity Savors
    Tip Number One: space to be
    Sometimes children are going through a rough stage thanks to hormones, getting up on the wrong side of the bed, whatever. These periods can last hours, days, or weeks. Sometimes, to cut myself some slack, I put a moratorium on consequences (because I’m the one who has to follow through, see) and instead focus at holding things steady. During this rocky spell, the child gets no friends and no special activities (but is not cut off from regular family stuff—I’m not a fan of exclusion), gets lots of quiet time, and has a decrease in chores and studies. Sometimes a person just needs some space to be grumpy. Later, when the child is coming out of his funk, we talk about the consequences, if there are any. By that time, the child is usually ready to do what needs to be done in order to move forward.

    Tip Number Two: grace
    My husband has ADD. This means that he is constitutionally unable to be consistent, follow through, and stay calm—three major points that all parenting gurus say are absolute necessities for successful parenting. In other words, according to them, my husband is screwed.

    After years of struggle and lots of feelings of inadequacy, we landed upon a saving grace via some experts. These guys said that ADD parents needn’t beat themselves up for being inconsistently explosive. Rather, they need to make efforts to have positive experiences with their children: tell jokes, hang out, hug, work together, whatever. And it works! Lots of stuff can be done wrong, but toss some serious loving into the mix and there’s grace.

    What techniques do you employ to combat bad behavior? 
    How do you keep perspective in the midst of the ups and downs?

    ***

    *The title of this post comes from my father-in-law. He says it in reference to marriage, but I think it stands true for parenting, too.

    This same time, years previous: the quotidian (1.27.15), swimming in the sunshine, Friday evening fun, down again, shoofly cake, and gripping the pages.