Category: Conversations with Meredith

It has been exactly one week since I’ve had coffee in the morning. Part of me wants to say something about getting control of my life and wanting to be the boss of caffeine rather than allowing it to be MY boss. Part of me wants to sing empowering folk songs about deciding to do something and then just DOING it instead of dancing around and whining and making lame/tired jokes about how I NEED coffee. (Those ridiculous cartoons of women sitting around in robes with screwed up hair and tired swollen eyes mumbling something about coffee IVs and calling themselves Mommy even though there are no kids in the room? I can’t even think about it without wanting to punch the wall.)

The truth is, I bought a gigantic container of coffee creamer eight days ago, and it’s horrible. I feel guilty about throwing it out, yet I refuse to use it. (I know what you’re thinking. “Toss it out and go buy your normal brand of coffee creamer!” Nope. Tossing it out right now feels so wasteful. Instead, I’m going to wait until it expires on September 4th. (Expiration dates give me that feeling of perceived permission to pour things down the drain.) Please don’t try to heal me. (I’m still saving all of my positive pregnancy tests (dated with Sharpies!) as well as my kids’ belly button stumps.) I am beautiful in every single way. Words can’t bring me down.)

Anyway, I no longer drink black coffee (it’s ACID to my MUCOSA!!!), so I feel like I have no options. It’s just that easy.

(My plan for going full-on vegan is to fill my refrigerator with rancid butter, moldy cheese, and blood-soaked eggs. That should do it.)

Jeff is out of town again. (I wish you could hear the tone I’m assigning to the word Again.) The girls and I will be going on a drive-thru doughnut run sometime today. We will then split up so they can play/read/practice the piano while I stomp out some freelance. Later this afternoon, we’ll be making vegan cherry almond cookies. (Please know that although it’s not credited, the recipe is from Vegan Cookies Invade Your Cookie Jar by Moskowitz/Romero.)

A few moments ago, Meredith proved that she is my biological child.

Meredith: There’s only one thing in life that I want to do today.

Me: Go on.

Meredith: I want to stock up on tiny containers of hand sanitizer, and I need at least two of them to have panda bears on the label.

(We’ll be heading out within the hour to do just that.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Last week Meredith and I started a Mom & Me journal, and it’s turning out to be the greatest thing we’ve ever done. Because it’s a secret from the rest of our family, we decided that our code word is Pancakes. When she is finished writing in the journal, she places it under my pillow and somehow works Pancakes into our conversation. When I’m done writing on my side, I place the journal under her pillow and do the same. My hope is that this will serve as a vehicle for conversations that might be too difficult to have in person, as well as ease the embarrassment of the tricky conversations that we need to have face to face. Obviously, I’m not going to share what we’ve written so far. All I’ll say is this: It’s Very Good.

On a related note, a monumental change has taken place in my parenting philosophy. (Read that sentence again while picturing this version of me. It’s much less wearisome that way, no?) I have always encouraged my girls to be friends with everyone. “It’s good to have some close friends, but it’s also good to be friendly! That’s how you learn about other kids! You don’t have to play with the same group every day. Shake it up! It helps you learn who you are!”

No more. NO MORE! Meredith is “friends” with a girl in her class whose main purpose seems to be making other girls feel badly about themselves. This girl (shall we call her Regina George?) repeatedly tells Meredith that she doesn’t like Meredith’s clothes. Yesterday Regina George made fun of Meredith’s clothes until Meredith reached the level of anxiety where she couldn’t wait to come home and change OUT of those clothes. Regina George has started a club called The Shady Girls, where she requires the girls to wear certain colors and devote their recess to playing tether ball. (I know. I don’t know.)

I asked Meredith if she knows what Shady means.

Meredith: Like when it’s sunny outside, and you make the choice to hang out under a tree?

Me: Metaphorically, yes. But I have a funny feeling The Shady Girls don’t prefer to actually hang out in the shade. It’s about maybe being a little dishonest. Maybe being a little mean. It’s not necessarily a good thing.

Meredith: Regina George is mean.

According to Meredith, if Regina George gets angry during class, she has been known to yell, throw things, and curl up into a ball.

Okay. Let me say that again. According to Meredith, if Regina George gets angry during class, she has been known to yell, throw things, and curl up into a ball. To me, this means Regina George has some issues, and probably really NEEDS a friend, right? If the girl has to create clubs to have other girls hang out with her, she has some stuff going on, right? Right? Because of that, it hurts my heart (figuratively!) to ask Meredith to leave The Shady Girls, but that’s exactly what I did. Meredith has had a terrible relationship with this girl for over three years. Meredith has come home crying more than once because of things this girl has said to her. The last thing Meredith needs is to feel badly about herself at age eight. (At age six? The girl broke Meredith’s glasses. Oh my goodness, people!)

I’m a bit conflicted, because as I mentioned earlier, I’ve always encouraged the girls to try and be friends with EVERYONE. BUT, at this stage, I would be much happier seeing Meredith make a connection with some girls who exhibit kindness and curiosity and intelligence, perhaps with a love of American Girl stuff and Big Time Rush sprinkled in. (I’m not saying that the girl in question is lacking in those areas. I’m just saying that Meredith has been fairly miserable striving to “turn things around” with Regina.)

I’m trying to remember what it was like for me in the third grade. It was the year that Mrs. Barker read “Island of the Blue Dolphins” to our class. I don’t recall anyone being mean. Then again, that was many many years ago (over thirty years ago! Holy crap!) — before hormones in milk and rude kids on television. And padded bras in kid clothing stores. And raunchy magazines in every checkout lane at the grocery store. Oh, internet. This is a tough one. Have any of you dealt with this? By encouraging Meredith to gently leave the group, am I encouraging her to turn her back on someone who probably needs some help? Then again, Meredith has been reaching out for three years, and it’s totally killing her joy.

Please know that I have never said anything bad about Regina George in front of Meredith. The closest I came was this morning when I said, “Meredith, sometimes people who are unhappy actually feel a bit happier when they make other people feel unhappy, too.”

Today I shall get a haircut. This has nothing to do with anything. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Yesterday afternoon we went to the animal adoption event where we met the little Dachsund I had shown you earlier in the week. We hemmed. We hawed. In the end, our family works like this: It takes Four Yesses, but it only takes One No. We had a No. Meredith was pretty much destroyed at the thought of leaving that building without the puppy. (Meredith is VERY sensitive when it comes to animals who need homes. In the past few months, I’ve been keeping up with a rescue group’s activity online, and I have to be very careful to not have the page up when Meredith walks by.)

When your kid is tearful, you do what needs to be done: You take her to 7-11 for a cherry slurpee, and if that doesn’t help, you throw a local cheese pizza on top of the slurpee. And then you throw a Dairy Queen Blizzard on top of that. (Please note that six hours passed between Slurpee and Blizzard. Nevertheless, now that I’m typing it all out, it really does look like we feed our sorrows. By the way, these are wonderful. Hi there, Weight Watchers! Long time no see! Catch me if you can!)

Last night after Harper had fallen asleep, Meredith called me into their room.

Meredith: Mom, do you think I’m a nerd?

Me: Hrm. What exactly do you mean by nerd?

Meredith: I know there are smart nerds and I know there are dorky nerds who are weird, and sometimes I think I’m one of the weird ones.

Me: If you’re weird at all, it’s a really good type of weird. Plus, yes. You’re really smart. You read smart books. You hit all of the notes when you’re singing Selena Gomez songs. If Nerd is a good thing, I would wear it proudly. If you see Nerd as a bad thing? You’re no nerd.

College for Kids starts up tomorrow, where both girls will be taking Xtreme 3-D Studio Art, plus a few other classes. School starts up on August 15th, and I’m terribly excited. Not because I want the girls away from the house, but because it’s at school where they get to see their friends. Once again, I’ve been pretty terrible at keeping them social this summer. (I hate that I’m one of those weird nerds Meredith is so afraid of becoming. I keep hearing myself say, “If you don’t like it, change it.” BUT, it’s not really that easy, is it?)

All of the nerd talk last night stirred me into revisiting my past while wondering when I started falling onto The Nerd Spectrum.

Answer: It had to have happened sometime between elementary and high school.

Have I ever shown you my senior picture from high school?

I dressed like I was fifty, I rarely smiled, yet I tried my hardest to rock asymmetrical hair. When I had this particular photo taken, the photographer said something like, “Well, we typically use that chair for our church directory or career shots.” It didn’t matter. I begged for the blue chair.

Sure, I had this one, too:

I sort of look like an athlete who occasionally kneels down and punches herself in the face. What you cannot see in this photo was my golden brooch—carefully chosen to add a touch of our school colors, which were brown and gold. (By the way, it STILL bothers me that the photographer used white type on a white background.)

I’m now changing the subject: Does anyone REALLY need help knowing how to wear a denim skirt or a pair of striped shoes? I’ve been wincing lately when I run across websites that try to teach me how to have fun with my kids at the grocery store or how to wear a strapless bra without drawing attention to back fat. (Hi. I’ve been cranky.)

And once more: I’m knitting a hat or gloves for a lucky reader. You can read all about it right here! (Your chances are crazy good! Apparently, not many people want gloves or a hat!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>