Wow. I haven’t had much time for blog-reading lately, and today gifted myself a few minutes to read. Over at Hands Full of Rocks, Hedra describes the difference between love and adoration — specifically where our children are concerned. I would certainly argue that the distinction applies to all relationships.

Here’s a smidge:

Love, in my opinin, is better than adoration. Love is an equal-to-equal proposition. It has the opportunity for respect instead of worship. One can’t negotiate with the being one worships – they always have the upper hand, always have the power position, always must win, simply because they are more worthy than we.

Love puts us eye to eye with our kids. It says ‘I’m worthy, and you are worthy, so let’s work on getting us both what we each need.’ Love lets us embrace the rotten miserable awful parts of our child’s behavior and character, instead of rejecting them. When we embrace the things we dislike about our child, then we can work with those issues as whole parts of our whole child, rather than trying to cut off, squash, or negate the things we wish they didn’t have as aspects of personality or skill. The same is true of ourselves – I’m better at working on an issue in myself if I embrace it first, recognize it as ‘of me’.

Very true — I can certainly work on my own issues more if I accept them first.

While love is more messy, it’s also much more powerful and real. From the receiving end, I can tell that Maya, at least, craves the love, even as much as she enjoys the adoration. As Gavin continues to come into his own personhood, I hope I remember to frequently step back from adoring him so that I can SEE him.

Read the whole thing. Hedra’s description of watching her son morph from destructo to deconstructionist before her eyes is a powerful example of what we can see if we stop assuming we know who people are.

This For Better or For Worse strip made me laugh. And cringe.

Anyone have suggestions for how to handle this kind of situation?

For a kid who studiously avoids the camera these days, Maya sure does seek it out when I’m trying to photograph Gavin.

If I play my cards right, I even get some pretty decent shots of her that way. Pity I can’t get the photos that I really want — the insane, wearing half her wardrobe and looking like she should have a shopping cart ones. Double-layered jammies will just have to do.

See Gavin.
See Gavin beg.
Beg, Gavin, beg.

Woof!

This stinks. I keep questioning whether it’s the right thing to do, then I realize that yes, it is.

Since I recently completed (okay, read, if not wrote about) the section on social psychology, I’m uber-aware of any tendencies toward self-serving bias. The reasons behind my delaying grad school for a year or so are both within the realm of personal (my fault) and external (circumstantial). The personal issues (major P-ness, perfectionism, etc — to blog about at length later) will still exist whenever I do a program. At least by waiting a bit, I’ll rid myself of some of the external issues (baby clinging at me and refusing to sleep unless held, lack of face-time with real, honest-to-goodness humans), and that will make the personal baggage easier to handle.

Grad school will recommence in a year or so, once Gavin is in some sort of childcare. Until then, I’ll sporadically write and — I hope — keep the critical thinking skills I’ve developed from getting rusty.

Gavin was avoiding sleep, fussing in his swing. Maya walked over to him, cooed at him and gently gave him a pacifier (which did, actually, pacify him — go figure).

“Maya, you’re a really sweet big sister.”

(not even looking up from her puzzle) “Hmmm.”

“You really just wanted him to be quiet, didn’t you?”

“Yup.”

At least she’s honest about it.

Thump, thump, thump, thump…You’ve got to MOVE IT!

Two girls dance together, sandwiching the unsuspecting poor sob between them. They laugh and give each other knowing looks. The world is theirs.

Then, we had cosmos in hand (and didn’t even spill them!). The girl was my cousin, and we were hotties who (likely insufferably) knew it. The guy was likely an Air Force Academy cadet, pleased with how “cool” he was to dance with hot older women.

Today, years later, it’s the credits to Madagascar. We have Luna bars in hand (and don’t even smudge chocolate all over). The girl is my Maya, and we’re sandwiching Gavin, who is resisting going back to his nap. We laugh together, and I wouldn’t go back to the nightclub even if you paid me.

Often, growing up sucks. Today, it doesn’t.