It runs in the family

DP has been rubbing his eyes constantly over the last few days. I figured it was allergies, but he would settle for nothing less than pink eye. Several times he came to me,  because one eye was red. "Pink eye, Nana??" "Nope. Rubbing it too hard, DP." Then at the dinner table he was nearly gouging his knuckles into his eye, then using the heel of his hands to rub both eyes. "NOW, is it pink eye, Nana?" "Nope, now it's going too far to scratch the itch, DP."

We took him to the doctor for a regular check up where he lamented how his friend's parents sent him home, because THEY thought it was pink eye. According to him, he tried to (at last) convince them it was only allergies, but the father wasn't buying it. So, DP came home, red eyes and all. The doctor took a look and assured DP it was just allergies, which also accounted for the sneezing. I'd said the same thing a couple of days earlier, but what do I know? I'm not sitting in a sterile office with a white coat and stethoscope. Anyway, we were given a prescription for eye drops. So, armed with the "official" clean bill of health, DP went back to his friend's home, announced the "medical findings," and now all is well.  I tried to tell him allergies run in the family!

What is re-parenting?

Since starting my column and this blog, several people have asked me to define re-parenting. I stumbled on the technical term while reading articles about relatives raising other people's children. While I'm not sure if what follows is the best description, it seems to fit me and mine.

For me, re-parenting is all about opening your heart and your home and sharing your old soul with that new one about to enter your world. It ain't all good and it ain't all bad. It just is what it is: a chance for do-overs with a person who holds one-quarter of your ancestry. Re-parenting is seeing your child in this child, then seizing that rare opportunity to change some of the mis-steps you made the first time around: finding the patience, sparing the rod but not spoiling the child, taking time to talk to instead of at. Loving til it hurts ('cause it will hurt at some point, on some level, it will hurt). And finally, puttin' on your big girl panties, turning your back to the wind and doin' right by your kin. There you have it.

By the way, there is also "grandfamily," "kinship care," "care-giver."  You work with whatever fits your life. "Re-parenting" fits mine.

Sistah friends

I spent Saturday with several girlfriends (my "Sistah Friends"). I kept finding excuses not to go, then when I finally got there it took a while to totally relax; kept thinking about what he was doing and if he was okay. It is wrong on so many levels to complain about not having time for myself, then when I get the opportunity, I drag my feet.

But it was so nice getting away for a few hours to connect with people my own age.

I did it my waaay, pt. 2

I asked DP how was school, just to follow up on yesterday's temper tantrum. A little chit chat, then he announced he had apologized to the teacher for his behavior. I was cool, but I wanted to slam on the brakes, pull the car over, and give him a big hug and sloppy kiss...but I was cool. The teacher accepted his apology and said they would start over. After saying how proud I was that he made that decision, un-coerced, we could start over, too.

Later that evening: "Nana, does this mean I can have my PSP [video game] back?"

"Nope. You did the crime; you do the time. But I really am very proud of the decision you made."

P.S. By the way, I did give him a big hug. I am so proud of how much he has grown and matured over the years. In hindsight, I believe he was testing his boundaries...and my patience.

And, I did it my waaaay.

Okay, am I missing something here? Have I overlooked something about a boy-child being on the edge of 12 years old and losing his mind? DP has decided he does not have to do what the teachers ask. He wants to do things his way. The phone rings; I see it's the school calling, and...well...I won't say what I say. Let's just leave it at that. He is in the car, staring at me wondering if I'm gonna go off on him. I'm staring at him trying to decide what comes next. I'm giving him that "look" and to tell the truth, I don't think either one of us is a believer. But you know, I still see Madea as my role model.

AARRGH!

When I was about 10 years old and Mom and I were in the basement; she was doing laundry. I had been following her around all day out of boredom. Every sentence to her started with "Mom..." "Mom..." She finally stopped what she was doing, turned around, looked at me and said: "Stop calling my name!" ...Now I know why.