Posts Tagged Under Dorothy O’Donnell
Atypical Behavior
I’m in spin class, trying to focus as the hyper-perky instructor barks out orders to “make smooth, full circles with each pedal stroke!” But as a funky remix of an old Sarah McLachlan tune blares, tears slide down my cheeks. Luckily, the room is dark. I duck my head, pedal harder, and hope no one will notice it’s not just sweat making my face glisten.
In my head, McLachlan’s soothing voice is drowned by the harsh sound of two words that pound over and over again in time to the music: atypical behavior, atypical behavior, atypical behavior. . .
I’ve been hearing them since I left a meeting at my five-year-old’s school to discuss her behavior problems.
By adminBecoming Martha
My five-year-old wanted to be Martha the Hippo last Halloween. Phoebe’s a huge fan of the mischievous character from the “George and Martha” children’s books. Like her, Martha doesn’t always behave appropriately. She lights up cigars, skips sunscreen and tells the occasional fib.
I was proud of Phoebe for breaking out of the fairy-princess rut she’s been stuck in for the last three years. Finding a Martha costume, however, wasn’t easy. Hours of surfing the Internet yielded hippo costumes deemed too babyish by my daughter.
Finally, I found one that looked like it might work.
By adminStrangers
Last week, I received an e-mail from the Mill Valley School District informing parents of two abduction attempts on two consecutive days near an elementary school in Larkspur. The would-be kidnapper tried to lure one or more young girls into his car and drag another into some bushes.
A chill spread through my body as I thought about how these incidents could have turned into a parent’s worst nightmare. Then came an even scarier thought: if this guy was desperate and brazen enough to try snatching girls in front of the same school two days in a row, what was to stop him from showing up at another nearby school—perhaps my daughter’s — to hunt for prey?
I’ve touched on the topic of strangers with my outgoing five-year-old before. But I’ve always tried to work it into a conversation naturally and not delve into it too deeply. I don’t want to darken her sunny view of the world too soon, to turn her into someone who sees it through suspicious and frightened eyes.
By adminAnniversary
My husband and I will celebrate our 14th wedding anniversary this Tuesday.
“What do you want to do?” he’s been asking for the last few weeks.
Dinner at a nice restaurant, followed by a movie in which the star isn’t an animated rat or a gentle-green ogre, seemed like a plan. Then this morning, while sneaking a half-hour to read the Style section of the Sunday Chronicle, I came up with a better idea.
“I know what I want to do for our anniversary,” I announced to my husband, pointing to the article I’d been reading. It was about Hal Runkel, author of a new book, “ScreamFree Parenting: The Revolutionary Approach to Raising Your Kids by Keeping Your Cool.” He happens to be speaking in the cvity on our special day.
By adminKindergarten Top Ten
My daughter’s been a kindergartner for nearly a month now. Phoebe’s had some rough moments along the way. For the most part, though, I’ve been pleasantly surprised by how well she’s adapting and by her enthusiasm for learning. And during these first few weeks of school, I’ve learned a thing or two myself:
1. After fretting about my little girl not being in the same class with any of her preschool buddies, it turns out the only one this was an issue for was me.
2. I don’t have to give up my procrastinating ways in order to get my daughter to school on time. I’ve fine-tuned a routine that lets me sleep until 7:15, feed Phoebe breakfast, help her get dressed, prepare her snack and lunch, and make the 15-minute drive to school before the first bell rings at 8:25.
By Dorothy O'DonnellFour Friends
I just returned from my 30th high school class reunion in San Diego. The best part of the weekend was laughing with three of my closest friends from that time. We laughed till our guts ached and tears streamed down our faces. We chortled over silly things that only we would find funny. And we laughed about things that would have made our parents shudder if they’d known about them.
Like the time we headed to Tijuana for a night of disco hopping and,in a pot-induced stupor, piled into a windowless “serial killer” van driven by a pair of strange Mexican men. Promising to take us to a hot party, they instead took us on a harrowing two-hour ride through the city’s back streets. Slowly, it sunk into our foggy brains that there was no party and we had no idea where we were or who we were with. Two of us— yes, one of them was me — began crying hysterically, certain that our lifeless bodies would be found in a Tijuana ditch.
Apparently our sobs did the trick because our “captors” suddenly couldn’t get us back to our car fast enough.
By adminMistaken Identity
The little boy with the big blue eyes cocked his head up at me and peered intently at my face. After studying it for a minute, he uttered the dreaded question.
“Are you a grandma?” he asked innocently.
I was picking up my daughter from a preschool outing at Blackie’s Pasture in Tiburon. Apparently the bright mid-day summer sun that made the sapphire water of Richardson Bay shimmer so prettily was not as kind to my mature face.
By adminFamily Dinner
We were eating dinner at a casual restaurant when a family of four settled in at the table next to us. I noticed the mother whip out what I thought was a laptop. Then I realized it was actually a portable DVD player. She quickly set it up for her young daughter sitting next to her. Across the table, her husband did the same thing with an identical DVD player for daughter number two.
Seconds later, each girl plopped on headphones, pressed “play” and stared glaze-eyed at her screen. While the sisters ignored each other and their parents, mom and dad sipped wine and discussed their remodel.
I turned to my own five-year-old. She gleefully ignored my request—as she had for most of the evening—to please use her fork to eat her spaghetti. Tilting her sauce-smeared face back as far as it would go, she dangled a fist full of worm-like strands high above her wide-open mouth before cramming them all in. A puddle of water from the ice cubes she’d dropped while scooping them out of her glass faster than I could put them back in surrounded her plate. A cupful of spilled crayons, along with several now soggy pieces of artwork, littered the table.
By adminWinning
I started doing triathlons a year before my daughter was born. Now five, she’s been cheering me on at events since she was in diapers. Hearing her yell “Mama! Mama!” while perched on her dad’s shoulders has often helped me ignore my throbbing feet and weary legs long enough to make it to the finish line.
In the last couple of years, though, she’s figured out that triathlons are races. And races have winners. The simple pleasures of spotting mama in a crowd of competitors or grabbing my hand to dash across the finish line with me no longer satisfy her.
“Did you win your race, Mama? Did you win?” has become her standard greeting when I scoop her in my arms for a sweaty hug after an event.
By adminBad Behavior
My good friend, Maria, was on the verge of tears when she called me yesterday.
“Jackson got sent home from preschool for going up to another kid and hitting him for no reason,” she told me.
It wasn’t the first such episode involving her 5-year-old son. To make matters worse, when she phoned the other child’s mother to apologize, the response was an angry attack on her parenting skills.
Maybe Jackson wasn’t the only one behaving badly.
By admin
