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This week my husband is away on business, so it's just Susannah and me here fending for ourselves (and the animals).
Yesterday I asked her to feed the dogs before going to bed. About two hours later, she came upstairs from her room to my room, to tell me that Frisco (black and white dog) had had to be let out four times in the past hour bc. his tummy was upset. She confessed that she had given both dogs some of the chili that she'd had for dinner. She woke me right out of deep REM sleep, and I was heavily medicated and barely lucid.
She told me that since it was her fault the dog was sick (I didn't tell her that, she figured it out), she was going to spend the night on the couch in the room where the dogs sleep, so she could let Frisco out as often as necessary. I said, "No, you can't, you have school tomorrow. I'll do it." Then I tried to sit up. Susannah pushed me back down and said, "No, listen. I know you're still adjusting to your new meds [elavil and klonopin], and I really don't think you should be trying to get up right now. I can manage. I'm twelve years old, I'm not a baby. If I'm tired in the morning I'll just have some chai or something to help get me going. I don't want you doing this."
I tried to argue and tried to get up, but she pushed me back down, and I fell asleep in the middle of arguing with her. The dog had diarrhea, about every ten minutes until 2 am, and she stuck it out. Every single time, she put on shoes, took a flashlight, and went out with him, to make sure he was done before she brought him in and to make sure he didn't start barking out there in the middle of the night. She said she fell asleep around 2:30 am on the couch with both dogs. Then she got up at 6:30 and went to school.
I am so amazed, so grateful for this child. Of course, I also feel guilty that she missed her night's sleep. But she was right, I couldn't have done it; I'm sure I would have fallen and either landed in the dog poop or hurt myself, or both (the back door leads onto a deck, so you have to go down stairs to reach the yard). We couldn't just leave the door open because of (a) bugs and (b) burglars -- there have been a couple of attempts recently in town.
This evening she went to sleep early, and when I apologized again, she said, "Don't worry; I think I really learned something about being responsible. Frisco is my dog, and I made him sick, and so it was only right for me to deal with the consequences. And anyway, now I kind of know what it must have been like for you when I was little, if I was sick in the night."
I'm so proud of her for her fortitude in sticking out the night, for her compassion in worrying about my well-being above her own, and for her insight about what she learned from the night. I just can't get over it. I feel like, about five minutes ago she was just a little kid, dependant and naive. Now suddenly I'm talking to this strong, wise, and highly empathetic young woman, and I can hardly believe this is my child. She is only in the sixth grade.
I know she won't be this perfect all the time. I actually hope she regresses a bit, because I am not ready for her childhood to be over. And I'm not sure if she is, either. But in this one moment, I got to see the adult inside her, and she is something else.
Blame it on IC.
Yesterday I asked her to feed the dogs before going to bed. About two hours later, she came upstairs from her room to my room, to tell me that Frisco (black and white dog) had had to be let out four times in the past hour bc. his tummy was upset. She confessed that she had given both dogs some of the chili that she'd had for dinner. She woke me right out of deep REM sleep, and I was heavily medicated and barely lucid.
She told me that since it was her fault the dog was sick (I didn't tell her that, she figured it out), she was going to spend the night on the couch in the room where the dogs sleep, so she could let Frisco out as often as necessary. I said, "No, you can't, you have school tomorrow. I'll do it." Then I tried to sit up. Susannah pushed me back down and said, "No, listen. I know you're still adjusting to your new meds [elavil and klonopin], and I really don't think you should be trying to get up right now. I can manage. I'm twelve years old, I'm not a baby. If I'm tired in the morning I'll just have some chai or something to help get me going. I don't want you doing this."
I tried to argue and tried to get up, but she pushed me back down, and I fell asleep in the middle of arguing with her. The dog had diarrhea, about every ten minutes until 2 am, and she stuck it out. Every single time, she put on shoes, took a flashlight, and went out with him, to make sure he was done before she brought him in and to make sure he didn't start barking out there in the middle of the night. She said she fell asleep around 2:30 am on the couch with both dogs. Then she got up at 6:30 and went to school.
I am so amazed, so grateful for this child. Of course, I also feel guilty that she missed her night's sleep. But she was right, I couldn't have done it; I'm sure I would have fallen and either landed in the dog poop or hurt myself, or both (the back door leads onto a deck, so you have to go down stairs to reach the yard). We couldn't just leave the door open because of (a) bugs and (b) burglars -- there have been a couple of attempts recently in town.
This evening she went to sleep early, and when I apologized again, she said, "Don't worry; I think I really learned something about being responsible. Frisco is my dog, and I made him sick, and so it was only right for me to deal with the consequences. And anyway, now I kind of know what it must have been like for you when I was little, if I was sick in the night."
I'm so proud of her for her fortitude in sticking out the night, for her compassion in worrying about my well-being above her own, and for her insight about what she learned from the night. I just can't get over it. I feel like, about five minutes ago she was just a little kid, dependant and naive. Now suddenly I'm talking to this strong, wise, and highly empathetic young woman, and I can hardly believe this is my child. She is only in the sixth grade.
I know she won't be this perfect all the time. I actually hope she regresses a bit, because I am not ready for her childhood to be over. And I'm not sure if she is, either. But in this one moment, I got to see the adult inside her, and she is something else.
Blame it on IC.
On the Beach with IC 
Thanks for sharing! I really love reading things like this 
:woohoo: :woohoo: 
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