Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

21 Days of Separation

Settling in

Day 8. It doesn’t seem so weird to be without him. We’ve experienced a full week without husband and daddy, and my confidence in being able to function without him is growing.

Today, I miss him just for him, not for any particular reason. I noticed his absence most in church. When we’re in Pennsylvania, we’re rarely in church together because of his work schedule and then when we are, we’re each with a handful of child. When we’re back home and in church together, we sometimes actually get to sit next to each other and most of the time, my husband will put his arm around me.

Call me sentimental or old-fashioned, but there’s just something about that gesture that makes my heart beat a little faster.

Authority and the inner drill sergeant

Day 7. After a morning of garage sale shopping where we scored a play kitchen, a foot-propelled toy car, a couple of bags of clothes and a steal-of-a-deal on the cutest little girl kilt and cape I’ve ever seen, let’s just say the 2-year-old was not the sweetest little girl on the block.

She has started to give me this scrunchy nose, snickery, whiny type of look that her father sometimes uses to indicate he’s joking about something and I’m taking him too seriously. Hers is pure whine and it’s most often seen when she’s not getting her way and thinks she should be. In the world of a 2-year-old, that seems to be all the time.

I’m having to practice my lower-tone-I’m-serious voice — the one the Supernanny is always telling parents to use to demonstrate authority. I’m working on it.

Of the two of us, I’m definitely the softer one when it comes to discipline, authority and correction. If I’m tired, or the baby needs me, or I don’t think it’s going to be a big deal, I let Isabelle get away with just about anything. My husband, while not a strict disciplinarian either, by his very presence commands more obedience and respect. He also has a drill-sergeant voice. Thank you, U.S. Army.

Right now, I feel like I have to be the strict one because if not me, then who? The grandparents? Not likely. Why is it grandparents let their grandkids get away with all kinds of stuff their kids never could have?

So, I’m learning to say, “No.” And stick to my guns. Even if it means hearing more whining, seeing more of the Scrunch, as I think I’ll call it, and accepting that Isabelle is going to run to someone else to see if she can get a second opinion.

She’ll thank me for this, later, right?