Field notes from this family’s mornings

Bink and I have many rituals. They’ve shifted over time and we’ve been able to let go of some of them. Others stay in place and bring her comfort and calm. An example: our little morning trio of dream journal, video, and follow up.

In the mornings she scrawls in her dream journal, which is whatever current notebook she has thus labeled. She presents it to me. and says “Mommy can you read it.” Just like that—no question mark offered or intended. Occasionally it’s one sentence, something as simple as: Sally told me not to laugh. One recent morning, there was an especially wordy and creative entry: Eva and Arnie and Toast were there and mommy told me not to breathe heavy I was sleeping because it could make the power go out and that would upset Eva and Arnie and Toast.

Moments later I receive a text—always a question about the dream. That day’s query: Why Mommy said don’t breathe heavy it will make the power go out and upset Eva and Arnie and Toast? Next, the daily spoken words: “Respond to my video”. What she means is this; Make a video on your phone answering my question. DO NOT say it’s just a dream. DO NOT say “I don’t know” Send it to me, even though I am just across the room.

And I do— make the video, send it to her. She prefers the picture to be my face, talking. That morning I recorded my answer: “I thought the heavy breathing might blow out the glow in the clock, the one that shows the numbers. And I know how you like to see the numbers at all hours when you wake in the night. Arnie was crying at the thought that you might be sad about no bright numbers in your big square clock, That made Eva sad, which caused Toast to become scared, and I thought he might burn (as toast sometimes does.)  So I made a mistake and woke you up to say quiet your breath before the whole house smells like black hot crumbs. I know you hate that smell and I love you and wanted you to have a good day.”

For the record:
1. We know no one by those names.
2. I’ve never cautioned that heavy breathing might delete the lights.
3. Even if I had, I certainly wouldn’t interrupt her sleep to do so.
4. I don’t particularly care that it would upset Eva, or Arnie, or especially Toast.

After she hears and sees the video, she follows up with another text and a request to “answer in person”. That evolved from my gentle refusal to keep texting with her for more than a few minutes each morning, which was based on my desire to have her actually talk to me, since we are usually in close proximity to each other.

If she is satisfied with my video response to her dream-based directive, she’ll default to texting “You have chocolate hair”  (referring to my brown locks) or “ Mommy is a girl”.   I usually just say “thank you” (chocolate hair is a nice thing) or “yes” (I am indeed female.)  If she wasn’t pleased with my video response, she’ll text with more details about her dream “Toast has nothing to do with burned.”  If she is on to another topic entirely, she’ll text that to me. Example: Natasha screamed six times in February of 2006. I generally respond with a simple, verbal “Thanks for telling me”.

We’re working on some really key ways to help her be more independent. This small part of our mornings that grounds and comforts her is not among them. Could I wean her off this little triad?  Yes, and someday I’ll need to do so.  Not now, though. Not now.

PS: Since you’ve read this far I’ll share another triad. I’m REALLY REALLY REALLY happy to to tell you that I’ve signed a publishing contract for my first full-length book of poetry!  Can you feel my smile pulsing through your screen?  Due date next fall.  Yay.  Big, huge yay.

–Melinda Coppola