I have a light green rocker in my living room that has been helping my daughter and I find our rhythm for almost ten years. I bought it to go in her nursery, while I was pregnant. I remember being in Buy Buy Baby with my friend Kate, who had a baby exactly one year prior, and her wise counsel to get a chair that I wouldn’t mind spending a lot of time in. It never occurred to me that we would be using it for over a decade.
During her infant years, we spent hours and hours together in that chair. Rocking. Sleeping. Trying to nurse. Reading books. Singing lullabies. My arms would wrap around her, her head would rest on my chest, and we would find our rhythm.
When she got older and we changed her room from a nursery to a big girl room, the chair was relegated to a spare bedroom I used as an office. During those years, the chair was where I did my grad school homework, tried to meditate on the rare occasions I remembered, and take a break when my momma brain needed a minute to stop spinning. Still, she would find me there when she wanted some TLC and climb in my lap, and we would rock with my arms wrapped around her, her head against my chest until we found our rhythm.
When her dad and I got divorced, it was one of the few things that I brought with me into our new house. I bought new furniture for every room of the house, and really, almost considered getting rid of it. It doesn’t really “go” with anything else in the house and the only spot that it even fit is in the corner of the living room. I decided to keep it until I could figure out another chair to put in its place.
Then, the pandemic happened, and we were home, together, a lot. Amid the uncertainty, one pattern that emerged was that when she woke up, she would come find me so we could snuggle in the chair. Sometimes, it was just for a few minutes, sometimes, much longer, but it was a part of our daily routine that I loved, and I vowed to keep that chair as long as she wanted me to rock her in it.
Over the past two and a half years, the chair has also become our place to talk. When things get heated or emotional, the chair is the place where I can put my arms around her, she can put her head on my chest, and we can find our rhythm again. Navigating through big emotions around the big changes in her life meant that having a safe place to connect was more important than ever.
She’s grown to almost 4’11” now and will be ten years old in two weeks, and it’s getting a little more challenging to pull her on my lap. More than a few times, we have started rocking in the chair and after a few minutes, moved to the more spacious couch just a few feet away. It always makes us laugh to watch our dog Lindsey try to find a way to join us – there’s barely enough room for us, much less another 30 pounds of dog.
Thursday was the first day of school, and it didn’t get started the way we were hoping it would. The two girls that Diana was closest to last year have been assigned to other teachers, and their schedules make it challenging for them to see each other at all. She also felt left out from the other kids who all seemed to know each other. I got a tearful call at recess and a series of text messages from her Gizmo watch all afternoon asking me over and over if I could come pick her up. It broke my heart.
I met her at bus stop and hugged her as tight as I could. She looked up at me with tears brimming and asked if we could go sit in our chair. I held her for the next 30 minutes as she cried tears of disappointment and from feeling like an outsider. Eventually, she wore herself out of crying, and I was able to make her laugh a little by making stupid mom jokes. She took a deep sigh, and quietly said, “I think I am okay now. I just needed some chair time.”
Tonight, we had a showdown over whether she would eat her peas or not. Neither of us acted well. She made a mountain out of a molehill, and I reacted poorly by yelling. After what felt like a ridiculous amount of histrionics, I told her she had a choice: eat the peas or go to bed. After another ridiculous amount of histrionics, I finally picked up the food, dumped it in the trash and told her to go to bed. (I may have also threatened to cancel her upcoming birthday party when she tried to tell me I couldn’t make her go to bed. Not my finest hour.)
She cried in her room, while I did the dishes. I texted my sister and a few friends to share my frustrations. They assured me that this was normal for pre-teen girls and that I wasn’t the worst mom ever for losing my temper. While I was doing the dishes, I heard Diana’s door open and saw a paper airplane fly into the kitchen. Diana sent a note on it for the “mean mom” and went back to her room to cry. I could hear her making statements intended to get a rise out of me and she escalated more and more the longer I let her cry.
Finally, after getting encouragement from my sister and friends and calming down enough to not yell, I decided it was time for the chair. I went into her room, and she immediately started to make her case of why she didn’t want to go to bed. I calmly told her that the decision was already made but that I would like to talk to her if she wanted to meet me in the chair.
We settled in and started to rock. She told me that she was mad, sad, frustrated, and disappointed, and that she just wanted me to be proud of her. I told her that I loved her no matter what, and that I could understand feeling the way she did. She expressed that she was worried that she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep without doing our normal bedtime routine, and I calmly told her that she was going to have to live with the consequences of her choices (I could also tell she was exhausted, so, it was a pretty safe bet she was going to sleep).
We did some deep breathing to calm down more (smell the soup, cool the soup…). I apologized for my bad behavior and poor word choices, and she apologized for the way she reacted and the words she used. With my arms wrapped around her and her head on my chest, we found our rhythm. After a few more moments, I told her it was time to go to bed, and she went off without fighting. Within 4 minutes, she was fast asleep. (I knew it!)
That chair may not “go” with anything else in our house, but to me, it’s better than the fanciest piece of furniture we could have for the way it provides a safe place for us to connect and find our rhythm. It's not fancy, but it's the best seat in the house.