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A Message from my Guardian Angel, brought to me by the Jehovah’s Witnesses (who would have thought)
I’m afraid of 2012. I feel like a freak about it. No one talks much about the world possibly ending in a couple years, as once predicted. There may be mention of it every now and then, but even the media doesn’t really seem to be jumping all over that story. I imagine Fox news will use it as a right wing campaign strategy in the 2012 elections; GIVE US BACK THE WHITE HOUSE AND WE WILL BAIL US OUT OF DOOMSDAY, but for now, nothing. I’ve brought it up once or twice in “casual” conversation and while people were familiar with the rumored impending doom, no one seemed terribly concerned, just me.
I have decided that my uncharacteristically pessimistic obsession with this is because I have an amazing family with 3.5 beautiful children and an all-around wonderful life. I look at my precious little ones and become all at once, overwhelmed with how much I freaking love them, and terrified that I can’t protect them from all of the lurking danger in the world. I feel so fortunate and blessed that it scares me. I have felt this way before, and then suddenly my mother was gone. Life cannot feel perfect for too long without waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It doesn’t help that I allow myself to get sucked into the political debauchery of cable news whose mission it is to spread the news (fear) that if we do not succumb to their agenda, we ARE doomed. And both sides are adamant that they can save the world and rescue us from the destruction of the “other side”. And even when one side has already brought us to the brink of devastation, we are seemingly willing to give then another chance because the other side isn’t rescuing us fast enough and even has the nerve to ask us all to do our parts to help us save ourselves and our future generations from…ourselves. If you’re paying attention the news isn’t good.
I have definitely thought to myself “I wouldn’t be surprised if God got a little tired of man and his sinful ‘free will’ and just decided to wipe the slate clean and start over.” I’m sure he’s ashamed of us. I mean, even though most of us are good people, we’ve somehow managed to hand his world over to the selfish, greedy, soul-less leaders of our world. We have sold our souls to the devil and now there is strong opposition toward any attempt to get it back and redeem ourselves.
A few weeks ago while I was outside cleaning the pool I was blindsided by some very kind women toting their gospel. I’m not gonna lie, if I were hidden inside, I would not have answered to door. I have nothing against these good people who walk around all day attempting to spread some good news. I just do not have the time to sit down with them for a cup of tea and some religious schooling. But they found me.
They observed and commented that I looked busy and I concurred. So we had instantly and politely reached an unspoken agreement that I would not even be opening the gate and inviting them in any further. But my voice of reason, kindness and tolerance told me to give them five minutes.
They ask me about my fears, and I told them about my doomsday paranoia. They opened their bibles and recited five or six lines about how the evil in the world will one day be eliminated and that the earth will remain forever and the “meek will inherit the earth”. Again, I’m not gonna lie, my heart sank, not from fear, but from ease, like it was no longer about to burst out of my cheast from terror. I’m plenty meek, not in the timid or submissive way, but in the mild and gentle way. I mean, I was voted most nonchalant in my senior class. Isn’t that a synonym for meek?
Those five minutes, five lines, and five percent chance that they would catch me outside all alone gave me some genuine relief and faith. I told them so. I know they get many doors slammed in their faces, if even opened to them. I know they are only a nemesis to most who are certain that they, too, already have it all figured out, or a nuisance to those that just don’t give a damn. But their intentions were only good and their efforts were triumphant. “You did good work today ladies. I feel much better. Thank you.” And I did. No, I am not converting (which is the single most frequently
asked question when I tell this story). I am just thankful and faith-filled, again.
Someone sent those people to me at that just-the-right moment (someone who wants me to cherish and make the most of every second I have with her beloved grandchildren whom she misses terribly) to tell me to let go of my worries; to see my children’s future in their eyes rather than my own fears; to live in the present, blessed and thankful.
Thank you, Mom. You’re right, again.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Llife of Leisure?
My manager at work has accused me of having a life of leisure. I know what you’re thinking (at least what my fellow moms are thinking); HOW DARE SHE!
Before I go on, I should explain that she is a wonderful woman whom I genuinely adore. And I’m not just saying this because we became Facebook friends just as instantly as we became actual friends and so she will probably be reading this. She’s otherwise awesome, really.
But she mistakes my lack of desire (refusal)to work more than two days a week with laziness, like I’ve grown too accustom to my “life of leisure”. I let her get away with this slander only once. The second time she made this accusation, I gently spoke up:
“Listen bitch, (I really did call her a bitch, but only because she really is my friend, really), I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about with this whole life of leisure bullshit! I have three kids at home! What in the name of God do think could possibly be leisurely about that!”
She’s a mom too; A single mom, with a daughter who is 2. So while I know she has her struggles with spending many hours working and away from her child, she is not capable of completely grasping full time mommy-hood with THREE children. . She doesn’t understand that I go to my part time job both to pay some bills, and to take a break from my full time job which doesn’t pay well.
She can’t really know that meeting the demands of my three children, as well as trying to maintain some order in our household, is actually a lot like her job of managing a restaurant and its feisty staff, who respects her but still loves to torment her, and it’s often impossible to please, demanding customers. Take her job, and multiply it by a couple of hundred, and we have the exact same job. She just makes more money than I do, and probably doesn’t love her job as much I love mine.
She may also consider me a “kept woman” and a little spoiled, not spoiled acting but just very well cared for. I am. I can’t argue with that. But I work very hard for my family and it is important to me that my loved ones feel as fortunate to have me as I do to have them. And THAT is why they come first. That is why I can’t work until 11 p.m. or later, four nights a week, just to spend the remaining three days and nights exhausted and cranky and unable to be the wonderful patient mother I strive (and sometimes struggle) to be.
I just sat outside all alone and dipped my feet in the pool for about ten minutes. I’ve done the dishes, did some laundry, cleaned the kitchen, played with children, fed children (twice), got children to sleep at the same time, picked up the broom, put down the broom, and went outside for a moment of SILENCE:
“Screw this broom! It’s my only quiet time of the day (naptime) and I am going to squeeze in one moment of NOTHING! I don’t think the world will end if I don’t sweep the floors right now so that they can be dog hair free for the next hour.”
It was blissful. Ten minutes of doing nothing, saying nothing and hearing no one! Blissful. And while I was out there, I had to chuckle at my “life of leisure”. She thinks I lay around, floating in my pool all day, and here I am wasting two precious minutes of my ten minute break thinking “I really should get up and sweep the pool…again.”
Before I go on, I should explain that she is a wonderful woman whom I genuinely adore. And I’m not just saying this because we became Facebook friends just as instantly as we became actual friends and so she will probably be reading this. She’s otherwise awesome, really.
But she mistakes my lack of desire (refusal)to work more than two days a week with laziness, like I’ve grown too accustom to my “life of leisure”. I let her get away with this slander only once. The second time she made this accusation, I gently spoke up:
“Listen bitch, (I really did call her a bitch, but only because she really is my friend, really), I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about with this whole life of leisure bullshit! I have three kids at home! What in the name of God do think could possibly be leisurely about that!”
She’s a mom too; A single mom, with a daughter who is 2. So while I know she has her struggles with spending many hours working and away from her child, she is not capable of completely grasping full time mommy-hood with THREE children. . She doesn’t understand that I go to my part time job both to pay some bills, and to take a break from my full time job which doesn’t pay well.
She can’t really know that meeting the demands of my three children, as well as trying to maintain some order in our household, is actually a lot like her job of managing a restaurant and its feisty staff, who respects her but still loves to torment her, and it’s often impossible to please, demanding customers. Take her job, and multiply it by a couple of hundred, and we have the exact same job. She just makes more money than I do, and probably doesn’t love her job as much I love mine.
She may also consider me a “kept woman” and a little spoiled, not spoiled acting but just very well cared for. I am. I can’t argue with that. But I work very hard for my family and it is important to me that my loved ones feel as fortunate to have me as I do to have them. And THAT is why they come first. That is why I can’t work until 11 p.m. or later, four nights a week, just to spend the remaining three days and nights exhausted and cranky and unable to be the wonderful patient mother I strive (and sometimes struggle) to be.
I just sat outside all alone and dipped my feet in the pool for about ten minutes. I’ve done the dishes, did some laundry, cleaned the kitchen, played with children, fed children (twice), got children to sleep at the same time, picked up the broom, put down the broom, and went outside for a moment of SILENCE:
“Screw this broom! It’s my only quiet time of the day (naptime) and I am going to squeeze in one moment of NOTHING! I don’t think the world will end if I don’t sweep the floors right now so that they can be dog hair free for the next hour.”
It was blissful. Ten minutes of doing nothing, saying nothing and hearing no one! Blissful. And while I was out there, I had to chuckle at my “life of leisure”. She thinks I lay around, floating in my pool all day, and here I am wasting two precious minutes of my ten minute break thinking “I really should get up and sweep the pool…again.”
Friday, August 27, 2010
Laptop Lesson Learned
Ok, I think I’m finally ready to talk about it. It’s been at least three months and while I can’t exactly look back at it and laugh yet, I can, at least, tell the tale without getting the blood boiling shakes and wanting to re-ground my daughter all over again.
It was one of those early, beautiful summer like days when spending time outside is still a novelty after hibernating all winter. So I couldn’t really blame her for wanting to lug MY laptop outside to play with at her brand new playground, complete with the perfect little table to set up post. What was not yet complete, was the roof that was supposed to be over that little table. It might have made all the difference, but we’ll never know.
I’m chatting with my sister-in-law while our little ones are enjoying the new playground when I see my six year old round the corner carrying MY laptop. I stop mid-sentence and give her my very best oh-no-you-didn’t stare, to which she responds, with her oh-yes-I-did smirk, “what? I’ll be careful.” Famous last words. It’s at least 4 p.m. by now which means I simply do not have the energy left for this battle, and she knows it (Ha ha, Mommy’s weak now).
The next day:
Madeline: Mommy, did it rain last night?
Me: I’m not sure honey. Why?
Madeline: Well, remember yesterday when I brought your computer outside?
Me: What???????????????
Madeline: Well, you were the last one in.
ME: EXCUSE ME!!!!!!!!!! GO GET MY COMPUTER!!!!!! AND YOU BETTER HOPE IT DIDN’T RAIN LAST NIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(Please note here, that the all capital letters and multiple exclamation point rage did not kick in until AFTER she has passed the buck to ME!)
As she scurries outside (now well aware that she has said too much), I turn to look out my window to see if it did rain last night. Of course it did. And suddenly I recall waking up in the middle of the night to the soothing sound of rain on the rooftop, and thinking “how nice, we haven’t had rain in a long time.”
“What happened? Did she leave her DS outside?” I can’t even speak. How do I tell Darren, the man who has been telling me for months not to let our six year old have such free reign on MY laptop, the laptop that HE bought me out of the kindness of his heart, that…I still can’t find the words.
She returns and hands the computer over to her father (round one of punishment) who stands there holding it, waiting for ALL the water to POUR out of it. He is calmly angry at Madeline, and entirely unsympathetic to poor me. He told me so, told me so, told me so, but never reminds me of this. He doesn't have to. I can hear the words echoing from his subconscious and they will continue to taunt me for days.
All that’s left now is to decide on the punishment. And in doing so, all I can hear is that unapologetic voice telling me “well you were the last one in.”
No television, no computer (obviously) and no DS for two weeks! While I know this is a life altering punishment for her, she takes it like a champ. She is guilty, and genuinely sorry and unable to look either of her parents in the face for the rest of the day. But even in the moment, I am still aware that everything happens for a reason. Even while I am now computer-less and cut off from my stay-at-home-mom-sanity-saving-lifeline to the outside world, and still attempting to plug it in and turn it on hoping for some sign of life, some last breath that allows me to once again see the hours and hours of writing/pouring my heart out into this now lifeless machine. Even knowing that I don’t have a chance in hell of my overly generous boyfriend buying me another laptop (after all, I didn’t listen, and I too, can take my punishment like a champ), I am still grateful for two week of watching my daughter do ANYTHING other than watch TV, play her DS or sit at MY computer. I often find myself feeling guilty about not having the time or energy to dole out enough one-on-one time to each of my kids. It’s amazing how much easier it becomes with less background noise and distraction.
Madeline and I both learned a valuable lesson about guilt. She would go to school and tell her classmates and teachers what she had done and what her punishment was, and I would later hear some critique from parents and teachers that the consensus among the students was that we were way too hard on her as it was “just an accident”. But I knew that she had conveniently left out how she “accidentally” blurted out that last punishment changing accusation which sealed her fate. “well, you were the last one in.” I mean, I knew that I had some responsibility in this too, and you would NEVER hear me suggest that it might not have been so bad if Darren had just finished building that roof (wait, did I already mention that?)
I’m a lucky girl. I’ve been given a second chance with a new laptop (which I never would have expected but he is as forgiving as he is generous). And in turn, I have offered Madeline a second chance to show that she can use it responsibly. And I remind her, occasionally, just to be safe:
Me: "Madeline can you clean your room?"
Madeline: "No".
Me: "Remember when you destroyed my computer."
Madeline: "Ok."
Me: "Madeline can you get me a diaper for your brother?"
Madeline: "No".
Me: Remember when you destroyed my computer?
Madeline: "UUUUUUUGGGGGHHHH! Ok."
You get the idea; leverage.
It was one of those early, beautiful summer like days when spending time outside is still a novelty after hibernating all winter. So I couldn’t really blame her for wanting to lug MY laptop outside to play with at her brand new playground, complete with the perfect little table to set up post. What was not yet complete, was the roof that was supposed to be over that little table. It might have made all the difference, but we’ll never know.
I’m chatting with my sister-in-law while our little ones are enjoying the new playground when I see my six year old round the corner carrying MY laptop. I stop mid-sentence and give her my very best oh-no-you-didn’t stare, to which she responds, with her oh-yes-I-did smirk, “what? I’ll be careful.” Famous last words. It’s at least 4 p.m. by now which means I simply do not have the energy left for this battle, and she knows it (Ha ha, Mommy’s weak now).
The next day:
Madeline: Mommy, did it rain last night?
Me: I’m not sure honey. Why?
Madeline: Well, remember yesterday when I brought your computer outside?
Me: What???????????????
Madeline: Well, you were the last one in.
ME: EXCUSE ME!!!!!!!!!! GO GET MY COMPUTER!!!!!! AND YOU BETTER HOPE IT DIDN’T RAIN LAST NIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(Please note here, that the all capital letters and multiple exclamation point rage did not kick in until AFTER she has passed the buck to ME!)
As she scurries outside (now well aware that she has said too much), I turn to look out my window to see if it did rain last night. Of course it did. And suddenly I recall waking up in the middle of the night to the soothing sound of rain on the rooftop, and thinking “how nice, we haven’t had rain in a long time.”
“What happened? Did she leave her DS outside?” I can’t even speak. How do I tell Darren, the man who has been telling me for months not to let our six year old have such free reign on MY laptop, the laptop that HE bought me out of the kindness of his heart, that…I still can’t find the words.
She returns and hands the computer over to her father (round one of punishment) who stands there holding it, waiting for ALL the water to POUR out of it. He is calmly angry at Madeline, and entirely unsympathetic to poor me. He told me so, told me so, told me so, but never reminds me of this. He doesn't have to. I can hear the words echoing from his subconscious and they will continue to taunt me for days.
All that’s left now is to decide on the punishment. And in doing so, all I can hear is that unapologetic voice telling me “well you were the last one in.”
No television, no computer (obviously) and no DS for two weeks! While I know this is a life altering punishment for her, she takes it like a champ. She is guilty, and genuinely sorry and unable to look either of her parents in the face for the rest of the day. But even in the moment, I am still aware that everything happens for a reason. Even while I am now computer-less and cut off from my stay-at-home-mom-sanity-saving-lifeline to the outside world, and still attempting to plug it in and turn it on hoping for some sign of life, some last breath that allows me to once again see the hours and hours of writing/pouring my heart out into this now lifeless machine. Even knowing that I don’t have a chance in hell of my overly generous boyfriend buying me another laptop (after all, I didn’t listen, and I too, can take my punishment like a champ), I am still grateful for two week of watching my daughter do ANYTHING other than watch TV, play her DS or sit at MY computer. I often find myself feeling guilty about not having the time or energy to dole out enough one-on-one time to each of my kids. It’s amazing how much easier it becomes with less background noise and distraction.
Madeline and I both learned a valuable lesson about guilt. She would go to school and tell her classmates and teachers what she had done and what her punishment was, and I would later hear some critique from parents and teachers that the consensus among the students was that we were way too hard on her as it was “just an accident”. But I knew that she had conveniently left out how she “accidentally” blurted out that last punishment changing accusation which sealed her fate. “well, you were the last one in.” I mean, I knew that I had some responsibility in this too, and you would NEVER hear me suggest that it might not have been so bad if Darren had just finished building that roof (wait, did I already mention that?)
I’m a lucky girl. I’ve been given a second chance with a new laptop (which I never would have expected but he is as forgiving as he is generous). And in turn, I have offered Madeline a second chance to show that she can use it responsibly. And I remind her, occasionally, just to be safe:
Me: "Madeline can you clean your room?"
Madeline: "No".
Me: "Remember when you destroyed my computer."
Madeline: "Ok."
Me: "Madeline can you get me a diaper for your brother?"
Madeline: "No".
Me: Remember when you destroyed my computer?
Madeline: "UUUUUUUGGGGGHHHH! Ok."
You get the idea; leverage.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Baby #4-The Road Less Traveled
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference
...Robert Frost
I came across this quote just a day or two after finding out that I was pregnant with baby #4. It offered great perspective, and a sigh of relief. I was always the handful, the problem child marching to the beat of a different drummer, blah, blah, blah. I was lost and my parents spent many sleepless nights praying for me to find my way. Little did I know that I was on the right path the entire time. Admittedly, it was a bumpy road and I stumbled a lot. But a smoother, shorter, easier path could never have prepared me for what fate had in store for me: FULL TIME MOTHERHOOD.
Years ago, pre-children, I always said “I want to have five kids, all boys.” It sounded like so much fun. Sure, boys are reckless and I would probably be mothering with my eyes closed, hands clenched and heart in my throat most of the time while they are racing motorized whatever they can get their hands on, jumping of the highest anything into the hopefully deep enough something, picking up the nearest anything and everything that may or may not resemble a weapon to use on the nearest whomever, etc., etc.. But at least they wouldn’t be so damn snotty, constantly challenge my every request, keep me up all night worrying because she’s too stubborn to pick up a phone, refuse to accept that the world just IS more dangerous for young girls, always demand the last infuriating word, etc., etc.! I hate to be so gender biased, but this was my experience with kids. Sorry Mom and Dad.
My first born was a little girl. It’s only fair. I had it coming. And she is exactly like me. I had that coming too. My mom spent my teenage years wishing it on me so it was inevitable. She’s six now, and has already begun paying me back on my late mother’s behalf (whom I often hear giggling from the great beyond). I’m hoping she’s getting it all out of her system before her teen years set in and I’m forced to pound it out of her (figuratively speaking, I hope). She’s still young enough to be honest about her antics; “I’ll try to be better Mommy, but I can’t pinky promise because it’s REALLY hard sometimes.” I find her honesty refreshing and I dread those teen years, again, when I will have to decipher every lie to find a clue to a morsel of the truth. I’m starting to sweat at the thought of it all. Maybe her three brothers (wishful thinking re: baby #4) can form some sort of road block when she starts taking wrong turns. My poor only brother wasn’t able to deter me all on his own.
So I am about to be a mother of four, a STAY AT HOME mother of four! Few people would choose this path. In fact, the news of my continued journey into motherhood leaves most speechless. But now, I understand that I could never decide on a career because my path, my purpose was already determined. This is my destiny. My success as a stay at home mom would be measured by my steadfast patience, my sanity, my SURVIVAL, the character of my children and happiness and values of my family, not my income. And as an overwhelmed, overworked, exhausted, underappreciated, underpaid, undervalued, jack of all trades, master of none, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy I could not be happier. It continues to be the bumpier, far more challenging and less traveled path, but it makes all the difference now that I know exactly where I am going and that I am paving the way for my four little passengers.
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference
...Robert Frost
I came across this quote just a day or two after finding out that I was pregnant with baby #4. It offered great perspective, and a sigh of relief. I was always the handful, the problem child marching to the beat of a different drummer, blah, blah, blah. I was lost and my parents spent many sleepless nights praying for me to find my way. Little did I know that I was on the right path the entire time. Admittedly, it was a bumpy road and I stumbled a lot. But a smoother, shorter, easier path could never have prepared me for what fate had in store for me: FULL TIME MOTHERHOOD.
Years ago, pre-children, I always said “I want to have five kids, all boys.” It sounded like so much fun. Sure, boys are reckless and I would probably be mothering with my eyes closed, hands clenched and heart in my throat most of the time while they are racing motorized whatever they can get their hands on, jumping of the highest anything into the hopefully deep enough something, picking up the nearest anything and everything that may or may not resemble a weapon to use on the nearest whomever, etc., etc.. But at least they wouldn’t be so damn snotty, constantly challenge my every request, keep me up all night worrying because she’s too stubborn to pick up a phone, refuse to accept that the world just IS more dangerous for young girls, always demand the last infuriating word, etc., etc.! I hate to be so gender biased, but this was my experience with kids. Sorry Mom and Dad.
My first born was a little girl. It’s only fair. I had it coming. And she is exactly like me. I had that coming too. My mom spent my teenage years wishing it on me so it was inevitable. She’s six now, and has already begun paying me back on my late mother’s behalf (whom I often hear giggling from the great beyond). I’m hoping she’s getting it all out of her system before her teen years set in and I’m forced to pound it out of her (figuratively speaking, I hope). She’s still young enough to be honest about her antics; “I’ll try to be better Mommy, but I can’t pinky promise because it’s REALLY hard sometimes.” I find her honesty refreshing and I dread those teen years, again, when I will have to decipher every lie to find a clue to a morsel of the truth. I’m starting to sweat at the thought of it all. Maybe her three brothers (wishful thinking re: baby #4) can form some sort of road block when she starts taking wrong turns. My poor only brother wasn’t able to deter me all on his own.
So I am about to be a mother of four, a STAY AT HOME mother of four! Few people would choose this path. In fact, the news of my continued journey into motherhood leaves most speechless. But now, I understand that I could never decide on a career because my path, my purpose was already determined. This is my destiny. My success as a stay at home mom would be measured by my steadfast patience, my sanity, my SURVIVAL, the character of my children and happiness and values of my family, not my income. And as an overwhelmed, overworked, exhausted, underappreciated, underpaid, undervalued, jack of all trades, master of none, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy I could not be happier. It continues to be the bumpier, far more challenging and less traveled path, but it makes all the difference now that I know exactly where I am going and that I am paving the way for my four little passengers.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Keep the tooth fairy and easter bunny in check!
Madeline recently lost her first tooth. We placed it in her special tooth fairy pillow and anxiously awaited the first arrival of the tooth fairy. Sure enough the faithful little fairy made her debut in our home. She was very nervous, having no idea how stressful it would be trying to pry that little pillow out from under a sleeping child’s head, knowing said child was determined to wake up and finally catch a fairy in action. Those fairies are always messing with her and she has yet to catch one red handed. This was her chance. But somehow, a very jittery and sweaty palmed tooth fairy managed to pull it off undetected.
The next morning, Madeline came running out of her room holding her gift from the tooth fairy, with a big missing tooth grin on her face. “MOMMY THE TOOTH FAIRY CAME AND LEFT ME ONE DOLLAR!” She was thrilled.
The next day, I overheard her telling a friend about her tooth fairy experience. “You only got a dollar? The tooth fairy leaves me $15 dollars.” Madeline looked at me in horror. I was tempted to knock out a few of her friend’s new big girl teeth, just to see how much those would be worth. But instead, I looked at her and said “your tooth fairy (a child psychologist, no less) must have trouble seeing in your room at night because she clearly screwed up.” And that was the end of that. No guilt on my end, just utter disgust towards the parent who’s fucked up values just cast a shadow on my daughter’s first tooth fairy glow.
It used to really annoy me that I would have to justify this stuff to my child, like why her friends got video games or a new bike from the Easter Bunny when she only got candy and bubbles. Now I welcome the opportunity to teach her a little lesson on values:
Madeline, in this family, we earn those special things. Remember last month when you worked so long and hard planning your little brother’s birthday party and I was so proud of you for doing something so kind for someone else that I took you out and got you a new webkinz, or when we got you that new DS game a few months ago because you brought home a perfect report card, or when I finally took you to the toy store to get that special fairy box that you had been working so hard for because, despite telling me over and over again how very nervous you were to get up and perform at your first piano recital, you raised you hand and volunteered to go second and got up there and played beautifully? You earned those things, and you should be very proud. I sure am!
We hear a lot about children today having a false sense of entitlement. Our society is doing a terrible job setting an example for them. We want them to be successful in a cut throat, do or die, eat or be eaten business world where they’ll have to work their life away and strive for upper class or else struggle to have food on the table and a roof over their head, yet we have created a world in which we raise them to think that fairies and bunnies are going to bring them whatever their hearts desire.
I told my daughter that if these (spoiled-I struggled to omit this word for her sake) kids are getting $15 for a tooth, or getting toys for easter that could never fit in an easter basket, then their parents are the ones getting these gifts for them. Yes, she may blow their cover, and I’m not sorry.
Save the overindulgence for Santa Claus. He has that big sleigh to haul gifts and a whole tree bottom to fill up. And even he has a naughty list!
The next morning, Madeline came running out of her room holding her gift from the tooth fairy, with a big missing tooth grin on her face. “MOMMY THE TOOTH FAIRY CAME AND LEFT ME ONE DOLLAR!” She was thrilled.
The next day, I overheard her telling a friend about her tooth fairy experience. “You only got a dollar? The tooth fairy leaves me $15 dollars.” Madeline looked at me in horror. I was tempted to knock out a few of her friend’s new big girl teeth, just to see how much those would be worth. But instead, I looked at her and said “your tooth fairy (a child psychologist, no less) must have trouble seeing in your room at night because she clearly screwed up.” And that was the end of that. No guilt on my end, just utter disgust towards the parent who’s fucked up values just cast a shadow on my daughter’s first tooth fairy glow.
It used to really annoy me that I would have to justify this stuff to my child, like why her friends got video games or a new bike from the Easter Bunny when she only got candy and bubbles. Now I welcome the opportunity to teach her a little lesson on values:
Madeline, in this family, we earn those special things. Remember last month when you worked so long and hard planning your little brother’s birthday party and I was so proud of you for doing something so kind for someone else that I took you out and got you a new webkinz, or when we got you that new DS game a few months ago because you brought home a perfect report card, or when I finally took you to the toy store to get that special fairy box that you had been working so hard for because, despite telling me over and over again how very nervous you were to get up and perform at your first piano recital, you raised you hand and volunteered to go second and got up there and played beautifully? You earned those things, and you should be very proud. I sure am!
We hear a lot about children today having a false sense of entitlement. Our society is doing a terrible job setting an example for them. We want them to be successful in a cut throat, do or die, eat or be eaten business world where they’ll have to work their life away and strive for upper class or else struggle to have food on the table and a roof over their head, yet we have created a world in which we raise them to think that fairies and bunnies are going to bring them whatever their hearts desire.
I told my daughter that if these (spoiled-I struggled to omit this word for her sake) kids are getting $15 for a tooth, or getting toys for easter that could never fit in an easter basket, then their parents are the ones getting these gifts for them. Yes, she may blow their cover, and I’m not sorry.
Save the overindulgence for Santa Claus. He has that big sleigh to haul gifts and a whole tree bottom to fill up. And even he has a naughty list!
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Little Leo is 3
Little Leo is 3!
It’s was a very roller coaster ride of a week. It began with the first anniversary of my mother’s death. It was actually worse than I thought it would be. I was just beginning to remember my mother in good health again; a beautiful soul that will live on forever, not a tired, failing body gasping for every conceivably last breath.
I went to bed the night before and prayed not to be awake to see the clock hit 5:56 a.m.. I never want to see that time again, but particularly on that day. I managed to dodge it that morning, but I was awake every hour of the night at some point, and each time I opened my eyes, I saw my mother suffering and struggling for that last breath to bring her some peace, and me a devastation unlike anything I foolishly thought I was prepared for. And I ached and grieved all over again, all day long, as if it had just happened. And just to add salt to the wound, my 92 year old grandfather had a heart attack on this day. It’s no coincidence. He wants to go be with his daughter, I know he does. But he is still here, and he is still mourning. It is a horrible day and I find it hard to believe that it will ever be anything but.
Four days after my mother’s death comes my mother’s birthday, right on time. It truly feels like a gift from God; his way of telling me to cheer up! Yes, her death was terrible, but her life was precious. And her 58 years of a well served life cannot be overshadowed by one year of a slow and painful death. And on her birthday, her life as my mother played like a lovely slideshow before my eyes. She was healthy and beautiful and never nagged me a bit (thank you again Lord, for the selective memory).
Two days after my mother’s birthday, comes my little Leo’s birthday. I am so excited to celebrate my childrens’ birthdays that I am always up before them, eager to spend the day meeting their every desire. Yes, I spend every day waiting on my children, but birthdays are about their wants, not their needs (it makes for a rude awakening the following day when the moment has passed and mean mommy has returned).
But this one is even more important, because as hard as I try, I cannot remember much about Leo’s second birthday last year, just 6 days after my mother died. It’s all a blur and it’s terrible and I am so wrought with guilt that it takes everything I have not to buy him the $2,000 John Deere tractor that he falls in love with at the tractor supply store on this birthday morning. Thankfully, he is equally delighted by the John Deere hat we got instead.
This year, however, I am so captivated by this excited little 3 year old who has no idea how amazing he is or how much joy he has brought me that I have almost recovered from the re-death of my mother just a few days earlier (until next year). And I am thankful for Leo’s Poppy when I see him sitting across the room at the birthday party because I know that he still brings Grandma with him everywhere he goes. She wouldn’t miss this.
And now, it has all passed. I am still trying to sort through all of the emotions. Even as I reflect on it here and now, I have cried and sobbed and smiled and giggled. Poppy made a DVD of what I am sure is a beautiful tribute to my beautiful mother, and gave it to those of us who cherished her most. It was a Christmas gift. I haven’t watched it yet for fear of losing myself in my tears and heartache. I had told Darren that we would watch in on her birthday (he’s ready whenever I am, to be my rock). I couldn’t do it. I’ll try again on Mother’s day, but that too is now a day full of ups and downs and inner conflicts.
Most importantly, little Leo is 3. We had a perfect day that I will never forget, and almost good enough to allow me to forgive myself for allowing his 2nd birthday to be overshadowed by my mother’s death. In the reassuring words of hope and healing offered by my favorite minister at my mother’s funeral, “the sun WILL rise”. My children are my sunshine.
It’s was a very roller coaster ride of a week. It began with the first anniversary of my mother’s death. It was actually worse than I thought it would be. I was just beginning to remember my mother in good health again; a beautiful soul that will live on forever, not a tired, failing body gasping for every conceivably last breath.
I went to bed the night before and prayed not to be awake to see the clock hit 5:56 a.m.. I never want to see that time again, but particularly on that day. I managed to dodge it that morning, but I was awake every hour of the night at some point, and each time I opened my eyes, I saw my mother suffering and struggling for that last breath to bring her some peace, and me a devastation unlike anything I foolishly thought I was prepared for. And I ached and grieved all over again, all day long, as if it had just happened. And just to add salt to the wound, my 92 year old grandfather had a heart attack on this day. It’s no coincidence. He wants to go be with his daughter, I know he does. But he is still here, and he is still mourning. It is a horrible day and I find it hard to believe that it will ever be anything but.
Four days after my mother’s death comes my mother’s birthday, right on time. It truly feels like a gift from God; his way of telling me to cheer up! Yes, her death was terrible, but her life was precious. And her 58 years of a well served life cannot be overshadowed by one year of a slow and painful death. And on her birthday, her life as my mother played like a lovely slideshow before my eyes. She was healthy and beautiful and never nagged me a bit (thank you again Lord, for the selective memory).
Two days after my mother’s birthday, comes my little Leo’s birthday. I am so excited to celebrate my childrens’ birthdays that I am always up before them, eager to spend the day meeting their every desire. Yes, I spend every day waiting on my children, but birthdays are about their wants, not their needs (it makes for a rude awakening the following day when the moment has passed and mean mommy has returned).
But this one is even more important, because as hard as I try, I cannot remember much about Leo’s second birthday last year, just 6 days after my mother died. It’s all a blur and it’s terrible and I am so wrought with guilt that it takes everything I have not to buy him the $2,000 John Deere tractor that he falls in love with at the tractor supply store on this birthday morning. Thankfully, he is equally delighted by the John Deere hat we got instead.
This year, however, I am so captivated by this excited little 3 year old who has no idea how amazing he is or how much joy he has brought me that I have almost recovered from the re-death of my mother just a few days earlier (until next year). And I am thankful for Leo’s Poppy when I see him sitting across the room at the birthday party because I know that he still brings Grandma with him everywhere he goes. She wouldn’t miss this.
And now, it has all passed. I am still trying to sort through all of the emotions. Even as I reflect on it here and now, I have cried and sobbed and smiled and giggled. Poppy made a DVD of what I am sure is a beautiful tribute to my beautiful mother, and gave it to those of us who cherished her most. It was a Christmas gift. I haven’t watched it yet for fear of losing myself in my tears and heartache. I had told Darren that we would watch in on her birthday (he’s ready whenever I am, to be my rock). I couldn’t do it. I’ll try again on Mother’s day, but that too is now a day full of ups and downs and inner conflicts.
Most importantly, little Leo is 3. We had a perfect day that I will never forget, and almost good enough to allow me to forgive myself for allowing his 2nd birthday to be overshadowed by my mother’s death. In the reassuring words of hope and healing offered by my favorite minister at my mother’s funeral, “the sun WILL rise”. My children are my sunshine.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
oh, now i get it; KIDS MAKE YOU CRAZY!
I was voted “most nonchalant” in my senior class. I have always prided myself on my patience. And before I had kids, I always said that the one thing I would surely do differently from my mother was to just not be so CRAZY.
I always thought that if she would have just asked nicely instead of nag or talked openly and calmly when I screwed up instead of scream like a lunatic, surely I would have been more willing cooperate or hear her side. But too often, I just wrote her off as crazy:
“She’s only this angry because she’s crazy. I mean, who cares if I threw a big party in her house while she was away. And who asked her to sit up all night waiting for me to come home just because she had no idea where I was. That’s her problem. She’s crazy. I’m glad I’m not crazy.”
A few months ago, I was outside my front door trying to hang a wreath. My 6 year old and two year old were playing in the living room, loudly, and my nearly two month old was sleeping, finally, upstairs. My m other-in-law, who lives next door had just dropped the kids off after taking them for just a moment so I could try and get the baby to sleep after a long day. I stood in the doorway and said, “please quiet down, the baby is sleeping upstairs.” “Ok” they respond, half-ass through the grandma induced sugar rush they are clearly burning off. Two seconds later (literally) , two sugar induced screams wake my finally sleeping baby. I turn around and yelling;
“Great! Thanks! Now you woke up your brother."
“You’re welcome” my daughter snarls in some sort of sick delight.
Now comes the screeching at the top of my lungs, the kind of screech that scratches your throat and gags you mid-rant;
“EXCUSE ME!!!!!!!!! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU’RE TALKING TO? AND WHAT EXACTLY DID YOU NOT UNDERSTAND ABOUT WHAT I JUST SAID!?”
The screeching has stopped both kids in their tracks for a moment. The gagging from the screeching adds a little extra crazy and actually makes them think mommy might be turning into some kind of monster right before their eyes. And in this moment, I turn to attempt to hang my wreath again when my mother-in-law rounds the corner with a step-stool in hand to help me. My throat is still scratchy as I thank her.
There is a good chance that she has heard me lose it like this before. After all she does live next door, but having to look her in the face while my face is still bright red from the blood curdling screaming makes it far more humiliating. She has, kindly, never mentioned it.
One time, when I was maybe 7, I got a brand new pack of crayons and begged my mom to let me take them down to my friends house just a few doors down. She reluctantly agreed. And when I returned with one missing crayon, she marched me down to that house where we found it under the deck which she then sent me crawling under to get it. “How silly…” I remember thinking, “it’s just a crayon.”
I was reminded of this crayon story the other day when I found my daughters brand new box of crayons laying recklessly in the garage, with crayons missing, and then found myself rambling on (to myself) for the next five minutes;
“That is it! I’m just gonna hide these crayons until she can be more responsible with them. But then she’s just gonna keep asking me if I know where her crayons are, just like everyone asks me where EVERYTHING is before they even bother looking for it! And when I finally cave and give them to her, she’s gonna ask me where the green crayon is! And when we can’t find that, she’s going to insist she needs a new box of crayons because this one is now incomplete!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Who knew crayons could be so infuriating.
I have gone crazy. But usually after a good self-induced guilt trip from the burned visions of my children’s terrified little faces in my mind, I can find my way back to calm again. I don’t enjoy it at all. It is always exhausting, sometimes embarrassing, and rarely effective in the long term. It is also a certain reminder of what a frustrating child, infuriating teenager and ignorant soon-to-be-mother I once was.
Rightfully so, my daughter is the mirror image of me, both in looks, and in exasperating little idiosyncrasies. I used to HATE having my hair brushed. The other day during our daily hair brushing battle, I wrapped my daughters hair tightly around my fist a few times and, through clenched teeth threatened;
“I DON’T THINK YOU UNDERSTAND! WHEN YOU WHINE AND MAKE ME CHASE YOU AND BEG YOU TO STAND STILL EVERY MORNING YOU MAKE ME WANT TO GRAB YOU BY THE HAIR LIKE THIS AND TAKE YOU DOWN!”
It happens all the time. I have a battle with my children that makes me crazy, and inevitably reminds me of myself and my poor mother. I hear her chuckling in amusement all the time at what seems to be her premeditated retaliation from the great beyond. Sometimes I even give her the long over due credit she deserves; good one, Mom.
I can only hope that she has forgiven me, or at least that my insanity stops being so amusing to her before my daughter becomes a teenager. I do not want to meet my 16year old self in ten years any more than my daughter wants to meet her crazy mother who has been sitting up all night waiting for her and thinking she was laying in a ditch somewhere.
I always thought that if she would have just asked nicely instead of nag or talked openly and calmly when I screwed up instead of scream like a lunatic, surely I would have been more willing cooperate or hear her side. But too often, I just wrote her off as crazy:
“She’s only this angry because she’s crazy. I mean, who cares if I threw a big party in her house while she was away. And who asked her to sit up all night waiting for me to come home just because she had no idea where I was. That’s her problem. She’s crazy. I’m glad I’m not crazy.”
A few months ago, I was outside my front door trying to hang a wreath. My 6 year old and two year old were playing in the living room, loudly, and my nearly two month old was sleeping, finally, upstairs. My m other-in-law, who lives next door had just dropped the kids off after taking them for just a moment so I could try and get the baby to sleep after a long day. I stood in the doorway and said, “please quiet down, the baby is sleeping upstairs.” “Ok” they respond, half-ass through the grandma induced sugar rush they are clearly burning off. Two seconds later (literally) , two sugar induced screams wake my finally sleeping baby. I turn around and yelling;
“Great! Thanks! Now you woke up your brother."
“You’re welcome” my daughter snarls in some sort of sick delight.
Now comes the screeching at the top of my lungs, the kind of screech that scratches your throat and gags you mid-rant;
“EXCUSE ME!!!!!!!!! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU’RE TALKING TO? AND WHAT EXACTLY DID YOU NOT UNDERSTAND ABOUT WHAT I JUST SAID!?”
The screeching has stopped both kids in their tracks for a moment. The gagging from the screeching adds a little extra crazy and actually makes them think mommy might be turning into some kind of monster right before their eyes. And in this moment, I turn to attempt to hang my wreath again when my mother-in-law rounds the corner with a step-stool in hand to help me. My throat is still scratchy as I thank her.
There is a good chance that she has heard me lose it like this before. After all she does live next door, but having to look her in the face while my face is still bright red from the blood curdling screaming makes it far more humiliating. She has, kindly, never mentioned it.
One time, when I was maybe 7, I got a brand new pack of crayons and begged my mom to let me take them down to my friends house just a few doors down. She reluctantly agreed. And when I returned with one missing crayon, she marched me down to that house where we found it under the deck which she then sent me crawling under to get it. “How silly…” I remember thinking, “it’s just a crayon.”
I was reminded of this crayon story the other day when I found my daughters brand new box of crayons laying recklessly in the garage, with crayons missing, and then found myself rambling on (to myself) for the next five minutes;
“That is it! I’m just gonna hide these crayons until she can be more responsible with them. But then she’s just gonna keep asking me if I know where her crayons are, just like everyone asks me where EVERYTHING is before they even bother looking for it! And when I finally cave and give them to her, she’s gonna ask me where the green crayon is! And when we can’t find that, she’s going to insist she needs a new box of crayons because this one is now incomplete!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Who knew crayons could be so infuriating.
I have gone crazy. But usually after a good self-induced guilt trip from the burned visions of my children’s terrified little faces in my mind, I can find my way back to calm again. I don’t enjoy it at all. It is always exhausting, sometimes embarrassing, and rarely effective in the long term. It is also a certain reminder of what a frustrating child, infuriating teenager and ignorant soon-to-be-mother I once was.
Rightfully so, my daughter is the mirror image of me, both in looks, and in exasperating little idiosyncrasies. I used to HATE having my hair brushed. The other day during our daily hair brushing battle, I wrapped my daughters hair tightly around my fist a few times and, through clenched teeth threatened;
“I DON’T THINK YOU UNDERSTAND! WHEN YOU WHINE AND MAKE ME CHASE YOU AND BEG YOU TO STAND STILL EVERY MORNING YOU MAKE ME WANT TO GRAB YOU BY THE HAIR LIKE THIS AND TAKE YOU DOWN!”
It happens all the time. I have a battle with my children that makes me crazy, and inevitably reminds me of myself and my poor mother. I hear her chuckling in amusement all the time at what seems to be her premeditated retaliation from the great beyond. Sometimes I even give her the long over due credit she deserves; good one, Mom.
I can only hope that she has forgiven me, or at least that my insanity stops being so amusing to her before my daughter becomes a teenager. I do not want to meet my 16year old self in ten years any more than my daughter wants to meet her crazy mother who has been sitting up all night waiting for her and thinking she was laying in a ditch somewhere.
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