She Who Does Not Have a Pre-Teen Shall Not Judge Those Who Do.

There we were having a quiet dinner in our usual out of the way little cafe named, Chick Fil A.  There we sat at our usual booth enjoying the end of the day munching on chicken sandwiches.  The younger kids running from the playroom to the table for bites of their chicken nuggets and swigs of their ever so healthy Sprites.  Kidsize, of course.  At the table directly behind us sat a mom with 3 children, as well.  The difference between us was that all of her children were under the age of 6 and mine varied in ages of 10 down to 3.  I am constantly caught between navigating the world of a preteen middle schooler, the ways of a grade schooler and the delights of the pre-school set.  It can make a person dizzy.

Amber sat across from me in deep thought.  I was trying to not notice, because it would be nice to enjoy a dinner without dodging in depth questions about sex, drugs and rock n roll.  Okay, maybe not the last part, but you can’t have the first 2 with out the last one.  Just as  I thought I had escape this dinner without discussing the complexities of middle school girl drama, Amber piped up with a question belted out at a volume for the whole restaurant to hear.  ”Mom.  Is there anything such as a trisexual?”  *sigh*  And there it was.  I had gone many days without a question that made me want to run for the hills, but my time had come to put on my big mom panties, remain calm and handle the situation with grace.  ”Amber!  Really?  Where did you hear such a thing?”  I will spare you the rest of that conversation, because it was a lot of “she said and he heard it from him and told….”  If you have interacted with a preteen at all in your life, you know the conversation.  The ones where you get lost, your head is spinning and you wondered who dropped a ruffie in my Coke Zero.  I simply explained that there was no such thing as a trisexual, totally controlling the urge to blurt out that a trisexual is someone who would try anything once.  It is funny how kids don’t get sarcasm and jokes and take everything so literally.  Or maybe not.  I didn’t need Amber’s Catholic school filled with kids running around screaming that Amber’s mom told them what a trisexual was.  So even though I thought my answer was adult like, I punctuated our conversation, as I always do, let’s keep this conversation to ourselves.

It is hard to keep such a conversation quiet when eating dinner in the restaurant that draws every mother within a 25 mile radius.  As soon as the offending question left Amber’s mouth I noticed the mom behind her practically get whiplash with her shocked and disgust.  I will admit I got great delight in this woman’s horror, because I noticed she had 2 boys and a girl.  I knew that one day she would be sitting on the other end of an unexpected, embarrassing question just as I was.  I knew that she thought in her head that she would say this or that and HER kids would never so much as think of such things as this little heathen behind her was doing.  My smile grew greater.  I knew she was listening and judging the whole time and I noticed I simply did not care.  All mothers judge other mother’s kids until they get to the point of sympathy, which is usually around the pre-teen age.  You have weathered the preschool, the grade school and after you wake up from your nightmare and accept that you are a parent to a preteen, you learn to give a sympathetic smile.  You only reach outright laughing hysterically in the presence of a mom in such a situation when your own kids are grown and you have been through it all.

I had been in this position before with Sam, 6 at the time.  Oddly at the same restaurant in the same booth.  I wonder if it was Chick fil A itself that brought out the sexual curiosity of my kids or maybe it was the booth that emitted some chemical that got their brains churning, yearning for embarrassing information.  Hell, I am sure it is whatever addictive concoction they put in their chicken that spurs on such exquisiteness.  Sam had sat across from me and asked me, again at a volume that would alert the whole restaurant to his curiosity. “Mom!  How are babies born?”  ”Really?!  I will discuss it with you in the car.”  That time I had to speak over the roar of laughter from the seasoned parents that happened to be in the restaurant that day.   I had decided right then that if he didn’t mention it again I would let it go.  Not my son.  Not the boy who picks books to read based on them being filled with real information and not the nonsense of made up stories.  Sure enough he had asked me as soon as he got into the car.  I explained to him the technical workings of making a baby and then how they were born.  He responded in the same fashion as Amber did when she was 8, “EW.  That is gross.”  I will admit that I am glad that I had c-sections with my kids, because I can delight in telling them the truth that I was sliced open  and each one of my children were pulled out.  No discussing the details of a natural birth and no mentions of pushing babies out of parts that leave grown men weak in the knees.  If I had to endure a c-sections then I should reap some benefits.

My theory has always been to give simple, age appropriate answers to these difficult questions that every parent dread.  I don’t care how much you are in touch with yourself and liberal in your thinking, to sit across from that sweet face you watch grow from a wee little baby to an innocent child and explain the inner workings of sex, emotions and how the human body works while making another human it is a bit unnerving.  We are working up to the major discussions, which I hope come little by little and when my kids are older.  I have not decided which age would be the best, because I know that no such age exist.  Much to the dismay of SoHubby, I have discussed, homosexuals, how babies are made, how babies come into this world and how one must protect themselves in certain situations.  I do wish we were in a time when such things were not discussed and children remain innocent until their wedding night, but as I get older and hear many of my older generations tell their stories I am not sure that time ever existed.  I would rather have my children know our view on things and be armed with correct information than to be confronted with misinformation from their peers.  So as we visit our favorite dinner spot after a long day of school, work and daily life I eat my chicken sandwich waiting for the next uncomfortable question to arise and hope that I may accept the challenge quickly, graceful, truthful, and age appropriate.  And I apologize to the unfortunate mother, who happens to sit next to us and get an earful, when I delight in their outrage and horror.  It is the little things in life that keeps us going.

Read Full Post »

These Kids Better Wake Up and Smell the Reality.

We are embarking into the world of hormones and mood swings.  I knew it was coming, but I was not prepared for it AT ALL.

Amber is becoming a tween.  She is advanced, she, of course, has started with the hormones, mood swings, eye rolls and anything else comes with the pre-teen set.  She will be11!  I don’t remember it starting this early.  I am really scared for the future.

Since I have started working full time, time is at a premium.  There is just never enough hours in the day to get everything done.  Many things have had to wait.  SoHubby mentioned last night, while grocery shopping, that I could make the frozen meal I was looking to buy.  I asked him where was the time?  His brilliant plan was for me to cook meals on the weekend, freeze them and then during the week I can just heat them up.  Sure let’s add cooking meals for the week onto everything else I have to do on the weekends.  I know, I know, moms do it all the time.  Well, this mom is tired and would like to relax.

I figured after spending the first half of the day with the girls that I could negotiate some chores out of them.  Oh yes, you better believe I gave the 3.75 yr old some chores.  And none of that pick up your toys, bullshit.  I am talking heavy duty chores.  We spent the morning picking Amber up from her friend’s house after a sleepover, then it was to Old Navy to return some items (when did stores stop doing exchanges?)and ended up buying Amber some things, then we walked around the new beauty store in Elmwood.  Then it was off to the mall to get a Father’s Day gift for SoHubby.  We couldn’t just do that and go, there was snacks to get, because you know the kids are starving!  Then we had to go to the Disney store (or as Evie says Disney World), Hot Topic and then finally we could go.  The girls kept bugging me to get their nails done.  What has happened to the world?  I was never concerned with my nails as a child and, now, my child is constantly asking for pedicures.  *sigh* And whatever Amber wants, Evie wants, too.  Yeah, I am not spending $25 for a 3.75 yr old to get a pedicure, only to mess it up as soon as she walks.  I talked them down to me doing their nails.  In exchange, Amber would dust her and her brother’s room upstairs and then vacuum upstairs.   Why shouldn’t I get some help?

Everything was fine and dandy until we get home.  Then the foot stomping, huffing, whining, mean eyes and  annoyance so bright you could land a plan on our front lawn started.  She said she was NOT ANNOYED, but I am an annoying expert.  I know when someone is annoyed.  I basically told her that if she wanted something from me then she need to help out.  It is not like I asked her to scrub the toilet with her toothbrush and then do 100 burpees.   Then the arguing started.  No matter I said she had to get the last word in.  Since I am mom I shut that shit down!

Just as I was in the middle of this little tete a tete with Amber, I overheard a conversation between SoHubby and Sam.  SoHubby came in and asked for Sam to help him in the yard.  So Hubby has been cutting grass and doing yardwork all morning while Sam was inside in the cool air watching whatever he wanted (little secret:  He wasn’t watching Superheros or Star Wars.  He was watching Jessie.  This blows his argument that we never let him watch his shows.  His shows are the same as his sister’s shows; he just doesn’t want to admit it.)  and playing on the laptop.  So when I heard Sam say, “No.”  I ran downstairs and got in his face.  I told him that he has been doing whatever he wanted all morning and, now, was the time to help his father.  SoHubby is no help.  His excuse was that Sam was just joking.  Everyone is joking once you call them on their bullshit.  He is currently outside helping with the yard work.

I use to joke that we had kids to do chores.  Now, my mindset is that they live in this house, they make the mess, they ask for things they want, so why can’t they do things around the house to help the adults out who are not only taking care of the house, but outside of the home working as well?  I am not sure if this to teach my kids not to be selfish or just fed up with little tyrants barking orders.  I am sure it is a little of both.  And none of this negotiating crap, either.   Amber will ask, “How much will you pay me?”  when I tell her to do something.  I have become everyone’s grumpy grandfather.  I start listing off all the things she has and does.  At that point she is annoyed and wants me to shut up so she goes and does what I told her to do.

It is never too early to learn that to get what you want in this world, you have to work.

Read Full Post »

There is a Tween in the House.

Amber became 10 years old on June 16 of this year.  There was a party, cake and presents, but no notification that there would be a tween in the house and all that comes along with that.  To say we were not ready for this stage in her childhood is an understatement.  I have learned that as a parent that I am constantly learning along with my children.  Also, that I have to go through some growing pains, too.  The first time around sucked and this time around I have been able to recognize the suck and do my best to turn the suck around.

Amber has always had drama around her, but add tween moodiness, selfishness, and only wanting to do only the fun stuff in life you have an explosive combination.  At first we didn’t really know what was going on.  SoHubby and I would whisper, “Could it be…?”.  ”NO, it couldn’t be!”  Oh but it was.  We have entered into the first stage of puberty and we have been knocked on our asses.  The moodiness we have been use to for awhile.  The same could be said for the drama.  I have learned to listen, roll my eyes out of eyesight and simply mention that maybe she shouldn’t worry so much about it, because, surely, it will be different by tomorrow.  We didn’t know that the moodiness and drama would be upped.  Another problem, that our parents didn’t face, was the drama gets to continue on through constant communication in today’s technological world. I gave Amber my old cell phone, which might have been a slight mistake on my part.  There was no phone service, but she could still connect to WiFi.  My second mistake was mentioning a free text and phone app.  If I could go back in time and smack myself, I would.  We fought the good fight against her sneaking the phone into her room at bedtime.  What we didn’t expect was her first middle school dance.  I don’t know how much I want to get into it on the big ole Internet, but my hints are boy+friends+texting=total chaos and devastation.  That died down and we went back to regular old girl drama.  Recently, that old phone has decided to not come back on, so, at this point, we will just deal with the withdrawals of not being able to text.  I better find a nice strong belt for her to bite down on.

It is hard being the oldest and being the first to do everything.  Amber was in dance, gymnastics and cheer first, which meant that her brother and sister were use to waiting around for her.  Then Amber got a taste of the waiting game and it has not been fun…for me.  Amber, now, waits for her brother while he is in TaeKwonDo and her sister while she is in dance.  Amber has dropped dance and gymnastics to focus on cheer and has learned that she simply can’t do everything due to time and money.  Oh the time and money lesson is a hard one for just about anyone to learn, much less a 10 year old. During the summer was worse, because there was no homework to keep her occupied during her wait times.  It is not easy, now, but, at least, I have a good answer to the question, “What can I do?”  I still have to “remind” her that she is not allowed to play basketball while Sam is in TKD.  I am hoping that the big guys that normally play basketball while the TKD class goes on will one day step on her and teach her a lesson.  There was much explanation of how her brother and sister have ALWAYS had to wait for her and she could show a little more patience while waiting for them, but that was met with a “how dare you ask me to consider anyone else” look and a huff finished with an arm folded.  Selfishness has just appeared and brought along back up.

I am happy to say that Amber likes school and does well.  However, the business of school escapes her.  She is a 5th grader, now, and that comes with a lot of responsibility, at least, in Amber’s mind.  She has always had to turn in lunch money, signed papers, etc, but, now, there is no teacher collecting folders and pulling it out for her.  Mom isn’t putting it into the folders and then in her bookbag.  Apparently, this is all too much for her.  And it seems this stuff falls onto me, still.  Hopefully, by college I won’t have to remind her to take her lunch money and not to buy extras.  And she will know what the extras are. I, recently, got a bill from the school for Amber’s lunch account.  It said she only had $5.45 left.  The problem with that is that I just sent in a $25 check (I have to stop for a minute and stress NEVER SEND IN CASH!  I know checks are from the dark ages, but if they are lost you can write a new one.  Once cash is lost, it is gone forever.  And kids will always lose cash.  I have heard many stories of Amber’s friends losing their lunch money, and we are not talking $2.  Many parents like to pay a month or year in advance instead of trying to come up with $2 everyday in the rush of the morning)on October 16.  There was no possible way she could have eaten that much in 4 days.  Okay, there is a way she could have eaten that much, but she swore she “NEVER”  gets extras.  So I put on my investigator hat, which luckily sits right next to my chauffeur hat, and went to work.  I talked to the head lunch lady, who had proof that not only did Amber NOT turn in her lunch money, but she does INDEED get extras.  It was all there on the computer screen.  I guess the rumor that the lunch ladies are stealing the kids lunch money and having a huge party with all the food that they have to cook and serve has been forever been proven wrong!  I climbed 3 flights of stairs, with a 30 lb toddler on my hip, to talk to Amber.  Oh the shock on her face when I informed her that 1. she didn’t turn in the check and 2 that she had been getting extras.  ”Oh you mean, the juice, gogurt, extra fries cost more,”  Amber asked.  All I could I do was sigh and do a quick once over of her folder.  Since Amber was rushing off to choir, I resigned to tearing apart her book bag and folders later this evening when she got home.  If I were to venture a guess, I will say that the check will either be found snuggled safely in her folder or scrunched down at the bottom of her bookbag.

I think back to when Amber was a baby and how I thought that was difficult.  Now, I fear the unknown of teenagerhood.  Toddler, pshaw!, I can handle a toddler.  Matter of fact, I do all day and it is a piece of cake.  Evie won’t potty trained, but that can be contained in a Pull Up.  There is no containing all that comes with tweens and then teenagers.  I am scared and pray that I make it through.  I figure by the time I have to deal with it with Evie, I will either have learned a lot or am just tired and have given up.  It seems to be the trend with parents, who have multiple children.

Read Full Post »

It is Only the First Week

The kids have gone to school for a full week, now, and the drama has already begun.

Amber is now in middle school.  This brings all kinds of new and exciting adventures, one being the locker.  Oh the excitement there was at getting a locker.  Along with the school supplies there was a whole collection of things you can get to decorate your locker.  This is where I found Amber with her eyes wide open and her mouth drooling.  What would she get?  Where would she put it?  How would these items make her locker an expression of her very being?  I sighed.  Why should I spend good money on items to make her locker look better than our house?  No problem for Amber.  My idea of giving the kids an allowance to teach them about money had backfired on me, because it gave Amber power.  She had power to buy any trinkets her heart desired to make her locker the next Taj Mahal.  Good thing her power is limited to $7.  We left Target.  Me $70 lighter in my wallet from actually school supplies, you know the things needed to help her learn, and Amber with her eyes all aglow and big at the anticipation of getting her locker at Book Day.

Then the drama.  ODD got into the car, one day, and rambled on about the injustice that is being pushed on her and “how life is not fair”.  After I slowed her down to the point where I could understand every other word, I got the story.  It appears that while the kids can decorate the inside of their lockers, they were not allowed to decorate the outside, EXCEPT for the members of the dance team.  WHAT?!  How can this be?  What Elitist regime is this where the dance team get the great privilege of decorating the outside of their lockers, but no one else?   I was assured at the end of this mini in training tangent that I need not worry my little head, because a teacher has taken up the cause and some day the rest of the kids will be able to decorate the outside of their lockers and become equal with the dance team.

Just as my blood pressure had return to normal, I was hit with another “situation” that needed to be remedied right away and the only one to remedy it was ME.  It seems that one of Amber’s locker neighbors has gone full out in the renovation process.  It was a total tear down and rebuild.  There was wallpaper, shelves, chandeliers, rugs and the finest art that one can get miniaturized.  It appears that Amber had moved into the upscale neighborhood, but her house was the last small house from the ’50′s that was never torn down to make way for the next McMansion.   I was informed that I would have to spend my days with locker designers to come up with the perfect space that expressed exactly who Amber is.  I have failed as a mother, because all I got her was a shelf, which is GENIUS, and a small pink basket that was meant for her extra pens and pencils, but instead became the holder for her hairbrush and lip balm.  Will life ever go on?

Sam has brought his own drama, but nothing that exhausts me to the point of girl drama.  Matter of fact, I was proud how well Sam took being scolded by a classmate’s father after Sam had called his son a name.  I have hopes of a drama break with Sam until Evie takes up residence in girl drama land.  I hope in my old age I will gain perspective, but I think I will just lose my ability to care.

Read Full Post »

Rules for an Enjoyable Summer.

I considered the title of Summer Rules, but then you would think I have lost my damn mind.  No, these are rules for my children so that they can have an enjoyable summer and I can make it through summer without my eye twitching uncontrollably.

1. SHUT THE DAMN DOOR!  Look, I went through this with my parents and, now, it is your turn.  Just for the sake of all our sanity shut the freaking door.  It isn’t really that hard and you will save the screaming…at the lizards and frogs that seem to think an opened door is an invitation to come on in and make themselves at home. If I have to come eye to eye with a lizard when I sit down on the sofa to relax, I am going to go homicidal.  On the lizard, of course.

2. Clean up after yourselves.  It is not that hard.  No one cleaned up after you at school and no one will do it at home for you.  What am I? Your mother?  Oh wait!…Scratch that.  I am not your maid, so if you keep missing your mouth while eating or drinking then clean it up.  Summer will be much better without me having a coronary everytime you spill something.

3. Just know that since I gave birth to you and you are at an age where you are capable of doing certain things that means you are my slave.  I know, I know, the Constitution outlawed slavery, but what the government doesn’t know won’t hurt me.  And let’s be honest here, I am doing the bulk of the workload, anyway.  I don’t need to add an hour long discussion on the merits of you taking out the trash to my workload.  Take it out and then you can plant your butt back on the sofa and watch your show while I  continue EVERYTHING ELSE THAT NEEDS TO BE DONE!

4. When I say enough with the My Little Pony show or any other show.  I mean ENOUGH!  There are only a handful of shows that make me want to go sit on the nearest cliff during the windy season and MLP is one of them.  I have enough screeching, whiny little creatures in real life, I don’t need to watch them on TV, too.  And Pinkie Pie needs to go away.  I don’t care where she goes, but either she can go away or get punched in the throat.

5. When I say NO, it is not a signal for you to keep asking me until my head splits in 2 and scream, ” I SAID NO!”.  No means no, even when it is said to child from parent.

6. If I tell you that we can’t go swimming this week, just leave it at that unless you want a lesson in the workings of the female body.  And walking away saying, “OH mom must be on her period” due to the fact that I just yelled at you, “NO MEANS NO!”, doesn’t help the situation.  Just know that soon you will be dealing with the same thing and I have a blog where I can enact my revenge.

7. No cracking out the kids!  This one is for SoHubby.  It is NOT 1978, which means there are other alternatives to Kool Aid to give our children.  I know you think it is funny to get them all jumpy on sugar and leave for work, but just know I have my own form of torture that I can dole out.  See number 6.

8.  If you would like to get home quick from grocery shopping, then don’t whine, complain and fart around while we are grocery shopping.  Making me remind you a million times not to stand directly behind or in front of the shopping cart, to stay with me, or to hurry up picking a toy that you just have to spend your money on takes up precious time that could have been spent racing around throwing random items into the basket so we can go home.

9. Don’t say you are bored, if you don’t want me to make you unbored.  I guarantee that whatever task I give you will be much more painful, in your mind, than the current boredom you are experiencing.  Look, there are baseboards to be cleaned, cabinets to be wiped down, extra school work that can be done, etc that will make that boredom seem like paradise.

10. There will be down days and super busy days.  The less complaining from you ensures we all have a fun summer.  I know all your friends are going on luxury vacations and having the time of your lives while you are stuck here with your parents and siblings, but it is the hand that you have been dealt so just deal with it.  You can always dream of the day when you move out of our house and do all those fun things we never let you do.  Oh and when you are daydreaming about how great your life will be once you are on your own, don’t forget to daydream that great fun job you got without any hard work where you make a ton of money.

Love,

Mom

Read Full Post »

I Have the Dreaded…TWEEN!

It has occurred to me in the past recent months that Amber is a tween.  I have heard that tween could be any age between 6 and 13, but I can’t imagine my 6 yr old as a tween.  Although, Sam does like Justin Bieber.  Not sure how that happened.  Amber, on the other hand, is speeding through tweendom into teenager.  I swear I can see it and I just want to grab her and hide.

Amber has always been opinionated, but at this point in her life everything is a debate.  Even more worse is that she THINKS she is right all the time, too.  UGH!  Many times I snap out of an argument I am having with Amber and think, “DAMN, I am arguing with a 9 year old.  What does she know about the world?  Or anything?”.  That is when I yell, “I am the MOM and you will do what I say.”  I don’t think I have to tell you how frustrating it is to have every word out of your mouth debated.  It makes me want to bang my head against a brick wall.  I think that might be actually more productive than any argument I have with Amber. At least I am not alone in the Great Debate.  Amber does this with her friends, her dad and even her coaches.  Somehow, her teacher has been able to escape this little trait.  Seeing as I am a little intimidated by Amber’s 4th grade teacher, I can only guess why she has not encountered this problem.

More proof that Amber is firmly cemented into Tweendom is her “love life”.  She is 9 yrs old, soon to be 10, so her love life is not that extensive, at least to us in the real world.  In her mind, there is great drama going on.  First, we have Ron Weasley.  No that is not some boy in her class.  It is the character from Harry Potter.  My lovely daughter has a thing for second fiddles.  Not!  That that is a bad thing.  We have, finally, gotten to a point where we don’t hear his name mentioned everyday.  Amber has branched out into talking about more real life crushes, like boys in her class.  This all started just recently and I have to admit I was surprised.  Amber didn’t really show any signs that she was crushing on these little boys.  Matter of fact, she rarely mentioned any boy in her class.  However, toward the end of the year I started hearing about this boy and that boy and who was dating whom.  First, I needed clarification on dating:

Me:  Whoa! Whoa!  What do YOU mean DATING?

Amber:  Like, you know?  DATING!

Me:  Are you telling me that these little boys are picking up these little girls and taking them somewhere?

Amber: YES!

Me:  You can’t be serious? *What the hell kind of Catholic school is?*

Later I would fine out that dating means the kids plan to meet up for lunch.  Not very hard to do considering they are all forced to be around each other for 8 hours a day.  That was a load off my mind when the voice of reason stepped in.

Then we had a little Days of our Lives drama happening when Amber admitted to liking a boy who had already professed his 4th grade love to another.  It seemed all cool until one day it became a big topic of discussion.  There were field reporters doing research, factcheckers trying to get confirmation, Amber supporters not making comments, interviews finally held where the parties agreed that there maybe liking going on, but nothing was being pursued.  Oh but the scars of tween love and lost had been forever sealed on Amber’s heart.  Should I even mentioned the date Amber was suppose to have with one boy, but he stood her up instead.  Fourth grade in Catholic school is hardcore.  All I remember of public school fourth grade was making it out of the bathroom alive to fight another day.

The drama continued between the girls but not over boys.  Here is where mothers of boys can get a little smug.  Sure you have to deal with a bloody nose, black eye, etc, but then it is over.  With girls it is the deep emotionally scarring that takes the rest of our lives and thousands upon thousands of dollars of therapy just for us to get out of bed and face another day.  Female humans are the only creatures that never throw a punch, but do the most lasting damage.  I have already logged many hours trying to convince Amber to just let it roll off her back, BUT “MOMTHEYSAIDIWASABRUNETTEWHENREALLYIAMABLONDE!”  They are right I don’t get it.  If some of this stuff was said to me today, I would probably laugh in the other person’s face.  However, when you are 9 yrs old and the consensus is that you are a brunette when all you want to be is a blonde your whole world has been shattered.

The least, but still annoying, proof of Tweendom is the radio battle.  I don’t have great music taste and will listen to the trashiest top 40 hit currently blowing iTunes record, but I still have some standards.  First, what the hell is this One Direction and why is it only one?  I swear if I hear that song one more time I am going to drive us all off in a ravine.  (Don’t worry, I don’t think we have any ravines in South LA.)  Don’t even get me started on the screeching that comes from the third row when I DARE attempt to change the station when one of these fine teeny bopping songs comes on.  You would think Amber’s heart was just pierced while pouring lemon juice into the wound.  When I go deaf, she is paying for my hearing dog.  Not sure how I am going to make it through the next 3 years much less the Teenhood.

Read Full Post »

Leaving!

We joined a gym.  It only took twice joining the same gym in the span of 10 years for SoHubby to actually go to the gym.  Maybe we have, FINALLY, settled into a routine.  It only took 3 kids and 14 years.

There is always a little bit of guilt when leaving my kids.  Some say it is good for the kids to trust other people and explore other options.  They never talk about mom trusting other people and exploring other options.  I use to know all the age developments, now it is all jumbled.  It is hard to keep up with what is appropriate for age 9 then go down to age 6 and then further down to age 2.5.  You would think that I would have it down by now, but since all these kids came out different and with their own personalities it is hard to know if I am acting silly, if the kids are acting silly or if we are all just going through growing pains.

When Amber was a baby there wasn’t much trouble leaving her and doing my own thing.  That is not to say that I was able to do it often, but there wasn’t much guilt over it.  It helps that I was told that I needed the time away from her and she needed the time away from me.  On child number 3, I am rethinking those decisions and many times I wish I could go back and start again.  I am rethinking so much that I am teetering on whether to send Evie to school for the first time at the age of 5 into Kindergarten.  Almost unheard of in my little world.  The new question I grit my teeth through my smile to answer is, “Are you sending her to school next year?”  *sigh* That might have to be a post all of it’s own.

With Sam it feels like I never left him and I can see where that might have hindered him a bit.  Sam was a different breed altogether.  Where the girls are easy going and only dip a bit of a toe into the waters of battle, Sam does the cannon ball into those waters.  It is hard to have balance when one kid is pretty easily guided and another one fights you toe and nail on everything.  So we settled into our routine of coming home and just playing all day  AT HOME.  I don’t think it traumatized him to where he can’t function and it is hard to tell if some things he does is because I didn’t leave him much or just his bullheadedness.

Evie is only 2.5 years old and her personality is only starting to emerge.  She definitely has her opinions, but she seems to know when not to push.  Today she tried to push.  It was our second day at the gym, which means it was her second day at gym childcare.  Yesterday, she was fine.  I think she was in shocked and was all, HEY, there is Mickey.  Today, she was not having any of it.  She cried and I watched as my minutes of my one hour of childcare ticked away.  I stayed until she was fully into Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.  I was never into the sneaking away while my kid was distracted.  The whole time I worked out I wonder what was going on.  Since I was not called over the PA system, which still brings memories of terror of being call to the principal’s office, I figured all was good.  After my 30 minutes (you don’t realize how little an hour is until you have to drop off, pick up and get settled before you can begin) of working out, I found Evie sitting in the same spot as when I left her.  At least she wasn’t cowering in the corner and lived the ordeal to tell the tale.

As I picked her up and even before we did our first drop off I wonder if I should really do this?  Should I find another way to get to the gym instead of dropping Evie off each morning?  No one can answer this for me and I am sure I will look back in a few years and discover the answer, but for now it is one more item added to my list of my mom guilt.

 

Read Full Post »

NO PRINCESSES FOR GIRLS!!!

I am so sick of this debate, but this controversy over the new Lego line has me fuming.  You can read about it here, because I just can’t take it, anymore:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/01/15/lego-friends-girls-gender-toy-marketing_n_1206293.html

Let’s tackle the ad from the 1980′s.  Does anyone remember Legos from back in the day?  They were primary blocks that fit together to make whatever the child wanted.  It was a truly neutral toy that helped child with a multiple of developments.  Then something happened.  I am not sure, but I know I was perplexed when I first started seeing the specific sets where it seemed you could only build one thing.  I remember thinking where is the fun in that?  I didn’t make a huge fuss. I didn’t stand on the nearest train table in Toys R Us and scream, “Why are you denying girls the joy of Legos?!”  You know why? Because I had sense to know that not every child is the same and not every girl played with princesses or, hold onto your hats for this one, some girls liked playing with both princesses and cars.  Oh the horror, letting the kids choose which toys they could choose.

Somewhere along the way, Princesses became the enemy.  How dare girls pretend to be princesses, play tea party, nurture dolls or the other evil things that have been sent by the all mighty toy companies to get our girls subservient to The Man.  Then it went further. It has now become a social status for parents, mostly Moms, to shout from the rooftops that their sons play with dolls and paint their nails and their daughters are playing in dirt with cars and trucks.  All over the Internet you can find mommy blogs proclaiming how great they are, because their children have no gender.  There are parents going so far as not letting others know the exact gender of their child. What I want to know is why?  Are we so ashamed of boys that we need to turn them more feminine?  Do we hate all things girly that we just have to breed a generation of girls that are more masculine than the boys in their class?  What is the point?

The problem with this is that these parents are forgetting that kids have choices, too.  What prevents a little girl choosing an alien to build from the many that Lego offers?  I don’t remember any toy police in the Target toy section telling me my girls weren’t allowed to look at these toys, much less buy them.  I don’t remember Amber getting tackled and having the Harry Potter Lego ripped from her hands when she made the purchase a year ago.  So why the big fuss?  As far as I can tell Lego has, finally, opened it’s eyes and given girls more choices.  I will admit I was drawn to the new Lego Friends toys, myself.  I liked the colors and the cute little kitchen and spa.  Amber not so much.  She is more interested in her Liv dolls with the spa, she recently purchased on Black Friday at Target last year.

I have the perfect little Science experiment going on in my home.  I have an older daughter, who went through the princess phase, but was given the choice of what she wanted to play with.  Sure her toys were mostly pink and girly, but there were a few cars thrown in there which she chose.  Now as a 9 yr old, she is the only girl playing the trumpet in her music class in the sea of boys playing the same instrument.  She is in cheerleading.  Loves Harry Potter more than any boy I have met.  She still loves to do her hair, her dolls’ hair and have her nails done.  I don’t see her love of Princesses hurting her in the least.  As a matter of fact, a recent event showed that she has no problem speaking her mind when she told some boys from the neighborhood that she was done playing with them, because they kept cursing.  If anything the choices that were afforded her gave her the strength to continue to make her own choices whether they went with the grain or not.

Then I have Sam.  A boy coming 4 years after his older sister.  He came into a world of pink and Princesses.  My feeling is that most babies start out gender neutral, because they don’t really  have a voice for their opinion.  Besides, their main focus is keeping their butts clean and eating.  So most baby to toddler toys are pretty much played by both sexes.  However, once those babies hit toddlerhood they start to gravitate toward their interests.  Sam started refastening many of Amber’s toys into guns, cars and flying objects.  Sure he would pick up a baby doll and give it a hug, then a few seconds later it would be discarded for something he found more interesting.  The one thing I found fascinating about Sam was that he would sit and actually have imaginative play.  Amber wasn’t much for imaginative play.  She used the toy how it was intended and when she was bored she moved to the next toy.  Sam would involve dinosaurs and pirates into his Batman cave.  There would be elaborate stories involving the Batman Cave and the Dragon Castle.  And somehow he incorporated Amber’s Barbie dogs into all this play.  He had a slight obsession with them.   We never made a conscience effort not to buy Sam guns, but he,  eventually, gravitated toward weaponry.  Whether it was his finger or a Barbie doll he would point it at someone and say, “Bang! Bang!”  It would be much later that he would get his first space gun and drive us all crazy.  But don’t think the gender neutral debate has won just yet.  Since Sam was with me most of the time, he would often grab the shopping cart and purple purse and go shopping.  Amber and him would play shopping and he would use his debit card that was pulled from his purse.  Why?  Because it was what he saw.  Sure SoHubby was a little perturbed by this, but I let it go.  I  knew that he was fine and just playing what he saw.  No biggie.  And once Evie came along and Amber decided to dress her up as a fairy, Sam joined in the fun.  It lasted a few minutes and then he went back to what interested him.  Once again, choices.  Now, I have a little boy that wants to be a cheerleader like his big sister, loves to hug the girls and loves to play tag with the boys and all things superheroes.

Lastly, we have Evie.  At only 2.5 years old, she has gone between cars, dinosaurs, superheros to baby dolls, and her recent discovery of the Princesses.  There is a whole playroom for her to choose from.  Never once has there been a line drawn saying these are the BOY toys and these are the GIRL toys.  There has been choices.  Why can’t kids have choices?  Sure there are some people who are adamant about their boy not having anything to do with “girly” stuff, but is it really that rampant?  Then there comes a time when children naturally start pairing off with the same sex parent.  Sam has started doing this and loves to go off with his Daddy.  And why not?  That doesn’t mean the girls are left in the dust.  There are times when Amber goes off with Daddy, too.  I can’t say that I would be comfortable bringing Sam to the nail salon, only because he doesn’t like his nails cut or people putting anything on them.  I can’t say that I would be all that gung ho to have his nails painted pink,anyway, but I am not going to deny him the pleasure of a foot massage or soaking in a hot foot bath.  Why can’t he enjoy those things?  The last time I checked the nail salons weren’t turning away anyone who was willing to pay for their services.

The point is there are 2 sexes (and I know even me admitting this is controversial) in this world and they both have their purpose.  It doesn’t mean that we don’t have choices.  We are bombarded with choices everyday that are made due to our upbringing, social status, financial ability, gender, and a myriad of other reasons.  To say that Lego Friends is teaching girls that they are only pretty and only good for baking, primping and drinking coffee (which I didn’t know was a female sport) is insulting to me as a parent.  It means that I have no influence.  That I am not talking to my kids.  That I am not supervising their growth into this world.  It is saying that I am letting a lump of plastic determine the future of my children.  I hate to break it to you, but I have more influence over my kids then a $20 toy that I happen to pick up on a whim.

Read Full Post »

C-Section: This Generation’s Dirty Medical Word

*sigh* C-sections.  It is the new barometer to gauge how good of a mother you are, before you actually starting, you know, parenting.  Oh, it isn’t that straight forward.  People, mainly on the Internet, tell you they understand, but secretly behind their computer screens they are shaking their heads in judgement.  Meh, who cares?  Well, I do and I don’t.  I care when misinformation is thrown about and used to pigeon hole everyone who has met their OB’s scalpel (yes, I know they use lasers. Work with me.) up close and personal.  Well, life and judgements are never that cut and dry.

I have had 3 c-sections.  Yes, you read that right, I had 3.  Many factors went into me going under the knife.  However, convenience and fear of pain was not on the list.  Matter of fact, I clearly remember sitting at the side of my first OB’s ( I would go on to have 3 more doctors for my births)desk wringing my hands asking him if he knew for sure if I would AVOID a c-section.  Damn doctors.  Sadly they aren’t God and he couldn’t tell me. Bastard!  You see, I had never been in a hospital, before giving birth, and I was deathly afraid….let me say it, again….DEATHLY AFRAID of having surgery.  I didn’t want it.  I took all the classes and I was prepared for a vaginal birth.  I knew I could push.  I knew I could breathe.  I knew I could do that.  What I didn’t know was what a c-section entailed.  All I knew was that they wanted to cut me open and move my insides around.  Last I checked my insides were fine where they were and there was no need to going poking around.

I researched.  I am here to tell you that there is such a thing as too much research. Another thing to pop up that would put the fear of modern medicine into me, pitocin.   From my research I learned that pitocin caused Autism.  WHA?!  Pitocin meant you were definitely, for sure going to  have a c-section. NO!  Pitocin hurt like a semi truck driving through your pelvic area.  *falls to the floor*  I prayed.  I begged. I bargained.  Please, oh please, don’t let me have pitocin or a c-section.  I guess I my message to God went to the wrong in box, because at 5 days pass my due date (which I never believe, because I never knew the last day of my period.  Who the hell keeps track of that crap?  It is here. I curse. It is gone.  The husband comes out of hiding.)  I was contracting and then I wasn’t.  Huh?  What is that you say?  That is not possible.  Oh really.  You want to have a conversation with my lazy uterus.  Go ahead, but I am hear to tell you she ain’t listening to no body.  So the pitocin drip starts, the contractions start to feel like an angry ape throwing luggage around in my uterus, but they don’t start getting any closer together.  The story of my life, I do well with one thing, but can’t pull it through to complete the transaction.  Here is where I tell you I take a nap and you go, “HUH, WHA?!”  Oh yeah, that contraction was a bitch, but once it passed I was all clear for my journey to sleepy town.  I would wake in another room with a doctor peering into my nether regions and liquid spilling all over the bed.  That is when the action started.  No, not contractions, medical staff bustling around like someone just set their collective pants on fire.  It was time for the baby to come out.  Whether she wanted to or not.  I have stubborn kids, especially when you are expecting them to do certain things, like, I don’t know, be born into the world.

I have gone over a million times what I should have done during Amber’s birth.  I have read on the Internet as people, some who have never given birth, say I had choices.  Oh really?  Let’s look at the choices I could have demand in all my non-medical knowledge glory:  I could have demanded to push.  That might be a little hard without contractions.  I mean I know we are women, hear us roar, but we do need all parts doing their, well, part.  I could have demanded to wait and see what might happen.  I mean my body, as a female, is made to give birth, right?  So it would have happened eventually, right?  Who the hell knows.  In the mean time Amber could have choked on her first bowel movement.  (Yeah, I can never spell that word right, so you get my 2nd grade description of it.)  So in the end I did have choices, but no one talks about the consequences of those choices or being in a situation where it might be a tad hard to make a completely rational decision.  You can try.  Here is what you do.  Invite about 10/15 total strangers into a cold, very bright room, while you lay buck naked on a hard surface.  Have about a million beeps going on, some of the people will be having a conversation with words you have no clue what they mean while someone tries to explain the situation to you quickly and then ask you for a decision.  Let me know how you fair.  I am not denying that I could have made the no c-section decision and come out completely fine.  I can’t tell you how Amber would have come out in that scenario.

I don’t know who is spreading the word that c-sections are fun.  I am here to tell you they ain’t no walk in the park on sunny day.  You are literally cut in half while you are AWAKE!  Yeah, that last part freaked me out, too.  And I don’t care what anyone says, they don’t get easier the more you have.  Each one carries it’s own risks.  What I am here to tell you is that until you are in that situation you can’t completely say with all certainty what you would do or not do.  Not to mention you suddenly have another human being who is completely dependent on you to make the right decision.  Remember the goal is healthy, happy babies.  So if I am out of the running for mother of the year because I had 3 c-sections then so be it.  I am sure there are many other things you could have used to take me out of the running.

I don’t really need to justify my other 2 c-sections.  I could tell you about the natural disaster I found myself in while 4 months pregnant with Sam.  I could go on and on about how I didn’t like nor trusted my OB, but what choice did I have in a city that barely had hospitals up and running?  My main goal with her was for her NOT to tie my tubes no matter how much she insisted.  Without medical records and hospital staffs at an all time low there was no chance in hell I was going to get a VBAC.  I would guess New Orleans after Katrina, even 6 mos after, was as close to a 3rd world country as I ever want to get.  Do you give me points for even asking at the beginning of my pregnancy and when I finally secured a doctor after my original one had fled?  By the time I got pregnant with Evie, I was done.  I would have let them extract her through my nose if that is what they said was the best way.  I was in the hands of my fully capable OB (a new one from the one that I had with Sam)and the Perinatologist who I saw every damn month.   That was a bit much, I thought, but hey, again, if it gets me a healthy baby so be it.

Who do we blame for this?  Do we blame those nasty money hungry medical doctors?  I really don’t think ALL doctors are assholes.  And if you find yourself faced with an asshole, then, um, here is your choice: Find a new one.  I have many times and didn’t feel bad at all.  However, when I do find a new doctor I discuss my medical care and ask questions.  My first clue that you are an asshole doctor is if you get annoyed at all my questions.  I am here to tell you in any profession there will be good ones and there will be bad ones.  Your job is to find a good one and then trust them.  Do we blame health insurance?  That one I am not touching.  If you think insurance companies don’t want to pay for your regular visit to the doctor, what makes you think they are all gung ho to pay for your c-section.  My belief is that insurance companies are going to fight and go over with a fine tooth comb just about every claim put before them, because they are trying to make money.  It is a pain for us, but we have a choice, we can pay out of pocket for our medical care.  Go ahead and ask, I am sure your doctor or hospital will take cash.  I know they took mine.  We can blame lawyers, but what can’t you blame lawyers for?  Hmmm, I am not sure how to defend lawyers on this one, but I will say that I would venture a guess that someone came to them with a grievance regarding their birth and the lawyer did his job.  Maybe a little too well, but he did his job.  You can blame malpractice insurance that all doctors and hospitals must have to cover their asses.  Having a mother, who is a nurse, who got dragged into a lawsuit, because a family didn’t want to accept that their elderly mother died of natural causes, it is frightening to be on the shit end of a lawsuit, especially if you have never been involved in one before .  And I am sure doctors and hospitals would much rather put the money they spend on malpractice insurance to better use, but alas it is a necessary evil much like car insurance. There are many places to put the blame for the c-section rates.  Dare I say, yes even those mothers, who I believe are very rare, that pressure their doctors for a c-section out of convenience.  I have heard of them, but have never met one.  Does it do anyone any good?  Not really.

We live in a society where many things are available to us, medicine, medical advancement out the ying yang and the Internet that can scare you with one small Google search.  I don’t think the answer is beating mothers, who have already had their babies, over the head with the fact that YOU think they didn’t birth right.  I think the real solution is an open dialogue that dispenses with the scare tactics (I am looking at all you old school moms who just love your war stories) and share an experience that can be learned from.  I think there needs to be included in those birth classes (keep in mind my last one was 10 yrs ago. ) a real discussion about c-section, stalled labor and pitocin.  I might have heard a blip about these things in the birth class I took, but nothing substantial. What I really think is that the medical community doesn’t know everything about pregnancy and birth.  Yeah, I said it.  And they are still learning.  When my daughters are ready to give birth I am sure I will be sitting at the kitchen table with my mouth gaped open amazed at what they are telling me is going to happen.  That is what we do people, we live, learn and move on.  Each generation will learn something new about the process of being born  and will be a little better off.  And the generation behind them will sit there and wish they had that when they were about to give birth.  It is the circle of knowledge.

 

Read Full Post »

Your Catholic History Moment

The kids go to a Catholic school, so dressing up in their Halloween costumes at school is not going to happen.  In the place of costumes the kids get to dress up as their favorite Saint on November 1, All Saints Day.  Not quite the same thing and it doesn’t get the same amount of excitement, especially when you have to do a report to go along with your “costume”.  But we are here to learn, right?

I don’t have a favorite Saint.  I blame my parents.  The short of the story is that my mom got my religion choice in the divorce.  From the little I learn, I could fake it by saying Joan of Arc.  It is not quite as transparent as claiming Mary as your favorite Saint.  No offense to those who have her as a favorite Saint, but she is kind of a go to Saint, especially for us with minimal Catholic education.  Amber choose Mary, last year, because…wait…for it…she got to bring a baby doll to school.  A baby doll that she forgot to bring.  A baby doll I had to rush to Target to buy along with swaddling clothes.  Do you know how hard it is to find swaddling clothes in this day and age?  Of course, I had to get her the baby, because, “…HOW WILL ANYONE KNOW WHO I AM?!”

This year we got lucky and Amber’s teacher picked her Saint for her.  Her Saint is Barbara.  It seems Barbara had quite a hard life at the hand of her father.  She kept her faith despite her abusive father and was rewarded with Sainthood.  Plus, as an added bonus, God showed her father the business end of a lightening bolt.  Take that buttmonkey!  I am a little confused, because the information sheet given by the teacher mentioned that Saint Barbara is/was the patron Saint of firefighters, but not really, anymore, because we have fire extinguishers.  Then while I was trying to find out dates for when Saint Barbara lived, I came across this.  It appears that Saint Barbara’s true lesson is :

The life of St. Barbara is a vivid reminder that there can be much anger in our world and in our lives. Being in touch with God’s presence in a very special way can do much toward relieving ourselves of our tendency to allow anger to control us. 

Hmmm….could this be a message?  Maybe, but we will put that aside for the moment.  See, not letting all that anger control me. I find all this Saint business fascinating, which means I am learning right along with the kids. I didn’t finish my Catholic education.  There are many things we can learn from the Saints.

Now, if I can find the patron Saint for stubborn children to help guide me through my experience of parenting Sam.  He is not required to dress as a Saint.  I am not sure how many kids in his class will, but I am sure he won’t care if he was the only one to show up in just his school uniform.  Or he could flip out and yell at me as he gets in the car after school, that “he was the only one that wasn’t dressed as a Saint and it is all my fault!”  I thought I had the perfect solution to this problem.  Sam has an Anakin Skywalker costume that I got on sale at Target after Halloween, last year.  All it really is a brown sack like garment that can be cinched at the waist.  Throw in a large wooden rosary and you have yourself a monk.  I am sure there is a monk Saint out there, somewhere.  Of course, this was a no go for Sam.  He is adamant that he wants to wear his Ironman costume to school.  I don’t think I will have much success in finding a Saint that could incorporate an Ironman costume.  I wonder if he still wore a large wooden rosary, if anyone would notice?  I think I will have better success becoming the patron Saint of stubborn children.  At least, I would have earned it.

Read Full Post »