I hate flying.
Actually it’s the idea of crashing that I hate.
Well, more like actual crashing.
Ok, really it’s death.
I hate death.
I don’t want to die.
I fly to Albuquerque in about 6 hours. And then I fly home in about 5 1/2 days. It’s cloudy out today. That will make the flight more turbulent. That will make me a bigger wreck than usual. It may take 3 shots of tequila to get me on the plane.
I was talking to one of my favorite people today. It’s almost funny that she’s one of my favorite people because we hardly ever see each other and don’t even talk on the phone much. But she’s still one of my favs. Because she loves me. I’ve always felt her love. She’s my Aunt Mary. She’s married to one of my mom’s brothers, so we aren’t even blood related. But even if it’s been over a year since we’ve talked, she ends every phone call with "I love you." And since I don’t have a mom anymore to say that to me I melt inside every time I hear her say that.
But this isn’t really about the love of my aunt. Or about missing my mom. It’s about how I feel when other people’s perceptions of me are revealed.
During our conversation about an upcoming family wedding my Aunt Mary said something about my dad. He might or might not be mentioned in the wedding program as a "no longer with us" family member. My mom will for sure be mentioned, but my Aunt said that no one really knew my dad, so it wasn’t really decided if he’d be listed. Funny that I never really knew that my mom’s family didn’t really know my dad. And that started a whole conversation about my dad. And that lead to a comment about my childhood. About my childhood being "difficult."
When I first heard that word, difficult, I felt like I was hearing about someone else’s life. But quickly I remembered, oh, no, it was my life we were talking about. It’s good that I forget, right? Or is it just weird that I never thought it was really that difficult. It just was what it was. Sure there were times I hated my life, but in the typical "my life sucks" kinda way. It’s only when I put together some of the bits and pieces that I think, I guess it would seem difficult to others. Ex-con dad. Times of extreme poverty (well, not by some standards, really). Several moves (one to escape ex-con issues). Lost jobs. Separations. Alcoholism. Divorce. Re-marriages. More divorces. A missing dad. Not living near any kind of support system that might have helped my mom from get a rest from two unruly kids every once in awhile. Living in a very low-income neighborhood with all of the lessons that can come with that.
But hey, look at me now. Look around me. Not at the stuff, but at the people. I have so many people around me that make me feel loved and there is nothing difficult about that.
The kids mostly made presents for me. The only store bought gift was a pair of hand crafted Elvis earrings found at a store in downtown Flagstaff that I pretty much made them get for me. The rest of my gifts were gifts they made at regular school, Hebrew school, and on their own. Although the kids were given general directions to follow with their school gifts, the words were all their own.
The words of my eldest, my first born, my only son:
You’re really active.
You love to play.
Sometimes mabe scary,
Most of time we have a good day.
You’re the boss of the house.
You have lots of might.
You’re kind of crazy.
You tell us not to fight.
You talk a lot.
You tell me to run from a fight.
You nag me not to play ball in the house.
I can’t run when A. wants to bight.
All my friends like you.
You love dad.
You never can wait.
When on my scooter you tell me to were a pad.
Happy Yo Mamas Day!
The words of my second born, my first daughter, my mirror child were helped some by her Hebrew School teacher. The prewritten words were "Pick a flower or maybe two, then take your time and read it through, then tell me what it says to do and I’ll that mitzvah for you!!"
My darling daughter drew and cut out flowers that had a few options for favors she could do for me:
clean my bedroom
or
mop the house
or
help Abby clean her buttocks.
Can’t wait to see what the youngest of my babies gives me when she learns how to write.
Until then I think this was my best mother’s day ever.
I’m sitting at my computer and listening to a man talking to me about positive discipline. I can’t listen because I’m distracted by his voice. His voice. And that is when I start to let my mind wander. Hmmm….let’s see. Dr. Sears. A man. Alfie Kohn. A man. The guy that wrote The Happiest Baby/Toddler on the Block. A man. Dr. Spock. A man.
I start looking up parenting books on amazon.com. Screamfree Parenting: The Revolutionary Approach to Raising Your Kids by Keeping Your Cool by Hal Edward Runkel. A man. Setting Limits with Your Strong-Willed Child: Eliminating Conflict by Establishing Clear, Firm, and Respectful Boundaries by Robert J. MacKenzie. A man. Parenting With Love and Logic by Foster W. Cline and Jim Fay. Two men.
I know there are some women that write about parenting. There’s Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish, the women who wrote Siblings Without Rivalry and How to Talk So Kids Will Listen & Listen So Kids Will Talk. It just seems like more men are considered to be experts on parenting. But isn’t it really the mom that does more of the day to day parenting stuff–you know the stuff that sucks like organizing school stuff, keeping up with the social calender, clothing shopping, dentist & doctor appointments, and the daily discipline stuff. So, why are we not listening to more moms? Moms that have been in the trenches? Well, actually I know that there are men that take on these roles. I also know that my husband was the stay at home parent for our first kid’s first year. And it was great. But now that I’m in the thick of trying to figure out the most effective and healthy way to parent my kids I resent the male voice telling me how to be a MOM.
Should I make a pact to only buy parenting books by women? I already try to go to female dentists, doctors, and female owned businesses (and even female directed pornos). Should I wait to hear the messages to come from a voice that sounds more like mine? I don’t know. But I would like to know more about the person telling me what the right way is. What makes them an expert? How many hours a day are they spending with their own kids or at their kids’ school, or planning their kids’ lives?
Maybe I have a perception that female parenting experts are sharing information and male parenting experts are dictating and judging my imperfect parenting moments. I do I think both women and men can have helpful insight to staying sane while raising children we want to end up sane. I think I just can’t listen to a man’s voice giving me suggestions on a day that is in the middle of a month that my husband is mostly out of town on work.
Do you remember when you were a kid and you went to one of your parent’s parties? The ones where the parents were having a good time so they left you alone? And you ran around with your friends. Mostly doing stuff your parents would be okay with, but sometimes being up to no good. And maybe you snuck a drink of some one’s adult liquid refreshment, and if you were a little older you had your first almost kiss (or if you weren’t me, maybe it was your first actual kiss). But you knew your parents were busy, and you were having fun?
I am hoping that’s the kind of memories my kids have. Like tonight during my Whine and/or Wine get together. It was several mamas and our kids from about 1 month old to 10 1/2 years old. And the kids were running around, playing with play doh, and even eating some. Mamas were holding or nursing babies, checking in on the toddler set if there was any noises to be concerned about, letting the older kids run wild, and a few mamas getting the night off from one or more of their kids. The mamas had fun. The kids had the kind of fun that I hope they remember forever.
A few kids fell asleep being held. One of my daughters asked if she could go to sleep, while the other did reluctantly–maybe she’ll be like me, afraid to miss a moment. The boy fell asleep in my room after willingly giving up his room to a sleeping baby. In the morning when we are driving to school (running late probably) I’m going to ask my kids if they had fun, and what kind of memories they think they are going to have from their childhood that make them feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I hope this night will be one of them.
Someone please tell me why all I can remember saying to my kids lately is something to fix them?
"If you see something that belongs to someone on the floor, consider picking it up, or even going around it, but do not step right on it!"
"Stop hitting your brother."
"Stop pushing your sister."
"Stop smashing a nearly random kid’s fingers in the mail slot door."
"Stop saying the word asshole."
"Eat something besides tortilla chips."
"Do not tell me you like meatloaf and then not have any of it for dinner."
"Why does it take you so long to get ready in the morning?"
"Why does it take you so long to buckle in the car?"
"Put your dishes away when you are done eating."
"Put away your toys when you are done playing with them."
"Pick up the clothes that fall on the floor in the closet."
"Put your dirty clothes in the hamper."
"Put DVDs away when you are done watching them."
"Put away the dishes without needing to be told."
"Do not ask for candy when I am on the phone."
"When you ask for something one time, and you know the answer, quit asking over and over and over."
"Wipe your face when you’re eating."
"Don’t wipe your face with your hand, use a napkin!"
"Stop fighting with your brother."
"Stop fighting with your sister."
"Stop fighting with your sisters."
"Stop fighting with your brother and sister."
And I am so tired of it. I know that a big part of it right now is that I am single parenting it for awhile so that the old man can bring home some bacon. I am the one who is around all the bad habits that drive parents crazy. And I have so little down time. At least I get some though. For a few hours every week day they are all in school at the same time. But it is during that time that I am trying to get PTA checks signed, trying to keep one of my kids from being suspended because of some bull shit about shot records, trying to make some kind of healthy treat for a school thing, chaperoning a field trip, and a few other little things.
I also know that all of this is coinciding with a period of me micromanaging the kids. I’m just getting the feeling like I need to be on top of them about everything to get rid of some bad habits and encourage some good habits. I’m even trying to do the same to myself. I want us all to clean up after ourselves, help each other out, and be nice to each other. Just seems like the more I want all of that stuff, the more I turn into a raging lunatic. It reminds me of the times my mom was a raging lunatic. I don’t want to turn into my mother–or at least not the crazy lunatic mother.
How do I stop being a lunatic and start being a calm but effective parent? A parent that creates an environment where kids can learn to be helpful, caring, hygienic, and maybe even happy without doing it out of fear of setting their mom off.
I’m feeling a bit like I’m losing the battle right now and I have too much to do for that to happen. I know that one day my hubby will be back home to relieve some of the stress. Not all. Never all, but some. Like a friend recently said, we mothers are the cornerstone of our families. And unfortunately the phrase, "If mama ain’t happy, no one is happy" is very true around here right now.
So, what do I do? Let it all go? Walk out when the kids are fighting and shut myself in my room with some kind of loud something to drown out the fighting. Work on getting myself a little more happy with myself so I am not nit picking all of the kids’ shit? I don’t really want to know the answer to that right now. I don’t have time for the therapy.
Waited for all the relatives to leave that were in town for a funeral. Waited to put space between death and life. You waited, but when you decided to come you came fast.
We had just come home from a fairly casual luau themed wedding reception that we didn’t think we were going to go to. We thought we’d have a newborn baby by then. I had been having braxton hicks contractions off and on for awhile, but definitely had some before, during, and after eating roast pig. We came home, put your brother and sister to bed. It was about 11pm and I started having the kind of contractions that were nothing like braxton hicks contractions. I think I told your dad that we’d better pack our stuff for the birth center. That made a fairly calm man act like a lunatic. I asked him to calm down. You’d think after doing this a few times he would have been calmer.
When I called the birth center and was asked how long I’d been having contractions I could almost hear the midwife laughing when I told her, "about 15 minutes." She was a smart woman though, and rather than tell me to try to get some sleep and call in the morning she asked me if I thought I needed to be checked. I did think I wanted to go in and it was a good thing because when we got to the birth center I was already 7cm dilated. I was relieved because I was always afraid of being sent home for false labor.
About 3 hours after my first real contraction you came slamming out of me. It was intense, but great. I had the ring of fire that I’d heard of, but I did it. I remember thinking, "I’m going to do this NOW," and shutting my eyes and pushing hard. I thought you were out before you were and I just kept going and then you were all the way out. I opened my eyes and there you were. You had a purple face from being bruised on your way out. Your brother was called in to help cut your cord. Your Grandpa Stanley (not exactly the grandpa we thought would be the first to meet you) got to see your dad, his son, and your brother, his grandson, cut your cord and that meant a lot to him.
And after cleaning you up, getting my hemorrhage to stop, and saying good night to your grandpa and brother, you, your dad, and I curled into bed and just slept. No one bothered us. We just slept. I’ve always meant to thank for that also. You might have wanted to see this new world, but you let us sleep. After sleeping a few good hours we went home. And your big sister came back home from our across the street neighbor’s house with a new hair style and a new found happiness at the discovery of YOU. It was like we brought home a present just for her.
You have been a delight to all of us. And also an amazement to your teacher who you kind of proposed to and excitedly said, "And then we’d be married and I’d be gay!" And a wonder to your Hebrew School teacher that you confessed you did not believe in God to. And many other things to many other people.
Happy 5th Birthday to my baby!
